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About zackrobbman

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    Roleplay Wizard

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  • Gender
    With all the force of a great, typhoon! BE A MAN! Get it? No?....I'm a guy.
  • Location
  • Interests
    Nothing I'd fight too hard for, and that is very depressing.
  • Occupation
    Quality Control Auto Body Technician....I'm a detailer....I clean cars.

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  1. Alrighty! A bit too busy to add on another RP at the moment. I'm barely keeping up with the ones i've got as it is. Sorry man!😅
  2. Sorry! Was thinking about joining, but I'm sorta, kinda, maybe swamped with more RP's than I'd previously thought.😅 I STILL would like to participate, but I'd hate ta' bite off more than I can chew ya' know? Either way, you will have a definite answer in the next...four hours or so! Gotta finish up a post for another RP and think it over a bit more. Hate to keep you waiting, but I'd hate it more to make a hasty decision.🤔
  3. zackrobbman

    [ASK] Cruel, Cruel World

    When it came to being questioned, it was a lot like dealing with the law. The less you said, the less room the cop had to spin a web that could get you sent to court and locked up later on with a cellmate that ate peoples ears. Everything you said was liable and almost certain to be used against you, no matter how small or insignificant your statement was. Clive had learned that the hard way, and being hard headed caused him to learn it that way multiple times. Even when you were fixing to tell the truth, it was best to just keep your mouth shut and let them make something up. At least that way their report wouldn't have anything solid to go off of and likely wouldn't hold up in court. If you were dealing with a real cop that actually did their job and tried to find the truth, they wouldn't lazily make something up anyway. They'd go out of their way to get the truth and deal justice in the best way they could. It didn't matter how quiet you were. Clive was by no means a cop. He barely got along with the law enough not to be gunned down as it was, but he learned a thing or two in his formative years when he encountered them as often as he saw the sun. Like how to get a person to start talking about things he had no business knowing. One of the most efficient ways to do this was pretty simple. An offer of communion. He resisted the urge to smile when he heard her stomach growl. "I'm no detective or anything," said Clive as he placed his thumbs inside his pockets. "But if I heard your stomach rumble as loudly as I think it did just now, I'd say you were about to ask one of us for a bite." Clive then looked over to the bar, taking note of the prices of the food for the first time since he'd walked in. He'd bought food for many people in the past, but he learned real quick that feeding someone that was genuinely starving was never cheap. They'd often want to order the biggest, juiciest entre' they could find, and it would be rude to hold back after making an offer. Her near request revealed something about her though. She was either broke, or playing him to get a free meal. Both possibilities deserved a bit of delving into if either one was the case, but he didn't want to straight up ask her if she was broke. He wasn't sure if it was just because she was dressed up like a cowgirl, but he got the feeling that asking her that would hurt her pride enough to take offense. "Tell ya' what." he said, tipping his stetson upwards. Had anyone taken the time to look at the emblem fastened atop the brim, they would see a silver emblem depicting a smiling skull with a bullet between its eyes. To the average person, it was just decor. To criminals that knew what was what when it came to bounty hunters, it was good reason to get gone and fast. "I'm a little hungry myself. If either one'a you would care to join me for a bite, It'd be my treat. I'm new round' these parts and wouldn't mind learning a bit more about the place before I get on my way. I'm kinda blind out here and as you can probably see, that hasn't bode well for me." Clive initially didn't want to treat the both of them, but only treating the woman seated at the table would surely be suspicious. And creepy. It was worth a shot though, since he'd practically been bumbling around in the dark in search of his mark for the passed few weeks. If he had to spend a few extra bucks to chase a possible lead, so be it. He figured that if the woman seated before them couldn't give him anything, the woman standing beside him could. She seemed like the kind of girl that kept an eye on things that didn't outright concern her, and Clive couldn't have asked for a better candidate.
  4. zackrobbman

    InFAMOUS - Zero Year

    Leo received no response from the large man, the three neon blasts to Bricks face effectively freezing his prefrontal lobe and maybe anything behind it. "Think he's actually down for the count." said Chris as he walked over, still stretching to deal with the pain in his back and arms. He cautiously nudged Brick's head with a foot to make sure his assumption wasn't wrong. The neon blasts he'd taken had turned his face a radiant shade of orange, the bright color slowly fading away as the seconds passed. Once it was completely gone, Chris noted the bloodshot appearance of Brick's wide open eyes. They stared back at him and Leo blankly, the frigid neon obviously doing major damage to his eye sockets. Chris then knelt down and placed two fingers on the side of his throat. "The WHOLE count actually." he said with a subtle shake of his head. "He's dead. Dead as a doornail. Guess that neon stuff you got is a lot more lethal than it looks." Only feeling just a bit of remorse for the murderous giant who'd doubtlessly taken many innocent lives in the past, Chris searched his pockets and pulled out a strange, rectangular device. The cracked, glass screen on it lit up his face, the words displayed on it making Chris's smile grow even more. "Jackpot." he said before pocketing the device and looking to Leo. "Alrighty' kid. We'd better get back to the hideout before more of the punks show up." Chris elected to take to the rooftops again just to be safe, although his injuries made him a little slower than before. When they finally reached the abandoned convenience store that doubled as his hideout, he was happy to stop and take a breather. K was sitting atop the store, sitting on his haunches and looking up at Chris expectantly. His tail started to wag, but then quickly stopped. Chris held up a thumbs up, which K quickly nodded to. Then, in a flash of light, K teleported to the rooftop. "You remember that drug I told you about a year ago?" said Chris, kneeling next to K and showing him his bruised forearms. K nodded and seemed to huff in irritation. "Yep. I think they got it right this time. BRICK had some and probably would've ripped me in half had Leo here not jumped in." Chris gestured to Leo and K looked at him. Given the dogs inability to form facial expressions, it'd be difficult to tell what he was feeling or thinking. "Definitely didn't go as planned, but I did find this." Chris pulled out the rectangular device he'd taken from Brick and held it up to K. K's eyes seemed to widen as he sniffed it a little and read what was panning across the screen in bright green letters. ENERGY SPIKE DETECTED "U-huh." said Chris as he turned to look at Leo. "This little doohickey is a D.U.P Relay tracker. It recognizes and pinpoints the energy spikes power relays give off. You know what those are, kid?"
  5. zackrobbman

    Highway to Hell

    Although a little tense because of the cyborg woman and the threat of something suddenly coming out of the woods, Zack figured the job wasn't all that bad. Hours had passed and nothing had tried to kill him yet. He wasn't as suspicious of the Blackspears because they seemed to be more of a danger to themselves than anyone else. He chuckled to himself as he propped himself up on his shovel and watched them fight amongst each other. Had Charlie been there, he would've brought out a camcorder and recorded the whole thing, probably making up some convoluted fantasy about how they were secretly fighting over him. Then he'd take the recording home and Zack would cease to think about his plans with it. Zack had completely cleared his area of grey stone, if you could call it his area. The only rocks that remained were still being broken down by the other workers, and he didn't want to run the risk of injuring one of them or wounding their pride. Some of them were already giving him suspicious looks because of how fast he'd broken down so many of the rocks and were trying to match his work ethic. You would too if you had any sense of pride and were being outworked by some kid nearly half your size. "Wow." said Zack in a dull tone as he wiped his forehead with a cloth and watched the women fight. "Reckon they'll be fillin' them holes with each other if someone doesn't break em' up." He looked around the camp to see if Thurgood was paying any attention to the fight, but he seemed to be busy working on their first big hill, placing dirt to make the slope easier to traverse for the work that would follow. He could see a decent number of trees up ahead they'd need to cut down if they wanted to progress. The thought of cutting down trees unnerved him though. He wondered if there were any tree-hugging natives in the area and if they were the 'love and not war' type. He could remember the day he'd been attacked by a clan of ninjas because he'd decided to pee on their sacred tree. It had been the spot where they'd buried their master, but there were no markings on it to signify this. He barely had a chance to zip up his pants before they assaulted him with all manner of knives and swords, almost emasculating him in the process. Then there was the time he peed in a sacred lake and was attacked by angry mermaids. And another time he'd almost gotten his giblets blown off by a band of hillbillies for peeing in their sacred outhouse. Zack gritted his teeth and his eye twitched. He really hated Terrenus.
  6. Just a heads up to everyone I'm in RP's with! A bit swamped with posts at the moment and I'm still brainstorming about what to write, so it might take me a bit to  reply. NOT A LONG BIT!!! No. I'm talking less than a week at THE MOST. Working on posts right now. 😀 If one of them is short, it's not because I'm being lazy or losing interest. It's usually one of two things. One: I have very little to work with because nothing's really happening for me to write about. Two: I don't need to write out a long post because what needs to happen doesn't require one.😅 I feel like I have to say this because I usually write out lengthy posts and don't want people getting the wrong idea if they're shorter than usual, cause that's VERY rare for me. 

    Hope ya'll ain't getting snowed into your homes! Cause I am! 


    I wish jobs had snow days.🙁

  7. zackrobbman

    The Crescent Hammer // Fight Club

    His eye twitched. Zack would easily agree with her since he'd had that exact thing happen to him before. Only it wasn't his nose. It was his eye. Charlie wanted to sue to get an extra payday, but Zack left it alone for fear of what the magical residents of Blairville might do if he went along with it. There were people in this city that could turn you into a screaming pickle if they so wanted to, so he figured third-degree burns on or in (he wasn't sure) his eye were something he could afford to ignore. "Look, I'm not saying that it's gonna be safe." said Zack as he shook his head. "But it's a risk i'm gonna have to take. I'd rather take a rocket to the nose or get assaulted by that 'MMG' out here than get recognized while in the club. If I get spotted in there, the 'MMG' is going to be the least of my problems. I'm certain he's not the only psychopath there who has it in for me." His boss had trained him pretty well to deal with most criminals, but he doubted he had even a ten percent chance of surviving if he had to take on Thorn and every other low-life there on their turf. He'd need a plan to even think about getting out of such a scenario in one piece, and he'd need to make up another to get Arsinia out in one piece. That was a lot of thinking to do and any plan he made up on the spot would surely fail if he took into account the possible magical interference that could happen. He didn't want to think about the horrible possibilities, but not thinking about it would be even worse. He was a mercenary. That meant he needed to have solid plans for when his other plans failed. He'd need to be ready if he got recognized. There was no getting away from that. "No, no." Zack said with a dismissive wave. "It just...repulses me. Or I repulse it. Not really sure since I haven't got the guts to test it. Well, no. I DO have have the guts, BECAUSE I haven't tested it out, but you get what I mean." Zack tapped his fingers on his lap as he thought about how magic reacted with him in the past. Several painful, humiliating memories flooded the forefront of his mind. In each of them, there was always one thing that stayed the same. One thing that always led to the excruciating maladies he'd weathered. "I think that as long as I don't consume it, I should be fine." he said matter-of-factly. "I think that's why healing spells always set me on fire. The spells usually have to absorb into the subject to be effective, so its like I'm consuming it. The only other type of magic I have to worry about is dark magic. I think that stuff messes with my head or something. It makes WEIRD stuff happen." Zack recalled the many times a dark mage had tried to cast a spell on him. It didn't matter what the intent of spell was, whether it was to melt his kin or turn him into an undead servant, it always had the same effect. He'd start seeing things that weren't there, reliving traumatic moments that made him as paranoid as he was now. Sometimes this would make him run away until the spell wore off for some reason. Other times he'd go nuts and tear the castor apart in his crazed state. In either case, he wasn't able to bring the bounty back alive. "It also has its boons though." he continued. "For instance, if some wack-job throws a magical fireball at me or something, it won't be as effective as it would on someone else. It'll still hurt, don't get me wrong, but where one guy might get blown to pieces, I'll just get a giant third degree burn. IF it's magical though. If it's pure science or natural like with Charlie, it'll do to me what it's supposed to do." Zack's expression slowly formed into a worried one. She wanted to know more about him? He wasn't sure if it was such a good idea. If anyone contemptible found out that she knew him, he could only shudder to imagine what could happen to her as a result. Criminals had torched whole villages and slaughtered entire families just to get his attention in the past. He didn't want to have that happen to Arsinia too. He could barely sleep at night now knowing that good people had died simply because they knew him. Regardless, she had a good point. She was already in danger due to this fight club thing, so he doubted telling her more about him would put her in any more danger than she already was. Before he could tell her that he didn't really have a preference for music, she sat the helm she was working on down and started listing off things she knew about him. Zack felt a little taken aback by the girls assumptions, but as much as he wanted to deny some of them, he couldn't. He did fight a lot. He did kill a lot, although "alot" to him wasn't very much. He did piss off a lot of people, although he didn't particularly care. If anything, he enjoyed making the lives of criminals and scumbags a living hell whenever he could. Charlie was a pervert and he didn't like him all that much. Some days he wanted to snap his neck in his sleep just because of how morally inept and annoying he was. He did heal while sleeping, although it was inconsistent due to varying circumstances. And of course, magic hated him as much as he hated it. He wasn't sure what she meant by the measurements, but when she mentioned that he was jumpy, he spoke up. "Hey look, I HAVE to be jumpy, okay?" he said, holding up finger in defense. "You'd be jumpy too if you couldn't use the bathroom at a public restaurant without some douchebag throwing a live grenade into the stall while your taking dump! I'm a bounty hunter man! Lots of people want me dead! Like SUPER DEAD. They follow me, they search for me, they set traps for me, they tell me how their gonna line the walls of their homes with my innards and do the same to anyone that knows me, the WHOLE nine yards! And Charlie? He's an ***hole! He pranks me EVERY....DAY. And I'm not talking about the harmless ones! Ooooh, no! I'm talking about the ones that leave third degree burns or paralyze you! Then I got my boss who's always doing crazy crap to keep me on my toes, like forcing me to go after a PYROMANIAC with a live nuke strapped to his chest, or putting me through training that's more dangerous than the jobs themselves! And don't even get me started on Tracey. She's real nice and I'm cool with her and all, but she's freakin' SCARY man! Sometimes I have nightmares where I wake up to her eating my heart! She'd do it too! I've seen her do worse to others. Then there's THIS whole scenario with the fight club and I'm not sure I'll be able to take it if I get someone else killed and-" Zack stopped, realising that he'd gotten up at some point and started walking back and forth as he went on his nervous rant. Hoping he hadn't freaked her out or caused her to think he was legitimately crazy, he cleared his throat and sat back down. "Sorry." he said, his eyes no longer dilated and his voice calm. "I guess that's...fair?" Zack grimaced, understanding that she likely had no reason to trust him with her life. "Not sure I can just...answer anything though. I can't exactly tell you where I live and stuff like that. My boss would likely kill me. And then maybe you." He gave her a nervous laugh in hopes of making that statement seem a little less morbid, but he was serious. Mikey wanted their hideout to be as much of a secret as a secret could get, the only people being allowed to know of it's whereabouts being Zack, Charlie, and Tracey. Anyone else that got too close to finding it would usually turn up missing later, and Mikey would never give him a straight answer about what happened to such ones. Sometimes he wouldn't answer at all. He'd just give him that piercing, dead, stare he constantly wore, as if telling him to quit asking questions unless he wanted to find out first hand. "Out of character?" repeated Zack, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. Was not being demanding just some sort of facade? Zack shook his head. Surely she wouldn't out herself like that if she was acting fake. Not unless she was crazy or thought he was stupid. He was just letting his paranoia get to him again. She gave him a creepy smile when his stomach growled again, making him retreat back a little as his paranoia reared its ugly head again. Why was she smiling like that? It almost reminded him of Tracey when she was starting to lose it. Again, he hoped she didn't have the same issues as her. Tracey was a good person at heart and typically avoided killing as a result, but he knew next to nothing about Arsinia. If she was anything like Tracey, there was no telling how she handled it. Or if she did at all. He kept wondering if she had a hidden basement or room in the shop where she kept the mutilated remains of her victims. Before he could tell her not to worry about it, she walked passed him and through the door leading to the front of the shop. He kept his eyes trained on the door, listening hard for any strange noises. The few minutes she was gone felt like a long time to him. He kept telling himself that she was probably just going to get some food from somewhere out front, but his mind kept making up it's own, twisted assumptions. He half expected her to come back through that door with a knife while telling him he'd be eating his own liver, but felt like a yellow-bellied moron when he saw her come back with two metal thermoses instead. She tossed one towards him and it hit him in the chest before he caught it to stop it from falling. Zack looked up to see a stool sliding in his direction. Figuring she probably just didn't want him sitting on her crate since they likely weren't free, got up and sat on the stool. He watched her go back over to her workbench and get to work, wondering when she was going to tell him what was inside the thermos. "Riiiight." said Zack as he uncapped the thermos and looked inside. He expected to be assaulted with the stench of something similar to rotting plants, but instead took a whiff of something akin to bubblegum and cantaloupes. It didn't look too bad either, being an alluring shade of pink and orange. Although she said she was ninety-seven percent sure there was nothing magical within it, he still thought it better to play it safe. He pressed a few buttons on the screen of his watch and shined the ensuing blue light that came from it into the thermos. He held it there for a few seconds until the blue light turned green, signifying that there weren't any poisonous or magical substances within. Even if she'd said she was one-hundred percent certain there was nothing harmful in it, he still would've scanned it. This wasn't the first time a stranger had offered to feed him, and had he not done a scan during those other times, they would have been his last meal. Contracted Underground assassins could be found in every major city, and Zack was what you could call a hot target due to the number of criminals that would pay and an arm and a leg to have his head. Trusting Arsinia right off the back wouldn't have been smart, especially since he essentially knew nothing about her or her life. "So." he said after taking a few sips of the smoothie. It was just as good as it smelled. "You seem to know the basic gist of my life, but I know next to nothing about you other than that you're a blacksmith with bad luck. I'm curious to know how you managed to get a business up and running in a place like Blairville." Zack took a look around the room and took note of the many tools and materials she had strewn about the place. All sorts of metals were here, some of them he didn't even recognize. "I mean, I know it couldn't have been cheap." he continued. "Or even safe for that matter. How'd you even get up the cash to get this building? And the materials...do you buy them from someone else or do you actually go out spelunking? I hear the most valued metals are often guarded by freaks of nature or demented cults. Also," he said, a thought suddenly occurring to him. "Are you gonna make me pay for this smoothie? Was it expensive?"
  8. zackrobbman

    The Maid

    Red chastised himself for ever having any doubts about Elizabeth's marksmanship. He had nothing to worry about as he went for the other gun, the crack of the repeater Elizabeth was holding heralding screams of pain far off in the enemies direction. Once he reached the repeater in the snow, he quickly ran for cover behind another tree, the feeling of the gun in his hands giving him a sense of warmth in the blizzard. A familiar warmth he hadn't felt in years. The warmth he felt when he was in deputy all those years ago, when he was wondering if he was going to survive a gunfight and managed to find something that gave him a fighting chance. The repeater felt like an extension of his body as he cocked the action forward and checked the feed ramp to make sure it was loaded. Seeing that it was, he cocked it back and exhaled to calm his nerves. He noticed that the gunfire had slowed down again, Richard's men likely taking cover themselves now that Elizabeth was putting them down one by one. At times like this when the enemy was suppressed, it was wise to seek out a better vantage point. when he looked over to his right, he saw that Elizabeth hadn't forgotten this lesson. She ascending a tree, her skirt not hampering her movements because of the the slit she'd tore in it. He couldn't help but smile and take in the moment. He was proud of her. He had no children and didn't plan on having any in his old age, but if he did, he wanted them to be just like Elizabeth. Maybe, if she and Silas made it through this, he'd be able to giver her his badge to carry on the mantle of justice once he was gone. A bullet splintering the bark of the tree Elizabeth was climbing made him come back to the present. She'd covered him. Now it was time for him to cover her as she climbed the tree. Taking in a deep breath to steady his hands, he whipped around the tree he was behind and took aim at the men in the distance. One of them was out of cover, aiming his repeater at Elizabeth, but not for long. It almost seemed too easy for Red when he put a bullet square through his forehead and watched the man fall limp, cocking the lever on his rifle for the next shot. It had been a while since he'd held a repeater, but he hadn't missed a step. Another man peeked his head from behind a tree in an attempt to get the faintest glimpse of where the shot had come from, but Red had anticipated this. Waited for it even. With another pull of the trigger, he beaded the man through the eye socket. "Young'uns." mumbled Red as he quickly cocked the action once more and ran to get behind a different tree. He could tell by the weight of the repeater that he had six shots left. He was certain that wasn't close to half the number of attackers stacked against them. The feeling of warmth within him began to dwindle as he realized how doomed they'd be once they ran out of ammo. Even if he managed to get a kill with each of the shots in his six-shooter after the repeater was dry, he doubted he'd have enough ammo. There were just too many. It dawned on him that this was strange. These men were ready and willing to kill them, as if they'd been waiting for Richard to come get them. Richard. Red's eyes combed the snowy embankments and trees as he aimed his rifle towards the enemie's position. Elizabeth was atop the tree now, raining lead down on their position and killing a few more men . The blizzard made it difficult to make out details of their assailants, so he wasn't sure if Richard was even among them. He figured a man like him would be as far away from the fighting as possible, itching to send more men into the fray like meat shields. Red resolved that he wasn't going to let him get away this time. As a deputy, it was his sworn duty to put men like him in the ground. It was well timed when Elizabeth decided to lead their attackers to Silas. He was on his last bullet and Richard's men were getting brave. It seemed like for every man he or Elizabeth killed, two more would pop up from different places. They were also starting to fire at them as a unit rather than just letting one man peek out to shoot and get shot. Red knew that it didn't matter how skilled a gunman you were or how many bullets you had. If the enemy started to hit you as a unit and you stayed put, your time on the earth was limited and it was time to move. Although he had a bad feeling about running into Silas again, it was their only real chance. It would take a lot of luck to come out on top of this gunfight with their limited ammunition and the growing numbers of their attackers, and Red figured his luck had run dry years ago. Richard knew Red was good, but he couldn't recall any legends or rumors depicting his ability to duplicate himself and shoot from two places at once. He didn't once poke his head out from behind his tree as he saw the men to his left and right fall dead with a trail of blood seeping from a hole their heads like a water fountain. Blood specks and splotches dotted the snow in increasing amounts as the guns he'd found began to fall back. Although their numbers were still good, none of them wanted to be the next minus one. "There's one in the trees!" shouted one of the men as he ran passed Richard in an attempt to find further cover. He never made it though. Richard winced when a round blew through the man's head like butter, specks of blood splattering against his face as the man slumped forward and tumbled across the snowy ground. He grimaced in irritation as he grabbed the handkerchief from his shirt pocket and daintily wiped the blood away. Once his face was clean, he folded the blood-specked handkerchief into a neat triangle and placed it back in its pocket. He regarded the dead man before him with disgust and anger, as if being repulsed by the stench of a dead animal. He looked up to observe the other men that were with him. The ones that weren't trying to run for better cover were attempting to shoot back, but they seldom lived much longer after that. It was hard to see due to the raging blizzard, but each shot they fired in Red's direction seemed to give them away, warranting a bullet through the skull shortly afterwards. "Pathetic." sneered Richard, shaking his head as he watched his hired guns die one after another. His disapproving disposition barely lightened even when he saw another group of armed men approaching on horseback, pulling a wagon in tow. While the men with him who were still alive started yelling in triumph when they spotted their reinforcements, Richard merely kept his gaze glued to the wagon. The men that accompanied it were no more than meat-shields to him. To him, their purpose was to deplete the ammo of the enemy by any means necessary. Once Red and the girl were dry, he figured it'd be easy to surround them and kill them. He'd bring their heads to deputies all over and expose them as the mass murderers of legend, slaughtering whole towns of people in the past. He'd take special care to describe Red as the worst outlaw he'd ever known, being the one that organized such brutal murders after resigning as a deputy. He'd plant fake evidence, fabricate stories, spread rumors, the whole nine yards. James Redding was a dangerous man, so no one would question his ability to slaughter entire towns, enslaving and brainwashing young girls to help him with this. He'd tell everyone that Silas Grimhardt was a phony business man that worked with him to keep him concealed from the prying eye. Richard envisioned the headlines in the paper, pegging him as the hero that killed James Redding and stopped his mass killings. He felt it'd be only fitting for such a good man to go down in history as the exact opposite, and the thought made him smile. He hated men like Red, always trying to be heroes in a world where the only law was to eat, or be eaten. Men like Red always made people like Richard seem like the worst kind of person, inciting the world against him. He'd show the world the consequences men like Red would face for trying to be better than everybody else. Then, if she survived, he'd have his way with that girl he was with until her body was a broken mess. Like all the other women he'd taken. "THEY'RE RUNNING AWAY!" shouted one of the men. The hired guns wasted no time in giving pursuit, intensifying their gunfire as they yelled jeers ahead of them. Richard smiled as he realized Red and the girl were probably running low on ammo now. All he had to do now as wait. This is what he would've thought had he not seen what had killed his previous troop of guns at the estate. He wasn't sure what it had been, but he did know one thing. It hadn't killed Red or Elizabeth. "Running away huh?" he said as he walked from behind the tree to watch his men pursue Red and Elizabeth, calmly placing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "That's not like you, Red. Not unless you got a plan." He didn't bother to follow his men as they gave chase, merely walking over to the wagon they had left behind and peeking under leather cover that protected its contents from the elements. His mouth crept up into a sly smile. "I got somethin' fer' ya' little pet." Splintered wood and and bark covered the snowy ground around Silas, the trees they'd belonged to lying in pieces in every direction. It looked like a hurricane bombarded the wooded area, snapping trees in half and hurling them at one another. But the winds weren't nearly that strong. The cause of all the damage was the same as the cause of Silas's current injuries. His body was covered in bruises and cuts, his shirt and pants being ripped to shreds from all his angry, desperate thrashing. His shoes were gone, his feet just as cut up and bloody as his hands. The wind from the blizzard billowed what was left of his shredded clothing as the snow battered his kneeling, hunched frame. He sat his knees, breathing slow and deep with his hands splayed out at his sides. The skin on his fingers and knuckles seemed to have been gashed off, as if dragged across something much tougher until nothing but muscle and bone was left. The fist shaped indentations in the trees served as a testament to this. YOU WILL DIE IF YOU DO NOT STOP THIS! Silas, now out of breath and feeling much weaker than usual, shakily nodded his head. "Maybe..." he began, still hunched over and looking towards the ground. "Maybe...I...want...to die." YOU SPEAK FOOLISHNESS. FEED...OR WE BOTH PERISH! "I don't...deserve to live." said Silas, his eyes watering up. "YOU...don't deserve to live. If dying is the only way to destroy you...then...fine. I'm more than happy with it." The voice said nothing back this time. For the first time in years...his mind was completely silent. With this silence came an overbearing sense of loss. A loss that he'd accepted. Sometimes...losing is the only way to gain anything. The sound of gunshots finally reached his ears as the fog in his mind began to clear. He perked his bloody head up, his breath catching in his throat as he began to sniff the air. It was faint, but the blizzard wind was blowing two, very familiar scents in his direction. "E...Elizabeth?" he muttered, her scent accompanying another. "...Red?" It hurt a great deal to so so, but he forced himself off the ground and stood up. His legs were a little shaky at first, but he was able to stand firm after gritting his teeth and trying to steady his breathing. He felt like death, but he knew that now was not the the time to keel over. Alongside the scent of Elizabeth and Red were the scents of many other men he was unfamiliar with. That and the gunshots that echoed cracked through the roar of the blizzard made his heart pick up the pace. They were in danger, and he hadn't been there to protect them. "R-red!" he called out, taking a shaky step forwards. He winced and gritted his teeth, every bone in his body feeling broken or fractured. He stopped and thought about what he was doing. Sure, they were in danger, but would they be any safer once he was with them? Or would he only make things worse? He already had. It was because of him that Red had to quit being a deputy. It was because of him that Elizabeth...had no family. Elizabeth. That name alone made him want to turn and run the other direction. Now, she knew who he was. What he was. Surely she wouldn't want to see him ever again. He tried to think up a reason why she still might want to be around him, but each thought only ended in him thinking up reasons she'd hate him. He envisioned her screaming at him and telling him that she wished he was dead. That he really was a monster and that she was a fool for ever having feelings for him. The more he thought about it, the more he agreed. He didn't feel worthy to even see her face again. He didn't feel worthy enough to stare into her eyes and feel the fire, the strength it bred within him. When all was falling apart and the future was looking grim, Elizabeth never stopped working hard to make things better. Even when there was no point or when he failed to do the right thing, she stayed strong and dealt with the problems that came her way like some kind of hero. She was fearless. Unbreakable. Caring. Selfless. He hated that she would settle for him. He was a drain on her life, and he betted that her tenacity and resolve could have changed the world had he not did what he did. He started to turn around and attempt to run away when he heard Red's voice. The blizzard was loud and Red was far away, but Silas could hear him. "There!" said Red as he and Elizabeth approached. "I-I think I see him! Stay close now! Don't know if he's in his right mind!" Silas turned to see Red approaching in the distance. To his horror, he saw Elizabeth with him. Right then he wanted to turn and run away from them, never to be seen again, but something stopped him. Elizabeth never ran away from her problems. She always faced them head on, even chasing them down. She did not live her life in fear of the suffering that accompanied doing the right thing. He sighed. "R-RED!" he called out into the blizzard, raising a hand in hopes of communicating his lack of bloodlust. In doing so, the pain he felt in his shoulder made him acutely aware that his wounds were not healing. But that was okay. He'd accepted that.
  9. I see you lookin' at the Reverie thread! Feel 100% free to join the holiday thread if you'r interested in doing so 😄

  10. zackrobbman

    [ASK] Cruel, Cruel World

    Clive was a little surprised to hear another woman speak beside him, and even more surprised to hear her indirect rebuke. Her sharp gaze cemented that she indeed wanted him to know her distaste for him. He wanted to say something snarky in rebuttal, but figured she had good reason to suspect that he was pestering this woman at the table. He didn't exactly look like a reputable sort, toting a gun and wearing casual clothing that practically screamed how much he didn't care about the way he looked. He'd forgotten the specks of blood that stained the collar of his shirt, some of them smeared from when he used it to wipe off his face. His pants had some caked mud at the bottom from when he'd been treading through a dense forest in the rain. Then, of course, there was his black eye. And the fact that he was at a bar where unscrupulous sorts usually turned up. Yes, he figured the lady had good reason to assume he had ill intentions. He was about to kindly deny her assumption when the woman seated before them spoke up. She seemed to forget how to speak at first, Clive beginning to worry that something was generally wrong with her. He was glad he'd matured passed the years when he couldn't have cared less about this woman's predicament. Back then he would've just been concerned with conning or robbing the woman of her most valued possessions, but now he felt he was a much better man. Napping? In a bar? Without drinking? Clive resisted the urge to raise a suspicious eyebrow as he scratched his chin and struck a poker face. He examined the woman closely and took note of how nervous she appeared to be. As a man that made it a point to be good at spotting a liar, he could tell she wasn't telling all the truth. This only made him want to question her more, but he knew that doing so right off the back would seem far too forward and a tad inconsiderate. Eventually forming a smile, he decided to humor her. After all, a lie could only grow so tall before it started to wobble. "Sure." he said with a small chuckle. "No problem at all miss. I personally know what it's like to wake up in a bar tryin' ta' remember how I got there. Just makin' sure nothing bad happened to ya' or anythin' is all." Clive paused as he carefully thought up a string of questions. "Had a little too much to drink last night?" he asked, hoping his question wouldn't put either woman off and end the conversation.
  11. I'm still laughing though! 🤣 I mean...HOW did he shoot himself SQUARE in the foot?!
  12. zackrobbman

    InFAMOUS RP - The choice is yours

    A post is a post mate! I'm thankful you're still with us!
  13. zackrobbman

    [ASK] Cruel, Cruel World

    You know what most bounty hunters would say is the hardest part of their profession? You'd think it'd be staying alive, but this isn't actually true since people in this particular line of work that don't get killed within the first two days are usually adept at protecting themselves and combating all manner of freaks and degenerate murderers. No, the hardest part about being a bounty hunter was finding the bounty. It wasn't like in books, movies, or video-games where the hunter just gradually gravitates towards the target via random but convenient events. Hunters would have to conduct a full investigation to figure out the last known whereabouts of their target, and more oft than not they wouldn't even be there. Most wanted men don't want to be found, so they wind up in the craziest of places and situations in their desperate attempt to elude death or capture. Sometimes they even leave false leads to throw people off, making some of the more green hunters run around in circles or get caught up in some elaborate trap they'd paid goons to set for money-hungry pursuers or over-righteous purple hearts with a chip on their shoulder. Although Clive Mcteague was an experienced bounty-hunter that knew the ropes when it came to finding his mark, he was easily distracted. "Nother' one please!" Clive called out across the counter, beckoning the bartender to serve him another drink. The bartender took a look at him and paused. Despite the six empty bottles of liquor sitting in front of him on the shiny, grey, wood counter, Clive looked fine. Even bored. The two men he sat between were half-way through their second bottle and were already beginning to sway from side to side. It wasn't because they were light-weights either. The beverage they'd been served was way up the establishments list in terms of alcohol percentage. Four bottles could knock a man clean out. Six could kill one. But here this guy was, barely buzzed and asking for more. "Are you human sir?" asked the bartender. "I reckon I am, yeah." nodded Clive. "Are you sure?" pushed the bartender, squinting his eyes to show his disbelief. "Pretty sure." answered Clive with a shrug. "Why? You got sum' kinda 'Humans Only' policy?" "Nope." sighed the bartender as he shook his head and grabbed another bottle of the beverage Clive asked for. "Just curious." "Hm." grunted Clive as the bartender handed him his drink. In his experience, no one was ever just curious. Every word that came out of a person's mouth had a point to drive home, even if the point was to have no point. Anyone that told you anything else was lying and probably gunning for you. He tried not to think too hard about it though. This was his first time getting a drink here and he had no doubt that folks would be weary of him. Especially with the magi-tech peace-maker holstered at his side that he made no attempts to conceal with clothing. Had he been the bartender, he would've been "just curious" too. He'd been searching for an outlaw when he'd come across the bar, and figured he needed wet his whistle to keep his mind sharp. He'd need it to be, since the person he was gunning for was shrouded in mystery. When he inquired about the bounty at Predators Keep where he received the job, no one seemed to know what the criminals name was or what he/she looked like. The closest he could get to anything resembling a description were the many stories he'd heard. Some said the criminal laid waste to countless settlements, killing and stealing with the aid of dark magic. Others said the criminal wasn't a criminal and was being set up by various underground factions governed by real heartless criminals. They'd say that he/she was actually a hero, single-handedly saving entire towns from all manner of danger. Still others would insist that he/she was an all powerful being that adhered to an ancient prophecy. These stories bred many aliases. The Dark One. The Reaper. The Leader of the Resistance. The Savior. The Gold Rider. Clive wasn't sure what to believe and figured he couldn't trust any of the testimonies he'd heard. They all contradicted one another, making the mystery even bigger and creating even more questions. When he asked the man that had given him the job why he wanted this outlaw hunted down, he declined to answer. Even told Clive to watch his mouth less he wanted to turn up missing one day. He decided his best bet was to comb the surrounding settlements and continue questioning the citizens for a story that was at the very least, consistent. Unfortunately, it proved to be a fruitless endeavor. The people that did know about the outlaw he was hunting refused to say anything about it, started some stupid tale, or were straight up hostile. By the time six days had passed, all he had to show for his efforts was a black eye and a body-count that got the attention of the authorities. He was growing very tired of this one, ready to give up at numerous points until he came upon The Grey Flood. He figured a good drink could keep his spirits high enough to steel his resolve, but even their strongest stuff was barely having an effect on him. He didn't know why he expected anything more, given the fact that the place looked rather uppity. While most bars were rambunctious, seldom maintained, and prone to violent outbreaks that resulted in some poor sap getting his brains blown out, this one was serene and orderly. The beverages they served here reflected the look, not being strong enough to incite a man to singing or violence. On top of that, the drinks weren't cheap. Realizing he'd likely go broke before he was even half drunk, he elected to stand and make a short visit to the bathroom. While he was on his way there, he took note of a woman sitting at a table by herself. Unlike the other folks seated within the quaint saloon, she didn't have a drink sitting in front of her. Her table was bare save for the pile of napkins placed upon it by the staff. In fact, she looked confused, like she didn't even know where she was. She looked completely out of place. That's what drew his attention. Deciding to trust his gut feeling, he walked over to the woman's table with the intent to question her. It was a stretch, but he figured it couldn't hurt to ask her about the outlaw he was looking for. Worst came to worst, she'd just try to kill him like a few of the other folks he'd talked to. But first thing was first. "You alright, ma'am?" he asked with a tip of his hat as he walked over to the opposite side of the table. "I don' mean ta' be forward, but'cha lookin' a little lost." In addition to looking lost, she looked tense too. Like she was at the beginning stages of a panic attack. Something was definitely off, and he was beginning to wonder if he should leave her alone and question somebody else.