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H&V Episode 1: A City Abandoned

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The sound of loud conversation was just audible to his enhanced senses, and he turned to look the way he had come to see if anyone was there. Initially coming up empty, he then switched to thermal optics, and saw three figures clear as day, standing on an adjacent rooftop. While thermal wasn't the best for picking out details, he could tell that one of them was wearing a lab coat, identifying her as a doctor. The other two appeared to be a man and a woman, though that was pretty much all he could make out. Still, they weren't holding rifles, and were obviously trying to save the doctor. It was enough to make a reasonable guess that they were Masks.

"ODIN, do I have to be present for the data download?"

Now that the server has been connected to the network, I can download the data remotely. Your presence is not required.

A small smile graced his hidden features, "Good. I'm in the mood for a little fun. Whats the quickest route to those three?"

Go out the window.

Apex burst through a window and landed on an nearby roof before breaking out into a sprint to land on the next building. Eventually he overtook them, and jumped to land in a crouch in front of them. As he rose, his fingers sharpened into claws.

"Prove your worth."

@vielle @Wade

Edited by danzilla3

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He knew it was coming. Sooner or later he'd have to fall, but he didn't think it was going to be like this. 

He knew a grenade was coming, he heard the thunk when it rolled against the floor. 

But he didn't expect her to show up.

He knew the lady, she came up to him to ask for an autograph on the street a few days ago. He usually forgets fans but she, he couldn't forget. Perhaps it was the odd way she asked, perhaps it was the glaring large knife she brought. Either way, he didn't expect her to be here, let alone try and save him. When she pulled out her gun and aimed for the grenade, his heart skipped a beat.

"NO!!!!" He shouted, but it was too late. The shot was made, and she was going to take the hit. No, he couldn't let that happen. He hugged her from behind, lifted her, and turned her before the grenade would explode. Shrapnel dug into his chiseled back, the force knocking the air out of his lungs. It wasn't the force that hurt him, he's been hit harder by Orcs and Elves in matches, using their natural physical advantage against humans, the shrapnel hurt more. It dug into his flesh, not tearing it open but embedding the metal debris into his entire backside. Blood poured, soaking the black shirt he was wearing with a constant flow of liquid.

He didn't fall, not yet. He couldn't afford too, over a hundred trained professionals of medicine needed his protection. He bore through the searing pain, trying to hide it behind a smile. He opened his eyes as wide as he can and stood triumphantly, seemingly trying to fake an impression of not being hurt, despite the clear blood-soaked shirt he was wearing.

"Sorry about that, are you hurt?" He asked, always the gentleman, worrying about others before himself.


@SteamWarden

 

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Before her bullet even hit the grenade, Chloe heard Steve shout loudly and felt as he pulled her around and took the blast. A few shrapnel dug into her legs, causing blood to pour from her legs. 

24 minutes ago, Sanonymous said:

"Sorry about that, are you hurt?"

Chloe looked at Steve and pushed him aside slightly. She looked at him, with blood pouring from her legs onto the white tile floor. "Go to the doctors. Now!" She stared at him at with a look of rage. The rage wasn't towards him but rather towards the people who threw the grenade. "You protect those doctors. Have them patch you up. And stay there. You're a fighter of the ring. I'm a fighter of the streets. You got a sister in Palgard who needs you more than anyone would ever need me. You get patched up for her." She hoped the mention of his sister would convince him to leave as the thugs started getting closer. There really wasn't a choice in the matter of what she could do. Steve could be put out of commission and she could use guns way better than he could. 

As she stood her ground at the hallway, not looking back to see if Steve left or not, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. It was someone she never seen before. Some new person. She picked him up off the ground and stood in front of him. "You either leave or fight this with me. Your choice."

She aimed her pistols at the end of the hallway and stared. The second she saw the thugs start running to shoot them up, she concentrated and aimed. Silent shots went off and they all hit their marks head, killing the thug instantly. She wasn't sure how many would be coming but she had enough bullets to one tap at least 200 people. The real problem is... could she pull it off. 

As the thugs kept firing, bullets whizzing past her, some even piercing her flesh, she hit each and every one she was aiming for. Whether or not the guy she helped up was killing any from the sides she wasn't entirely sure. But she knew this was going to be hard.

@Sanonymous @Unicorgi

Edited by SteamWarden

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emily by Koyorinthe beast of palgard


Really, this is how it’s going to end, this night? Some random wannabe Mask in a silly pirate costume cutting her off from her job because, heroics? The Beast fights the urge to roll her eyes, under the harsh glint of her goggles, and when the man named Blueblood finishes his long-winded spiel, she takes a moment to make sure her handhold on the doctor is secure before she speaks.

"Sorry, Fancypants, I work alone." She pauses, looks him up top to bottom in a slow, calculating once over. "I like your pants, though. Now, step aside."

Before she can even try to move, Blueblood makes his reply. “Aw, thanks.” She watches him rub the fabric of his pants between his fingers like some sick whattafuckever. “They’re actually 70 percent, uh, something witty I haven’t figured out yet.” She turns her eyes to the ceiling in a gods-take-me-now sort of way. Unfortunately, the man continues. “Many hands make light work. And doctor, you don’t look like light work.”

At the mention of her title again, Maria Trevalyn tries to look over her shoulder, but the tight grasp on her waist refuses to budge. The Beast is silent for a while, as if scrounging up some strength from the deep well of patience somewhere behind her breastbone, then sighs loudly in an act of defeat. "Great. Also, I'm leaving now? Bye."

She finally pivots to leave when Apex materializes from out of fucking nowhere, and Maria shrieks in fright as he lands in front of them like some pug kicked out of heaven.

"Prove your worth."

The Beast looks to Blueblood, then to Apex, then to Blueblood. She completely deadpans, “What did you say you could do again?”

“Oh, I’m very good at running.”

They turn their gaze to Apex, then back to each other, tension simmering in the distance between them.

She could punch herself right now. What has she done to deserve this?

Fuck it.

As a unit, the two Masks begin to sprint away from the intruding individual, footsteps echoing across the stone as they move towards the building beyond, the Beast’s fingers already curled around the grip of her grappling hook.  

 


@Wade @danzilla3

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Music

Spoiler

Sound Presence: OOC

 

 

 

The Policeman

 

“Get...get rein...get reinforcements down here…”

 

It wasn’t interference. The radio had come through clear on both ends. The voice on one of them, however, was gripped by fear and held by hesitation. Who could blame him? Officer Simon Anders had just witnessed the aftermath of a slaughter, that of his fellow soldiers in this battle. He stood at the end of a corridor, a light blinking above his head, telling him to fight or flee or stay still and shut up. He did not know. All he knew was that, at the other end of the hallway, there was no light; just a black figure illuminated by the bulbs beside him, as though the pale light wouldn’t dare creep closer. The figure, the man, the woman, the thing, whatever it was it stood still. And silent.

 

“Did anyone copy request!? Reinforcements! Send them to second barricade! Now!

 

The cop spoke low, a whisper fighting to scream. He didn’t dare raise his voice or turn the radio's volume up. The shadow that had seized his gaze had its head turned away, and while the policeman himself was pressed against the wall to peer around with a pistol’s muzzle as a third eye, there was little comfort to be had here. Little reassurance. Just a litter of bodies down the hall, some of them with faces he probably knew, rookie that he was.

 

“Copy request. Cannot fulfill. Hospital is overrun. Repeat. Hospital is overrun. Enemy has breached multiple points. We're running thin on manpower.”

 

Anders squeezed the radio and wished it were a throat. Shit. Shit shit shit. It was all he could think. Then all he thought was hate and rage. The bastard at the end of that hallway was responsible. Anders hadn’t seen it all, having only just arrived at the scene after the horror had played out, but he was sure of it. You did this. You son of a bitch. He stepped forward. His muzzle led the way. His finger was on the trigger. I’ve got you.

 

“FREEZE MOTHER FUCKER!”

 

The head turned. A quick jerk that had sealed the deal. Anders’ hands had already been shaking. His finger was already twitching. It had only taken one motion. One head. One turn. And the finger squeezed the trigger. As soon as the bullet exploded from the barrel, a red hand shot up from the shadow’s side and Anders could hardly believe his eyes. He stopped dead in his tracks. Were it not for a blinking bulb that had caused it to glint and glimmer, he wouldn’t have seen the bullet at the end of the corridor. It was just hanging there, floating upon nothing, and now his heart was beating as quickly as his finger had squeezed that trigger.

 

Silence ensued, a dark harbinger of death, sinister and spiteful as it froze the officer in place. As he waited for that bullet to turn back around and fly toward him, it fell. There was a delicate ping as the projectile hit the floor and bounced around. Anders couldn’t move. But his target did. In an instant, the black figure shot upward, soaring through the same hole that had spawned his shadow, and disappeared. Yet, his ascension had not been silent. The sound of crashing concrete echoed his vanishing.

 

Anders ran forward after him, his boots slowing down the closer he got until he was a sweating, panting mess. Not from the handful of feet that he had covered, but from the terror and the relief that had seized his entire body in a convulsion of confusion. He crouched beneath the blinking bulb, its cousins spitting out sparks as though to laugh at him. When he rose, a bullet rose with him, warm between his fingers. He took a few more steps, barely registering the bloodied corpses of cops and gangsters alike. Then he looked up. There, in the ceiling, was a gaping crater. Beyond it were many craters more, up and up and up, holes where hospital floors should have been.

 

“My gods…” Anders spoke to no one and everyone, a bed of corpses at his feet, none of his own making, but surely of the shadow’s conjuring. “Where the hell did it go…”

 


The Shadow That Falls

jRvKMF7.jpg?1Eleven levels. From the ground up. There were other levels to Palgard General Hospital that Kolvern knew of, and not all of them were limited to an elevator’s panel when it came to basements. Hidden floors, however, were not currently his concern. It was the storeys that he made with his own two hands that mattered right now. The stories I make with my own two hands. Concrete, brick, steel, iron—they were all just wallpaper to Red Hands. His fists plowed through ceilings to come out of floors and repeat the one-way punch all the way to the the ninth level. Up to eleven on the scale of obliteration. A shower of rubble paraded his entrance until he shifted his flight and landed beside his latest crater. It was a ward.

 

Beds flanked the breach, upturned though many of them now were, littered with loose piping and fragments of the floor that they rested on. Screams of pain and shouts of fear pulsated the room, the rubble-rusted sick, injured and dying feebly forcing themselves backward the moment that they had seen the black shape emerge from the broken opening. They wouldn’t get far. Neither would the two sentries still left standing. The cops had spun around to open fire with abandon. Their bullets didn’t get far either. Red hands were held up and sent the tiny things warping back in an instant, pummeling both bodies bloody till they crumbled into heaps of nothing.

 

The shadow turned to the frail slabs of bed-bound meat that huddled against the walls. They were too weak to escape. A handful of infirm inpatients that couldn’t get out of bed due to sustained injuries inflicted by a disease just like them. There was a cure for that. Kolvern paced toward one of them, calm and composed, paying little mind to his words that were echoed by others as they pleaded for him to leave them alone.

 

“Leave us alone! What...what do you want!? Damn it! Why are you here!?”

 

A leisurely stroll toward the hospital bed as though all of this was just one giant golf tournament. Amid a black slit where eyes should have been, Red Hands beheld the poison, laying there in a panting mess, heaving and pleading, with a bloody bandage on one side of the little man’s neck and the tattoo of a serpent on the other side.

 

“I am here to hunt the weak.”

 

It felt good to say. Felt great to admit. Liberating. Lovely. Like a golf swing beneath a warm sun.

 

“The fuck!?”

 

Anger. Yes. Let your fear turn into anger. Hate and rage. Show me.

 

“You know who you’re messing with, asshole!? I’m...we’re...we’re the Silver Serpents, buddy! Know what that means!? Know who you’re fucking with!?”

 

Kolvern chortled, slow and methodically, hearing his own voice inside his head as much as he heard the masked voice coming out of his mask; low pitch, guttural and mechanical, spatially distorted.

 

“Serpents. Spiders. You’re all the same to me. You’re more parasites than the ones that have found homes in the necks of this city. The Plague of Palgard, the media’s calling it. Curious.” He leaned forward, his head just inches above the bed. “I was calling your kind the plague of Palgard long before the televisions were.”

 

Out of nowhere, the Serpent snatched his bed rail and swung it for Kolvern’s head. His hand stabbed forward, catching the metal and squeezing the bar. It caved in a second like a boot upon an empty soda can. The display had gotten the gangster’s attention.

 

“Who...who are you..!?”

 

The fool couldn’t see it but he had made his hunter smile.

 

“Your death.”

 

With that, Kolvern’s free hand shot forward, his fist pounding the serpent’s skull against the wall and shattering bone from flesh like a sledgehammer through a watermelon. A flood of blood showered against the wallpaper, pieces of a dead man’s skull spewing out to land upon his associates. They screamed. They knew what was coming. Justice is coming. Kolvern stepped away from the bloodied bed. Vengeance is coming. A footfall as leisurely as a golfer toward the next hole. Your death is coming. Red Hands came down, they swung and they punched, wall to wall and corner to corner. When all was done, the white ward had been painted red, and the artist had left the room to enter the next as he continued his journey into night.

Edited by Die Shize

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