Role-Play Cyberpunk

Discussion in 'Archives' started by Doc, May 8, 2011.

  1. Doc

    Doc Grouch Staff Member

    Feb 3, 2008

    With hurried strides they made their way across the ebon-tiled floor, their silhouettes shrouded beneath the veil of shadow as they continued silently through the blackened hall. They moved alongside the smooth walls which ran opposite the barrier of windows to their right, the ambient and luminous glow of the city casting weak glares across the colossal panes as the three intruders veered sharply left upon turning the next corner.

    "Time," Murmured the tallest of the contingent, his pupils glowing a blazing bronze. He stood the most consumed within the surrounding darkness, his black attire and flesh aiding in his concealment.

    "Ten til those drones are back online," Grunted the figure in the front, his wild mane tumbling sideways as he turned his head to glance at the miniature computer console attached to his wrist; his fingers dancing upon the modified keyboard and conjuring up a steadily filling load bar, "Fuck; I lied, eight, and three til they've got eyes on us. Download'll need five."

    The first frowned, peering ahead as they rounded another corner.

    "Priest," He spoke to their third, the stockiest of their unit with a complexion reminiscent of his superior's, "We may need to buy him a few minutes."

    The rounded thug nodded, shrugging the mini-gun slung across his back and cocking his shotgun.

    "Echo," The hacker suddenly sounded from the front, stopping and nearly causing a pile-up, "Get a load of this shit."

    The burning-eyed silhouette squinted against the bright light that ebbed from the shaft before them; the colossal mainframe that sat before them bleeding intense waves of luminous blue and green. He stepped forward as the other gawked, regarding the technological marvel as though it were little more than a thumb-drive.

    "Do your thing," Echo instructed, nodding to the technician.

    "Right, watch my back," Answered the hacker, rushing forward and kneeling down behind the rear side of the mainframe. He jammed several keys upon his wrist-utility, smirking as two cables were suddenly ejected from the side of the device and into his awaiting palm. His forehead creased in concentration as he connected the wires to their corresponding ports, mumbling incoherently to himself as a vast array of symbols began to dance across his screen.

    "Look alive," Priest offered coolly, shrugging towards the right side of the room. Like the others, it too was made of glass; allowing for total transparency to the vibrant cityscape that surrounded them. Echo stilled as an ominous red glow ascended beside the building, a compact and sleek vehicle born of a hover-cycle and a propulsion-powered helicopter. Upon its back sat a rider clad in dark and form-fitting attire, the mask which concealed its face obscuring whether or not it was human.

    The silent watcher hovered upon the air, eyeing the skyscraper up and down as it continued to rise upon the sea of meshing color toward the black expanse above. It craned its head slightly to the side as if in scrutiny before inching upward to resume its climb.

    It was only when the lights within the building suddenly flashed to life that it glanced back downward, a malevolent red glint erupting from the center of its dark visage.

    "Sentinel!" Shrieked the hacker, all but jumping from his own skin as he whipped about frantically. Echo frowned, throwing his right arm out and bending it back at the elbow. His forearm twisted to the left, his wrist disconnecting in the center to swallow his hand as his digits retreated into the limb. Their place was taken by a thin and slender turret; comprised of two barrels which sat connected to a series of thermal clips.

    "Keep goin'," He responded, cracking his neck as a short beam of orange light erupted from the backside of his left wrist. His hand rolled forward to avoid the searing heat, his fingers curling to form a tight fist beneath the glowing blade, "Priest."

    The sound of a screeching telephone line boomed from beneath their stalker's helm, its hiss ominous and low as it crackled and popped. It turned its crimson gaze upon Priest just as the mohawk-toting gunman holstered his shotgun and slung his mini-gun about; catching it firmly within the calloused grips of both hands and raining down hell upon their airborne watcher.

    It lept from its vehicle with incredible speed, flipping sideways through the air and throwing forth a foot to shatter the glass which held it outside. The figure landed in a hail of bullets and crashing shards as its cruiser exploded behind it; the searing flames of the blast licking at the hunter's heels as it surged forward in a shadowy blur.

    "Mother fucker," Priest growled, unloading his weapon upon their charging foe with no avail. He snarled when his attacker all but warped beneath him, knocking his colossal gun aside with a backhanded slap and flipping back to connect its heels with the underside of his jaw.

    His saving grace came with the resounding bang of Echo's hand-cannon, a vicious blast of thermal ammunition tearing between the muscle and the hunter. Sparks flew from the Sentinel's wounded shoulder in disarray as it turned about, another low hiss emanating from its mangled voice-box before it lunged for its prey and cut down at him with a glowing boton.

    Echo caught the weapon upon his wrist-blade, grunting as he parried back the blow and moved to strike his attacker's stomach with his gun-arm. His assault connected with naught; the Sentinel twisting about in mid-air to deliver a firm sideways kick to the side of his face.

    "Shit, shit, shit, SHIT," Panted the hacker as he continued to drum away against his keyboard, beads of sweat now steadily ebbing down the contours of his face, "Faster, faster, faster, faster... one-one-zero, zero-one-one-zero-one-one..."

    Priest bellowed as he ripped a shot from his side-arm; a torrent of high-impact shells careening through the air and overtop of their assailant's crouching form. The mechanized fighter rolled backward beneath the swarm, vaulting upward upon its hands before allowing its feet to again wreak havoc upon its quarry's face.

    "Time!" Echo seethed as he swung at the hunter, his eyes widening when his target ducked low and slammed a shoulder directly into his gut.

    "Forty-five seconds!" The hacker shouted back, the thick sheen which now adorned his face glistening in the glow of the humming mainframe. He did not look up until he again heard the chorus of shattering glass; his eyes widening in horror upon spotting the seven additional hunters who now stood beyond the rows of glass, "E-ECHO!"

    Echo roared as he was hurled to the ground, his assailant towering over him as Priest writhed in pain against the wall.

    "Tag: Echo," It croaked, cocking its head to the side as it surveyed its victim, crouching as it reached for the back of his head with a clawed hand, "Epsilon. Male. Six seven. Cybernetic augmentation detected. Status: TERMINATE - ON - SITE."

    "Fuck you!" Priest roared as he blasted the Sentinel from behind, blowing away a small portion of its midsection before it spun about and took him by the throat. He managed a short gasp before it rotated his head about in a full circle, callously tossing his body to the side the moment it turned limped. Echo cringed as he watched his teammate fall, scowling vehemently as he forced himself back onto his feet. He looked to the hacker frantically, scowling as he watched the newly-arrived hunters stalking toward the technician.

    Echo reeled back just as the Sentinel jabbed for his face with its stun-bar, staggering back a step before ducking right to avoid an inbound elbow. He slashed sideways with his blade-arm, growling as his opponent caught his wrist within an iron grip. A short cry escaped from his mouth as he twisted into the grab, allowing his arm to bend backwards as he brought his gun-hand to hover just beneath his assailant's jaw.

    "Echo!" Screeched the hacker as he continued in his struggle against the terminal, looking back over his shoulder in terror at the approaching band of black devils, cowering as his brother-in-arms blasted his foe's head clean of its shoulders. Echo charged as the Sentinel crashed to the ground, raising his turret to fire upon them only to scowl as sparks entangled his weaponized limb. He hesitated for only a moment before rushing to Priest's unmoving form, kicking his mini-gun up from off of the bloodstained floor and catching it deftly with a hand.

    "Down," Was all the warning he gave before slamming his finger down atop the trigger, raining hellfire on the Sentinels. The storm of bullets tore through the glass which held them at bay, shattering the walls apart as he roared overtop of the gunfire with an almost primal fury. The hacker threw himself against the cold panels beneath him, his hands flailing above his head in a wild frenzy as he screamed at the top of his lungs.

    The approaching hunters were not slowed, their bodies jerking this way and that as the maelstrom surged about them in a torrent of destruction. As one they drew forth their stun-bars, brandishing them in a sweeping overhead arc before charging the lone Epsilon and his wailing accomplice. He hefted Priest's mini-gun again, bringing the thunder down again.

    "Time!" He bellowed above the melody of his steaming weapon, the flesh upon his palm peeling back about the now-burning mini-gun. The technician wiped away a thick wad of snot and spittle from beneath his flared nostrils, looking to his wrist-console with wide-eyes.

    "Got it!" His voice cracked as he shouted, followed by another short shriek as a large section of glass flew over his head. Echo grinned, throwing his weapon to the ground and spreading his legs wide; his burning blade held pulsating with unbridled defiance before him.

    "Get the Hell outta here, Wyatt," He hissed, his tone wild and bloodthirsty as he squared his hips against the charging horde. The hacker made to protest but was silenced by another vicious roar, "Go!"

    With a frantic yelp he disconnecting his system from the mainframe, sprawling out upon the floor before managing to climb to his feet and sprint back the way that they had come. The lonely Epsilon snarled as one of the Sentinels made to give chase, shouting to it from across the decimated level.

    "I got what you want right here, tin-man," Echo challenged, beckoning for them to come at him with outstretched hands, "Fresh off the press. You're done."

    He barred his fangs in a menacing smirk as it veered back on course, surging toward him with unparalleled speed alongside the others. He laughed as the first strike came, parrying it aside with his wrist-blade before vaulting low and tearing upward with a burning slash. His opponents dodged with ease, one kicking his legs out from behind him as another bashed the rear end of its stun-bar across his jaw. He tumbled back, catching himself upon a hand and rolling back into a mobile crouch before ripping his weapon into the stomach of the nearest Sentinel. It lurched forward as if in agony before collapsing upon the ground, its murderer rising to his feet just as it made impact with the floor. He had just enough time to offer another furious roar before being struck down to his knees, then to his hands, and then to his stomach.

    "You lose," He hacked upon crimson waves, writhing at their feet until he came to stare up at them; smirking, "Game over."

    He couldn't tell whether or not he had managed to get underneath their skin. He didn't have enough time before his neck was crushed beneath an iron heel.


    [ Chapter I: Boot Up ]
  2. Kitsune

    Kitsune Fox Lady of Madness!!! Staff Member

    Apr 27, 2005
    "Good evening, Mr. Randolph. I was told you requested my services?" She sashayed into the room, her wrap dropping from her shoulders to reveal twins mounds of chocolate flesh.

    "Ah, good to see you again, Willow. Yes I did call for you. Proceed." The man leaned back in his chair, legs spread, watching the woman.

    Willow gave him a sly smile, and began to dance to unheard music, making her way to his side. As she touched his face, trailing a hand down his chest to unbutton his business suit, he closed his eyes. Reaching up, she pulled the small dagger from her hair. Gently, so as not to wake him, she set the dagger point against his heart.

    "I'm almost sorry, you've always been a good client of mine, Mr. Randolph. But you screwed over the wrong business partner. Mr. Caesar wanted me to make sure you knew just who ordered your death." As he snapped his eyes open, she pushed all her weight into the dagger, and into his heart. With a gasp, he went limp, and she wrench the dagger out, warping the shape of the wound.

    "Bastard couldn't even keep his dick hard for an hour." Wiping the dagger clean of blood, she slipped it back into her hair, picked up her wrap, and left the room, sliding a slim phone from her breasts. "It's done, sir. Yes. Yes, sir. No sir, he didn't. Yes sir, thank you very much. I'm going back to the Parlor tonight. Thank you. Good bye." Snapping the phone shut, she tucked it away, and stepped in the elevator, pressing the ground floor button. Idly, she buffed her nails, wiping off blood she missed.
  3. Melon

    Melon Starmaker

    Jan 10, 2005
    Starsurge, that’s what it said outside a shady looking building on one of the less safe street addresses on the outskirts of the swarming centre of the underground. Even if was considered a little “off” the building stood next to skyscrapers either way, but they could hardly be called skyscrapers down here now could they? The text was arranged with cheap neon light letters, shifting from blue to teal, the letter “S” being completely blue and the last letter “e” being completely teal. Some of the letters were almost completely broken, sounding crackling noises and occasionally flashing as they lost power due to loose circuits.

    It was a club, or is a club, one of the best in the whole underground. It’s a 24/7 club which means that the music never stops, the party never stops, and it is always crowded, day as night. The club has every twisted thing one could think of desiring, beautiful dancing girls, sick and loud music with heavy beats and wobbling basslines, strange creatures painted on the walls with all the colours of the rainbow, only visible with the uv and led lights of the club. This was Janneth Levisons’ club, or “Jan” as everyone knew her by, the queen of the underground… or should one say the Underworld, the world of the less clean.

    The peak times were approaching, the club was smacked as always, the best girls were on duty and that always attracted more people. The clubs interior was designed by street artists, the walls were painted entirely black, on top of it there were different kinds of graffiti and psychedelic paintings of creatures and tribal patterns. The club smelt of sweat and exotic incense from across the world to get that eastern, spiritual feeling. On the second floor however were the dressing rooms for the girls and Jan’s office, very well isolated to reduce the noise of the club. But Jan wasn’t there as one of the girls were looking for her, she eventually found Jan outside the club, in an alley way that could be accessed from the fire escape. It was her place of rest, a moment of peace, her smoking spot, even wild cats like her needs to calm down sometimes.

    “Jan?” The working girl said, seemingly shivering as she was standing in the doorway in nothing else than what she was wearing on the floor, let’s not get into details. Jan exhaled a full lung worth of smoke, her eyes flickered as the fumes slowly enveloped around her head, poisonous and absolutely wonderful.

    “What is it hon’?"
    “There is a guy in your office, waiting for you, he says it’s urgent.”
    “He got a name?”
    “He says you know who it is.” The girl said and raised her shoulders as if whatever as she let go of the door and headed back inside.

    Jan finished her smoke, the last breath of poison circulated through her body, leaving its infested tar in her lungs. When she got back to her office, up the stairs that were ready to fall apart, even if they were made out of concrete, she was met by a rather fat man in a suit. He had that natural grease ball look, hair soaked in hair styling gel – it looked like had just gotten out of the shower just seconds ago. Expensive watch on his arm, shiny black shoes, the typical mobster look. This wasn’t a client of Jan’s, not was it someone she worked for, it was worse – someone she owed money too. He was from way back, when she first started in this business, this fat piece of shit used to be her “manager”, at least that’s what he called himself.

    “Jaaann! Looking fine as usual, how you doin’?” Mr. Vito brawled with her fat fucking mouth all over her office, ready to embrace her in his arms. She quickly raised her arm and put the palm of her hand in the middle of his chest, the soft surface and disgusting man-tits were repulsive. She pushed him away as she walked by him to sit down by her desk.

    “Please… What do you want?” She said, with every ounce of her breath expressing how nauseated she was by his presence.

    “Come on sugerlips, don’t be like that.”

    She could do nothing but stare at him, and his pathetic excuse of a body.

    “Fine… You still owe me Jan, and I want it, I want it now.”
    “Okay, I don’t have it.”

    The gangster walked over to the black tinted windows that showed the whole layout of the club, all the people and the girls, dancing. Staring at the girls with his sleazy, rapist face.

    “There is a race coming up, if you win it, we’re done.”
    “I don’t race anymore, you know that.”
    “Then find somebody else to do it.”

    Jan sighed as she leaned on the edge of her desk with her head resting on her palm, covering her face, fingertips massaging her eyebrows.

    “Just make it happen.” The fat grease ball said and left the office, slamming the door behind him.
  4. Paladin_girl

    Paladin_girl Between the Chapters of a Dream Staff Member

    Dec 4, 2004

    The bike drove up to Club Nil, churning heaps of steam before contorting to a halt. The rider sat there for a moment, staring up at the tall, filthy buildings, resting her hands on the handlebars before sliding from the back, the Wasp’s Nest flickering as the auto-chain mechanisms were set in place on the bike.

    Isabella’s face was a mixture of anguish and rage as she entered the bar, the heavy beat of the dance music thudding heavily up her legs, where various wires swung as crowds of dancers moved away from the infamous hacker like a mass of curtains, closing behind her like strange waves that avoided the sublime stare of the goggles which covered her eyes.

    Arriving at the bar, she motioned for a shot. The barman didn’t forget that face.

    ‘What’cha want in it, doll?’

    ‘Don’t give a shit,’ came the grizzled mutter.

    ‘What crawled up your ass and died, Wild?’

    ‘Long story, Simms. Long. Fucking. Story.’

    ‘C’mon. Entertain me some.’

    It had been a long day, with several layers of goat-fuck. The stronger that drink was the better…

    The green lights emerged from the goggles’ black fog like a disenchanted fairy, illuminating the hacker’s vision with a soft ‘bleep’ which greeted her half-dream mind.

    ‘A… fereal… sen… co-sin3…’ came the computer’s little murmur, the male tone sounding as tired as the wearer felt.

    ‘B’ger off,’ came her response beneath the dirty covers, but sure enough, a hand outstretched from the duvet and clumsily grappled the alarm clock and like a snake, the hand pulled its findings away and retracted it beneath the blanket. Its owner peered bleary-eyed at the time.

    It was 4 o’clock in the morning. The goggled form groaned, shoving the figure beside her to wake up. To her annoyance, Aziz merely rolled over, pushing her away.

    ‘Get your Waspie hands off me,’ he growled lazily.

    The “waspie” shoved him again, pulling the covers off the slothful form, which had been entirely retracted from her. Aziz the Epsilon – face of an angel, personality of a troll. Judging from the heavy snores, personality wasn’t the only thing to prove it.

    But the sleeping partner needed to work – Aziz had to find some other woman to piss off.

    ‘Get the fuck up, Aziz.’

    He grumbled, pulling the rest of the covers from himself and slipping from the bed, stomping his feet audibly across the cold floor.

    The waspie watched him leave with an eagle-eyed expression, before rolling her eyes and sitting up, rubbing away the goosebumps that had started to rivet across her skin in absence of the covers.

    So why did she let this happen every time?

    She snorted. Because he was a cold-blooded arsehole, that’s what. It was all down to business.

    And she was drunk.

    The goggles sounded a second trill, penetrating the dimly-lit room.

    ‘Co-sin3. Co-Sin3. Activity in Sec 4, Co-Sin3.’

    ‘All right, all right, Wasp. I got it. Co-Sin3, Sec 4, do a jiggy, stand on one leg…’ She smirked faintly. It was a good little thing – it just wanted to work as much as she did. As if they were a largely-brimmed hat, the hacker pulled the Wasp’s Nest over her eyes, watching as the digits unravelled like an old 2000s’ movie.

    Beep-boop. Beep-boop. Beep. Beep. The sounds that made Isabella feel at home. The interpolation that summoned genius to her tired mind, emerging from the depths of her grey matter.

    ‘Ugh,’ was her greeting. Before her eyes swam images and information, none of which was a waste of time collecting, but simply irrelevant to the greater scheme of things. Yet the way that Aziz, the Shakespearian Leader, had eyed the data with cluelessness, it was clearly wasted on him.

    Behind the information, the background image of a man and woman glared harshly into the hacker’s tired eyes. She was tempted to loosen the NASA-plastic and pull the Wasp’s Nest away to rest her eyes.

    That morning, Aziz was right to be in a bad mood; Isabella was focused less on his ‘assets’ and more on what she was asked to do five minutes before, the results of which were now blaring on the dual-screens. Her aversion to doing anything unbeneficial to the Shakespearians made Aziz often accuse her of being stupid, but in Aziz’ mind, that was precisely what he wanted her to be. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.

    Judging by the audible moans above her head however, Aziz managed to gain some. It was deliberate, she knew, since hearing anything from the Epsilon was annoying in itself – it simply worsened to know that it had worked. This was no life; there was something absent in being mindlessly active.

    Keeping the Wasp’s Nest over her eyes, Isabella pulled on a vest and some shorts, turning the music in the background to full before stepping across the cold surface to the kitchen, snatching up some food.

    Then, suddenly, it hit her.

    There was a new file in her server, marked ‘Caesar’ – it seemed, to her interest, that the detour to find Parker had picked up a souvenir along the way. Initially, Isabella grinned, becoming smug with the unexpected present, but as it processed through the dual-display, Isabella’s green orbs widened.

    Any hacker worth their salt knew that the Caesar Syndicate was shady. Now, picking up such… personal details, they were dangerous.

    Let’s see.

    Death by memo-chips in an already-illegal operation or death by shotgun?

    ‘Maybe I should top myself now,’ said the hacker, ‘save ‘em the bother…’

    She pulled off the goggles, propping them atop of her head. Her eyes looked down at the bowl of cereal which she had absent-mindedly prepared. No appetite.

    A morning of troubles all in one shot.

    She ate the food anyway. It was only 40 years out of date.

    ‘Now you see’, said Isabella, taking the shot, ‘that was only the gist of it. Finding Parker was the worst part…’

    More like several shades of God-damn-it.

    They found Parker. They took him the quickest way – hack into his chip core. Isabella had met him before, when he tried hacking into the Wasp’s Nest.

    His chip suffered permanent damage – the Wasp’s Nest was a formidable weapon in its own right – any Grid-Dweller trying to hack into the computer would gain a virus which went straight into their chip; the I.P would be found, which would locate the user and wirelessly transmit a code which made the chip act as if the brain had gained mad-cow disease. The degeneration would leave a permanent code on the chip that, in order to remove it, the brain’s device would have to be removed.

    Parker was one of those lucky few, but the replacement was quick – after all, he was the secretary to the manager of the Ishikawa foundations, who were just below Goldman Sachs. They never quite made it due to lack of funds, but still strove stubbornly onwards for recognition. This was nothing in itself, but it was the fact that Parker had a curious mind, something which the Shakespearians respected in such a tight-knit society.

    A nice guy, by all accounts.

    But of course he would be: that was how the Grid wanted him.

    The Shakespearians had drawn him in with suggestions of how to improve the competition between Ishikawa and Goldman. They had led him down to lower levels of the Grid, snuck something in his drink and before long, they were toting the unconscious man down the Descent and into the Underground.

    Now, he was in a makeshift seat made from a dental chair, with needles in the back of his head, which were wired to the Wasp’s Nest. The task was simple: get some info on the strange subliminal messages and his Facebook habits, shut down the chip and get him under Shakespearian wings by any means necessary. Nesbitt kept an eye on his blood pressure, Isabella hacked and Aziz did jack shit. It was perfect.

    The delicate operation began, with brief glances at the screens, checking the brain passages were clear, so far, no viruses.

    Everything was going well; swimmingly so. It didn’t seem to surprise Isabella about the number of women on his page – she couldn’t help but smirk.

    So far, no viruses.

    The subliminal messaging controlled his emotions – he was to feel prepared, ready and always open to clients. He was to please them. To educate them.

    So far, no viruses.

    The Ishikawa group had made a deal with someone – Isabella knew the name well. Unimportant, but it was interesting, nonetheless…

    Suddenly, the chip reacted. Parker’s heart rate started to run faster. Isabella looked at the screen – her eyes widened.


    Pulling out one of the needles, she started tapping the screen hurriedly – the information was getting hacked into. The Ishikawa foundation had found their missing secretary – and the price this time was Parker’s life. If they didn’t hurry, they would also find the Shakespearian’s home-base. Isabella however, could hear a painful groan from Parker.

    ‘It’s all right!’ she said to him, ‘don’t worry! We’ll make it through! Hold on, Parker!’

    His response was a confused moan, a short sob.

    Isabella looked to Nesbitt.

    ‘Morphine! Now! We need to keep him alive! There’s enough time to get that chip out before they-!’

    There was a gunshot.

    Parker slumped against the chair, his eyes, once wide with fear, were staring upwards at the ceiling, his body was lifeless. A bullet wound between his eyes fizzed softly from where it had left Aziz’ gun.

    Isabella and Nesbitt stared at Parker, then at Aziz.

    Isabella gritted her teeth, lifting up her glasses.

    ‘What the hell was that for, you idiot?!’

    Aziz put the gun away indifferently with a frown. ‘I trust your skills when you’re not in an emergency. Because you left it too long, we just needed the info. There are plenty of other big-shots to take his place.’

    With that, the Epsilon kicked the door open, shutting it behind him without another look at what he had done.

    Nesbitt sighed and shook his head wearily, the Gamma gently closing Parker’s eyes respectfully. ‘It’s a waste,’ he said slowly, ‘an utter waste. Aren’t you going to do something, Wildfire?’

    Isabella frowned, pulling away the needles, wiping them before attaching them to her belt.

    ‘What’s the point?’ she said slowly, ‘Parker’s dead.’

    ‘So that’s it? You drove in here to drown your sorrows because your man fucked up?’

    ‘Not my man, Simms.’ Isabella leaned back, ‘but yeah. He fucked up. I did too. He keeps thinking that if a guy is useless, you fill him with holes. Gonna do it to him one day and just call it a “tragedy”.’

    ‘And what’s this about the Syndicate?’

    Isabella sighed, shaking her head, indicating another shot. Simms served it up, watching as Isabella downed her drink before continuing.

    ‘Well. Turns out that if they find that I’ve taken a souvenir from their database, this might be the last drink I take.’

    ‘You’re not that easy to get to, tricksy.’

    The hacker snorted, shaking her head wearily.

    ‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘I wish I was.’
  5. Zyta

    Zyta Drifting Super Mod

    Oct 22, 2005
    Midas was halfway through his morning rituals when there came the buzz from the hologram telephone and he took the call as he sat down on his sofa and looked at the image that rose up from out of the floor with the face of his boss.

    “Attorney Tanaka,” said the figure of CEO of Goldman Sachs, Midas noted carefully with an astute eye that the CEO was smoking from a freshly lit cigar, he was wearing the same clothes from last night, and that he had not slept since they last saw each other. “Brenald Ruiz. He was one of our employees that we assigned to you in your test evaluation to get your job, isn’t that correct?”

    “Yes, sir, Mr. Baker, sir. He was charged for drug trafficking, but I got him off clean as a victim of another, fake, made-up smuggler. The jury, if I remember correctly, was paid handsomely with the money you gave me to give them for their cooperation. His worth to the company was that he was a known criminal, by the staff of Goldman Sachs, and we had dirt on him that he would never betray us, only he did with his careless mistakes. He was only supposed to be a spy and to ruin the image of other companies and plant fraudulent documents which we can then use in court against them and win their company as a result. What about him?”

    “A correspondent of mine whom I recently pledged the job to contacted me and just told me the glorious news that the hit I ordered for Ruiz’s life was finally taken out early this morning by a lone assassin who is only known as Daven Strife. He was paid well with five million Credits for his services; a small price to pay for the kind of scum that Ruiz was, don’t you think?”

    “I do, sir. Does this Daven need legal counsel? Have the police tracked him down and arrested him for the murder then?”

    “No, fortunately he got away from the scene before anyone realized what happened.”

    “Then what, may I ask, did you call me for?”

    “I want you to head over to Ruiz’s apartment and pay off his neighbors, tell them to lie or threaten them into compliancy. The police are already there and asking awkward questions that might lead to our company’s exposure in this particular case. Your job is to make sure that it vanishes. It doesn’t matter what the cost is, Goldman Sachs will pay it.”

    “Yes, sir. May I ask a question?”

    “Go ahead.”

    “What about Daven Strife? Will he talk?”

    “Not likely. You don’t get into the killing business without being able to keep your mouth shut, and a part of the five million credits is silence money. It is all about mutual trust.”

    “Yes, sir, good-bye sir,” said Midas as the hologram vanished and a green light from the hologram’s image slowly crystallized, broke apart, and vanished as well.

    Midas put on his computer-connect glasses and quickly flipped through the news as soon as the hologram conversation ended. The news read: Oldest living person reached his 215th birthday today, Facebook says there is going to be a light downpour of rain from 8:12 to 8:51, Koch Industries take over another company, and so on. Midas glossed over then mindlessly without interest.

    “Master, would you like something to eat before you?” said an android, an older version. The robot was in had the form of a young girl in her teens. Though she was made out of nanotechnology and metal, she wore a very fine silk as her uniform which would be taken off and washed at any time. The robot whose name is Yumemi was sitting and hugging a light bulb to her chest with a loving expression on her face. There were ribbons of a yellow fabric attached to her head that said whatever mode she was currently in: In this case it said Maintenance Mode.


    “That is okay,” said Midas, blinking twice the screen on his glasses clear and he was looking at the room normally, though through glasses now. “I don’t want anything heavy, I’ll just have a banana.”

    Yumemi got up and put the light bulb on the table in the center of the room and left. She went into the kitchen, which was small as all kitchens were unless you actually wanted to cook something. There was no fridge or stove oven to be seen, only a number of cupboards that held cups and plates or bowls. She reached her hand into a container holding a number of small, black dots. Extracting just one, she opened up a device on the counter that looked exactly like a microwave, though it wasn’t one. She then placed the dot in the middle of the device and closed it and then cycled through a list of words that were suddenly displayed on its screen. Pressing banana, she waited as the device whirred to life and two seconds later opened up and revealed the dot changed into a banana through nanotech advancements. Yumemi returned to Midas with his banana.

    Midas ate the banana to his full satisfaction and departed his flat. He found his hover car in the garage where the bell boy said he would put it. He pressed his face to the door as a scanner checked his retina, and then he placed hi hand on the handle to submit himself to a fingerprint test. Only then did the door open relenting to Midas. He started it up with the push of a button and once more surrendered himself to proof tests, this time voice recognition.

    “State you name,” said the voice of his car in a humanly tone, though he knew the speaker was indeed a robot masquerading as a human.

    “Midas. Tanaka.”

    “Good morning, sir Tanaka,” replied the robot. It said good morning no matter what time of day it was. “What is your destination today?”

    “513 High Flat Apartments. Room 17.”

    “Very good sir.”

    Midas reclined his chair back as his hover car automatically begin to drive itself. The car moved at a moderate pace obeying the speed limit; it had sensors so that it won’t run into anything and knew the entire layout of Earth’s surface. As long as the speaker spoke coherently, the car could find the destination with no interference from the riders. There was an option for manual, but Midas rarely, if ever, used it, and certainly never with this new car.
  6. Doc

    Doc Grouch Staff Member

    Feb 3, 2008
    "Yo, Simms," Came a call from the right, a bandaged hand coming to touch down upon the bartop, "Get me my special, yea? Tryin' to get as shitty as her."

    The newcomer nodded toward Isabella with a sideways nod, his short black bangs bouncing slightly as he moved. He bore a gregarious grin upon his face and a pair of black spectacles above them, their lenses large and vibrant as they reflected the flashing lights of Club Nil's nightlife.

    "Oi, Hollywood!" The bartender greeted with a smile, raising a hand and motioning for his frequent customer to wait, "Gimme a second, gotta remember where I left that engine grease..."

    "No rush, chief," Hollywood answered, leaning his back against the bar and looking out toward the steam-marred dance floor with a hot-headed smile. His hand rummaged lazily through the pockets of his black leather jacket, the ink that adorned his upper chest rippling as he withdrew a small cigarette and placed it between his lips. He lingered momentarily before turning back toward Isabella.

    "Think a guy could bum a light?"
  7. Paladin_girl

    Paladin_girl Between the Chapters of a Dream Staff Member

    Dec 4, 2004
    Isabella lifted her head up, reclining in her seat and gesturing to Simms for another drink, as if she hadn’t heard the newcomer before giving a sideways stare, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

    ‘You can bum whatever the hell you like.’

    She rose a hand, indifferently patting the pocket where the man kept his cigarettes and picked one out, tossing it to her lips before pulling out a tin lighter which gently clinked open before switching it alight, holding the flame to the newcomer’s cigarette before lighting her own, pausing for an intake before breathing out softly.

    ‘And what makes you want to get as shitfaced? I can go for a while, you know.’
  8. Doc

    Doc Grouch Staff Member

    Feb 3, 2008
    He smirked as he craned his neck forward, his head tilting to the side as he guided the tip of his cigarette overtop of the flame. The smug smoker raised an eyebrow as he leaned back, inhaling a long drag before shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly - his earlier grin returning as he laughed.

    "Why the Hell not?"
  9. Paladin_girl

    Paladin_girl Between the Chapters of a Dream Staff Member

    Dec 4, 2004
    Isabella rolled her eyes, pressing the cigarette butt into the table before taking her shot, shaking her head from the severe taste. She paused a moment before folding her arms gruffly. Not even a single damn blur in her vision.

    ‘Oh there are loads of reasons, weirdie. This is a damn nightclub last I checked, not a dinky restaurant.’

    She looked over her shoulder, now staring at the man properly. Glasses in a nightclub? The waspie gave a sneer; that could suggest anything – did he want to hide his eyes… or his face?
  10. Doc

    Doc Grouch Staff Member

    Feb 3, 2008
    Hollywood laughed again, his cigarette wobbling as his mouth moved. The inverted image of the bartender setting a rustic looking container down atop the table reflected across his shades.

    "Ahhh... I see what you're gettin' at. Sorry, babe, much as I'd love to get out there and hump like bunnies, I'm on the clock," He smirked, gesturing with a thumb toward the dance floor while picking up his drink, "Truth be told I'm actually lookin' for somebody."

    He raised Simms' special to his lips before pausing, grinning again while wagging a finger scolding at Isabella.

    "No, not like that."
  11. Paladin_girl

    Paladin_girl Between the Chapters of a Dream Staff Member

    Dec 4, 2004
    ‘On the clock? Didn’t realise you wore a chastity belt below that swollen head of yours, Missy.’

    Isabella’s lips turned into a wicked grin, signalling Simms for another drink before her eyes peered at the smouldering cigarette on the bar table. When the shot came, the hacker picked up the glass, but only stared at it, her eyes looking aside, narrowing her gaze as she looked back to 'Hollywood'. Curiosity killed the cat – and she couldn’t get into deeper shit than trousering around Caesar.

    ‘Not that I give a shit… but who’s the guy?’ she asked faintly, hoping that he didn’t hear her, ‘if he isn’t one of those whoopsies.’

    Gonna assume, I’m gonna dish it right back to you.
  12. Doc

    Doc Grouch Staff Member

    Feb 3, 2008
    "Could be a whoopsy, but ain't a guy; she's a broad. Real moody thing, I guess - always prowlin' around like a fuckin' harpy with a bucket of sand up her snatch," He breathed in deep through his cigarette, a golden aura radiating from its end and glowing vibrantly in the fluctuating light of the club. He seemed to be resisting the urge to snicker when he finally exhaled.
  13. Paladin_girl

    Paladin_girl Between the Chapters of a Dream Staff Member

    Dec 4, 2004
    Isabella didn’t react, but felt a pit grow in her stomach. Her gun was close to her. Her fingers found the edge of the barrel. She looked away, instead picking up her lighter, her thumb flicking the lip open and shut several times.

    Was he part of the syndicate?


    She downed the shot. Maybe it was her last glass. If it was, it tasted like fire.

    ‘And what do you want with her, hothead? You’re gonna put a bullet between her eyes? Or you just gonna pull the stick out of her butt and beat her with it?’
  14. Nevermore

    Nevermore Stately

    Jun 4, 2005
    (( M: ))

    His job having been done once again with the utmost precision, Daven was on his way back to his home to avoid detection. His computer spoke to him in her smooth, human-like voice the whole way down from the skyscraper, a massive fall that would unsettle a weaker man.

    The motorcycle plummeted into the Descent towards the underground, skipping from surface to surface and gliding between buildings as it followed the complex route back to its personal base. He thudded roughly upon the roof of what seemed to be a club as he could feel the vibrations of the powerful music even past the vibrations of the bike. The rough landing didn't damage the bike, but the roof beneath him shifted slightly before he slammed the throttle again and took off from the club to his next destination. Dust and bits of stone gave way from the ceiling of the club, but no one noticed the noise of the motorcycle over the sound of the music. He continued his dangerous run all the way down into the darkest parts of the city. His home was the Underground.

    The bike switched to a low hum as he allowed it to idle gently down a sloped path that was littered with tight corners and debris from years of neglect to the area. He had a simple purpose from coming to this area and he knew it would provide him with good answers. She always knew what to tell him. After a few more twists and turns he finally spotted his destination in the distance and let the throttle roar slightly as he sped towards the Starsurge.

    He entered the bar wearing his trademark sunglasses despite the dark. His black trench coat swished silently around his body and he might as well have been a shadow in the bar. He sidled up to the bar slowly and ordered a drink before grinning slightly at the woman bartender, "I need to speak with Jan. Tell her Moral is here for her."
  15. Doc

    Doc Grouch Staff Member

    Feb 3, 2008
    "Jesus, tits," He arched an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth yet turned upward as he downed another gulp of his drink, "Chill. I ain't here to cap ya."
  16. Paladin_girl

    Paladin_girl Between the Chapters of a Dream Staff Member

    Dec 4, 2004
    ‘Then what do you want, arse? If you’re not going to squib me, at least tell me what you want – and get rid of the shades. I hate them already.’

    Isabella’s hand came down on the table, slapping the lighter on the table and looking at the man with a frown, raising her hand, resting them on her goggles.

    ‘Or I could just find out what are under those bug-eyes. Talk.’
  17. Doc

    Doc Grouch Staff Member

    Feb 3, 2008
    Hollywood frowned, apparently not appreciating her insulting his treasured spectacles. With a reluctant sigh he raised a hand to the bridge which held the lenses connected, pulling down gently upon it and angling his face so that his eyes were made visible as they stared up at Isabella. The left eye was nothing special, a deep hazel orb which churned with fathomless tenacity and defiance. The other, however, was another story entirely; a fluorescent blue iris glowing radiantly within its center.

    "Accusin' me of havin' a twat's one thing," He smirked, shaking his head, "But dissin' a man's shades... that's cold."

    He pushed the glasses back up evenly, sneaking another quick drag from his cigarette.

    "Gotta play the game, do the whole blending thing, yanno? Hey there," He grinned at several women who moved passed him, flashing them a grin and evoking several giggles from the small horde.
  18. Kitsune

    Kitsune Fox Lady of Madness!!! Staff Member

    Apr 27, 2005
    Willow entered the club and was instantly accosted by three men wanting to buy her a drink. Waving them off, she went to the bar, ordered her own liquor, and turned to watch the dancers. It was relaxing to watch other women kill their feet on a stage.

    Near her, she could hear snatches of conversation between two people, a pretty woman, and a man with rough speech and a flirty attitude.

    Hopping up on a barstool, she shook back her hair and ordered two more drinks, asking the bartender to please give it to the man and woman near her, and if he wouldn't mind, don't tell him who its from? "Thanks, darlin'," she whispered in a sultry voice, kissing his cheek. A few moments later, he placed two tumblers of his finest bourbon before the two. She turned her head to watch a woman writhe across the stage.
  19. Paladin_girl

    Paladin_girl Between the Chapters of a Dream Staff Member

    Dec 4, 2004
    ‘I’ll diss whatever I like, jackhole.’

    Isabella paused a moment, narrowing her eyes, observing the ones which now peered at her – she betrayed a faint look of surprise, her face becoming solemn and looking away apologetically, nodding slowly, followed by a ‘hm’. So this guy was an andie.

    ‘You’re gonna have to give me a name and a reason about why you’re here. This is going to be a short conversation, otherwise. If you’ve been looking for me, I guess you know mine.’
  20. Doc

    Doc Grouch Staff Member

    Feb 3, 2008
    "Isabella Friedmann; female, age twenty-six," He nodded smugly, tapping the ash from his cigarette as he eyed her curiously through his dark spectacles, "Half-Alpha, Half-Beta; but I'm a guy who appreciates the classics, German and Japanese'll do just fine. Known to the Shakespearians as Wildfire and the only member of the team who isn't a complete fuckin' joke."

    He paused, breathing in a dark cloud of nicotine and tobacco.

    "Speakin' of which; who the fuck comes up with your names?" He asked with amused interest, "Ya sound more like an old lady's romantic holo-club than terrorists."

    He glanced toward the new drinks with mild surprise, looking to the bartender.

    "You tryin' to wine'n dine me, Simms?"

    "Got yerself a secret admirer," He answered with a smirk, taking the empty container of whatever-the-hell Hollywood had been drinking and setting it below the bar. The hot shot grinned upon hearing the news, returning his cigarette to its resting place between his lips.