Noise

[Recycled Human]

Involved : All Users entering this Role Play in its first and current incarnation

Location : An unmarked compound deep in the bowels of the ruined city ‘Noise’

‘This isn’t for pretend, playtime IS officially over,’ the lone Silencer spat, while his dark robes whimpered under his rigid gesticulation. They had all been taken, some would tell you they gave themselves up, others that they were looking for this place. Don’t let them fool you, no one LOOKS for the Refugee’s of Fountain.

The Offspring, as they called themselves worked, out some deal with the world below. They used to trade in good clean sport, now they trade in lives. It’s not uncommon to hear a Silencer calling his charges ‘stock’, no better than cattle to be milked for every penny then sent to the slaughter. The group of combatants had been led to a vast room, perhaps a great hall once or a lobby to some well-to-do lawyer’s firm. Where once it was filled with clients, businessmen, secretaries, janitors, now it was flooded with gurneys, long ropes of cords and machines and people in white that weren’t doctors.

These were ‘Jumpers’. You didn’t need a machine to use your Exemplar, but the Offspring needed them to keep the Pilots properly manacled. What good is a prisoner if they aren’t chained and working?

The sign above the door read Ward F, the creative ones in the bunch said the F stood for ‘fascism’ but it really just meant an easy way to classify the herd. The Silencer stood a moment by a gurney, it’s protective casing lowered on top of the Pilot, the meters to the sides blipped rhythmically measuring brain waves and heart rate.

‘This here is our resident Jockey, but you will all be allowed breaks. I advise you take them as prolonged jumps can take quite a toll on the body. I understand its easy to get addicted to jumping, but its just as easy to crave the carnage.’

Several men in white lab coats escorted the new arrivals to their beds and began strapping them in while the warden continued.

‘You will all be going to the Grid, for some of you it will be your last time. You will be told to run through a series of tests to help synchronize Pilot to Exemplar, they include a motor dexterity test, motion detection test and audio test. How you achieve these three will all be up to you. When you get to Grid, your given temporary Director control of an area of about six by nine feet for no more than five minutes, what you do with it is entirely up to you.’

-------------------------------------------------------------

To any other girl this would be totally ordinary. Sitting at a marble bench on a warm summer day, feet dangling in the prickly grass as a light breeze swished stray hairs into her face. A somber chirrup from a nearby bird singing it’s sweet tune into the clear blue cloudless sky. Was it a robin? A chickadee? Maybe a cardinal? Wren? She always was lousy at discerning between them all. The ornately carved aggregate of off white and iron swirled into tiny pillars supporting her butt. She liked to think it was as if one sat atop the great Coliseum itself. Queen for a day.

Was this so different from your average girl’s summer-time outing? Abigail would never know. She held both hands extended, elbows tucked in at her sides, fingers rhythmically tapping against her thumbs as she watched a dust devil swirl a few feet ahead. It danced from side to side, collecting as much dirt as it spilled and all the while wrapping around itself in a clockwise fashion.

This was her ‘Last Meal’. A rite administered to every Exemplar before undergoing battle in the ‘glorious’ Coliseum. In Noise, she had heard many different names for this Imagined World. ‘The Rabbit Hole’, ‘The Eye’, even a few called it the ‘Good Time’ it all amounted to the same thing. The Proliferation needed a humane way of dispatching their Gladiators. And giving each combatant a few minutes in their own personal heaven helped clear their conscience. And aside from being yet another form of entertaining the people of ‘Fountain’, it provided a forum for accurate syncing between Pilot and Exemplar. It tested motor skills, vision, response time and mental state allowing for minor tweaks to be administered seconds before the bout began. Two birds.

Abigail Annetta spun her fingers through their dance, willed the mini cyclone to quicken its back and forth pace and switched the bird call to several different positions around the tiny room. She wanted this over, there was nothing of sentiment in this place. To her, this diminutive offering was a slap in the face. The outrage welled up at the corner of her eyes until they became soaked in torrential fury. And right as her countdown began the room dissolved. Pilot and Exemplar are one.

Standing to her full height in skin tight purple and black, a nose guard strapped to her face and laced in shimmering silver blades the defiant warrior took strides to exit the ‘Eye’. And right as she took her second step a man passed before her eyes holding his hand up in a high five. Her father smiled brilliantly, wishing his daughter well in her upcoming fight. It was her only vanity.

Because he must have just popped into her mind for a second, just a split second. You see, daddy’s been dead since before she was born.

Involved : Abigail Annetta/Recycled Human

[Aleister Black]

10 of Hearts

Polished shoes made nearly no sound on the green carpeted floor as 10 of Hearts made his way through the mass of people crowding in front of the fruit machines, roulette tables, blackjack tables, poker tables, dice tables and all other kinds of games of chance that would leave many a visitor with an empty pocket, but elated nonetheless. There was something about gambling that made it worthwhile even if you were kicked out the back door with nothing but a barrel to shield your privates from the world. There was the tension, the unmistakable scent of luck, either good or bad, that floated around each and every bet. 10 of Hearts gently pushed a few people aside to get through. He looked up and saw the cameras moving back and forth, scanning for people who thought they could cheat Lady Luck. No such luck for them, of course. The way he saw it, no casino could be perfect without a few people trying to cheat their way to good money.

10 of Hearts, dressed in an impeccable suit and impeccable shoes, had an impeccable face and an impeccable haircut. Really, everything about the man was perfect. And he knew this. He leisurely leaned against a fruit machine and pulled the lever, his eyes following the pictures move down and turn around and move down again. He smiled and pressed the corresponding buttons, which gave a satisfying 'click' as the slots snapped into place. 10 of Heart's eyes gleamed as he pushed the last button. A pause... and a loud 'DING-DING-DING' burst from the machine, accompanied by a wave of small change. Lady Fortune was with him, yet again.

As the casino dissolved around him, 10 of Hearts grinned, baring his impeccably white teeth. Of course, he could easily make himself win any game he wanted in the Grid. However, he found it much more satisfaying to keep it fair - no machines or tables were influenced by his mind, even in the grid. He only made them exist. Winning the game had been a sign of good luck! There was no question Exemplar and Pilot were matched. They always were. Aco (although why anyone would don a name not included in a card game was truly beyond him) was more connected to his Exemplar than to the body of the Pilot, anyway. He could truly think of no reason to ever turn back. After all, who wouldn't want to be as impeccable as 10 of Hearts? 10 of Hearts smiled as he pulled a deck of cards from his pocket. Time to shuffle. Time to pull a card...

"Oh dear, oh dear, the tension is palpable. Which one shall it be...," he muttered under his breath.


Involved: Aco Birdsong / Aleister Black

[Doaj]

The dark, forest green scales glowed with an omnipotent radiance in the crystal clear ocean. The vibrant colors of red and blue and green and yellow blended and contrasted in such harmony that Paco couldn't help but feel as if the world were simply perfect. The old world. He wouldn't let these thoughts crush his state of being though. He continued to swim, and he did not have to surface for air. Paco could swim, but not well. Now, though, he was the best. He was a God. 'God of the Sea', he thought. A school of fish swam by, and Paco turned his head, his jaws snapping at one of the fish at the rear of the group. He caught it by its pectoral fin, and in the split second it had left, he knew it was simply confused. Fish weren't the most intelligent creatures. Paco's teeth tore into it, and the rest of the school scattered, disappearing into the coral reef. 'I want to see the sky again', Paco thought. He surfaced, and he saw the Australian coast, the perfect, cloudless sky. It was just over 100 degrees Fahrenheit out, and it felt magnificent on his scales. His blood wasn't warm- it was hot. And Paco de Maullo loved the heat. A large seagull swooped down nearby, catching a fish in its mouth, and took to the sky again.

The scene began to dismantle itself. The bird and the fish became one, and the water was above, and below was the sky. Australian coastlines vanished, and suddenly the school of fish was back, as was the one he devoured, and they were all the size of planets, small planets, but planets nonetheless. And then- nothing.

Paco de Maullo lived for The Rabbit Hole. Leaving it damn near gave him the shakes. In fact, it gave him a rush of adrenaline. He knew after The Rabbit Hole came combat. Another chance he would die. Another chance to live again for The Rabbit Hole. Paco knew he was bordering on addiction, but somehow he felt like nobody would discount him for such a thrill. Paco hadn't been wearing his sword and shield while he swam in the Great Barrier Reef of Australia, but he knew he'd have it once he was in the fight. Paco lived for the fight.

INVOLVED: Paco de Maullo/Doaj

[Ryvius]

A hooded figure entered the giant Library. It approached the desk, and spoke in a masculine voice, tinted with the pretentious accent of an intellectual. “Excuse me, is Mr. Shvevdov working today?” The young girl at the reception desk stopped chewing her gum and looking at the hooded man in silence for a moment. “No sir. I’m afraid he passed away last week.” A sorrowful sigh escaped from underneath the hood. “I see. May he find peace in rest.” The man turned and began walking away. “Excuse me sir, but can I help you with anything?” He stopped and spoke without turning. “No, I’m afraid not. I have already read everything in this library.” The receptionist was too stunned to speak, and the man left the library.

Outside in the artificial sunlight, his hood did not cast enough shadow to hide his face. It reflected off his alabaster “skin” and illuminated his face. It was like white porcelain, with basic facial features carved in. Indeed, he would look like a statue if not for the spot on the right side of his face where his face was missing, and moving metal gears could be seen. He was Krausma, the Exemplar. Most people knew him, everyone watched the games. He had been competing in them for quite some time. He wasn’t really a celebrity, he had taken his fair share of losses, but people knew who he was. Because people knew who he was, no one bothered him. Rarely did someone speak to him. Even rarer did Krausma find someone worth speaking to. Someone like Mr. Shvevdov. With his death, Krausma was alone once again. If only he had a human mind that could forget what he read, then he could reread all those books as if he had never read them. If only he had a human body that could perish, then he too could find peace in rest. It was one of the instances where Krausma’s feelings conflicted with his pilots, which was an odd sensation. Krausma did not fear death. It meant nothing to him. When he died, he simply woke up right after. He of course would not know the time he spent regenerating his body. Truly, Krausma would treasure a true, final death. Life for him was bittersweet. Yet, there was a fear of death inside him. It came from the pilot. Death and awakening were not instantaneous for the pilot. He would be trapped in his crippled body until Krausma lived again.

Krausma strolled through the market. He had been preoccupied with the death of his friend, and hadn’t realized he was taking this path. A place like this was torture to Krausma. There were smells he could never smell, and so many delicious foods he could never taste. He would never be able to feel the sticky juice of an apple on his chin, or know how cold water tastes when you are very thirsty. He only knew what he read, and all the author’s used imagery that appealed to senses Krausma never had. At least this was the shortest path to get to where he needed to go; To the Underdome, to fulfill his purpose. It was almost time for Clockwork to fight once more.



INVOLVED: Krausma/Ryvius

[Atlas]

Wails of deafening despair reverberated through the metal coating of his helm, offering no more satisfaction than would a paper-cut; a duty called to him, and it was Urthemiel's responsibility to see it done. Noble aristocrat-types flailed in hopeless disparity and confusion as they fled the scene of one lonesome, but not alone, rabid wolf tearing at the flesh of an innocent boy. The others were not far.

They all came to him - men and women - seeking amnesty from nature's wrath. A starved bear pounded its way across the stone in their direction, its paws thumping awkwardly on the ground as it supports its weight with failing strength. It let out a faltering, but still strong roar as it slowed dramatically in its pace, limping greater than before until it came to a halt. Strength wavering, it stumbled on its hind legs - front still aloft - and tried to investigate the problem... but it was too late. The people took to arms in desperation and bludgeoned the beast to death with any house-hold object that was not affixed to something. It was only one dying bear, after all.

It was Urthemiel that slowed the beast. Deep into a vital organ he pierced, with a single shard of ice, offering sweet repose for the bear. It would have ended quickly had he his way - but no. He turned to the still-attacking gang, looming over them so, and uttering the faintest of deductions. The air became sharp around them, nulling all the warmth that once embraced all lovingly - even that bear. Urthemiel raised his right hand toward the crowd as they stirred once again, perplexed as to the goings on, and grafted a blade crudely of ice... then bore down upon them. They had no armour - no real weapons to speak of. The job was easy. Blood strayed violently as he slashed, amputated and impaled the nobles. It pooled quickly.

The bear was the innocent. Urthemiel intended to end its suffering by ending its life quickly, and without unnecessary slaughter. These humans did not see the rationality of the matter - letting blood boil and attacking a being now weaker than they. So strong and accomplished they must have felt as its life was sapped by each clobber. Oh, how quickly that strength failed them utterly, he mused.

"Beasts. You are all the same." He uttered, more audibly this time. "None of you deserve the mercy I was prepared to offer your attacker. It had reason to attack. You... you did not." No further explanation offered, he again took to arms, raising his sword against the others and charging, blade so close to the child's neck - which shimmered like disturbed water. He slashed again: same effect. The walls around him blotted as if burned in random places, which began expanding to reveal a distinct and familiar blackness. He was... back.


Involved: Urthemiel