This is Their Story: Restoration

Joeyray's Bar
Prev 1 3 4 5 12 Next
"Um not sure. The fabric seems to be slowly repairing itself and it seems pretty strong ... as for the metal plates ... I think I am going to need to find replacements."
OOC: was gonna wait for ShadowFury but I grow impatient, just as I suspect all of you to be.

DM: Across all the survivors, they all recieve massive headaches randomly and instantly. During this time they hear various sounds and voices. These things being from their past. They all pass out and have visions, revealing somewhat of who they are by an ancestor, but not much.

IC: I hold my head and fall on my back, my head in agony. I hear agonized screams, muffled, gurgled moans as if they are being stabbed while being held by the mouth. The pain becomes unbearable, and my vision fades to darkness...

My great grandchild. You are... -rozain Orin. You are part of the... Gheists. I... Do not search for destiny, allow... -ind you. Remember the teachi-... -ark Arts. Remember...
An old, yet wise sounding voice says in my slumber. Fading in and out constantly. Through it I see images of a man wearing a hooded cloak, assassinating a man who looked like a political official of sorts. He was giving a speech, and then he dropped dead as a fraction of his head is blown off.
Nodding, I sit down on the bench next to her;
"Well, that's good news..."
I say trailing off, my mind in another place as I spot the badly burned letters NR on the wall opposite us...

...{Alright people, remember; go in quiet and hit hard. Take out the spore cannons and the navy will handle the rest. Good luck people.}
With a hiss, the floor opens up overhead;
{Prepare to drop... Three... Two... One... GO!}
Veering up, the drop ship releases our battlesuits, sending them flying out at a steep angle...

...lightning... zerg... the rain, mud & creep... half of us dead... half our targets still intact... abandoning our battlesuits... three weeks...
As I waited for the man with the revolver to make up his mind about whether or not he was going to shoot me or just holster his weapon, a blinding and searing pain wracked my head as a memory comes to mind of something I learned young, a useful tool that I could turn to my advantage in most any situation.


The muzzle flashes of the assault rifles and submachine guns stood out starkly in the sudden darkness, their bangs emphasized by the sudden lack of other sound.

Fear is a tool inside of all men.

The first man falls to a returned round from a machine pistol, though it's flash is never seen by the men who were now gripped by fear. As his body hits the floor with a loud thud, drowned out by the gunfire, another man goes limp, his head removed at close range by a bladed weapon.

If you can find a way to make a human being feel a true fear, primal fear, he's as malleable as clay.

Two more men fall dead, the blades of their attacker sticking out of their chests for but a moment before vanishing. The last man backs against a wall, whimpering in fear and cowardice. "Please, don't kill me. I have a wife and daughter waiting for me back home. Please..." He continues with his pleas until a voice replies to him, it's owner unseen but his presence felt.

"I'll let you live, but make sure your friends know never to come here again, or there won't be any survivors." The man nods and turns to run back the way that he and his fellows had come from. "And you'd best retire from this business, because others won't be as merciful as I was." To give the sentence emphasis, the head of the man who'd been decapitated flew over him and landed at his feet. With a scream and a nod, the man fled, dropping his SMG and forgetting the place ever existed.

But most of all, fear is a great motivator, something you can use to make men leave you or follow you as you will. a tool.

As the memory fades, the pain continues and a voice speaks inside my mind, one that, despite the haze over my memories, I could vaguely remember hearing at some point in my life.

Jerus Joranis, you are a descendant of Jeri...Joranis, the first in a great line of warriors known as...Letters. Trust in your instincts, they will guide you to of Life and your memories.

As the voice fades away, I feel myself slipping into the darkness of unconsciousness, the newly revealed facts of myself put subconsciously where I'd remember them when the time came.
Kristina kneels down, gripping her head with one hand as nerves screamed in agony. Her eyes flickered back and forth behind her eyelids, and she bit her tongue to avoid making a noise. She could hear something in her mind, an oddly-familiar voice rings in her ears.

"Are you ready?" A male voice calls out to her, drawing her from her day dreams of her view from her mountain home. She faces straight ahead, seeing through the thin fabric mask and looking straight at her opponent, a mirror image of herself in the same suit.

"Ready." Kristina says, changing her stance from idleness to combat ready. The observers chatter between each other, and without further warning, the words ring out from the trainer. The two leap at each other, beginning the semi-final round, and the most intense match in her training she has ever had.

Time jumps forward. She walks through the hallway, next to someone that looks like her. She considered the person her mother, and in some ways, she was. Alexander, her 'mother', passed a folder, with [TARGET] written on it. Kristina accepts the folder, and Alex speaks.
"This is what information we have. Your target will be on the moon, assisting with the operations." Kristina nods, and goes to open it before her 'mother's hand stops her, stopping them both in the hallway. Alex stares into the eye-pieces of Kristina's suit, and says "The Initiative is considering continuing the project. As a gesture of good faith, they are giving you equipment from their stores, including a modification for the HE suit."

Kristina frowns, and asks "I thought you said that we were not going to get involved with them, mother." Alex nods, and adds "You are aware of the fact that it cost us a great deal to create all of your sisters. We're pretty much bankrupt, and we didn't create as many assassins as I thought we would. The Initiative says that they're going to pay for the costs, and continue the process, using a training regime that will cause them to favor the role that you and I take."

Kristina says nothing, looking into the eyes of her 'mother'. She nods, and says "So our lives depend on this happening." Alex gives a faint smile, and says "Take the folder to the armory. A representative from the Initiative will be there, along with the ship you will use. Take care, child." Kristina nods, and jogs away from her mother, following the signs to the armory.

The pain fades, and Kristina opens her eyes, looking around. She stands up, wondering how she had lost her memory, where her mother was, and more importantly, one thought took hold of her mind:
Who is the target?
Donovan never receives an answer as he suddenly feels a splitting pain.

"Gaaaah!" Don yells, clutching his head. A second later, he sees nothing.

What's... what's happening?

The sound of pouring rain. It's cold and dark, with the only light being from a dim lamp post on the street corner. Suddenly, the sound of hurried steps on wet concrete fill the air.

Is this... a memory?

On the far end of the street, Don has his eyes trained on a dark figure in the distance that's dashing away from him in an attempt to escape. However, Don is quickly catching up.

In a final desperate effort, the figure spins around revealing a menacingly large rifle. Closer inspection reveals his cybernetic implants, a body covered in gang tattoos, and a crazed expression.


A picture of a boy lying in a pool of blood flashes in Don's head.

When Don does nothing for a second, the stranger takes the chance to unload a hail of bullets toward him. Don concentrates, and a second later the rounds clatter uselessly on the ground. Underneath his cloak, Don's hands tighten until they're white around his stun knuckles.

"You're garbage."

Don lurches forward, unleashing a haymaker right into the face of the assailant, and tosses him several feet from where he was standing. A few seconds before he lost consciousness, the stranger lifted his head.

"Who... are you?"

Don feels himself smiling. He lived for this. Dramatically unfurling his cape and striking an open-armed pose, he spoke.

"I am the son of the legendary midnight vigilante! Tell your criminal friends that the streets are safe once again from those who take advantage of the weak!"

Don returns to a less striking posture, his arms now enveloped in his cloak.

"Tell them... while you're rotting in jail of course."

The memory begins to fade as Don sees himself beginning to walk away, tossing a beacon over his shoulder that he could only assume alerted the local authorities.

An image of a handsome man appeared that Don could not recognize, but felt strangely attached too.

Rem ber kid, you're my des ant. Iver!

The words became too garbled to understand, and the man shook his head in disbelief. Suddenly, the memory focused, the man seeming to try to get a message to Don before the memory faded completely.

You're a hero.

Don wakes up to a flash of light, and he suddenly becomes aware of the world around him again.

I'm a.... hero??
Coming awake not but mere moments after passing out, the memory comes back to me along with the tool I now had to use to my advantage, a tool I could remember how to use with vicious efficiency. Slowly standing up without looking at the man with the revolver, I leap to the next tree branch, and then the next, moving as fast as I could with how tired I still was. However, the slight exhaustion I was feeling held not sway next to the ecstasy of being able to remember even a little bit.

Stopping with the man with the revolver still in my sight but with my back to him and me out of his sight, I throw my voice in a way that took advantage of the forest's echo. "So, I believe we can agree that if we were to fight, one or both of us would die, which is a waste of energy, ammunition and lives. So, if you're still holding the revolver," my voice was deep thanks to an added effect from my helmet and faceplate, "holster it and then sit down. I know you can't see me, but I can see you once I turn around. If you've done this, I'll come to the forest floor and we can talk. If you haven't," the eyes on my helmet glow briefly, "the end result will be less than pleasant. For one or both for certain."
I groan before dropping off to a strange dream.

[i]Oraia Rayn... -owerful Psio... -erg are some of ... tools but ... to control th... -ur hate.[i] I heard a powerful and determined Female voice ring almost soothingly around me. Most of my dream were visions of numberless creatures rampaging across thousands of worlds as the world turned from a brown/blue or green/blue to pure disgusting purple. Thousands, Millions, Billions of the creatures died but they never stopped. The most prominent of all were four pictures. Each of the same woman, at least I thought it was the same woman, The first she was beautiful and young with fiery red hair like my own, then I didn't know what to make of the other three as they seemed to be of the same woman but her form was different and her hair was odd and dreadlock like.
DM: While they were passed out, night had fallen. It's quiet and dark. The only light are the stars in the sky, and some space debris can be seen faintly in the sky. It looks like... Rock...
Groaning, I shake my head to clear it;
"What the... how long?..."

I mutter to myself before cursing as I take a look outside;
"Ah bloody hell... Not good."
I murmur as I sleep, as I ended up falling asleep after passing out. What is audible are words involving with weapons, targets and operations.

"Rifle ... Head... H.V...T..." I appear happy as well.
I let out a soft moan as I pick myself up off the bench. "Ugh ..." I look over at Zeb. "Need any help?" I ask standing up and stretching a bit.
After hearing some peoples voices, I snap awake. I roll over and sit up , lotus style. Looking up at the sky. "What happened?" I ask, wondering what happened in the sky, and why I passed out.
I shake my head, looking out into the night with keen eyes, clicking through the thermal & night vision filters on my helm without really thinking about it;
"Nah... I'm fine for now... but I've got a bad feeling 'bout this. The sun's set so it's about to get even colder..."
Kristina wakes up, jumping up from laying down and looking into the sky. She checks for her SMG, and reaches down, grabbing it. She clicks the safety and holsters it away, watching the debris fall from the sky. The suit calls up a best estimate of the trajectory from their position, but she dismisses it away.
Don shakes himself awake, finding himself with his back flat against the ground.

"Well, that was weird."

Don looks up to the stars.

"What... the hell is that?"
DM: Above in the sky, a very few pieces fall towards them, but will burn up in the atmosphere. However, 2 large pieces appear to be on the brink of colliding...

IC: "Did I miss anything when I was... Out...?" I ask.
A sharp pain resonates through my skull, forcing me to my knees. I clutched my head, as if that would help. Blackness took me.

I was walking down the hallway, the lights flickering. Everything was white, like it was completely sterilized of everything. The possibilities of this place were most likely a research facility, hospital, or an insane asylum. However, the lights were completely out, but there was light coming from my immediate area. I realized a light sensation on my hand, one I was totally used it. My hand was on fire, but I didn't mind it, I just kept trudging on. Through the silence a sound began to echo, in between giggling and crying. I began to slow down and pushed my had out, the flame becoming bigger strong, my energy dropping a bit. I looked around. Blood and some purple substance were intertwined across the floors and wall, like the den of some horrible beast. Against every warning for survival in my body, I advanced.

The purple substance was squishy and almost not wanting me to move my foot again. It was like trying to walk through mud, but harder. The sounds got louder as I walked by, dark shapes were moving behind the doors that lined either side of corridor, things that definitely didn't look human.

After what felt like hours I came to a stop to the end of the hall. A girl was sitting there, facing the walls her face in her hands. Her hair was brown, almost the exact same shade as my own, except for the fact that she had dyed a strip of her hair red. The purple substance seemed to have coated itself over the girl. It was stuck across her back and shoulders, plaster some of her hair down. I reach my non-flaming hand out, my right hand, toward her, saying something I couldn't quite hear outside of the memory. Was I trying to comfort her? I didn't know. She stood up, still seeming like she was crying. The realization had hit me, she was making this sound. Something was wrong with her. At the time I wasn't thinking straight. I was just happy to see her alive. Then the girl turned around. Her face would have been very similar to mine, except for the gruesome scene of the contorted face of anguish and giddiness, her face also touched by the purple substance, and a mandible protruded from the one side of her face, half covering her mouth. One of her eyes were differently coloured, it was an orange. The beginning of her hair and her eyebrows seemed to be spiked bristles that seemed to swirl, like a mix between antennae and thorns on the backs of porcupines. Was she my daughter? No, she would have been too old for that. My sister probably. The girl opened her mouth as if she were talking. I couldn't hear her, and the mandible made it impossible for me to read her lips. Then she lunged. If it weren't for my battle instincts she would have taken me down, likely have killed me. I had pulled my blade from my sheath, and as it came out in its swift motion, cleaved into the girl, nearly into two pieces, and sent her into the wall. Whoever it was died due to whatever this was. The dark shapes behind doors seemed to start moving to them, to me. I wanted to leave this place. But I couldn't. I had to do something.

I would burn away whatever this infection was, and euthanize anybody effected by it.

I came to, sprawled across the grass, slowly I pushed myself up, completely forgetting about the man that stood there, that had asked for access for a place to stay. I opened up my palm. Flames... I could... No, I can summon flames. Using some of my willpower, a flame sputtered to life in my hand, well under control, but highly dangerous if I were to let it leave my command.

I look towards the man, having remembered him by now, finding him dazed. "I apologize about my weariness, but who are you?" I felt as if he were in the same position as me. Lost and very much human.

= = = = = = = =

Oswald muttered under his breath as the man disappeared from the tree. "Well, oh !@#$." Slowly, but warily Oswald moved to put the revolver away, but still very tense. His hand was half way there when his muscles involuntarily relaxed, and his vision blacked. Crumpling to the ground like a sack of potatoes, Oswald was motionless and helpless. The only sign of my being alive was the sound of his strained cold breath, as he had fallen face first into the snow, it would be impossible to see the rise and fall of his chest.

"Harris, hurry your %^- up!" From his observing mind, he realized that the man was calling to him, he hadn't even realized he had forgotten his name, or really anything for that matter.

"Yes, sir." Oswald grumbled, his commanding officer being quite hard on him. Oswald was a very strong shot, a great soldier in that respect. But the physical athleticism did not really come to Oswald. He was very scrawny, not too tough, but he didn't really need it. He just needed to be able to aim, stay stealthy, and take quick small movements due to his position as a sniper. However, still he had to go through the pain in the *!@ training exercises to 'stay fit', It was stupid. Why couldn't he get a single day of break from this? In his mind, he was fit enough. He ran with the others, muttering under his breath about how much he hated it.

Harris shifts into his eyes while in some sort of desert, positioned on top of a sandstone building, a canister rifle of some sort set out in front of him. He was watching through the scope, in front of a large group of men donned in red CMC armour, his eyepieces identifying them as friendlies. Oswald sighs, moving his eye away briefly to rub his eye, and in those mere moments his squad begins yelling into their radios for sniper support. Oswald eyes widen and he moves towards the scope to begin firing. He zooms into an enemy behind some cover, firing blindly into the squad. The marksman pulls the trigger, the bullet having to be fired off to the side slightly, the wind blowng the bullet off into the cowering rebel's head, blowing apart his face. Harris was going to fire again when something grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him to the ground. A man in the some lighter CMC armour, if he had been in anything heavier, Oswald would have heard him coming. Quickly jumping to his feet, the marksman prepares himself for the fight that was about to break out. The hostile takes the first swing and Oswald ducks off to the side, grabbing the man's arm and trying to pull him off the edge. Before the man stumbles off he catches his balance and lunges at Oswald with a heavy fist, slamming into the marksman's chest before he could get out of the way, he slides across the roof, struggling to catch his breath. The punch had winded him.

The man walked over, about to shove the nearly dead marksman off the edge, grabbing onto the shoulders of his helpless prey, it strikes back. Oswald managed to get his breath back, and using the roof of the building as a base, he was able to launch the man holding him over the edge, even if it pulled his shoulder against the building in pain a fair amount. Harris sighed, laying there for another moment before getting up and checking through his scope, ready to disperse anybody down there, save what he could of his squad. Except nobody was there. Eight bodies, over half of his squad and two hostiles. The rest must have been taken prisoner. #$%^... I need to get out of here... I... I won't be able to go back after this, besides, the dropship is probably not gonna be able to pick me up anyways... Sighing, Oswald packed up his rifle and ran. He would find another way off world, a way to survive. He always had.

The marksman woke up, breathing heavily into the snow. His face was wet and covered in snow, the paining burning. "GOD DAMN THAT HURTS!" He yells as he shoves himself up, He yells towards the man hidden in the trees as his eyes scan around for his revolver. "Who are you?"
"My name won't hold much meaning to you, but it's Jerus Joranis." Turning to check on the man, I see he's kneeling on the ground looking for his revolver, but he's otherwise unarmed. Close enough. Leaping off the branch I was on, I fall as far as I can before swinging out a scythe and catching one of the lower branches, arresting my momentum and landing at the base of a tree the man could see. Looking up, I note the large meteors and frown. What in Lord Garreth's name...Ah, that's that bloody name again! Clearing my head for the moment, I face the man again. "And your name?"
"I'm Oswald Harris," he plunges his hand into the snow, coming out with his revolver, a slightly golden coloured weapon. Holstering his weapon, Oswald holds out his hand to shake. "Any idea what's going on?" he asks, completely oblivious to the falling debris.

Join the Conversation

Return to Forum