This is Their Story: Restoration

Joeyray's Bar
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As the man points his gun at my throat, I keep my eyes locked with his. "Even if you shoot me, you probably wouldn't be able to bear any future if you keep pointing that gun at me..." I say, gesturing with the tip of my blade that is inches away from his groin. A low move, but when you're cornered, you tend do things a bit more practically.
Relaxing, I lower my sights;
"Truce. Now get inside & shut the door before something else decides to come knocking."
Oswald rolls his eyes, "Do I look like someone who wants to care for some little brats?" As the other man agrees I lower my revolver, but my arm still tense, I would pull it up in a moments notice and have it set on any one of their heads in a second if they showed hostilities.
Folding the scythe back into it's storage form, I holster it before the machine pistol, not wanting to be caught off guard if they suddenly changed their minds. "Well Oswald, you're closest to the door."
I feel incredible heat at my back just before the debris crashes to the ground immediately behind me, sending me soaring across the landscape, before promptly smashes through a snowbank and sliding across the icy ground, the word "!@#$" escaping my lips in a yell. My world was swirling around me, ice and concussive force are both things not to be reckoned with. After about ten seconds, although it felt like ten hours, my vision began to clear up. I slide my two hands over closer to my shoulders and push myself up, a burning pain rushing through my left shoulder, it had obviously taken the brunt of the impact from the ice for it to feel like this. On my knees I wait for the once again hazed vision to fade, tentatively moving my good hand up to the shoulder and assess the damage, the pain was bearable, horrible, but bearable. The bone wasn't damaged to bad, a bit of a fracture could be felt underneath the skin, which had probably caused some bleeding I couldn't feel through my armour's weaving.

Damn good thing I'm right handed. I half-crawled half-slid across the ice towards solid ground for me to begin rising to my feet, avoiding any use of my shoulder if possible. I could still move the joint at the elbow just fine without pain, but that wouldn't be helpful without my shoulder moving. I sighed, my breath puffing out of my helmet's ventilation, unwelcome in the cold environment. I surge onward towards the smoke, careful not to disturb my arm. I could see the dark shape in the distance. Maybe half-an-hour walk? Well, %^-*. This isn't gonna be fun...


Oswald sighs, turning around and closing the door just before the scream echoed out, blocking most of the sound, turning it inaudible. "Y'know I am useful for more than just menial tasks...."
"Right..." I sit down and look at my blade. Admiring the sharp, silvery tip and the black sides and light etchings in it. Beautiful craftsmanship...

A small rock sized meteorite hits a tree next to Nathaniel, piercing it cleanly then impacts with the ground, kicking up snow, dirt and some rock fragments. Afterwards he see's a lanky, black, asymmetrical figure fall from a tree, then stand up, its "head" hanging down.

Kristina notices the same "figure".

The shower is slowing down, but some are still coming. A few moments later, the ground shakes... The large fragment must have impacted...
I throw my good arm up and over my head as a natural reaction to the dirt, rock, and snow flung towards me, the jerk in my body sending pain throw my left shoulder, causing me to flinch. I shake my head slightly before looking back, a figure stood there. I couldn't make it out properly, but it was clearly dark, pretty scrawny, and completely lop sided. My hand immediately rested on my sword hilt, and I continue progressing, turning my body to keep my eyes on the thing. If it attacks, it's gonna hurt like hell to fight...
As he gets closer, it appears to be a black, grainy thick goo that has dirt, something red (probably blood) and other debris coursing through it. It lifts it head up slowly and turns to him, revealing 2 eyes on its "face". A red lizard eye, and a human eye, puss-yellow sclera, sickly red irises and the eye is bloodshot. The eyes are oddly large, and twitching. The creature also bores teeth on the lower part of the head, teeth of all types, in some attempt to form a mouth, an attempt that makes the creature look all the more twisted and sickly. It appears to have human legs, and reptilian arms with 3 extremely long finger like appendages for hands.

The creature wails and shouts, the wails like a demented dolphin mixed with an elephant but very deep, and the shouts of a human in agony. The wails have the feeling of bloodlust, and anger. The shouts are of pain and sorrow, as it now quickly shambles to him, moving rather fast, but looks slow, looking twisted and disturbing as it moves...
As it reaches within my range I lash my sword out of its sheath, the blade swing with a lot of force, cutting deep into the gooey monster. Okay... So how do I kill a liquid? Should I try to evaporate it? No... I don't know this things boiling point... My sword can't be all that useful against a bunch of goo. It would have frozen already if cold was the answer? Should I just try to escape it?
Kristina listens to the creature, wondering what it was, and how it became what it was. It seemed to be moving toward someone, and as she adjusts, she realizes what it is going for. She draws her SMG, refraining from using the Virus Rifle unless it starts becoming too much to handle. She takes a test shot to see what it would do.

She brings her SMG up, looking down the sights, and realizes its too close to aim for the feet. She adjusts upwards, along with moving to a different angle to avoid shooting its target. She starts walking toward it, taking a test shot on the shoulder away furthest from the person.
The blade gets stuck in the creature, but as the bullet pierces it, the pressure weakens and Nathaniel is able to pull it out. The creature falls to its knees for a moment, then gets up and launches a tendril at Kristina who shot it, while lashing out with its long fingers at Nathan
Kristina dives out of the way of the tendril, deciding that it was going to be hostile. She rolls, getting back up and unloading on the creature with quick bursts, continuing to move in order to avoid another tendril, and moving in a direction that would bring her closer to the person.
I side step with a sudden jerk, the pain was rushing through my shoulder constantly, and I could start to feel a warm liquid on my skin under my armour's fibers and plating. My blade swings back around to try and take the fingers off.
2 are cut off, and one is hanging by a bit of the goo. It lurches back, and but starts to resume it's assault on the injured man with the other arm, the fingers beginning to regenerate, but slowly.
Compacting my gun's stock, I clip the weapon to my belt, ready for use at a moment's notice;
"Right... Now that we're all playing nice, I think some introductions are in order; Name's Zeb."
I quickly lurch backwards and kick myself back away from the hand lashing at me, my shoulder being stressed again as the impact of the landing was sent through me, making me squint in the flinch once more at the pain. The bone had receded from my skin. That's good, no more flesh wounds. Bad news, it meant it was prepared to start ripping up the muscle and tendons. I squinted, focusing as I lift my blade back up, angling it 45 degrees to the left, It felt awkward. I very much wanted to raise my left arm, if only for balance rather than assisting in strikes or sending fire, but it didn't matter, I could defend myself like this, I hoped.


Oswald shrugs both of his shoulders, not just the right one. He wasn't crippled like someone who was fighting for his life. "The name's Harris... Oswald Harris," he looks around at everyone for a second before sighing and looking at the ground dejectedly. "Yeah, the whole Bond thing doesn't really work with my name..."
"Works better than mine. All I remember of mine is Korozain." I say, picking up on the humor.
I size up the others in the craft, having already determined that Oswald was an adept gun fighter and chuckle. "I think I'll save mine for a time when we aren't hoping meteors are going to turn us into gruel. Unless you all think it's that important of course."
I shrug;
"Well, no name is fine, providing you want me to call you the dude with the scythe."
I tap the other one, indicating it was a pair. "Make that scythes. And that Mister dude with the scythes to you." Letting the joke fade away before speaking again, I let a soft growl into my voice. "For now, simply call me Messorem. It's..." I hesitate, a brief memory of it's origin appearing, some important person giving me the name before vanishing, "part of my past."

Leaning against a wall and folding my arms across my chest, I retract my helmet, revealing a sun-tanned complexion with blood-red eyes and strange white hair in a spiky hairdo. "If we survive the shower, I'll give my real name." A scar crossed the left side of my face, the memory of how I got it not present at the time, but I was sure it would come back. "Any objections?"

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