The Best Laid Plans: Gameplay Topic

[shadow pridak money gang]

“Hey, I’m gonna visit the sky today

Hey, I’m gonna dance on the clouds today

And make it rain on everybody beneath us

Just because they try doesn't mean they can be us

No, nobody can be us…”

The Best Laid Plans

A Tyler Durden Production

*****

They rise thousands of feet into the air, towers of blackened steel, their glowing orbs of lights fiery torches in the eternal darkness of this polluted wasteland.

And from them comes a message, droning in the air of a perpetual night.

“Please, all craft evacuate Sub-District 1745. Gas leaks have lead to emergency conditions. Do not enter. Repeat: all craft evacuate Sub-District 1745, a now off-limits zone.”

The broadcast fizzles out.

Silence falls.

And it starts again.

Sub-District 1745.

Home to twenty three hundred citizens, wiped off of the face of the planet.

They tell us it is gas leaks.

But even children think otherwise.

*****

The Story So Far

You give a man a nut and a bolt, you give him the resources to build God. You give him a screwdriver and wrench to go with it, and you challenge him to do it.

The Matoran and Agori had to learn that the hard way: not very long after the death of Makuta Teridax, everything was all about peace and goodwill between the two vastly different species. The humanitarians of the two societies brokered different deals, negotiated day and night, worked to try and unite the yin and the yang that the two cities had become into one autonomous shape. Suffice it to say, it went nowhere, fast. The Agori just didn't have the trust in the Matoran and Toa, considering them half-sentient at best, while the Matoran and Toa, proud beings by any right, refused to deal with the scorn their organic counterparts bestowed on them whenever they so much as walked across the street. Tensions flared, and soon, elements followed suit. On the brink of a war they knew they couldn't afford so soon after the destruction of their old home, the Toa and Matoran fell back to the old Great Spirit robot and began cobbling together a masterpiece.

The best part of a masterpiece, as any true genius will tell you, is that no one knows what exactly it is you're putting together, so naturally the Agori and Glatorian were taken by complete surprise when on a day like any other, a masterpiece, in the form of a city, shot itself up into the clouds, carrying along an entire civilization for the ride. And what a masterpiece it was: the city was an entirely self-sustaining work of engineering, just as much art as it was a habitat. The Great Spirit robot had been torn apart, its technology repurposed and its technological quirks used to create the city of Phan-Metru.

But as much as the Matoran engineers tried to avoid cutting corners, a project of Phan-Metru's magnitude just didn't work like that. Namely, the problem had popped up over and over again during conception, design and construction was also the problem that needed to be solved most: how to power the city. Self-sustaining technology was all well and good sounding, but the Great Spirit Robot's machinery was completely totaled by the Melding, and the Prototype Robot's power source would be good for about fifteen minute's worth of energy before completely evaporating. Mata Nui's power was gone and the Ignika's usage to power a city would have detrimental effects on the entire population. The debate raged on for weeks until finally, one Nynrah Ghost posed an idea that was mad, pure folly, but the more and more the engineers thought about it, the more and more they liked the idea.

The city, the engineers decided, would run on Antidermis.

There had been tests run on Antidermis in the first days of the new civilization, and it was discovered that when mixed into a certain compound and distilled just right with Toa Power, Antidermis would react placidly enough that it could be bottled up and still used as an energy source, without the volaitility of the original Antidermis. With that in mind, enough Antidermis was "purified" so that the city could properly run autonomously. And run it did. It ran hard and it ran valiantly and it ran like a dream for a good fifty years or so before there were any problems. As a matter of fact, it ran so long that the government didn't even believe there would be any problems.

Until there was a problem, and when it hit, it hit with the force of a sledgehammer.

The Antidermis had escaped: somewhere, in the purification process, something had gone wonky, and quite a bit of sentient Antidermis slipped through the cracks in the Phan-Metru security system before the entire control room was put on lockdown; it's not enough to completely quell the leak, but it at least keeps the city floating for now. The Antidermis, as of now, is AWOL. The Suits are not quite sure what became of it, though The Powers that Be have certainly taken note recently of the fact that there is a slowly climbing variety of violent crimes taking place in areas that don't fall into the purview of the Rabble: the press has also caught onto this fact, and is doggedly pursuing the cause of the growing crime rates, unaware of the broiling, hellish substance beneath their very feet that both gives their city life and could be its death.

Welcome to the world you live in: some of the Antidermis used to power Phan-Metru has escaped, with more leaking slowly by the day. Who screwed with the once-perfectly running machines, enabling a leak? Why do they want to knock the city out of the sky? Where is the Antidermis at now, and is it related to the growing surges of crime and hostility throughout Phan-Metru? That's what the Suits would like to know, but they're running out of time to figure it out. The Gumshoes are looking for answers, and fast, and the Rabble is growing impatient with the increasing opaqueness of their government. The Coppers are on standby, ready to fire on their own family and friends for the good of their country. The city in the skies is floating above civil war by just an inch, and one good shove from any side...

Well. You get the idea.

*****

Factions

This game is rather outside the box when it comes to factions. There are no factions in this game in the traditional meaning of the term, due to the motives and objectives of various groups being mostly incompatible one with another. However, there are four main "interest groups", if you will. These would be the government, the press, the military, and the masses, or as they are popularly referred to, the Suits, the Gumshoes, the Coppers, and the Rabble.

The Suits

The main goal of the Suits is, primarily, keeping the entire city in one piece and under their control. With the situation worsening every day, they now resort to often authoritarian, mostly underhanded, tactics to retain power and order, often at the expense of the other groups. As of yet, they still retain command of the Coppers, but if cark goes down, and the Rabble - which by now remains, aside from all the catastrophes, the most likely thing to break the Suits' grip over the city - gains an upper hand over the Suits, the Coppers can turn the tables on their employer. The Suits' relationship with the Rabble, while we're at it, is rapidly deteriorating - the Rabble are gradually and anything but slowly losing more and more rights, being forced into more and more difficult conditions of life every day. The Gumshoes aren't entirely safe, either: for now there's still a free press, but that right just might slip, given the proper motivation.

Good Karma: Friends in high places; assistance from the Coppers, when required.

Bad Karma: Characters are almost universally hated, often victims of personal or propreitary attaks

The Gumshoes

The Gumshoes have, primarily, one objective: to discover the truth of what the cark is actually going on here. Unfortunately, nowadays that's becoming a rather difficult task. The Suits, as mentioned before, still allow free press - but what "free press" means in this city, exactly, is a matter as subjective as deciding what music is the best to listen to when cooking risotto with salmon while drinking a cup of hot chocolate. They are usually under constant surveillance, if somewhat passive, by the Coppers, and viewed with immense distrust by the Rabble. With no friends, no subordinates, and no supporters, the Gumshoes, more than ever before, have to rely on their own wits and skills to reveal what the actual rabid pancake is going on.

Good Karma: Access into otherwise restricted areas; can get high ranking sources in Suits or Coppers.

Bad Karma: Their dogged protection of their sources leaves them open to persecution and smear campaigns.

The Coppers

The Coppers do, mostly, what they're paid for - maintain order. Under the current circumstances of life in Phan-Metru, the task is neither the easiest nor the most simplistic, which is often problematic because thinking is often not a Copper's favourite pastime - they prefer donut eating. With the Rabble being more and more troublesome every day, more often than not the Coppers find themselves the enforcers of the Suits' authoritarian ways, more often protectors of the regime than of the law. It is under these circumstances that many of them find questioning - yes, their brain cells are active enough to process such complex thought, I know, amazing, right? - their loyalties.

Good Karma: Access into otherwise restricted areas; the Suits and Gumshoes, when required, may give assistance.

Bad Karma: Characters are occasionally hated, almost universally disrespected; need to follow orders from the Suits.

The Rabble

Lastly and unfortunately leastly, there's the Rabble. There are about 200,000 people on this city, but only an obscure, perhaps ten percent minority is not part of the Rabble. They are the the overarching grey masses of working class citizens pushed to the very edge, living a shallow existence on a dying city where the Coppers are untrustworthy, the Gumshoes are untrustworthy, and the Suits are doing their very best to maintain an atmosphere of mistrust by both willingly and unwillingly pushing the Rabble further down. The Rabble, of course, resents this, and when capable, or when it thinks itself capable, it resists. It is the Rabble who are the most dangerous threat to the Suits, though it may not look that way - there is nothing stronger than a guy down on his luck who is just trying to survive and might just possibly decide that tossing a rock at you will help.

Good Karma: Support from other members of the Rabble; undisputed control over some of the more...lawless...regions of the city.

Bad Karma: Terrible financial status; disrespect from the Suits, often from the Coppers.

*****

The City Itself

Picture a city the size of Metru Nui, but largely divided by class instead of by element. A city of 20,000 strong and growing, Phan-Metru is an amalgamation of the latest and greatest tech from the old Matoran Universe, plus a series of generational improvements and experimental ideas. Viewscreens like those of Metru Nui line the skies, along with budding chute systems where personal speeder races - highly lucrative, but totally illegal - have become the norm in many parts of the city. Meanwhile, the center of the city itself and its outskirts have become where the well-to-do stay, along with many journalists and cops who don't work the beat in the grimier parts of the city. Places of Interest Plaza Nuva - The throbbing heart of Phan-Metru, the Plaza Nuva is the business and tourism center of the city. It's the place you want to be if you expect to have any sort of quality of life beyond lower middle class. Businesses, police stations, and high rise condominiums dot the streets, stabbing up towards the skies like giant Protosteel swords, attempting to impale the clouds. Almost always crowded with people. Typewriter Town - As you can plainly guess, this is where most of the Phan-Metru journalists camp out and talk. It's a quiet little part of town, with cafes, low-key bars, and various parks and the like; it's almost as if the entire district were solely invented for the sake of having Gumshoes meet up with their sources inconspicuously. There are about half a dozen small residential buildings, but nothing much in the way of creature comforts beyond a simple safe house for a high-placed source. Gearheadville - Screw Antidermis: adrenaline runs through the very veins of this part of the city. Speeder stores, garages, repair shops...if you can think of it, and it pertains to personal transportation, it's in Gearheadville, and it's in spades. The mechanics are a wily sort; jaded and rough, always stained with a touch of motor oil. They know more than they let on, too: Gearheadville is where you go if you're looking to get involved with a street racing league and earn a few bucks. Just expect to earn yourself a bit of a rap sheet while you're there. Stab 'N' Grab - Not exactly The Ghetto, not exactly Gearheadville, but close. the Stab 'N' Grab, as it's so coarsely named by the more highbrow citizens of Phan-Metru, is not the kind of place you want to rep. It's similar in appearance to the Plaza Nuva, if darker and more wicked. The air is slightly thicker and more dangerous here, as though there's blood intertwined with the carbon and oxygen. As you'd expect, there's no honor among thieves here at the Stab 'N' Grab, so don't just watch your back, watch your front, your sides, your diagonals and your wallet, too. You may have noticed I said wallet: yes, I know bringing your cash into a place called the Stab 'N' Grab doesn't sound smart, but this little corner of the sky happens to have the best black market this side of the stratosphere. Technology months - sometimes even years - ahead of what the Suits have under their belt can be found in prototype form, depending on who your connections are. Background checks for weapons? Well, well, it looks like we have a funny guy on our hands. The Ghetto - You may have noticed I mentioned The Ghetto. Also known as the Outskirts ('Skirts) or the Fruit Loops for their distinct shape and coloration, this place is almost as aptly named as the Stab 'N' Grab: this part of the city is pretty much the epidermis of town, wrapping around Plaza Nuva in three levels color coded Blue, Green, and Red, Blue on the outside edge of the city, Green in the middle, and Red being the closest to the city itself. Repping these colors in the wrong places could get you robbed, beaten down, or worse if you don't play your cards right, but they all share a certain camaraderie in that a good 80 to 85 percent of the population calls one of the colors home. Many of the chutes from Gearheadville that are home to street racers run through The Ghetto as well, as well as certain black market operations that have been pushed out of - or escaped from - the Stab 'N' Grab, so it's not uncommon to see a good bit of crime here, either.

*****

Rules

1. No god-modding. Most of you probably know what this means, but in the event that some of you do not, there are three basic types of modding. The first is autohitting, wherein you hit another PC without either permission or having given a chance for them to respond. The second is metagaming, which is when your character knows something they should not be able to know. Like a character all of a sudden knowing what is happening across the city with no reason. Finally, no performing things your character should not be able to do. This means no elemental manipulation at insane levels, like using lightning to atomize a solid object. No dodging things that you should not be able to dodge. That includes "sudden feelings" that make you want to dodge an unseen attack. And no "He tripped, acidentally avoiding the attack". Both of those are very large no-nos. In conjunction with the above, Nova Blasts are expressly forbidden without prior staff consent.

2. As you might have guessed from the above, there is no "Thou shalt not kill PCs" rule. If your character is put into a situation where they cannot escape without modding, your character will die. This does not mean, however, that you have permission to go around killing other people's PCs. Character death will be strictly monitored.

3. Use IC (In Character) and OOC (Out Of Character) in your posts. Example:

IC:

Vakama ducked down, barely evading the shadow hand that grabbed the pillar above him. "Going to have to try harder than that!"

OOC: Anyone want to back him up? I'm kind of outgunned.

4. Keep OOC only posts to a minimum. And by minimum, I mean that one or two is allowable, but any more than that, and I'm going to step in. PMs are around for a reason.

5. Respect the staff. This includes the Head GM, and any other staff members that he may hire. They are where they are for good reasons, and they are just trying to do their jobs. If you feel a staff member is being unfair, contact one of the other staff member, or the Head GM, and we will sort things out.

6. As much as we would prefer not to use it, there is a punishment system in place. The first offense will come with an official warning, carried out both in PM and in the topic. Second is a warning, plus a major character injury. This is your last chance to turn back before we have to start bringing out the heavy consequences. Third is a temporary ban, the length of which will be decided based on the severity of the offense. The fourth offense will kill all of your characters, and carry a second temporary ban. This is your last chance to turn yourself around. The fifth offense will ban you from the game, forever. Leave the topics, do not come back. Now, due to the inherent flaws of a tier system, some of these skips can and will be skipped over if your action is severe enough to warrant it.

*****

Character Creation

This is the profile template you'll be using. Please note, that species such as Makuta, Great Being, Krahka's species, and a few others are explicitly forbidden. The Glatorian and Agori are more or less banned due to the backstory, unless you have a really good reason. Masks such as the Avohkii, the Mask of Shadows, the Vahi, Olmaks, Masks of Summoning, and the Olisi are forbidden. Any and all unique masks are forbidden, and the staff reserve the right to deny any overpowered masks that we have not yet thought of. Elements are the same story: no Light, no Shadow, no custom elements except Crystal and Oil.

Name: Pretty straight forward. Keep it Bionicle-y, and no canon characters.

Species: Again. Pretty self explanatory. See the above for any banned species.

Gender: Do I even have to point this one out?

Appearance: What your character looks like.

Powers: Here's where you list your element, your mask, or any other power types inherent with your character.

Skills: Good at using your element? Strong fighter? Psychologist? What your character is good at.

Weaknesses: You have to have one. What is your character bad at? What problems do they have?

Equipment: Here's where you put your weapons, your pencils, your first aid kits. What does your character carry with them?

Bio: Your character's past. What are they like? What have they been through? Also doubles as your character's personality section. Must be at least two sentences long, and if you go for the minimum, they'd better be exceptional sentences.

*****

Dedications

Even though this was mainly an in-house production, and I kept most of the details to myself beyond the introduction and basic premise, I think it would be apt here to make some dedications and special thank yous to the people who not only inspired me to make this game possible, but to the people that inspire me on an all-around basis almost every single day of my life. Get some Kleenex handy, smoke if you got 'em: there are feels on the horizon and there's no way around 'em.

Special thanks to the people who inspired me to get into the RPG forum: to everyone who's still kicking that played Requiem, this one's for you, to Exo-Fat, you mad frickin' genius, to anyone who ever read one of my pre-2011 "open for interaction" posts and figured "eh, why not?" this one's for you. Thanks for giving me a ride for this long and this far: from here on out, it's my turn to drive. Be warned, I don't like speed limits.

Special thanks to everyone in the BZPRPG that, for some unfathomable reason, put me and my writing on a pedestal and gave me a shot to shine in a game where nobody is really supposed to shine. Special thanks to Dov and Krayzikk, who will stay up at night as late as they need to if it means me pitching them one of my crazy ideas during a hallucinogenic fugue staTe. Special thanks to Snipe for so much more than I could ever list. Special thanks to Grochi for giving me a chance to keep my insult Humor sharp. Special thanks to Vorex for keeping my real insults sharp. You all are my muses. Never change.

Much love to everyone in my WC crew: here's to Ghost, aka David Tennant's young doppelganger, you're pretty alright, even if you are the new kid. To Veef/Corv, aka Commander Shepard, aka Joss Whedon of Western Europe, you have an incredible talent for doing what you do: you're a genius artist, a great writer, and one of the realest and kindest people I know. To Francis, aka the Master of Disguise, aka OG Fruit Bowl, I have nothing in my heart for you but love and admiration. We've been doing this thing togethEr since the beginning, and I want to thank you for giving me a boost when I've felt like quitting, having my back at the good times, the bad times, and the worst times, and being just a general astounding human being every day. Special, special thanks to Biebs and Rene, aka Dr. Jekyll and Mister Indeterminate Gender, aka Beauty and the More Beauty, aka What Would I Do Without You Two?, two of the most astounding human beings I've ever come across, for their constant love and encouragement, whether it's necessary or not. I'm proud to have you two as spouses, and I'd like to thank both of you or molding my writing Style and making me what I am as a writer and a person - or, rather, what people tell me I am - more than either of you could ever know.

Finally, last, and anything but least, thank you to Nuju Metru, aka Sweeney Todd the Demon Barber of San Francisco, aka Brunette Joffrey, aka Skinny Love, aka The Cheerio Bandit, aka Aaron. Whether you know it or not, RPing under you This past year, getting to know you, hanging out late at night telling terrible jokes and coming up with actors for our characters, all that stUpid stuff that we took for granted ended up changed my life. Even though I maDe sure never to tell you I even had an RPG concept caught up, even though you never saw a word that's in this post before today, your fingerprints are on almost every inch of this entire game from the intro to even these dedications. You have so many talents, and I got nothing but faith that you're going to use them to the best of your ability, squared, throughout your entire life. You're going to change the world by the time you're done with it: it's just a matter of when you start. I'm honored to call you one of my best frIends in the world, and I love you, Aaron, even during the times where I pretend that you're not, and that I don't. Here's tO the future: it's ours for the taking.

Take care, everybody. Enjoy the game, and God willing we'll all meet again in Techna III: The Search for a Proper Ending.

-Tyler

I'm serious about the Techna thing.

[Relapse]

IC:A new world. Everything was different now.Ryjak looked up into the sky, laying back against a rooftop. He embraced the sounds and smells of the Ghetto. But something sounded different today. He was upon his usual perch- the apartment which housed many of his followers. They were all undercover. No one would ever notice them. They, just like he, were ghosts to the law. He controlled an army of the invisible, which made them invincible. Underneath him, he heard the sound of screaming. The Matoran rushed to look over the side of the building, where he saw a Matoran being mugged by two others- despicable rats who were using their power to oppress the weak.The Onu-Matoran shot from atop the roof, leaping from wall to wall, quickly making his way to the ground. He landed, completely silent, behind the muggers, and drew his sword. With one strike, he finished the job for them, slicing the unlucky Matoran's neck. He was dead almost instantly. Spellbound, the muggers turned to Ryjak, a look of wonder in their eyes. "Who are you?""I am a ghost, and I know your kind. You have been forced to a scum, pathetic existence by the rulers of this land. No more will this be. Take up your sword and follow me, and you will have an abundance. Meet me in the center square in five hours. I will lead you to a better life."With that, he was gone, jumping from ledges to the top of the building, and then off into the distance. He had made his mark, and now he was gone. Little did the two Matoran know, he had been doing the same routine for hours that day. And for days that month. After all, the best laid plans didn't come together overnight.

Edited April 2, 2013 by Bane of No Isles

[Toa Levacius Zehvor]

IC: Volanara / The Ghetto - Empty Apartment

 

In the green district of the ghetto, a plume of smoke emanated from one of the second story rooms of a run down building. The owner of the place was blind and deaf, and didn't notice when people moved into his little corner of the world. This didn't stop people from moving in, of course. Occasionally, a person left their coin to pay for the place at the table; the rest of the time, they were taking what somebody else had left. As long as they fed that old landlord, though, they had free housing.

 

Without the Suits knowing about it.

 

Volanara gave a long, hard stare to the toxic roll she held in her hand, before smashing it into the bed she lay on and angrily tossing it at one of the windows. Throwing herself into sitting up position, she took off her mask for a moment and rubbed her face with the other hand. Reapplying the piece of vital equipment, she moved to the window and looked out at the city below.

 

"Or, rather, above." she thought to herself. "But that won't be for very long. We'll claim our birthright."

 

-Toa Levacius Zehvor

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

It was a grimy little throne room, slicked in oil, blood, and chalk outlines of bodies, but it was a throne room nonetheless.

 

Fortis slicked his way cleanly through a side alley in the green district of the Ghetto and grabbed onto a low-hanging ladder with one hand, haphazardly pulling himself up onto the fire escape of an old apartment building that looked to be on its last legs foundation wise and had windows missing randomly, giving it a crooked little half-grin. By any accounts, it was an ugly face, but it was a face that Fortis could find adoration in nonetheless as he hefted himself up onto the second floor escape and somersaulted forward, cutting a crescent shape with his lean, attractive body shape as he landed cleanly on his feet like a cat and then popped against the wall, drawing a cigarette and lighting it. His revolver clicked lightly against his thigh in its holster as he took a drag and puffed outwards, smoke blending with smoke.

 

For once, the cat burglar didn't realize that a pretty hot Vo-Toa was staring right through his clavicle, out towards the same throne room he had claimed for his own.

 

-Tyler

[Toa Levacius Zehvor]

IC: Volanara / The Ghetto - Empty Apartment

 

Said Vo-Toa was just as much not expecting somebody to be attempting to clamber up what was likely the most deteriorated complex in this area of Phan-Metru, but temporary surprise faded to amusement when she realized who it was.

 

"For the self-proclaimed overlord of the Ghettos, you have an uncanny ability to find yourself back facing an armed opponent. You're lucky this isn't one of those times."

 

-Toa Levacius Zehvor

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

"Not just self-proclaimed," Fortis replied, spinning around and propping up his head with his arms, placing his elbows on the window. "Let me in?"

 

-Tyler

[Toa Levacius Zehvor]

IC: Volanara / The Ghetto - Empty Apartment

 

With an amused look, Volanara reached and pulled the window screen - and the rest of the window itself - to the side, allowing entry. She turned and walked a short bit before turning to him and saying, "Word on the street says our royal highness is attempting to make his move for the heart of the city. I'm not quite sure if I believe it."

 

-Toa Levacius Zehvor

[shadow pridak money gang]

IC:

 

Fortis raised an eyebrow and sat down in a second-rate recliner across from the bed, leaning back and rolling a butterfly knife around his palm. Every now and then, he'd look up at the Toa of Lightning, who was still watching him with an air of amusement. Finally, the dashing young thief shrugged to himself and pursed his lips, meeting Volanara's gaze.

 

"Well, I mean..." he started innocently, which was answer enough for her.

 

-Tyler

[Toa Levacius Zehvor]

IC: Volanara / The Ghetto - Empty Appartment

 

The toa of lightning rolled her eyes. "The rabble are not yet united enough, and if you push the Suits to hard now, with rumors of rogue antidermis and the destruction of entire sub-districts rolling off even the common mans tongues..."

 

-Toa Levacius Zehvor

[Wyrd Bid Ful Araed]

IC: "So what you're telling me, Vinny, is you lost your shipment for the day?"

 

The Skakdi known to most as Viniban quailed before Gumokk's gaze. Which was pretty impressive since the bigger Skakdi was facing the other way, staring out the window of the warehouse that had become both processing plant and headquarters for his small cartel

 

"I...I couldn't help it chief, there was these punk street hoods, they jumped me!"

 

"And how many of them were there this time? I believe it started as five but had gone up to twenty by the time you were telling me."

 

"So maybe I was a bit confused because of all the hitting me they was doing?"

 

Only now did Gumokk turn around, red eyes glowing while the rest of him was reduced to a blackened silhouette by the day's light behind him, "And yet I see no marks on you. And for punks they seemed to know exactly where you'd be and why." he gestured to a couple of goons and snapped his fingers, "Hook him up to one of the extraction feeds. Drain him until he talks, or he's replaced what his foolishness lost."

 

"No, no Mister Gumokk please-!"

 

The unfortunate mook was dragged off by the thugs, and Gumokk turned away. He did not suffer fools, and whether Vinny had merely been ambushed, or whether he'd thought he could skim a little off the top he was a fool either way

Edited April 2, 2013 by Lord of Adders Black

[EmperorWhenua]

Ic:

 

The sound of violence woke him up and no time was wasted fighting drowsiness. Zarembo got up and slipped his turtleneck over his body as he looked out the window -- the very small window that afforded for him a very meager view of the city and its contents. Smokestacks billowed massive ghostly apparitions that gave unlife to the industrial horizon. Darkness clouded everything here. Even existence itself was shrouded in a sort of depression that sucked the life out of everything living. Zarembo sighed as he donned on his chest armor over his shirt and wrapped his utility belt around his waist. Meticulous, he checked the cylinder of the revolver despite only loading it the night before, and then put a new stone in his torch before stepping for the door.

 

As soon as the hinge creaked he was afforded a very detailed view of life here. The bodies of two matoran were unceremoniously sprawled mere paces from his apartment door and huge pools of blood gathered where their bodies were bifurcated. Shattered vials of yellow liquid were littered around them, signs of a drug-related incident. Zarembo paid no attention to the mess and locked the door behind him before spinning the keys into a pocket and strode cautiously down the walkway. A winding staircase brought him to the ground floor, but the rest of the world was just like that snapshot of life: Insecure, deadly and fickle. Zar had learned early on to keep his eyes peeled and hand casual; only Coppers did the opposite and were typically nabbed for trying too hard to blend in. And in Zar's neighborhood, coppers didn't last long. He proceeded to mix with the many people who bustled through the grimy and hard streets.

 

It was extremely easy to blend in with the masses. In the city of 200,000 people, disappearing in a crowd of all but that number becomes exceedingly simple -- all you have to do is figure out where to take shelter figure out who your company will be, and have a good weapon to protect yourself with and there you have it: Your basic necessities in the ghetto. Zarembo was no stranger to the ghetto, however. He spent a lot of time understanding how the ghetto and it's other surrounding districts worked and in his time as a suit it was his duty to observe the infrastructure of Phan-Metru. Though he was never meant for politics and did not care much for "social services," it was in his job description see how energy impacted the denizens of the city at large, and when the population extends 180,000 members of the lowest caste it's only natural that you cannot avoid taking note of them, and he had a good knowledge of how life was here, if only from reading it at a distance.

 

Still, there were many vestiges of his former life and he still perked a little at hearing his name, his real name. Etolin. His name was all over the news, and it seemed like the television and radio sets were out to get him, each one shouting his name: "Etolin this" and "Etolin that." It was easy to blend in with the crowd, but Zarembo still had problems fitting in. His hairs bristled at hearing his name on a television blaring into the crowd.

 

No, Zarembo was still adapting to this new life.

[Relapse]

OOC: Here you are, TPTI.IC:Ryjak inspected the crates, finding just what he expected: Boom. It was a rare drug, and one he could get a lot of money for. He usually kept some for his personal stock, but this time, it was being sold to the highest bidder. All of it. Who that would be, he didn't know. Truth be told, he didn't care. As long as he got his pay, he could keep his followers in check. And that was the most important thing.Taking it had been easy, his men said. Five of them had snuck up, each battering the Skakdi dealers' with clubs until they blacked out. From there, they loaded it onto a nondescript truck and driven off with all the drug they needed, and more. That night, everyone would eat well. The Onu-Matoran paid each man and they disappeared into the shadows of the warehouse, replaced by ten Toa soon after. He would need men to move this from the Stab 'n Grab to the Ghetto. Each was covertly armed, undercover as truck drivers. They all loaded into the truck, save for Ryjak, who stayed outside and flipped open his communicator.Ryjak called in one of his contacts- a black market dealer. He would need someone to check this off, and possibly move some of it. Everything was according to plan.

Edited April 2, 2013 by Bane of No Isles

[Void Emissary]

IC:

 

"Something they never teach in college or university or private tutoring; being the guy in charge really sucks. You work harder than you should ever have to keep a bunch of bloody ingrates from killing each and ruining their own home, and they repay by turning you into Enemy #1. You try to rein them in, they lash out at you. You try to keep them fed, they bite you. You give up on them, and they accuse you of never looking down from your lofty Suity heights.

 

"I don't like Lose/Lose scenarios, but I'm living one right now. 'Course, anything else would require being under the eye of a deity who actually gave a ##### about us."

 

There's a Matoran sitting in front of me, some kid, fresh outta the very same schools of higher freakin' "education" that I was talking about, looking completely shocked at my little non-sequiter monologue.

 

"Yeah, yeah," I add contemptuously, "I noticed that hypocrisy the same time you did; get over yourself. All I'm saying is, Fate is a harsh mistress, and Chance is just a real pain in the rear to deal with."

 

Why was this guy here anyway? Oh right, job interview. Here about a position in the lower offices, or something like that. They were all the same to me; they all looked the same, talked the same and acted the same at this point. It was only when Suit life broke them that they would change from their college roots, and become true desk jockeys - and would thereupon become the same sort of guys, but now all wearing a different set of hats.

 

I chuckle softly, then take another look at the kid's resume; I didn't even have to, I knew what I'd see. Good schooling, good background, good references - an all-around good guy. Lots to lose, lots to gain. He'd probably fit just fine into our ranks.

 

"Alright mate, the job's yours; now get outta my office," I say, tossing the resume back over to him. The Matoran obviously didn't need to be told again, 'cause he was already out the door before the last syllable of the sentence had died in the air.

 

I sigh, and lean back in my chair, kicking my feet onto the table. I think I have a meeting today, but I can't be certain. If I do, someone'll probably tell me.

 

Just another day for the guy trying to save an entire city.

 

-Void

[sunflower]

IC: Elirahk

 

Gooooood morning Stab 'N' Grab.

 

And what a wonderful morning it was, why, the smog looks absolutely thick today, doesn't it? High chance of scattered showers of bodies falling from rooftops today, just like yesterday. And the day before. And probably tomarrow. Oh well, just remember to pack an umbrella. If you can afford one, that is. Otherwise, just steal it.

 

Right well, I'd actually been up for some time before the two hazy lights appeared in the sky through the two rusted windows, signaling the rise of the twin suns that lorded over this place during the day. Before they were blocked out by sky scrappers, that is. Getting here earily was probably for the best, considering that I liked my shop to be not stolen from. I knew how thieves worked, from first hand experience. I was known to carry some very interesting pieces of equipment, which was highly valued in this place. I was also known to carry a gun that blows off limbs and heads, but even this isn't enough to deter some of the more crazy ones. Thus the waking up earily and all that.

 

A sound fom the counter, an electronic tone that repeated twice more, before I picked the communicator up. The heavy-duty screen blinked twice, before a rather specially (self) made program identified the caller through records I really shouldn't have access to. Why, if it isn't my short little friend.

 

...

 

Friend is more than a bit of strech, nevermind.

 

Customer.

 

"Yosup," I said rather lazily, having taken the call at the last possible second, right before my messaging system kicked in. What? I liked making people wait.

[Relapse]

IC:Ryjak smiled, a rather rare action for him to take on the job, even given that the smile was a mischievous one. He had good reason, though- Mata Nui curse it if this wasn't his best client on the phone. They each accepted that friendship was a joke, and they were eac fine with that. However, business partners- those were pretty useful."Good morning. I have a mother load of Vitamin B on me right now, and I need you to come check it out, maybe help me get it shipped off. If you help, I'll cut you in on a sweet, sweet deal I have with a few of the Suits."

[Snelly]

IC: Leyana

 

Today was decisively a Monday.

 

Not because it actually is Monday, because it's actually Wednesday...at least I think it's Wednesday...or was that yesterday...

 

Let me rephrase that, today felt decisively like a Monday. I had barely gotten out of bed this morning, out of my apartment just outside the good old Plaza Nuva. Naturally on a cop's salary I couldn't actually live in the Plaza, not that I really wanted to, people who actually live there tended to be a bit too snobbish for my tastes.

 

Anyway, so far today had gone like any other day, I had clocked in at the station, drove down into Stab 'N' Grab, walked my beat endlessly till about lunch time, and now I was here at my favorite coffee shop, dunking my donut into my latte.

 

What? I happen to like donuts. Has nothing to do with my profession. I mean, look at them, they're so perfectly...circular, and absolutely smothered in glaze.

 

I watched the street like a hawk as I bit mercilessly into a heavenly donut, I always kept an eye out for trouble, even when I was off-duty. If trouble didn't come finding me, I was gonna find it.

 

​OOC: Open for Interaction.

Edited April 2, 2013 by A billion cats

[sunflower]

IC: Elirahk

 

"Is that so?" I asked rhetorically, kicking back in the levetation-disk equipped chair that served as the only seating arrangement within my immediate area. The floating piece of furniture spun around once on it's frictionless axis, before my legs brought it to a stop as I swung my boots onto the counter. "So, you want me to sell your motherload of bananas, and in exchange, I get in on this neat deal with some glorified Vahki-wannabes."

 

"Mkay bro, sounds cool," I finally answered, swinging some prototype gun-thingy shooter that most people would sell their first borns and mothers for around my finger by the thing's trigger guard.

 

Relax, I put the safety on. At least, I think it was the safety. Pretty sure.

 

Those silly geeky nerds and their self-destruct buttons.

[Relapse]

IC:"Okay then, get over here as soon as you can. I really don't feel like being discovered today." With that, he ended the scrambled call and went back to work supervising. Even as he did, he picked up on a call from his Suit clients. "Yes?" He said, his voice garbled."Do you have possession of the drug?""Of course.""When can we expect it?""By nightfall, I hope. If all goes well, before that.""If all goes wrong?""Well, I hope you can afford the hangover that the rest of your brethren have inadvertently caused."

Edited April 2, 2013 by Bane of No Isles

[sunflower]

IC: Elirahk

 

"Always a pleasure talking with you good sir," I said into the device strapped to my forearm, though Mr. Shortie McNotReallyFriend had already hung up. Righto, time to sell some bananas. I threw the prototype gun-shooterthingy into a large plastic bin filled with other such prototype thingies that did various different things. Although, most of it revolved around shooting, burning, or blasting holes in other people. Through an assortment of ways.

 

Variety, no?

 

Kicking both legs down from the counter, I slapped by rediculously-sized pistol into it's holister on my hip, before stepping out of my chair with a bit of elemental assistance.

 

A lever next to the door dropped down some armored shutters, for protection and stuff, and I locked the door with an elementally-controled combination. In this place, you really couldn't be overly careful.

 

A hop and skip later, and I was on my way towards Ryjak, pushing through the crowded streets.

[Snelly]

IC: Leyana

 

Yeah, things have been pretty mellow as of late...wish something interesting would happen... I raised my cup of latte to my mouth and began to drink, on a day like this I definitely needed a pick me up.

 

I nearly spit my coffee out as I got a good look at a Toa's face as he walked by down the street. I knew that face somewhere...I went through the catalog of faces and names I had memorized in my head, and believe me it was lengthy.

 

Elirahk...yes I believe that was his name...he'd spent the night in a cell on a dozen occasions. He was bad news that was for sure...by the look on his face I knew he had to be up to something...naughty.

 

It seemed lunch break was over for me, I discreetly left the coffee shop before I could lose sight of the Toa of Gravity, I took care to remove my badge from view, if I was lucky he wouldn't recognize me as a cop without the badge. Of course there was a chance he would recognize my face, I wouldn't put it past a character like him to memorize cop's faces. It help that the street was so crowded with people, I could blend in.

 

As I followed him we got further and further into the shadier parts of town. This was the part where I should have called for backup, or at least let my superiors know where I was. At the moment though I had my radio off, I didn't want anything to give me away, I'd have to risk this solo, it was the way I prefered it anyway.

Edited April 2, 2013 by A billion cats

[EmperorWhenua]

Ic: Keen of eye, relaxed of disposition, Zarembo reminded himself and eased his muscles back to a gentle simmer. He glanced around; nobody seemed to catch him in his moment of weakness, thankfully, and he kept moving on past the television, though a radio relayed the same audio message sent from the television and extended the duration Zarembo had to endure the newscast. The Rabble here ostensibly kept the news on to be informed citizens but in all actuality it was just a rustic way to tap into the news grid and know when something was going down. It was a way for them to be prepared, though Zar had a hunch there was more to it than that.

 

"... Deputy Minister zzzzzzt Etolin has been zzzt for a full week now," the news report said. "Authorities are still looking for information on the whereabouts of Mr. Etolin or anything zzzzzzzzzzt assisting the police in recovering him. The police are zzzt treating this as a missing persons case, though after a week with no leads there's no doubt they will rule it otherwise soon. Stay zzzzt news about of a shallows cat prowling about zzzt..."

 

Good, Zarembo thought. He wanted the Coppers to give up hope and label it a possible murder; doing so would also throw the Suits into some level of panic. Though it was superficially moot, the possibility for a very high-ranking Suit to be killed would raise serious discussion among the uppermost echelon. If they were not totally safe then what could stop them from being taken out one by one? But like everything in the city of doom it bore a double edge: Suits, more paranoid than they already were, would crack down harder on the people and their illicit affairs.

 

Zarembo, unlike his former peers, was sympathetic to the Rabble. It was because of them that he descended to this mire of iniquity, not to find out how they lived but to understand what they lived. Etolin knew that the Gumshoes were ineffective, the Coppers were distracted and the Suits were too aloof to fix the city's problems. If Phan-Metru was ever going to be fixed, it would be at the source of the problem, the Antidermis energy plants, and by the people who worked them, the Rabble's engineers. And thus Etolin chose to inhabit the psyche of "Zarembo" and become an engineer, so he could get to the bottom of the issue and fix the city before it was done for and fell from the sky.

 

It was a daunting task and one he was at many disadvantages for, and a single wrong move could land him in coffin or worse, but he wasn;t going to give up. He needed to do this, he owed it to everyone.

 

Hopping up into a chute station he set his sights for Gearheadville and one of the energy stations there where he would resume his work.

[sunflower]

IC: Elirahk

 

...~So take me back to Constantinople

 

No, you can't go back to Constantinople

 

Been a long time gone, Constantinople

 

Why did Constantinople get the works?

 

That's nobody's business but the~...

 

Cop.

 

Why did they have to so rudely interrupt my obvious musical genius? Alright, I didn't immediately regocnise her as a Copper, the chick was actually doing a good job at looking like one of The Rabble. But I've been watching out for da coppahs my entire life, I knew what to look for. First of all, her step had way too much spring in it. I'm not really one to talk, practing floating down these streets and all, but she had just enough to tip off the fact that she probably didn't have to gather up her life savings this morning to get a decent breakfast.

 

Of course, that wasn't exactly why I noticed her in the first place, I mean, she was fairly attractive. And all.

 

Have hawt copper trail me this morning, check.

 

Lead hawt copper on a merry chase, begin.

 

Time to have some fun with this.

 

With a single step, I pivoted on my heel of my boot a complete ninty degrees to starboard, starting down another highly populated street without a break in my stride. Loved my job.

[Snelly]

IC: Leyana

 

Karz, he's noticed me... His sudden change in direction was not by coincidence, no way. In fact, it had been so obvious that my mind screamed- TRAPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!

 

I followed him anyway. Still acting as if I had no idea he had found me out, I occasionally looked around for no reason, just to seem casual.

 

What am I doing...he's obviously not leading me to where he was previously going...following him is probably a waste of time now... And yet I kept following, I was determined to catch this guy doing something I could nail him for, even if it was just for littering, even if this was a wild goose chase, at least I was keeping him from doing whatever sinister scheme he'd been planning.

Edited April 2, 2013 by A billion cats

[sunflower]

IC: Elirahk

 

...~Why they changed it I can't say

 

People just liked it better that way

 

 

Istanbul was Constantinople

 

Now it's Istanbul, not Constantinople~...

 

I hummed to myself softly, slipping through the crowd like molten protodermis. I walked casually, not too fast, but just enough so that it looked as though I was trying to lose my attractive follower. Wait.

 

Did I just...

 

Oh noes.

 

Anyway, most guilty I looked, the better. It wasn't that hard to fake being up to no good, considering the fact that I really was up to no good. Why fake it if you can actually do it, right? Much more convincing that way, anyway.

[Snelly]

IC: Leyana

 

He seemed to be making an effort to lose me now, perhaps he was tiring of playing this game. No matter, I would not relent. I would follow him till he gave up and confessed all his crimes, or I caught him doing something obviously illegal Whichever came last.

 

Though, the way he was acting...it just seemed like he was putting on a show. HE'S TAUNTING ME I KNOW IT.

Edited April 2, 2013 by A billion cats

[Padishah Mehmet II]

IC: (Enaltai, The Ghetto - Green)

If you see me, please just walk on by, walk on by.

Forget my name and I'll forget it too.

Failed attempts at living simple lives, simple lives

are what keep me coming back to you.

This city is dying.

 

What? You expect some sort of great revelation that nobody else knows about? What am I to you? A Suit?

 

Even if I was, would you expect me to just give away something that irrelevant as to actually be hidden from plain sight? It's not the truth that's hidden from you that is the most horrible. It's the truth that's in plain sight, the truth that is not, in fact, hidden from you that is so horrible, so evident as to poke you in the eyes every time you're passing by and make your eyes bleed at the ugly reality that you exist in.

 

We're living a half-existence, all of us. Our minds bordering on insanity and our bodies bordering on anorexia, our food supply running low though we work our behinds off for this city, and our children having not so much as a single article of clothing to keep them warm when it gets cold. And yes, it does get cold in this city, despite what the Suits might tell you. We're beaten by the Coppers, our opinions are ignored by the Gumshoes, and the Suits detest and fear us, because we're the only ones who can turn them from their seats up above.

 

Our hands bleed and scrape dirt. Our feet are sore and our lungs are hungry, hungry for air! For the air we need to scream, "Enough is enough!"

 

I need this air too. Less than anyone else in the Ghetto, but more than anyone else anywhere else, I need that air. I need my voice back, I need to assert, to the Suits, to the Coppers, even to the Gumshoes: we will not be ignored.

 

Our city's falling apart, and we know it. I know it, wandering aimlessly through the loose and ruined streets of this district. We weren't always like this, I remember. There was a time when the Suits would care what the actual Karz happens to us, a time when we could still reap what we were due. But now...

 

We're due more, and we reap less. Soon, we'll be due the entire city, and its decay will reap it instead of us.

 

I sit by a hobo on the street I know rather well. His name is Tarad, and both of us used to work in the same antidermis purification factory. Both of us have no place to work, doing odd jobs and living off loafs of bread we can barely afford. Both of us have no job and no future. Both of us cannot do a single piece of cark to help ourselves, and sure as Karz no one's gonna help us.

 

We barely say a word. We just sit, observing the masses of millions like us pass by. Not a nation, not the people, just... just the Rabble.

 

No signs of life here save the embers,

the occasional flame

We know the way but can't remember,

conception to the grave

Shout confessions from the greatest heights where no one can hear,

All my fears, my insecurities are falling like tears.

OOC: Open for interaction.

[Wyrd Bid Ful Araed]

IC: Krax was keeping watch on the city from the rooftops. He was...sort of noticeable on street level and people tended to throw things at him. So it was that he had a perfect bird's eye view of the little pantomime with Leyanu and the person she was obviously trying to follow.

 

"Officer," he said to her over the comm built into his helmet. She should have a receiving one in her own mask, "Do you require assistance?"

[Simulacrum]

-IC: Saevam Ensis, Plaza Nuva-

 

From his throne of glass and steel, Saevam observed the world below. Through the numerous screens lining the walls, he watched a city in its death throes, his face a mask of dispassion. A nest of computer monitors surrounded him, filled with blocks of text and statistics, earning no more than a glance from the emotionless Toa.

The speaker of one of the computers briefly fizzled to life, carrying a message of visitors. After a moment's pause, Saevam responded, his voice flat, his eyes distant."Bring them in."He resumed his work. He had a city to run, and a dying city at that.

 

OOC: Open for interaction.

[sunflower]

IC: Elirahk

 

...~The shadows gather 'round as the voice recites

 

The secret history of my immortal soul

 

10,000 years of unerasable acts

 

And permanent facts~...

 

I took a moment to get a better look at my (still quite good looking) stalker as I stopped at some beat-up shop selling speeder engines retrofitted with some kind of warhead-less cruise missles. Well, I got a look at her out of the corner of my eye, but otherwise, I was focused on looking like I was actually interested in explody engines. I already had one, and getting another wasn't that important.

 

...~The record of my

 

Unspeakable crimes

 

In previous lives

 

In previous times

 

Indelibly stains

 

The pages of history~...

 

A minute longer, and I stepped away from the shop, before the Matoran owner actually did convince me to by another one. As I stepped away, I turned towards where I had come from, and directly towards Ms. Copper. And I mean directly facing, to the point where I looked right at her, and smiled. A single wink and a wave later, I dropped low in the crowd, completely disappearing from her view, before slipping into a side alley. SHE JUST CAN'T RESIST FOLLOWING ME I KNOW IT. :3

[Krayzikk]

IC:

 

Have you ever heard someone else's thoughts?

 

Most people haven't. Even in this world, where the impossible is commonplace, where beings can wield the elements themselves with ease, most people haven't. Especially in this mistrustful age, Suletus were considered something to be wary of. Suletu wearers often died early. This wasn't speculation, it was a statistic. Suletu wearers, out of all other masks, had the lowest average lifespan. People didn't like them, people didn't trust them, people didn't want them around.

 

Most of them didn't like hearing other people's thoughts, either. So they kept their masks turned off. They never saw their attackers coming.

 

Along the same lines, Toa of the Psionics element were treated with similar suspicion. Their already small number continued to dwindle, as fewer and fewer of them survived to settle down, earn a family. Of all the elements, their rate of death versus birth was the highest. So few of them wanted to deal with the thoughts of others, and they died so quickly.

 

But as she spread out her mind, listening to the silent, but somehow noisy, word around here, Song had none of those issues. She was used to it, she knew how to deal with it, and if anything, she enjoyed it. She was curious by nature, and fate had been kind enough to give her an element that suited her.

 

But even as she pondered the mental world around her, she was alert. Even on the bench upon which she sat, with her eyes closed, she was not unaware. She saw the color of the crowds around her, she saw the intentions of so many. She could see every copper, every criminal. She could see every member of the common people. Which ones were worried, which were elated.

 

Nothing slipped by her.

 

OOC: Open for interaction.

[Padishah Mehmet II]

IC: (Enaltai, The Ghetto - Green)

Well. There was one thing you saw less than rarely nowadays. A Psionics Toa, just passing through the streets.

 

I can't say that I was surprised, really, because surprise is a trait I think has been entirely atrophied - yes, 'has been atrophied', not just 'has atrophied' - from me. Showing any emotion whatsoever is a freaking difficult task when there's just so much exasperation and hopelessness in you to take all that place that would be typically left vacant, open for Emotion to come visiting with his wife and seven children any day of the week.

 

It wasn't typical of me to talk to people. Talking to people was something I did really rarely nowadays, even to people I knew. The very concept of 'people' and 'crowd' was something that to me spoke of getting lost in them, not actually interacting with them. But when a wallet falls out of someone's pocket and I know that my friend, sitting beside me, is a lot less moralistic about that sort of thing and would've probably not said anything, I simply had to speak. It was one small step forward, quickly snatching the wallet from the ground before Tarad could, that was the prompt to my first real conversation in weeks. I nudged the Toa slightly and handed her the object.

 

"You dropped this."

Edited April 2, 2013 by Eduard Bernstein

[Toa Levacius Zehvor]

OOC: @ Darkon; Gotcha. Needed a Suit.

 

IC: Rodak | Plaza Nuva

 

There was a slight fizzle in the offices of Saevam Ensis, as another being tapped remotely into one of his computer screen. What was once an exhibition of a few more exotic dancers from the Southern Continent was now replaced with a rather familiar image to most high ranking officials in the suits - the silhouetted figure of a blob.

 

"Good day, Saevam." a somewhat posh but gargled voice said, as an enormous arm raised up to bring a glass of wine to the figures shadowed face. "You haven't picked up a single of my messages today. How very, very rude for you to be to one of your biggest fund sources. I'm hurt."

 

All emphasis was put upon that last word.

 

-Toa Levacius Zehvor

[Krayzikk]

IC:

 

Abruptly, Song's consciousness descended from the plane on which it had existed, once again limited to her own perceptions, her own mind. She paused, golden eyes glancing back at the one speaking to her, as her hand closed around the wallet.

 

"Thank you. I'm not quite sure how that slipped out." A single deft motion, and the item had been stowed in a pocket on her coat.

[shadow pridak money gang]

"At first I had an even keel

But now I'm not sure what is real.

It's taken me this long to learn

That every dead is ate by worms

And once they're gone they don't return

If you call then I'm coming to get you

If you call then I'm coming, now

If you call then I'm coming to get you

You want to sink, so I'm gonna let you"

 

IC:

 

My story begins with a leap off a bridge.

 

Arch your back slightly, like you're hooked up to a parachute, and you slow your momentum by almost a whole half second: that half second is the crucial difference between an Esao Mandala-hued puddle on top of a decrepit pool hall's roof and a successful arrest and a one-day reprieve from doughnut stereotypes. Granted, my story wouldn't have much of a beginning to it if my leap off said bridge had resulted in the aforementioned puddle on a pool hall's roof, so obviously I had put the trick with arching my back into affect; by the way, if you're still following me and understanding the words I'm saying without having to do any double takes, then congratulations. You are officially too intelligent to serve as one of Phan-Metru's finest.

 

The bridge was overlooking such a pool hall, so as I leaped, back arched so that I looked like a crimson and black version of one of those banana slices that hipsters use to prop up their ice cream. My fingers stretched outwards, playing towards the edge of the roof like they were about to get lucky with the keys of a piano. Ahead of me, three bank robbers who were looking to make a cut through the automotive section of town and into the red section of the Ghetto, where they could make a game of waiting out the Coppers. Behind me, there were about six shaved biomechanical cavemen, all pressed and shiny with silver badges that looked like the tops of soup cans once you cut them off and carved them to look like stars. They were still on the bridge, jeering and yelling.

 

"Get 'em, Mandala!"

"--His jumps are just as pretty as he is!"

"Don't forget to clench around the pickpockets, Esao!"

 

Sometimes, kids, your IQ is better left untested.

 

Below me, my partner was chasing on foot, trying to head 'em off at the pass - how I hate that cliche - while I chased from the rooftops and stopped thinking with my head. In my mind, I was pouring battery acid on the manual; I was letting my legs, my adrenaline, do the thinking for me instead of the manual. I was letting my bulletproof marching jacket and tight pants, designed specifically for aerodynamics and free running without seriously harboring childrearing capacity, cover me as opposed to the typical uniform that was so starched up you felt like you were wearing a giant saltine wrapped around your body. I was going to draw my gun and fire it at someone's head if they tried to pop me. That's why you see everyone else in my graduating class from the Academy on tombstones. Me, you won't be seeing me on a tombstone for a while. Knock on wood.

 

Here lies Esao Mandala, Phan-Metru's Finest.

"I saw this coming, but not yet."

 

Looks like I didn't knock hard enough: one robber was in the middle of jumping over an AC unit when he spun in midair like a top and drew his machine pistol, strafing the ground around me. I replicated the move with the help of my Calix - my one love - and spun, pulling my semiautomatic pistol from its holster on my calf and firing once. There was a burst of blood and bone, and I knew I'd smoked him in the hip before his brain even got the pain signals. There was a screech of pain that I cut off with a blow to the diaphragm as I caught up to him and slammed a knee into the groin, jabbed my pistol barrel into his diaphragm, smacked him forehead to forehead. I picked up the bag of money he'd dropped and slung it over my shoulder, leaving him just enough for about one night's worth of recycled hospital food.

 

His homeboys had stopped and looked up to see what exactly had gotten Tweedlenumbnuts, and that gave me the advantage: I sprung from the pool hall roof, calculating the distance in my head and corkscrewing to the left. It was a good thing that I was in the minority of cops who had taken math classes, because my basic trigonometric functions came in handy enough for me to land on the second crook's shoulders, knocking his clavicle out of whack with a push of my heels and rolling onto the balls of my feet right in front of third cop. There was the flash of a pistol being pulled out; it was followed by the thud of a bag of money being swung upwards, snapping his wrist upwards. Then there was a gurgle as I spun on my heel, ballerina style, and crushed his mandible with the bag of stolen cash. As he dropped, his outline was replaced by that of my partner, gun drawn as she jogged up at a steady pace to observe my handiwork. Slowly, her eyes rolled; her gun dropped, along with the bag of money. I shrugged, looking up to where the third guy was probably bleeding out and then back down to her.

 

"Told you we shouldn't 'head 'em off at the pass'," I mimicked with a smirk.

 

"Well, I'm coming to get youIf you call then I'm coming, nowIf you call then I'm coming to get youYou want to sink, so I'm gonna let youThen the fire snuck into your bedroomNow I'm falling asleep to forget you"

-Tyler

Edited April 2, 2013 by Tyler Durden

[Padishah Mehmet II]

IC: (Enaltai, the Ghetto - Green)

I raised an eyebrow, thoroughly surprised.

 

You'd usually think that someone from the higher classes, walking through these derelict streets, would expect one to just simply, almost absentmindedly, steal the wallet. Not give it back to its owner intact.

 

"No surprise?" I asked. I didn't say why she should be surprised, because she could, in fact, read my mind, being a Toa of Psionics and all. "Not one bit?"

[Void Emissary]

IC: Vod - Plaza Nuva

 

"Ensis."

 

I hadn't bothered knocking before I came in; I never actually did, and so I doubted if anyone was ever going to comment on it. Saevam, the high-Suit of not-caring-about-anything is seated, watching a massive, talking shadow on one of his many screens.

 

"Ensis," I repeat, with a bit more malice added into two syllables, "We need to talk."

 

-Void

 

 

[Krayzikk]

IC:

 

"Not particularly. My abilities are always on at a low level, it's a habit. If there was an ill intent within several feet of me, I would have known. Greed, as well. For instance, the one just behind you oozes it."

[Padishah Mehmet II]

IC: (Enaltai, the Ghetto - Green)

"He's just hungry," I said, quietly, taking a solemn glance over my shoulder to the poor guy. That was when I abruptly realized how hungry I was. For three straight days, I'd not eaten anything but a single solitary slice of bread. Nothing more. Not one, measly, tiny bite more. And that slice of bread was precisely three days ago.

 

T'was irrelevant. I had no money to afford food on. Three widgets could've been saved up for two more days, and I would've bought not just bread, but also water. I'd a friend in Gearheadville who gave me water, one bottle every week.

 

Well, he didn't give me any food, but then again, what had I done to deserve any?

 

It was only then that I realized she'd probably heard all of my thoughts, and I laughed. "Fortunately for you, I don't eat people."

[Krayzikk]

IC:

 

Song's face shifted into a slight, wry smirk. "I think, it is more fortunate for you than me."

 

"Regardless," The Toa shrugged slightly, hands in her pockets. "You did give me my wallet back. There's a restaurant around here somewhere, and business is pretty good.""Want some food?"

[Padishah Mehmet II]

IC: (Enaltai, the Ghetto - Green)

 

Not to say that I wasn't happy with the prospect of finally getting some decent food in my mouth after so many weeks without it, but there was just one slight problem. I was hardly having the worst time around here.

 

"Sure. Just one request."

 

I didn't grin, because there was nothing funny about this, but some people might've at this point.

 

"We bring something back for Tarad here. Guy's not had a decent meal in five months at the least. I'm not sure he's had any food in five months."