#so all you see are the shotgun ammo pouches | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

viktorviolettaenterprises · 5 months

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Hi Guys!! :D Long Time no see! I hope things are going well for everyone , Sorry for long ass Hiatus I had for all these times, I Got very Busy on Real Life stuff and Shits and I Even Barely Remember to continuing My Works here.. But Anyways show must go on. Thank you to @chere-indolante For Inspiration. Let's Just say it was Upgrade to Her Work With More Detailed Gear and More Variety of Helmet LOL.

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The Imperial German Army or Deutsches Heer was the name given to the combined land and air forces (excluding the Marine-Fliegerabteilung maritime aviation formations of the Navy) of the German Empire. It was formed after the unification of Germany under Prussian leadership in 1871 and dissolved in 1919, after the defeat of the German Empire in World War I.

Tech Specs

Coverted From "Battlefield 1" Game, Credits belongs to Electronic Arms

This Particular Uniform Belongs to German Imperial During Early Stages of war (1914-1916) since Later Uniform is more simplified.

1 Color Swatch fot all Uniform

HQ Compactible.

Male Only

UNIFORMS

Assault - Wearing tunics, scarfs and Stalhelms (the front of the helmet camouflaged by a brow plate). With smaller details such as leather pistol holster on his chest and ammo pouches around their stomach. As with all classes, one can identify which gun a certain class is using, with players holding SMGs having their weapons at their shoulders while shotguns are held at their waist. Rifleman - Light Version of "Assault" Team, Wearing Exact configuration of said team. but only wearing A Rifle pouch. Most common sight in WWI German Front

Medic - Wearing tunics, with crutches and backpacks on the back and grey Stalhelms. With smaller details being ammo pouches around their stomach and water canteen on the right side. Medics hold their rifles generally at their shoulders, while running they point them downwards.

Support - Wearing trench coats, with heavy backpacks on their back and the Gaede Helmet. With smaller details being ammo pouches around their stomach with additional pouches underneath them, water canteen on their right side. Supports hold their Machine guns around their waist.

Scout - Wearing a trench coat and a Stalhelm. With smaller details being ammo pouches around their stomach with additional pouches underneath their right side and a sidearm holster on their left side. Snipers hold their rifles at the shoulder when walking and point them downward while running, similar to the Medic.

HELMET

Stahlhelm M1916 - The Stahlhelm M1916 is an improved version of the German steel helmet introduced during World War I. Similar to the M1915, it features a distinctive design characterized by a rounded shape, a flared skirt, and a protruding visor. The M1916 model included enhancements to address issues with the earlier version, providing better protection to the wearer. It became a standard-issue helmet for German forces during World War I and continued to see use in various forms during subsequent conflicts. this is the Earliest version of Infamous German Stahlhelm that first fielded inside Imperial German Army. So don't Expect Better Protection like The Later model or WW2 Models. this also Include A German Tricolor Camouflage Designed by General Erich Ludendorff that Eventually Fielded in 1918.

Stahlhelm Stirnpanzer - Due low Durability and Protection of M1916 Stahlhelm, German Ministry of War Issued Minor Upgrade. a The brow plate (Stirnpanzer), which was fitted to the front of the helmet to provide additional protection to the wearer. However, it's weight (2 kg) meant that it could only be worn for short periods. Approximately 50,000 brow plates were manufactured.

The Pickelhaube - The Iconic Helm From Prussian Era now Brought back to WWI Fronts. ickelhelm, is a spiked leather or metal helmet that was worn in the 19th and 20th centuries by Prussian and German soldiers of all ranks, firefighters and police. Although it is typically associated with the Prussian Army, which adopted it in 1842–43, the helmet was widely imitated by other armies during that period. It is still worn today as part of ceremonial wear in the militaries of certain countries, such as Sweden, Chile, and Colombia. This Particular Model is cloth helmet cover (Überzug) and For Cavalary use.

Gas Mask

During World War I, Chemical warfare was a significant and notorious aspect of World War I, and Germany played a key role in its early development. The Germans were the first to use chemical weapons on a large scale, introducing chlorine gas at the Second Battle of Ypres in 1915. This marked a disturbing escalation in warfare, as chemical agents were employed to harm and incapacitate enemy soldiers.

The use of chemical weapons by both sides, including mustard gas and phosgene, led to devastating consequences, causing widespread injuries and fatalities. The introduction of gas masks became essential for soldiers to protect themselves from these toxic substances. Despite the horrific nature of chemical warfare, it did not significantly alter the course of the conflict, and international agreements such as the Geneva Protocol of 1925 later sought to ban the use of chemical and biological weapons in warfare. Gummimaske 1915 - The Gummimaske 1915, also known as the GM 15, was a German gas mask used during World War I. It featured a rubber face mask with glass eyepieces and a filter canister containing layers of absorbent materials to protect against chemical warfare agents. The design aimed to provide effective protection for soldiers against the poisonous gases used on the battlefield during the war. The Gummimaske 1915 was an essential piece of equipment for troops exposed to the threat of gas attacks during this period.

GM-17 Ledershutzmaske was introduced in 1917 to combat chemical weapons used by both sides in the First World War. It replaced the GM15 mask. It was another iteration of the German gas mask used during World War I. Similar to its predecessor, the GM 15, it featured a rubber face mask with glass eyepieces and a filter canister. The design aimed to provide reliable protection against chemical warfare agents that were employed during the war. The GM 17 continued the improvements made in gas mask technology, enhancing the comfort and effectiveness of the mask for soldiers on the battlefield. Like other gas masks of the time, it played a crucial role in safeguarding soldiers against the threats posed by poisonous gases during World War I.

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novankenn · 8 months

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Reluctant Hero?

= Six = (Chapter List)

Weiss was fuming, and grew even more enraged as this Jaune Arc looked at her and Pyrrha smiled and then proceeded to drink a beer before them. Totally aghast, Weiss snorted and stormed off, leaving Pyrrha alone with Jaune.

Jaune: (Watching Weiss leave) Should have I offered one to her? How about you?

Pyrrha: No, thank you.

Jaune: Suit yourself. Bottoms up.

As Jaune chugged down the remains of the beer, Pyrrha bit her lip and narrowed her eyes. She was studying the tall, lithe and semi-cute blond. His name had sounded familiar, but she was having trouble placing it, so she was studying his appearance. He looked familiar as well.

As she stood there, she watched him slid a harness with a back mounted sheath over his Greyish-Black hoodie. He then put on a set of belts, one with ammo loops hoops, all which were filled with pretty standard looking shotgun shells, about a dozen in total. The other just held a large pouch, that appeared to be empty.

She nodded as she watched him pulls a sawed-off shotgun from his bag, spin it about his finger, and then seamlessly drop it into the sheath on his back. The final item made her raise an eyebrow. It was a rather beaten up looking chainsaw. Seeing that made something click in her mind.

Pyrrha: Well, good luck at initiation, Jaune. Hopefully you succeed.

Jaune: Same to you.

Pyrrha turned and walked off, purposely putting a sway in her hips as she smiled, while pulling out her scroll. Swiping past icons, she found the password protected file-folder, and opened it. Pyrrha Nikos was a role-model to young people everywhere. A sweetheart, a champion, and the spokesperson for Pumpkin Pete's Marshmallow Flakes.

But what most didn't know, is she had a fascination with unsolved and mysterious crimes. Especially ones involving murder. When she wasn't being tutored or training, she would spend hours reading up on fantastical cases. One of her favourites was about a lone survivor of a massacre. A massacre that happened in the mountains surrounding Ansel.

She giggled when she found the file she was looking for. There in the organized portfolio, that detailed all the known facts of the crime, was on the left side a picture. It was a little old, but the resemblance was spot on.

Pyrrha: Well, Bonnie Jauney... I can't wait to find out what secrets you have been holding on to.

Pyrrha paused in her stride, as another thought brought a glow to her face.

Pyrrha: He didn't know who I was. How is that...? No. NO. This is a good thing, Pyrrha. A very good thing. Maybe we can finally be around someone who will treat me normally.

Her scroll chimed, and looking at the time, she gasped. She was going to be late if she didn't hurry. Putting her scroll away, she started to jog, stopping only for a moment to gather her own weapons.

#rwby #ash vs evil dead #horror themed #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos

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view-from-over-the-controller · 1 year

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Half-Life 2 and Episodes 1&2 - Why 2023 is the best time to experience this masterpiece.

Half-Life 2 and its episodes are a cult classic that I revisited in 2022, they are the cool older brother of the gaming industry, sometimes lost on modern gamers now due to their age. But when I picked up the orange box for Xbox 360 I didn't expect this perfect little collection of games to live up and almost point out the flaws of current video games as they did. They have a class about them, a poise, a nuance that makes them feel utterly distinct.

Much like the cool older brother they have “lived” they have this mystery and status that makes you wish you were there in their hay day, but have a level of care and attention in their design that makes them some of the greatest games that have ever been made.

In this blog, I will break down how the Gameplay, Story, Atmosphere, and creative freedom make these games just a must-play even 18 years plus after their release!

“Pick up that can” - Gameplay

Possibly the most surprising thing to me when I re-acquainted myself with this masterpiece was the gameplay. The last time I played Half-Life 2 was an era ago when I would sit in my tiny gaming dungeon of a room and wait patiently as the loading screens buffered on my original Xbox! Since then most of the quaint pieces of gameplay had slipped away from my memory as it had been so long. So when I entered into some of these fantastic moments, now flawlessly loading on the Xbox Series X and with some all-time great games under my belt I was invigorated by how much this game stands out to this day as an example of fantastic and intuitive gameplay.

Physics are are the heart of these games, they are often referred to as a tech demo with a story and the use of these is constantly engaging and makes for some really memorable moments that stand out now against modern games. You are often presented with a scenario that feels like walking into a room with a set of tools hanging on the wall and everything you would need to use them on sprawled out on the floor. Moments that exemplify this are where you are hindered and need to find out via the use of physics how to get yourself to where you need to go.

As opposed to the more modern takes like Breath Of The Wild where you are literally put into a room with the available tools in the shrines, or God Of War where things at times feel inorganic and forced (you are Kratos why can't you just smash through it?) Half-Life organically places you into scenarios that are obstacles and puzzles but also tutorials and feel like realistic barriers that require problem-solving.

Such as putting bricks on one side of a see-saw-like plank so that you can use it as a ramp, or using buoyant barrels to fill an underwater crate to rise a platform. Later in the game and into the two episodes the gravity gun opens up so many fantastic and engaging ways to work out how to fix problems like when you can shunt a car into a hole at the top of burrows to stop the Antlion enemies from crawling up out of it. But what makes the physics-based puzzles so fantastic is their variety, their pacing and placement, and that they feel less intentional to get more hours out of the game but genuine obstacles for you to get through to get to where you are going. The tools are often laid in front of you but in a more experimental, do-it-yourself way, you can certainly see how these fed into Portal, utterly brilliant.

Another thing I must mention before we move on from gameplay is the plethora of weapons that Half-Life offers you as a player and how they not only have a distinct feel but also affect how refreshing and engaging the gameplay feels. The guns are super varied, from the zombie smashing shotgun to the hard-hitting Combine pulse rifle with its ultra satisfying reload animation where tiny spider-like robotic arms discharge and replace the ammo pouches, and a secondary fire that shoots an energy ball that bounces around the room and vaporizes any enemy it comes into contact with. But each weapon doesn't just offer a different means to destroy but a different strategy, Caught in sniper fire? Use cover and sneak up and throw a grenade into where they are. Facing a lot of zombies? Run away through an alley with a gas leak and use the pistol to ignite the flames and watch them burn away! Strider waltzing around laying waste to you and your freedom-fighting pals? Use a rocket launcher and a healthy dose of cover! Antlions burrowing from the floor fly aggressively at your face? Use the ant lion pouch from a queen and they become your new minions to pile into unsuspecting Combine troops.

Lastly, the gravity gun is the perfect example of how a weapon can be a gameplay tool, use it to pick up objects and smash them into the Combine. Or zombies, or Zombine! Use it to move supplies from unreachable places into your hands, use it to move turrets that are pelting you, Or when supercharged use it to literally grasp the very physical being of your enemies and toss them into each other, or better yet the abyss of the citadel. The gravity gun is one of the most diverse weapons in any game I have ever played, Offering a means to overcome obstacles and puzzles, but also cleverly use it to attack enemies with projectiles! Whatever the weapon the joy of using any of the ones given to you in Half-Life is that there is rarely a moment that they don't also offer you the opportunity to use your ingenuity and find clever means to make them the most lethal, and fun they can be!

“The right man in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world” - Story

Half-Life and its episode's narratives on the surface are about a struggle against a brutal enemy, to bring down an overarching power as a rebellion. To fight Stormtrooper-like enemies and bring down the greater evil that controls them. But before you walk through a crowd of people and are awarded a medal of honor from the alliance, that you hopefully donate to the Wookie that accompanied you along the way, you should realize that this is more than a battle against a cackling Sith lord in a hood but a visceral tale of control, totalitarianism, loneliness, humanity, hope, and desperation that I believe especially now strikes a powerful cord.

In the wake of the Black Mesa incident, the combine is now almost in full control of the human race, but rather than a swift obliteration there is something more desperate and demoralizing happening, humans are in a suppression field that stops them from breeding. They are under lockdowns in numbered cities being fed on repeat the words of Dr. Breen, a voice that seems to have the feeling of something that is trying to offer you comfort but there is a disconnect, the feeling that although his words are presented in a manner of assurance that there is something just not right, and leaves you with a feeling of unease.

His echoing words saying, “Welcome to city 17, it’s safer here” then later justifying the current state of goings on and the suppression field in a long speech answering a concerned citizen that had written to him which included disconcerting comments like, “Do our benefactors really know what's best for us? What gives them the right to make this kind of decision for all mankind?”, “Our true enemy is instinct, inseparable from instinct is its dark twin superstition, instinct is inexplicably bound to unreasoning impulses, instinct has just become aware of its irrelevance, and like a cornered beast it will not go down without a bloody fight. It must be fought tooth and nail, beginning with the basest of human urges: the urge to reproduce. We should thank our benefactors for giving us respite from this overpowering force. The suppression field will be shut off the day that we have mastered ourselves. And that day of transformation, I have it on good authority is close at hand”

Although I have abbreviated Dr. Breen's words I believe even here there is enough to unpack, the combine are a disconcerting and mysterious entity, they wish to remove instinct and combine people into subservience, they do this by keeping people scared and forcefully policed. But they also apply further means to shatter the human spirit, keep people moving, and keep people confused and lonely, the people you first meet at the train station echo this, the woman waiting for her husband who she was separated from during the stopping of a train, the man who warns you off the water, “They put something in it, to make you forget, I don't even remember how I got here.” and a man pacing in anxiety about the trains explaining, “They are always departing but they never leave, there always full but no one ever gets on” all of this confusion caused by the combines clever schemes to sever what I believe is the most important human need, connection. One of the ultimate forms of that is sex and the ability to reproduce. Humans are being “Humanely” culled by the suppression field.

The combine are a powerful, intimidating force that makes people submissive through fear, now before I get all “does any of this remind you of the world you're living in now” I will say that Half-Life's story is a sight grimmer than the current state of the world we live in, but the removal of individuality, the lean towards subservience, the use of harsh physical fear inducing policing to establish control, and the voice of a man in a suit in control of where you reside telling you everything is okay but there is just that feeling of mistrust like he’s leading you in a direction that is in no way beneficial to you but certainly to him and his “benefactors” do all in some way make me feel a little uneasy about my own reality and I think that alone is a powerful thing for a video game to evoke in someone.

But what the story of half-life also does is highlight something that I certainly believe in and that is the unbreakable human spirit. Instinct is the very deep biological call that makes us question the uncomfortable and rise up against it. It's the feeling that calls you to remove yourself from situations that feel wrong. Even if it's that time you're offered a cigarette for the first time and your heart sinks and you think, I shouldn't be doing this. Gordon Freman embodies this, not only for the humans but for the Vortagons too, he is this silent anomaly, that finds a way no matter the situation of force against him, he is the guiding light you play as and every individual fighting the good fight against this suppression rallies behind him and gets to bask in his “freedom” the “free man”. The supporting cast are brilliantly written characters that fight with an upbeat and at times comedic energy against this seemingly unbeatable, unrelenting enemy with limitless resource. Alyx particularly has a great aura, a cheekiness, and slight air of flirtation, but also a childlike nature to her that makes her character particularly lovable, seeing her react to her father or dog is heartwarming, and her mischievous nature showing in excellent moments like when the lights cut out and she makes a zombie noise and laughs as you rush to turn your torch on worried you have unwelcome company but its really just her.

Each character in halflife and its episodes which are mostly solitary games manages to have genuine feeling and is really well delivered in the moments they get to shine, even Dr. Breen as an antagonist is perfectly performed and used in the narrative. They all add to the great storytelling and they all really motivate you to fight for the people around you, for freedom, and against those who seek to quell it.

Lastly like with any great storytelling, there is almost more mystery to half-life than there is revealed to you, who are the benefactors? What happened during the seven-hour war? How did Gordon get to city 17? Who is and what are the motives of the Gman?.......................................

{Fades to black} - *A Man in a dark suit approaches with slightly of center, but piercing turquoise eyes*

“Rise and shine…….rr, reader of this blog, Rise and shine! Not that I wish to imply you have been… sleeping on this read. No one is more deserving of a rest. All the effort in the world to understand would have gone to waste until….well, let's just say your time to continue reading has….. come again”

“Welcome…Welcome to city 17” - Atmosphere

The penultimate and perhaps to me most important part of this piece is about the atmosphere, Half-life has a near unexplainable magic in its atmosphere. Not only the source engine itself seems to carry this feeling but the sound effects and music do too. This is that of an eerie almost alien feel. Like you are being watched, but also alone. It's powerful, the sense of being disconnected with what is going on around you but also being intrinsically linked to everything around you as the protagonist.

The sounds of this game are so distinct, from the distant monotone robotic overlord voice echoing throughout the streets of city 17, to the sounds of the Combine's muffled voices behind their gas masks and the loud flat line as they die, the hissing of Headcrab's, the guttural moaning of the zombies that sound not only terrifying but also like they are suffering, the thundering, alien but yet mechanical moan of a strider, the hum of the gravity gun, the slight tinniness to the sound of anything being moved as if the sounds were recorded in a vast empty room. There is something individual about all of it, but there is a near indescribable nuance that seems to spread between the music and sounds that mirror that feeling of something Alien, of being watched, of being alone, a feeling of despair but also a feeling of hope and at times a sense of calm. Later games like The Last Of Us combine these feelings also but what makes half life special in comparison to The Last Of Us is that it manages to add that spooky otherworldly feel into that mix also.

A great example of this that I must highlight is the moment when you are under a bridge high above some water and there are these broken metal rails that loosely connect in a platforming section to the other end. As you begin to cross the song “Lab Practicum” plays, this song is filled with preternatural noises and a gong-like synth combined with the whistling wind hits you. (GO ahead and give it a listen) It is a stop-and-stare moment that along with the platforming, the metallic sounds of Gordons feet hitting the metal rails between jumps, and the intense rattle as one of the mysterious trains plows overhead, this is the most “Half-life” feeling moment I can possibly describe from the game. In my opinion, it connects with that part of us, that 6th sense or that “feeling” you get. I will now just place a couple of quotes below I found on the youtube link to this song that not only illustrates how this same piece connected with others but that they also tap into this “feeling” it gives them. All of these games throughout leave you with moments of this. It's just fantastic.

“This song makes me feel like there is something important I have forgot but I don't know what”

“This song feels like wanting to go home, but knowing there is no home”

“The only way I can describe this is, it's not depressing but just feels like eternal loneliness”

“The Abyss stares back”

Lastly, in this section about the fantastic atmosphere of these games, I must quickly tip my hat to a certain section of Half-Life 2 and that is Ravenholm. As a kid I think Ravenholm was the first time alongside my lifelong best friend that I truly felt fear, the game forces you through this area after cruelly building it up with the chapter name “We don’t go to Ravenholm”. This area is completely overrun by zombies and turns the game from a puzzle shooter to a horror game just for this segment, it's dark, gloomy, and full of zombies old and new. Especially the “Runner” zombies with their distant echoing howls, as opposed to the usual moans of the slower zombies they are particularly terrifying as they sprint on all fours at you and squeal aggressively as they lunge at you. The mood and general ambiance of the zombie-riddled wasteland give this area a distinct and horrific feel. But what I really want to highlight is the first moment you lay eyes on Ravenholm as I feel like with the bridge that this is a seminal moment.

The broken sign lays before you in white block caps you read “RAVENHOLM” and there is a tree with the bottom half of a body strung up on it swaying gently. The feeling of this area is just so eerie and you just have that awful gut check as you gaze upon this obvious and harrowing obstacle in your way and think to yourself “Nope”. This section is an example of how these games throughout the main and episodes flip the script, put you into different scenarios, from the citadel to the outposts, to city 17 and they all have a distinct, interesting, and memorable feel, but what is magic is that those feelings being watched but also being alone, those “spooked hairs on your neck stand up and you check behind you but no one is there” feelings are particularly special and something truly worth experiencing.

“This is the Freeman. The Combines reckoning has come” - Creative freedom

My final reason that I think that these games scratch the “Man this is a great video game and I am thoroughly enjoying myself” itch so well in 2023 and beyond is the feeling of freedom this game has. In a world where movies/games/media feel like it's rinsed dry and has no end in sight this game has a real refreshment to it. As Disney descends back down the hill to the skinny malnourished Star Wars cow, to give her yet another milk to package up and sell to us again, I personally feel a tiredness, a slog that feels like “Create, consume, create, consume” with characters being brought back that stood alone as excellent stories to be given more context and back story, that in my opinion detracts from one of the greatest things about storytelling, Mystery! Now Mos Isely cantina feels like a school reunion as you can probably name 90% of the characters in there and explain how they are all linked when, to begin with, it was this murky bar with strange and fantastic creatures drawing your eye and filling you with wonder.

Despite standouts like God Of War or Last of Us franchises that go back to the cow and find a new udder with perhaps even tastier milk than the first, Games feel to me like they are restricted like they need to only go back to the safe, and familiar ground but feel like they are under pressure from external forces to ensure they tick political boxes and comply, to market well or be seen to fit in. Which I think in certain circumstances makes them come across as pieces of art made by people who don't really “love” what they are making. They are often filled with obvious and tiresome tutorials and safe narratives. Although I am fully confident that games will continue to be amazing works of art, they definitely feel like they are products more than art at times now. Narrative games releasing with skins you can change the main character to if you purchase them. These kinds of things can make them lose that special magic.

Half-life is free of this, you can tell there is true craftsmanship behind each moment. That the people that made this game really cared about it, they cared about the narrative, the characters, the world, and the setting, and really cared about keeping this game mysterious. Half-life features a diverse cast of characters that don't feel deliberate but natural. Its narrative is about oppression, humanity, and hope. But none of it feels like it is trying to make a political statement, of course, all art derives from life, but you can tell it's from a time when people were not scrutinizing it because of social issues, and it is just a piece of art. It's a strange mysterious game full of fantastic fun, that shows you where to go without a mini-map and a curser ahead of you, it guides you without words. Silent tutorials like walking up and seeing a flammable barrel and ahead of you a slippery surface leading to the tongues of aliens that you get caught in and they pull you into their mouths above, so you throw the barrel down first and shoot it as it ascends and blow them all up. It gives you problems and the tools without a prompt appearing saying “Barrels can be used to blow enemies up if shot”. Its design does this for you, it makes you think but gives you the tools to work out problems as I mentioned earlier. This along with its narrative that is in my opinion about highlighting that gut “Feeling” of “this isn't right” and ensuring you fight against it makes these games feel so special, especially now.

These games have a freedom, a narrative that doesn't need explaining because you are supposed to wonder, to question why? I don't think you are ever supposed to really know what's happening. We don't really deep down know why we are what we are as humans, or what is beyond? Or what was before? But like Gordon here we are in this moment, faced with it all, with near no explanation and we may as well pick up a crowbar and follow our feelings and do what we can do help do what we can to feel free. They feature gameplay that promotes being inquisitive and finding a way to move beyond your current obstacle where you can tell the developers care about every moment you find yourself in. There is magic in their atmospheres that evokes so many feelings. They are the foundation from which so many fantastic games have drawn from. They have a timelessness that makes them seminal and so very playable now. They are masterpieces and I belive that the reasons above should give you the motivation to grab yourself the orange box and fire up a console or jump on steam and give these games a playthrough in 2023. if you're lucky it’ll be your first playthrough or if not like me last year give them another whirl and enjoy the nostalgia trip as perhaps you will find the experience, “Freeing”.

{Your eyes blur as if reality is crashing all around you, a man in a suit approaches again}

“Time…….. Is it really that time again? It seems as if you have only just arrived. You have read a great deal in this short timespan, You've done so …. Well in fact, that I have received some interesting offers for your services, ordinarily I wouldn't contemplate them. But these are …….. Extraordinary times.”

#gaming blog #gaming #half life #gordon freeman #valve #video games #video game photography

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viralimmune · 1 year

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DEEP DIVE: THE SPENCER MANSION INCIDENT & HOW IT IS DIRECTLY LINKED TO JILL’S SURVIVAL OF NEMESIS / THE RACCOON CITY INCIDENT.

buckle up, rookies, this is gonna be a long one.

jill has seen a lot in her 24 years of life leading up to the mansion incident; she absolutely saw death in combat firsthand while in the army, and with her employment in the raccoon police department, has been part of countless dangerous operations, from drug raids to murder investigations and everything in-between. she’s seen so much violence and while she’s not desensitized to it, she knows how to not let it inhibit her or interfere with her work.

none of that even remotely holds a candle to the events at the spencer mansion in july 1998.

note: do not read further if mentions of cannibalism, dismemberment, animal death, murder, child death, etc. trigger you in any way.

shortly after S.T.A.R.S. alpha team sets foot into the territory of the arklay mountains where the bravo team has disappeared, joseph frost is mauled by a cerberus pack — doberman pinschers specifically engineered with a beta strain of the t-virus, crafted by umbrella. the sight of this leaves jill shell-shocked, arguably because she is both a known dog-lover and because she has never seen anything specifically like that in her life.

keep in mind, she’s taken the investigation into the murders in the arklay mountains seriously and personally, given that the first two victims were two little girls she knew, aged nine and seven. seeing one of her fellow teammates getting mauled and eaten is jarring because of how unexpected and new and disturbing it is, but also because in that moment, she’s thinking of becky and priscilla mcgee. she’s so shell-shocked that she can’t move, let alone fire her weapon — wesker shoots a dog before it can attack her and she, chris, barry and wesker high-tail it toward the mansion.

in the mansion, her first encounter with a zombie is when she comes across it clamoring toward her; she shoots it twice before barry steps in and shoots it once in the head. they discover that it’s bravo team member ken sullivan, and after grimly ransacking his hip pouches for ammo and returning to the main hall to meet up with wesker, who has since disappeared.

she and barry agree that splitting up is their best option to locate chris, potential surviving bravo team members, and wesker, as they’ll be able to cover more ground. while jill traverses the mansion she encounters more zombies, violent crows, and a trap room that almost crushes her to death. once out of the mansion and into the courtyard, she finds a secret underground passageway and follows it, to where she finds enrico marini, injured and warning herself and barry that the entire operation is a set-up and umbrella knew about this all along. wesker, hidden by shadows and quick to retreat, kills enrico before he can say any more. jill stays behind and holds enrico’s hand in his dying moments while barry attempts to locate wesker.

jill has no doubt, by that point, that umbrella has a member of S.T.A.R.S. in their pocket, and ventures into the tunnels to find more answers. she encounters a hunter alpha and is able to put it down with several shots from her baretta and shotgun. it’s her first proper encounter with a bioweapon and the first time it really hits her that umbrella is up to worse things than she originally thought.

this only pushes her further.

after almost being crushed to death raiders of the lost ark style by a giant boulder, she finds her way back to the courtyard and uncovers the entrance to the secret underground lab beneath the estate. she uncovers documentation regarding research and development of bioweapons and is ecstatic to bring the information back to the raccoon police department when barry leads her to wesker before being ordered to leave. wesker takes jill’s weapons and intends to throw her into a fight against a tyrant, which would ultimately lead to her death, but barry incapacitates him temporarily so he and jill can escape.

jill and barry reunite with chris and rebecca chambers on a helipad, with brad vickers circling above them in the alpha team’s chopper. before he can land, the tyrant that had escaped his stasis chamber emerges and engages the four in a fight. they keep him distracted by splitting rapid, aggressive gunfire, until brad tosses down a rocket launcher and chris kills the tyrant in one shot. they all escape, watching the spencer estate and all secrets and answers within it self-destruct as they fly back to the station.

jill’s encounters with zombies, the cerberus pack and various bioweapons in the mansion and secret lab shook her up considerably during the time. at points, she’s fully convinced she’s never going to get out of the mansion. she’s separated from most of the team early on and keeps mentally preparing herself to find chris dead, or worse. even when they escape, she doesn’t feel triumphant. the crash from the adrenaline high is hard as she stares out the hatch window, watching the spencer estate and every piece of evidence that could bury umbrella for causing countless deaths to innocent raccoon city citizens — to becky and priscilla — get destroyed.

following the mansion incident, the surviving S.T.A.R.S. team goes to chief irons, demanding a full investigation into umbrella regarding their involvement in the murders, as well as their illegal development of bioweaponry. irons shuts this down immediately, disbanding S.T.A.R.S. under the guise of them being too small to effectively carry out operations. jill is promptly suspended due to her insistence on an investigation into umbrella, and put under house arrest to hinder any attempts to investigate umbrella on her own.

this hardly stops her. despite all the medication she’s taking for her insomnia, she’s still barely sleeping and has a distinct loss of appetite — added on top of her lack of a job schedule, she has ample amounts of free time to dig into the investigation remotely. within a week, she has a board mounted on her wall, and with each passing day, more and more files are being added to it.

with help from a personal data assistant she was given by a mysterious stranger ahead of the mansion incident, she compiles a list of names affiliated with umbrella’s bioweapons research: the only one that gets her very far, given that he’s still alive at the time of her investigation, is william birkin. she accurately profiles the t-virus. she has suspicions about other bioweaponry in development, such as the g-virus, but is unable to pinpoint the exact name of the g-virus and what it’s designed to do.

[ it’s also worth noting that she has a photo of an ne-alpha parasite on her board, which is the parasite umbrella implanted into a tyrant to create nemesis. ]

in addition to having an investigation board set up, jill has written a letter to chris, detailing that she’s being watched 24/7 by umbrella and she suspects that they will move in to kill her at any point. with the letter, she plans to send all of her files so that they’ll both be in safe hands, and be with someone she knows will continue the investigation if and when she is killed.

on sept. 28, 1998 at 8 p.m., she receives a phone call from brad vickers. it’s a split-second warning before nemesis crashes into her apartment through the wall and attacks her. she reacts quickly and is able to shake off the creature, at least temporarily.

while attempting to flee a horde of zombies, brad is bitten and infected — a sacrifice he makes so that jill can escape to the roof of a parking garage and hitch a ride on a rescue helicopter. before she can reach the helicopter, nemesis blows it up. jill attempts to incapacitate the creature with a vehicle and is unsuccessful; she is rescued on the streets below by carlos oliveira and taken to a temporary shelter, where she agrees to help his squad restore power to the subway station to get survivors out of the city.

throughout her venture through downtown raccoon city, she encounters throngs of infected citizens and is more than prepared to deal with it. she aims to conserve ammo when she can, shoots only when necessary, and has taken a habit of taking any useful supplies off of those who are dead and unanimated. she’s even able to hold her own against new mutations she encounters both in the city and the sewers.

in the hospital, she encounters hunter betas, which resemble the hunter alphas she encountered in the underground tunnels of spencer mansion. she has no issues dealing with them, as a result; even as she encounters more undead in NEST 2, including regenerative zombies known as pale heads, she’s able to keep a cool head and handle things on her own, following her method of shooting when necessary and thoroughly staying aware of her surroundings.

where nemesis is concerned, she learned it best in the mansion: don’t assume anything. she recognizes nemesis immediately as a bioweapon, though she can’t say what it is, exactly. she knows in her gut that the creature is a creation of umbrella and was without a doubt sent into the raccoon city incident to hunt her down and kill her; this is only confirmed when she finds nikolai’s activity log. after the second time she thinks she’s killed nemesis and is proven unsuccessful, he’s mutated into something three times his former size and exhibits distinctly more animalistic behaviors in movement and pathing. after this point, she stops assuming she’s killed the creature and sets her entire focus on both her and the city’s survival. whenever nemesis pops up, she relies on every aspect of her S.T.A.R.S. training, and falls back on basics: deal as much damage as possible when possible, but prioritize finding cover and regrouping.

while jill never expected a full-scale t-virus outbreak and couldn’t have predicted nemesis, her prior encounter with both zombies and aggressive bioweapons at the spencer mansion gave her the knowledge and preparation she needed to survive. she knows being bitten is a death sentence at best and she knows better than to assume the vulnerabilities of anything umbrella has created.

#HEADCANON.#META.

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soulcost · 4 months

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DEEP DIVE: THE SPENCER MANSION INCIDENT & HOW IT IS DIRECTLY LINKED TO JILL’S SURVIVAL OF NEMESIS / THE RACCOON CITY INCIDENT.

buckle up, rookies, this is gonna be a long one.

none of that even remotely holds a candle to the events at the spencer mansion in july 1998.

note: do not read further if mentions of cannibalism, dismemberment, animal death, murder, child death, etc. trigger you in any way.

this only pushes her further.

[ it’s also worth noting that she has a photo of an ne-alpha parasite on her board, which is the parasite umbrella implanted into a tyrant to create nemesis. ]

#jill valentine — headcanon.#time to post old metas as i fall back into the brainrot #i love jill valentine so much okay you don't understand

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cheaperthandirt · 5 months

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4 Pieces of Tactical Gear for the Range or Competition

You might have a tactical firearm for competing or having fun at the range, but do you have the right accessories to support your firearm? Whether it’s a belt with mag pouches for your 9mm handguns or a holster with active retention, the right tactical gear can vastly improve your shooting experience. Here are some pieces of gear to add to your kit.

Active Retention Holster Instead of a holster that uses friction, like Kydex, use a holster with a thumb-activated release, like those from Safariland. The built-in active retention keeps your handgun secure while remaining easy to draw, which is critical during a competition or critical use situation. Another consideration and possible upgrade is changing from an in-line holster that goes on your belt to a leg-drop holster, which can offer a more natural draw experience for many shooters. A Belt with Utility Pouches Gun belts can provide a ton of utility, whether at competition or the range. It can hold a few magazines of 9mm ammo. You can also fit a couple of rifle magazines or a shotgun speedloader. With a modular belt, you pick and choose the pouches and other items, from a medical kit to a knife or a firearm maintenance toolkit. You can keep everything you need within arm’s reach, which is perfect for efficiency at the range and is essential during a competition heat. There’s a reason why you’ll often see competitors with gun belts—they offer limitless convenience. A Chest Rig or Plate Carrier for Additional Utility While gun belts can hold rifle mags, they are more suited for handgun mags. So what do you do when you need to have a mag of 7.62 ammo on hand? Use a chest rig. Chest rigs can, like the gun belt, offer plenty of utility. If your chest rig has MOLLE webbing, adding everything from a handgun holster to a radio or extra medical supplies is easy. Similar to a chest rig, a plate carrier adds more space as it needs to hold metal plates for protection. The outside often has MOLLE webbing or similar attachment points, giving you additional space for more options. You can find versions with static or modular pouches for both chest rigs and plate carriers. Improved Optics Help with Aiming and Target Acquisition While iron sights work just fine, adding a red dot sight to your handgun or rifle can help with faster target acquisition. You will want variable scopes for longer-range shooting, such as for hunting. Even simply replacing stock iron sights with night sights can offer a noticeable improvement. Which optic you choose comes down to a combination of what you are using the gun for and your personal preference. Note that for handguns, you will need to get a holster that accommodates the added height of the optic. About Cheaper Than Dirt! High-volume shooters turn to Cheaper Than Dirt! for the firearms, ammunition, range supplies, and accessories they need to optimize their performance at the range. Once a small mail-order company, Cheaper Than Dirt is now recognized as a top internet seller with a single goal: to provide shooters with the outstanding service, impressive selection, and excellent prices they need to get the most out of every range day. Whenever you visit Cheaper Than Dirt, you can shop with confidence knowing you’re buying quality products at an incredible price. Browse the full selection and make Cheaper Than Dirt your one-stop shop for all things firearms-related. Find tactical upgrades for your firearms and gear at https://www.cheaperthandirt.com/ Original Source: https://bit.ly/49UiJ8h

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terrorfought · 2 years

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DEEP DIVE: THE SPENCER MANSION INCIDENT & HOW IT IS DIRECTLY LINKED TO JILL’S SURVIVAL OF NEMESIS / THE RACCOON CITY INCIDENT.

buckle up, rookies, this is gonna be a long one.

none of that even remotely holds a candle to the events at the spencer mansion in july 1998.

note: do not read further if mentions of cannibalism, dismemberment, animal death, murder, child death, etc. trigger you in any way.

this only pushes her further.

[ it’s also worth noting that she has a photo of an ne-alpha parasite on her board, which is the parasite umbrella implanted into a tyrant to create nemesis. ]

#𝐢. FILE‚ HEADCANON.#𝐢. FILE‚ META.

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alteredphoenix · 3 years

Photo

I've been doing (very admittedly off-model) character reference sketches of other OCs that will be featuring in Airi's story, and I had in mind an art piece of one who serves as her teacher - a reversal of the Old Master trope, where it’s a young girl that is actually Really 700 Years Old/Older Than They Look.

This is Iryna, pictured here with the ghostly shade of a large wolf familiar who fell in battle against the criminal elf cartels and had his domain exploited of resources. He responds to the name Lupara, yet no one is certain if that is his real name. Although he holds distrust towards earthwalkers, he aligns himself with Iryna for a goal they share: vengeance - and justice - toward the cartels for the crimes they have committed against them.

History books do not say what became of Lupara; for elementals, death is not the end, and death surely should not stop Lupara from becoming praja, or magic, made manifest. It can be assumed that after their journey he remained with Iryna as an equal and mentor, observing man and familiar and demon in their explorations.

As for what became of Iryna...well, that is a story for another day.

#armi's ocs #armi's art #traditional sketch #traditional art #drawing #this piece was a blast to work on #it's not often i draw animals which is a common criticism i used to get from family when i was younger #fun fact: the bone mask lupara is wearing was originally going to be an elf skull #but i wanted a punkish aesthetic to mesh with iryna's classic lolita design #if you look really closely you can see the itty-bitty wolf mask on iryna's choker lol #this symbolizes her bond with lupara #where she takes inspiration from since the punkcore design comes from him #i wanted to throw in her shotgun too but by the time i had done the inking it was too late to throw it in #so all you see are the shotgun ammo pouches #i had to look up the witcher wolf school design to get the mask right #it was supposed to mold with lupara's skull #but the end result looks like a cross between the wolf amulet & '90s mecha faces #eh it works either way #daemon familiar

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mrs-hyperfixed-writes · 3 years

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Are You Single? - Part 1

Was originally gonna release it all at once but it was taking way too long and what I had so far was already kinda long. This sort of sets the scene.

Written for: @becomeunsolved

After getting lost in the woods and ending up in a mysterious isolated village, you get captured by Heisenberg and develop a crush, stopping at nothing to get to him.

You imagined that going through the village had been the closest to hell on earth you would ever get. It had been an honest mistake ending up here. Just a simple case of following the wrong fork in the trail. And then night had fallen, the light filtering through the canopy of leaves becoming scarcer and scarcer as the sun slowly dipped below the horizon, abandoning you in a dark forest devoid of noise, the only company being the sound of the snow crunching underneath your hiking boots and the weight of your backpack. You had kept a level head, trying to backtrack but being unable to find the original path you had been set on, and at this point you were sure that you had accidentally brought yourself deeper into the forest. You had decided that the next time you wanted to get away from your shitty job, your shitty flat, and the shitty people you surrounded yourself with you were going to go to Disneyland or something, not go on a soul searching hiking trip in Romania in the middle of winter.

Things began to make noises in the woods, but you refused to stop. Refused to acknowledge them. You wouldn’t be able to see through the dense darkness between the trees with your measly flashlight anyway. And if you stopped, then whatever was prowling the forest might know you were aware of it and take the opportunity to jump at you. So you kept going, hoping that whatever was breaking twigs and making those quiet panting noises didn’t decide that you looked too delicious to ignore any longer. You weren’t afraid of them, not really. It was something else that spurred you on.

Then you had found the village, the enormous castle that overlooked it taking your breath away. For a moment, relief had flooded your system.

It didn’t last long.

***

You fell to your knees in front of the gate to Castle Dimitrescu, exhaustion cutting through to your very bones. In your left hand you held a woodcutter’s axe in a deathgrip. It had been the only thing you had to defend yourself with up until that old man had given you a handgun before he had been dragged away. His blood had spilled from the hole he had created, landing in your hair and drying into a crust. Luckily for you, you had found an old shotgun discarded on a kitchen table in your attempts to escape the horde that had threatened to overwhelm you. It sat in your backpack, the end of it sticking out. You thanked god for deep pockets on hiking trousers. Convenient ammo pouches.

Your jacket was long gone, the monsters that had prowled the village ripping it to shreds in their efforts to get to you. The rest of your clothes were saturated with black blood, your hoodie had become uncomfortably heavy with it, forcing you to take it off and shove it at the bottom of your backpack - which itself was sporting a broken strap. You cleared your throat, spitting a wad of your own blood onto the floor.

A monster had dragged you down below the house, had thrown you out through the wall. You had dropped your axe but had managed to maintain a grip on your gun, and when it had charged at you, you had unloaded four badly aimed shots into its chest and scrambled for your weapon. And when it had charged again you had swung, pouring all your frustration and rage into that swing. You had been through hell already, and for what? Was this punishment for getting lost? Was this punishment for trying to get some peace away from your shitty life? Was this a punishment for those desires that you had buried, that need to be violent and terrifying that you had repressed? You’d spent your entire life shoving that shit down and trying to be a good person. You valued human life, but sometimes you couldn’t help but think some people would look better if they were missing some teeth. Maybe an eye for good measure.

You had turned its head into a pulpy mess even when it had been long dead. Then you had told it to get fucked. And when another one had emerged from the hole you had left in the house, you had bared your teeth at it in a sort of feral smile and waited for it to come. It had circled around you, feeling you out. It looked like it was unused to the resistance. It was unused to a lack of fear.

You had prepared to swing your axe, and addressed it directly, “Dance with me then.”

It had lunged.

And then there had been Luiza’s house. That hadn’t gone very well, the screams of all the people inside still bouncing around your head as Elena’s father had changed. You had understood at that moment that the monsters roaming around had once been people. It had made your skin crawl, and had forced you to fight with even more ferocity when the knowledge that if they got too close to you then they could turn you into one of those horrible beasts with just a scratch. Your jacket had acted as an extra layer of protection, but now it was gone.

You took a deep breath from your position on your knees, hand tightening around the axe. Part of you was horrified with yourself. Horrified that you had given into that need for violence that you had shoved down for most of your life, that you could laugh and smile and indulge in the cruelty of cackling and cursing at the carnage you could wreak on something, even if the victim was a flesh eating werewolf. The rest of you just wanted to survive, knowing that that feral glee that you were trying to keep shoved deep down was probably keeping you alive.

You had no idea what was waiting for you in this castle, but everyone in the village was dead, you had witnessed the last surviving members go up in flames. You couldn’t go back into the forest either, not with all the monsters prowling about. And even if there weren’t any, you might just die of exposure anyway.

So you took a deep breath, reaching for the lever that would bring the gate up.

A steel rod shot in front of your face, embedding itself in the wall to your right. You curled your hand into a tight fist as you stared at that rod. Apparently there really was no rest for the wicked.

“Well, well, well. I didn’t think anyone was left.” A man’s voice.

“Oh for- just give me a break already,” you muttered under your breath.

You turned to look at him, part of you worried that he would be some sort of horrible monster, ready to claw at your skin and chew on your bones as he spoke to you in that accent that you couldn’t quite place. But as you set your eyes on him, your breath caught in your throat.

“Oh. Fuck me,” you whispered under your breath,not caring if he heard or not.

Apparently Red Dead Redemption had completely fucked you up, since now your type was middle aged cowboys that looked like they smelled of cigars and oil. Bits of scrap metal floated all around him. Six hours ago if someone had told you that a man dressed as a cowboy holding a giant hammer had a form of telekinesis that could apparently only affect metal you would have laughed at them and asked them if you could have some of whatever they were drinking. But you had seen plenty of strange things already, and the rod embedded in the wall behind you was giving you a warning that whatever the nature of his powers were, they were nothing to scoff at. They were dangerous. He was dangerous. The thought made something coil in your gut. But not in fear.

You wanted to smack yourself. Now was not the time for an infatuation.

But looking at him, you just couldn’t seem to help yourself. He was tall, and carried himself with a confidence that must have taken a lifetime to master. He carried a giant metal hammer on his shoulder that you knew weighed at least a ton. And the way he carried it so effortlessly made the coiled heat in your stomach spread out across your body.

Why couldn’t you have just been attracted to normal men? Why couldn’t you have been attracted to traits that wouldn’t have put you in an early grave?

You took your backpack off and shoved it blade down next to your shotgun, zipping the bag shut as far as it would go. If it came to a fight, there was no way a weapon with a metal blade would help you. You almost laughed aloud. If it came to a fight between the two of you, only god himself intervening would help you.

“Who the fuck are you?” You weren’t subtle in the way your eyes roved up and down his body.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh. You’re not local? Even better.”

He grinned, and flicked his hand.

The rod that he had thrown came out of the wall and wrapped itself around your neck. Your hands instinctively came up, trying to pry it off. He laughed at your attempts, and another flick of his hand had you being dragged down to the floor neck first before he sent the rest of the scrap metal that had been floating idly to cocoon you.

“Mother Miranda’s gonna love you.”

He laughed, and you cursed at yourself for finding that laugh so attractive as he towered over you. As that last sheet covered your face, you let yourself go, slipping into a deep sleep.

***

Your back hurt. Your wrists hurt. Your head hurt. Everything hurt. But the silver lining on the situation was that you weren’t trapped in a metal cocoon any longer. Instead you were lying on a stone floor, wrists handcuffed together. A discreet tug while you pretended to still be asleep revealed that they were attached to a short chain that was connected to a loop on the floor. Regardless of how strong you were, in your current condition there was no way you could even make an attempt to get yourself free. Even if there weren’t people in the room.

You could hear their voices in the background, and it was a struggle to sort your thoughts so that you could tune into their voices. It had to be about you, and you needed to know what they planned to do with you.

There was no fear, it would only make you panic. Instead there was just determination, a need to survive even if there wasn’t much in your life worth it. Spite maybe? You weren’t going to give anyone the satisfaction of dying alone in a village full of corpses.

“The mortal is of no real use to anyone else. And my daughters do so love. . . entertaining foreigners.”

Red flag. Hearing that in any other scenario would have been a pleasant thing, but given the context of the situation and everything you had been through so far, you were sure that whatever the woman meant by that could not be a good thing. And if those daughters were still alive when the rest of the village had been subjected to either vicious deaths or being slowly and painfully turned into a creature that you were very sure could be considered werewolves.

“Furthermore, I can assure you if you entrust the mortal to House Dimitrescu, my daughters and I shall deliver to you the finest cups of their slaughtered blood.”

Yup, entertaining those daughters was definitely not a good thing.

You pried your eyes open, almost wishing you hadn’t when you saw the creepiest doll in the world standing in front of you. She was about three feet tall and wearing a wedding dress that was admittedly well-crafted. You almost twisted to kick it out of reflex, especially as it started moving like it was alive. A hunchback came in from the side to crowd your personal space, and you gagged against the strong smell of fish. You had smelled actual dead fish that were not as fishy. What did this man do all day?

The doll roughly pushed him out of the way, complaining in a high pitched voice, “Out of the way ugly! I wanna see- oh!”

“You mean-” The man who had captured you started, being interrupted by the doll’s excited dancing and announcement that you had woken as well as the hunchback’s general groaning.

To your left you spied your backpack, just out of reach. “Y-you mean,” he tried again. “Both of you shut the fuck up!”

Well that did it. The doll went to sit in the lap of what could only be her puppeteer, a woman in funeral garb, the only skin exposed being her pale hands. The hunchback shambled off to the side, standing behind the pew where the only human passing man in the entire village sat.

“You mean you’ll screw around with them in private, and where’s the fun in that?”

You looked around, taking note of the woman who had been speaking. Dimitrescu. You could practically feel your nosebleed coming on. She was the tallest woman you had ever seen, and the most beautiful too. Her skin was so pale, her lips a deep red. She looked like a vampire, but given what you had seen so far and her talk of delivering your blood to the other woman in cups was making you think that maybe she didn’t just look like one.

Her name was ringing bells in your head. Dimitrescu. Where had you heard that before?

“Give them to me,“ the man started again, “and I’ll put on a show everyone can enjoy.”

Why me? This was definitely punishment for something.

“So gauche-”

“Hey I know you!” you interjected, addressing the tall woman and interrupting her as the realisation hit you.

They all stopped, turning to face you properly for the first time. Dimitrescu looked you up and down, seemingly regarding you as something beneath her. You quickly came to the conclusion that maybe interrupting her was a mistake, but you didn’t care. There was still no fear, even in the face of a giantess.

“Dimitrescu. That’s the name on that super rare wine in the really pretty bottle. They don’t distribute it anymore.”

She continued to look down at you, which admittedly was easy for her to do given height. “And how would the likes of you have tasted the Sanguinis Virginis?”

“Some rich guy I met at a bar gave it to me in exchange for. . . It doesn’t matter. But. . . it stands for Maiden’s Blood right?” You froze, the dots practically connecting themselves. “Oh my god. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

You leaned over to the side, ready to vomit. You knew there was something wrong with that wine. Your mood was not helped by the shrieking laughter that the doll was emitting at your expense. The man, to his credit, had the decency to wrinkle his nose in disgust at the prospect of blood filled wine. You had drank someones blood. Who had she been? Had they tortured her? Had she died in agony? You didn’t know. You didn’t really want to know.

You looked back up towards the altar. The woman standing at it had looked as familiar as Dimitrescu’s name had sounded. You had seen her portrait in many of the homes. And thinking back, it had definitely been her that had killed that villager when Luiza’s house had burned down. Your heart tugged painfully at the thought of Elena, at how you had come so close to saving her before the floor had collapsed under her and she had told you to escape this village and run.

This woman was Mother Miranda, and somehow she was the cause of all of this. Still no fear, but hatred bubbled up in your heart.

“I’ve heard all of your arguments. Some of you were less persuasive than others, but. . .” She looked at the man, who had now put his hammer on the ground, leaning forward as he waited for her answer, “Heisenberg, the mortal’s fate is in your hands.”

He tipped his hat towards her, grinning.

Dimitrescu got to her feet.

“Mother Miranda I must protest! Heisenberg is but a child, and his devotion to you is questionable.” She started walking towards you. “Give the mortal to me, and I will ensure that they are ready.”

Heisenberg angrily got to his feet, stalking towards her. You had to hand it to him, even with his telekinesis, he must have been fearless to confront Dimitrescu when he was half her size.

He held out his hand as he approached her, summoning the hammer to him. You were beginning to think that something was wrong with you, given that the action had your gut coiling again.

“Shut your damn hole and don’t be a sore loser! Go find your food somewhere else.”

“Quiet now child-”

“Well if it were up to me-” you started.

“It isn’t!” Both of them shouted down at you in unison, though Dimitrescu put significantly more venom into it.

“Well please spare me the family drama when I get enough of that at home.”

Heisenberg actually laughed at that, some of the tension leaving him. Dimitrescu however, looked incensed.

“How dare you! Do you have any idea-”

“If you’re going to ask me if I know who you are, we already established that I did. I just don’t care. And I’m not afraid of a single one of you!”

Heisenberg let out a full belly laugh at that. At which part of the statement he found to be hilarious, you weren’t sure. At least someone had found you funny, and you never wanted that laugh of his to stop. You could listen to it all day.

“SILENCE!” Mother Miranda shouted over them, intervening before someone - probably you - got hurt. “My decision is final, there will be no argument. Remember from whence you came!”

“A megabitch apparently,” you muttered under your breath.

One look at Heisenberg told you that he definitely heard that too. And as he smiled at the statement, you knew in your bones that Dimitrescu was right. His loyalty to Mother Miranda wasn’t just questionable, he hated her. You could feel it. Why though, was anyone’s guess. Though to be fair, she didn’t exactly scream motherly love.

Briefly, you wondered why someone with his abilities didn’t just finish her off and get it over with. But her words, reminding them to remember where they came from. . . she must have been very powerful if she could scold a nine foot tall vampire queen and a cowboy with the powers of Magneto into submission.

Dimitrescu moved back, but Heisenberg moved forward to take up all your attention. Those horrible monsters swarmed in as he did so, clinging to the walls, the scaffolding and leaning over the balconies, snarling and howling as he did so.

“Lycans and Gentleman, we thank you for waiting.”

I fucking knew they were werewolves.

“And now let the games begin!” He leaned down towards you, coming in at eye level. “Lets see what you’re really made of.”

You just smiled at him, deciding to let that beast under your skin that was making heat coil in your gut out to play. “I don’t suppose you’re single.”

His grin dropped off his face, and something like genuine surprise flitted across it. But instead of answering he raised his hammer above his head.

“Oh shit-”

He swung it down, cracking the loop that was keeping you chained to the floor. Lycans were beginning to crowd in. And Heisenberg, he was beginning to countdown from ten. You looked to your left again, spotting the hole in the floor just beyond your bag. You darted towards it, picking up your bag as you did so and turning to the lords one last time. You brought your hands to your face and kissed your palm, blowing it towards Heisenberg. He stuttered in his countdown, just enough to be barely noticeable. You wondered if it was in confusion or if it was because maybe, just maybe, you had flustered him ever so slightly. You vowed that you would make it out alive and find out.

Then you stuck up your two middle fingers, and jumped down the hole.

#resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #karl heisenberg #re8 heisenberg #heisenberg x you #heisenberg x reader #Reader has a dark streak #Reader is kind of scary #Reader has a crush

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lastescaped · 2 years

Text

DEEP DIVE: THE SPENCER MANSION INCIDENT & HOW IT IS DIRECTLY LINKED TO JILL’S SURVIVAL OF NEMESIS / THE RACCOON CITY INCIDENT.

buckle up, rookies, this is gonna be a long one.

none of that even remotely holds a candle to the events at the spencer mansion in july 1998.

note: do not read further if mentions of cannibalism, dismemberment, animal death, murder, child death, etc. trigger you in any way.

keep in mind, she's taken the investigation into the murders in the arklay mountains seriously and personally, given that the first two victims were two little girls she knew, aged nine and seven. seeing one of her fellow teammates getting mauled and eaten is jarring because of how unexpected and new and disturbing it is, but also because in that moment, she’s thinking of becky and priscilla mcgee. she’s so shell-shocked that she can’t move, let alone fire her weapon — wesker shoots a dog before it can attack her and she, chris, barry and wesker high-tail it toward the mansion.

this only pushes her further.

[ it’s also worth noting that she has a photo of an ne-alpha parasite on her board, which is the parasite umbrella implanted into a tyrant to create nemesis. ]

#001. [ META. ] — fact sheet.#001. [ HEADCANON. ] — fact sheet.

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lastarchived · 2 years

Text

DEEP DIVE: THE SPENCER MANSION INCIDENT & HOW IT IS DIRECTLY LINKED TO JILL’S SURVIVAL OF NEMESIS / THE RACCOON CITY INCIDENT.

buckle up, rookies, this is gonna be a long one.

none of that even remotely holds a candle to the events at the spencer mansion in july 1998.

note: do not read further if mentions of cannibalism, dismemberment, animal death, murder, child death, etc. trigger you in any way.

this only pushes her further.

following the mansion incident, the surviving S.T.A.R.S. team goes to chief irons, demanding a full investigation into umbrella regarding their involvement in the murders, as well as their illegal development of bioweaponry. irons shuts this down immediately, disbanding S.T.A.R.S. under the guise of them�� being too small to effectively carry out operations. jill is promptly suspended due to her insistence on an investigation into umbrella, and put under house arrest to hinder any attempts to investigate umbrella on her own.

[ it’s also worth noting that she has a photo of an ne-alpha parasite on her board, which is the parasite umbrella implanted into a tyrant to create nemesis. ]

#META. ㅤ ㅤ — ㅤ ㅤ FACT SHEET.#this got rambly and incoherent esp. toward the end but uh #have this besties

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siribear · 4 years

Text

somehow, their mattress survived the bombs. the bed frame? not so much. with codsworth’s help, she drags the splintered wood out of the house. other than that, she can’t bring herself to remove anything else from the house. not the ruined stereo, the blasted television, the broken kitchen chairs. codsworth had two hundred years to clean up the glass and wood and dust, but other than that, her home remains untouched.

two centuries ago, she stood in shaun’s room with her husband. played with the mobile above shaun’s crib that’s only shattered bits of plastic and string, now. she doesn’t move that, either. just moves the dusty old books back to their ruined shelves.

she changes into the leather armor in her old bathroom. doesn’t look in the mirror for fear of what she might see.

back in her room, she lays out her new guns and ammo. codsworth hovers nearby, reminding her how to clean them when she misses a step. she replaces her supplies in her pack, hides nate’s wedding ring in a pocket near the bottom, and shoves it in a corner.

claire lies back on her old mattress. she expects to sleep, but doesn’t. every time she closes her eyes, she sees the dead raiders. the ones she tore apart.

instead, she spends the remaining daylight finding beds for the others. it feels strange, looting her neighbors’ houses, but she ignores the feeling the best she can. in the ruins, she finds enough beds for the longs, for mama murphy, and sturges. at the back of one of the houses is a basement, and there she finds a sleeping bag and a store of food that can last them a few days.

she unloads a duffel bag in the house across from hers, and the group divvies up the food. when preston pokes his head in, she unrolls the sleeping bag and apologizes.

he shrugs. ‘i’ve slept on worse. thank you, though.’

she does find a broken water pump behind another house, as well as a small garden plot with the remains of two fruit plants. when she shows sturges, he assures her he can fix it.

preston catches her still wandering the neighborhood long after the sun goes down.

‘can’t sleep?’ he asks softly.

‘just trying to pull this place back together.’

he nods. ‘i can’t either. i keep thinking more raiders will come in the middle of the night.’

‘you can’t defend the others if you’re dead on your feet, you know.’

a chuckle. ‘i could say the same to you.’

‘that’s - okay. that’s fair.’

the smile he gives her is genuine, understanding. ‘look, i know i kind of forced you to help us - ’ she gestures in the negative, but he continues. ‘ - but i didn’t really expect you to stay and help us... rebuild. so, thank you. again.’

it’s her turn to shrug. ‘i wanted to help.’

‘that’s the thing. we’re not - i’m not used to that. not anymore.’ he sits on the curb of the worn down road. she sits cross legged next to him. ‘at the museum, i mentioned the quincy massacre.’ he takes a steadying breath. ‘we were betrayed. first, a minuteman, clint, joined the gunners. they attacked quincy, and would have taken over that night if not for colonel hollis. we fortified the town, held our own for the days that the gunners attacked, but clint returned. he wanted us to surrender.

‘colonel hollis called for reinforcements, but no one came. too many politics over the line of succession after the former general died, i guess. we didn’t last another night. twenty of us made it out of quincy. thirteen of us made it to concord. now it’s just us.’

‘and you’re the last minuteman,’ she concludes.

‘but it doesn’t have to be that way!’ his change in tone startles her. ‘the commonwealth - i think it still needs the minutemen. we can do better. defend the people we actually swore to protect. but i - i don’t know if i can - ’ his previous enthusiasm dies just as quickly as it came.

claire mulls it over, tapping her chin. ‘you’d have to rebuild that trust as well. i can’t imagine quincy endeared the minutemen to anyone.’

his shoulders sag.

‘so, preston.’ she stands, grinning. ‘where do we start?’

‘wait, really?’ he jumps to his feet. ‘you’re going to do this?’

‘i haven’t been here long, but i can see having more people like you in the commonwealth can’t hurt,’ she reasons.

‘haven’t been here... where did you come from, anyway?’ he looks to the pip-boy on her wrist. ‘a vault?’

she blanks. no one would really believe she’s two hundred years old, right? she wouldn’t believe it if anyone tried to tell her that. so she lies. ‘oh, no. i’m from out west. i’m looking for someone.’

‘mama murphy mentioned that. and you think they came to the commonwealth?’

claire kicks a rock on the road. ‘it’s the only lead i’ve got, so far.’

preston hums, thinking. ‘well, i can’t help but be grateful for your timing.’ he looks over at the house across from hers, where she had shown him the sleeping bag. ‘i think i might actually sleep easy tonight.’ when claire doesn’t move to leave, he says, ‘if you still can’t sleep, there’s a settlement over the hill. it’s a farm, run by the abernathy family. i.. remember they requested help from the minutemen, before we fell apart. maybe you can talk to them?’

‘a farm? we could definitely use some food,’ she says, mostly to herself. ‘yeah, i think i’ll do that. thanks, preston.’

‘no problem, uh - ’

again, a name. she makes a decision, in the moment. ‘alice. just - call me alice.’

preston smiles. ‘no problem, alice. and i can’t thank you enough, honestly.’

‘thank me by getting some sleep, preston. i’ll be back soon.’

codsworth joins her on her way out of sanctuary. dogmeat, surprisingly, follows her across the bridge as well. alice scratches behind his ears as the trio stands on the edge of the bridge.

‘mum?’

‘yes, codsworth?’

‘i heard you speaking to mr. garvey. i think helping the minutemen is an honorable cause.’ she hums in agreement. ‘and i heard you say - your name is alice, mum?’

she doesn’t respond.

‘would you like me to adjust my settings?’

‘that would be best, codsworth.’

‘of course, miss alice.’

dogmeat whines. they continue toward the red rocket gas station, veering west as night settles around them.

post-war commonwealth is quieter, alice notes. no sound of cars in the distance, no sounds of the city. just the wind, the crunch of leaves under her feet, and the putter of codsworth hovering alongside her. a pair of - and she shouldn’t be surprised - giant flies attacks them as they pass by concord’s water tower, but they’re taken care of quickly. codsworth calls them bloatflies, alice calls them dead, and dogmeat calls them forward.

ahead, a wooden building appears over the hill.

‘that’ll be abernathy farm, then.’ she breaks into a jog.

dogmeat runs up to a small pen and begins sniffing around the fence. alice slows and whispers to codsworth, ‘what is that thing?’

‘that is a brahmin, mum. mutated after the war.’

brahmin. she stares at what should be a cow. or, it would be, if it only had one head.

‘you’ll step away from her, if you know what’s good for you,’ threatens a man from the porch of the towering house. he approaches slowly, a shotgun pointed at her chest.

alice takes two, slow steps away, hands up to show she means no harm. ‘i’m just here to trade for food.’

‘right,’ he draws the word out, eyeing the trio: a curious dog, a mr. handy, and a woman in bloodied leather armor. alice imagines they make quite a sight, even for the commonwealth.

‘it’s late, i know. i’m sorry.’ earlier, her pipboy read just before midnight. ‘i’m new to the commonwealth - killed a group of raiders this morning and helped a group of refugees settle in sanctuary over the hill.’

‘that was you?’ he lowers the shotgun an inch. ‘we heard the gunfire, but couldn’t get involved, not after - ’ he seems to catch himself. ‘anyway, fine. i was just wrapping up for the night. what are you looking for?’

‘any extra food would be great. some seeds would help us be more self sufficient, too.’

‘ever been a farmer?’

‘ah - no, but i’m willing to learn.’

the man, blake abernathy, he says, gives her tips on farming. she types in the notes on her pipboy. after, he disappears into the house. inside, alice can see a small light flicker on, and when he returns its with a younger woman in tow.

‘my daughter, lucy.’

‘nice to meet you!’ she holds out a hand, and alice shakes it. ‘you’re not one of the usual traders.’

‘i’m not from the area.’ she shrugs. ‘i’m actually with the minutemen. we’re trying to establish ourselves up in sanctuary.’

in the pipboy light, blake frowns. ‘you didn’t say you were with the minutemen.’

‘is that a problem?’

‘some people don’t take kindly to the minutemen. not after what happened at quincy.’

alice lets out a small, ah. ‘i’m sorry to hear that. oh,’ she takes the handful of seeds and produce from lucy and stuffs them in a pocket of her backpack, ‘what do i owe you?’

lucy must see the blank look on her face when blake tells her some amount of ‘caps.’ ‘do you not use bottle caps where you’re from?’ before alice can respond, lucy, thankfully, barrels on and helps her count out the caps from the pouch preston gave her. ‘it’s easy. just one-for-one.’

‘thank you,’ alice says, earnestly. the new currency will take some getting used to. cap-italism enters her mind, unbidden, and has to wave off blake and lucy’s confused looks when she begins to laugh. ‘just different is all. sorry.’

‘right. anyway, just watch out for raiders.’ blake’s voice shifts to a low growl. ‘they only know how to take what isn’t theirs. no matter who tries to stop them.’

‘daddy - ’

‘mind telling me what happened?’ alice ventures.

he does, pain evident in his voice. parents burying their child. he must hear some echoed understanding in her own voice when she asks what she can do to help. ‘mary had a locket, it’s been in connie’s family for generations. if you could get that back...’ a thought crosses his mind. ‘well, maybe we’ll reconsider our thoughts on the minutemen.’

alice nods. ‘it would be my pleasure.’

lucy grabs her arm when she turns to leave. ‘daddy, honestly, she looks dead on her feet. we have a spare bed upstairs. the locket can wait until the morning.’

blake seems to agree, because he doesn’t stop them when lucy hauls alice into the house.

‘i will guard the area, mum!’ codsworth calls as she crosses the doorway, and dogmeat follows in after her, tail wagging.

#oc: alice ward #having to stop myself from going 'milla jovovich voice: my name. is alice.'#siri drabbles #series: we will all go together when we go

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horror-game-fanatic · 4 years

Text

Inventory (Survival Horror Manual)

Inventory is going to be a big thing. Too many games I watch DM’s say they don’t care about your items because they don’t want to deal with the weight issue. That, in itself, is a very convoluted thing that I guess they put in for more hardcore players because I have very rarely needed to regulate it nor keep track of it. However, a survival horror game wouldn’t be very survivalist if you didn’t control the inventory of your character. But you can’t just use the simple “watch your weight!” mechanic either.

So I have taken inspiration from, of all games, Resident Evil. If you have played ANY of the games, one of their staples is controlled inventory slots. Even RE6 had a controlled amount, albeit it was much larger than the rest of the games. I liked RE5′s inventory the best, or even the new revamped RE2′s system. RE5 gave you 9 slots and that was it. You had to manage armor, ammo, and guns in it and never could you make it bigger or rearrange it like you could in RE4. RE2 did a lot of the same thing, but you could find pouches that you strapped to your bodies to increase inventory room. AND it made sense as well. If you had a two handed weapon, chances are it took up two slots.

You get the point.

SO the inventory system would be much the same way in my own system. All players would start with a baseline number of slots, which I have tried to convey as realistically as possible. A human being is not going to be able to effectively carry around three shotguns, a broken piece of some weird puzzle (that you may need two hands for), a BUNCH of boxes of ammo, some smaller guns, notes, journals, etc etc.

Every player would start with nine slots. Depending ont he time period the game takes place as well as any items the DM believes they need starting out, that is the default. The players can find additional support during the game to carry more things. I was originally making it more convoluted, such as bringing in harasses and holsters, to hold weapons and thus free up item slots, but they would not always be available and it seems that made unneeded stress on the DM’s part. So instead the inventory system will take on an RE2/RE5 approach. You start with nine slots that can be arranged however you wish. Larger weapons or items will take up more slots accordingly, which can be expanded upon in a later post about items. Pieces of weapons or items will take up slots but if they can be combined, they may take up less slots. If you’ve played those two games in any way then you’d get what I’m going for. Like I said, pouches and backpacks can be found to upgrade a players inventory or depending on the DM’s discretion, a player may already start with these expanding items.

I haven’t solidified it yet but I suppose simple stats would be:

Pocket Pouches = 2 additional slots

Backpacks = 6 additional slots

Something like that I would think. That way it adds more dynamics to items as well. Say you are trapped and being overrun. Maybe you get your backpack snagged on a fence or a creature has a hold of it. Maybe you die but your party comes across your body. The player can just as easily lose the backpack or pouches as they can obtain them and have to manage their inventory accordingly. Also some items you have to just be logical about. You are not going to be able to fit a 12 gauge shotgun in a backpack, that’s just not realistic. Instead, you have to hold it and may have to put it down or do some other cumbersome action to maneuver it if you need to free up your hands.

See, this is already getting convoluted. Alot of people have actually shown negativity to this decision but I think its an integral part to a game about survival and horror. Maybe you’re playing a Friday The 13th-esque game. You have to think about all these items and manage your inventory under the stress of a stalker that could be on you at any moment. Maybe you’re playing a zombie game and need to reload. Do you have an inventory slot to just a box of bullets or do you have a few clips? Are they in your backpack? How do you fish one out quickly enough to reload your pistol? LIke I said before, stress plays a big part in this game. There is even a stress meter that players need to watch out for but we will go over that later. The point is, the inventory system is controlled and small and... well, something Im still working on. I like the minimum is nine slots, it makes sense to me especially if you argue what you can and cannot hold on your person at any given time. I don’t believe I am going to worry about slings and holsters at this time. If there is a demand for that much realism then I can make a mechanic for it but for not I want the system to run smoothly and so I am trying to keep the mechanics as streamlined as possible.

We also have to consider what kind of items can give you additional slots in your inventory. Take Dead Space, for example. I LOVE Dead Space and I can’t wait to run a game in that setting, but there are no obvious inventories for you to juggle with. There IS an inventory system that updates and enlarges with each upgrade of your suit though. How does that work? Where are the items? I carry around some big, mean, looking guns but where do I store them? Is it like Iron Man’s nano-machine technology? I hope not because that mechanic can be broken so fast.

I’d personally really like some feedback on this dilemma, actually. I like the inventory slot system; Ive used it in a few homebrew games, but how do I expand on it and how do I make it work in different time settings, such as the wild west past or the distant cyberpunk future? What do you think?

Am I looking too hard into this?

#survivalhorror #dnd

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antman-56 · 4 years

Text

The Long Night Pt. 23

“Everyone ready.”

Team BLAD was outside of “The Club” in a party van. They were wearing all black light body armor and had different weapons.

All of them where sitting in the back of the van. From checking equipment, looking outside the van or just contemplating what they were about to do.

Ben was checking his sword, that could turn into a assault rifle, for any nicks.

Damien was loading a metal backpack connected to a minigun.

Damien (cigarette in mouth) : We have 3 more hours before The Pack and The Sons show up.

Alvin was loading a shotgun with explosive dust rounds.

Alvin : Mann said he keep the cops from showing for 4 hours. He really doesn't know how a gun fight works.

Lenny loading his body armor’s pouches with ammo for his pistols.

Lenny : Well use his incompetence to our advantage.

Damien : Were trained huntsmen against thugs with guns. They don’t even have Aura or a semblance. It’s going to be easy.

Ben : Damien take the Kanabo. In case the minigun jams.

Alvin passed it to Damien.

Ben : That goes out to all of you. Get a secondary weapon if you run out of ammo. Remember no survivors.

Lenny grabbed two military knifes and Alvin went for the stun grenades..

Alvin (waving his hand and covering his nose) : Damien put that out man we have to be in here for 3 hours and I don’t want to smell like smoke when I ask her out.

Damien : Dude it’s been 3 days. The last time you were close to her you flaked out.

Alvin : Shut up.

Ben : And after that life plan you made.

Alvin : Shut up!

Lenny : And to imagine all the half babies you two would’ve had. Lets see . . .

Alvin : Shut up!!

Ben : If its a boy Julian and a girl . . .

Damien : Brooklyn.

Alvin sunk down his seat and was now laying on the floor, covering his face.

Lenny : Live on top of a hill, next to a lake.

Damien : And they would live happily ever after.

Alvin was slowly reaching for his pocket knife until Ben stopped him.

Ben : Relax. You know were teasing.

Alvin : You think she hates faunus?

Ben : Don’t know. Why don’t you ask her.

Damien : Hey! We have the Pack coming in from the west and the Sons coming from the north.

Ben : Alright boys, masks on.

They put on their masks, all of them resembled a skull. It was simple and basic, no need for anyone to know who they were.

Within 5 minutes The Club was shooting at The Pack and The Sons.

Ben raised his fingers up and put his hand on the handle.

3 ... 2...

When he opened the door, Lenny and Alvin opened fire on two members of The Pack.

The Pack wore blue and black shirts, bandannas, jackets or hats. Anything with those two colors. Some members had tattoos of a Grimm beowolf.

The Sons wore yellow and red skirts, tank tops or bandannas. They usually had a sun tattooed on their foreheads and/or right hand.

Ben and Alvin were the first ones out. They split up and were taking out everyone that was in front of them.

Damien ran out and laid waste to “The Club”. Bullets were going through the foundation and hitting anyone who was unlucky enough to be inside.

Lenny ran out last and used Damien’s distraction to run to the Sons covering from his onslaught. Lenny was shooting anyone who poked their head’s out.

At the west side of The Club, Alvin was busy blowing up the heads of the Pack. He only stopped to reload.

Ben was at the north, taking caution when firing at the Sons. He made sure he was taking out the ones that could shot Lenny since he was on a war path.

Ben was distracted by keeping Lenny safe that a Son took the chance to hit him with a bat.

Ben staggered and slowly back away from the Son. He transformed his assault rifle into a claymore He lunged forward and drove the sword right through the Son’s chest. He pulled out forcefully and as the Son was comprehending what happened Ben swung the sword right through his neck.

Ben went back to the assault rifle mode and resumed to provide support.

Damien was still firing at the foundation and whatever sparks of gunfire created to retaliate were quickly snuffed out by the never ending barrage of bullets.

Lenny was jumping on the cars that were parked or the ones the Sons used as makeshift cover. He was killing the Sons in rapid pace but was running low on ammo.

When he heard an empty click produce from his guns he sheath them and took cover. He took a couple of breath and ran at the machine gun nests the Sons made.

He landed right in the middle of them and it took them a second before they realized where he was. One Son ran up to him hoping to hit him with the butt of his rifle. Lenny pushed him away and ran to the guy who was next to him. He grabbed his rifle and threw out of the circle.

Another aimed their rifle at him and just as he was about to pull the trigger, Lenny threw one of his knifes at him. The blade pierced the Son’s heart before he could let out a single shot.

The other two members who were more fortunate and took aim.

Lenny used the now unarmed Son as a human shield and ran towards them.

When he was close to them he threw the now deceased Son at them and took out his other knife. One of them was buried under the dead Son but the other was able to get out in time. Lenny took out his last knife and threw it at the Son who was still standing. He looked down to see the last Son struggling to get the dead corpse off of him. Lenny brought his foot up and smashed it down onto the Son’s face.

One car began to start and was desperately trying to escape.

Lenny saw this and took out a grenade from his pouch. He threw it at the car and waited.

BOOM

The car was now a smoldering reek of metal and flesh.

Alvin was dealing with the last of The Pack. 3 members were left and desperately shooting where Alvin was at.

Alvin closed his eyes and listened to where they were shooting him from.

Gotcha.

Alvin took out his stun grenade and with near pin point accuracy to the last stand.

Within seconds Alvin pumped his shotgun and ran to them.

The first one he saw he he aim for his head.

He jumped over the car and aimed for the second guy.

He fell over and fired blindly, killing his friend and grazing Alvin’s Aura.

He regained his senses after the gun was empty and the first thing he saw was the end of a shotgun barrel.

BANG

Ben ( I ) : Took you long enough.

Alvin ( I ) : Fuck you.

Ben ( I ) : Lets go inside.

Lenny ( I ) : How long did that take.

Ben ( I , checks watch) : 5 minutes.

Alvin ( I ) : Wanna tell Damien to stop.

Ben ( I ) : Damien enough. Lets head inside.

The minigun slowed down with steam lines coming out from the barrels.

They began to walk into the establishment without a care in the world.

The carnage inside was what everyone expected. Windows were broken, tables destroyed by bullets, limbs, guts and blood sprayed all over the place.

All that was left was one goon slowly crawling towards the emergency exit.

Ben walked over to him and flipped him over.

Ben (grabbing his collar) : Where is Butch?

Goon (coughing blood) : Go to Hell!

Ben punched him.

Ben : Where?

Goon : Fuck you!

Ben dropped him and stretched his hand for Lenny’s gun.

Ben shot the goon’s hand. The goon screamed in agony.

Ben : Where? And you die quickly.

Goon : Fuck you.

BANG

Ben : You have two knee caps left.

Goon : I don’t know.

Ben : Bullshit.

Goon : He left. Told us . . . . to guard the place.

The goon bleed out and looked more peaceful.

Ben : Searched the place. He must have left something. Set your watches for the last 30 minutes then we leave.

***Willow’s Dorm***

Willow : Tea’s ready!!

Willow rushed to the table with a steaming tea kettle and 2 cups.

Terra : Careful or you’ll burn yourself!!

Willow set the kettle down and cups.

Terra : Not used to serving your own tea.

Willow : That obvious.

Terra : Yes, now dish girl, is it James, Turbo or Qrow?

Willow (blushing) : WHAT?

Terra : Kill, Marry, and Fuck?

Willow : You first.

Terra : Kill Turbo, marry Qrow and fuck James.

Terra pours the tea into the 2 cups.

Willow : Well kill Turbo ....

Terra : Obviously!

Willow began to hesitate on the last 2 choices.

Terra : Willow, don’t tell me you...

Willow began to blush.

Terra : Oh!My!Gods!

Willow began to hide her face.

Terra : It was usually it’s James, now he has competition. Dish girl.

Willow : Well James is nice, sweet and ...

Terra : Old and their. But Qrow?

Willow : He’s . . .

Terra (teasing) : Special, handsome, lost, a poor soul born into the wrong life.

Willow : Terraaaaa...

Terra : You know I love you.

Willow : Yeah, but I don’t know how to say it but he’s like me.

Terra : How exactly?

Willow : He is trying to defy his own fate.

Terra says nothing and just sipped her tea. She had know her friend since they were in kindergarten and she has yet to be wrong about someone. I mean James, Freya, An Mai, and now STRQ. She just hoped they would be enough to save her from her fate.

***?????***

It was black.

I can’t see anything.

Where am I?

“Your safe.”

Taiyang turned around to see Beacon’s biggest mystery sitting on a park bench.

Tai : Oz?

The void turned into a blushing forest full of small cute critters and trees that seemed to never end.

Ozpin : Yes it’s me.

Tai : Am I dead?

Ozpin (chuckled) : No, just sleeping.

Tai blinked and saw that Ozpin now had a mug on his right hand.

Ozpin : Please sit.

Ozpin gestured towards the empty spot next to him.

Tai blinked again and found himself next to Ozpin.

Ozpin : Your going to wake up soon, so please do remember.

Tai : Huh? What are you-

Ozpin : When the snow angel rises beware of not the dark, but the light.

Tai : I don’t . . .

A bright light engulfed Ozpin and was growing brighter until it covered the entire void.

Taiyang abruptly opened his eyes and started to breath heavily.

Tai : What the fuck!?!?!

***Beacon Headmaster Office***

Ozpin opened his eyes and saw the lights of his school.

He put his right hand over his right eye and sighed.

Ozpin : Children, please ... be careful.

A silent tear fell down his face.

“I can not fail again”

#Ozpin #taiyang xiao long #willow schnee #my ocs #rwby #rwby au #long night part 23

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tangentmoth · 4 years

Text

You’re one of the living; who’s gonna make it tonight?

Zdravstvuyte, fellow Stalkers! Tangentmoth is back, with another installment of Scorch the Skies, a collection of loosely interconnected fics bridging Clear Sky and Shadow of Chernobyl, from the point of view of the NPCs our protagonists meet along the way. (Because someone’s got to care about the Some Gremlins of this obscure, underappreciated fandom, and it might as well be me.)

Chapter 1: Sailor Take Warning

Chapter 2: The Bad Death of General Krylov

There’re a lot of unanswered questions in between Clear Sky and Shadow of Chernobyl, and none so engrossing as the complete disappearance of the title characters of Clear Sky themselves. Which brings us to this week’s Gremlin: Nimble, the Wedge Antilles of the S.T.A.L.K.E.R. universe, and one of only two known survivors of the Clear Sky faction.

(A/N: This turned out to be a much longer fic than I expected it to be, and will thus be released in two parts.)

Chapter 3: Ishmael (Part I)

“And only I am escaped alone to tell thee…

- Moby Dick (paraphrasing the book of Job)

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

He doesn’t know exactly how long he’s been running. More than a day, is the best he can figure. There was darkness at one point. Now it’s light again, for a given value of “light”. It all blurs together in the storm.

Sometimes there are lulls in the storm, when the downpour lightens and the lightning stops flashing and the thunder quiets for an hour, two, three. Those are the times when he rests, when he hides among the hummocks and the reeds. The storm is his friend, right now. The thunder hides the sound of his passage as he slogs through the Swamps, the curtains of rain and wind obscure his movements, the lightning blinds the eyes of his pursuers. Mutants, mostly.

But not just mutants.

He avoids the farmsteads and the ruined villages and the tumbledown old Orthodox church, all the places that had once been theirs, or mostly theirs. He’s dead exhausted and he wants to stop, hole up in one of the old buildings and dry off and fucking sleep, but he can’t afford to take the chance. They might be waiting in one of the buildings, or all of them. Better to just keep moving. He’s got plenty of energy drinks in his pack, two Flashes in the set of lead-lined pouches at his belt, accurate maps on his PDA. He can run for days. But which way?

Not east. Definitely not east. He knows he could slip past the military outpost’s machine guns and make it to the Cordon, he’s done it half a dozen times running errands for Suslov or Kalancha, it’s how he got his nickname. He and Vasya had been running that way to begin with, until they’d stumbled on what was left of Suslov.

The circle. The heads.

Vasya had freaked out and run. Hadn’t paid attention, hadn’t noticed the way the rain was warping and spiraling around itself just ahead of him. No more Vasya.

North. North to the railroad tracks, then up through Hunter’s Woods. He could cut over to the Main Road from there…

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

Nimble was lost. Really, really fucking lost.

He’d gotten to the woods okay. That part had been alright, except for a couple of Snorks. Thank fuck for Vasya’s SPAS-12. Way better than his sad old sawed-off. He’d taken a couple of swipes, nothing serious, and the combat shottie had laid the Snorks out without much of a fuss. It was worth the injuries just to be away from the Great Swamps. No more slogging through the marshes, looking over his shoulder, every minute expecting those...freaks to ambush him and put his head on another pike. When I get to the Cordon, I’ll buy a bottle and toast Vasya’s memory, he’d thought. I’ll toast all of their memories. And then sleep. Sleep for a week.

Except he couldn’t find the Cordon. He couldn’t find the fucking road.

He had exited the woods to find himself in rocky, scrubby hill country littered with tangled junk and scrap metal. The Garbage, according to the maps on his PDA, which told him he was south of some old industrial complex and west of the Main Road. Good. Great. Except then he’d tried to climb a hill for a good vantage and his dosimeter started clicking so fast it was screeching. He’d panicked, tripped and gone tumbling ass-over-end down the hillside in his haste to get back down. A dumbass rookie move if there’d ever been one. The PDA was still up there on that hill somewhere With the maps.

I, Nimble had thought, lying dazed in a bush with his right sleeve shredded to the elbow, am fucked.

There was still the sun to navigate by, at least, but the Garbage was slow going overland. Terrifyingly slow. If the dosimeter wasn’t going apeshit, it was the anomaly alarm It felt like he was wasting fifteen minutes worth of nervous bolt-chucking for every fifteen meters he progressed. The hills were crawling with blind dogs and the occasional boar, and he was running perilously low on shotgun shells. Pretty soon he’d be reduced to his shitty little Makarov. He was exhausted, his injuries were hurting like hell, and he was starting to feel sick despite the Fireball he was carrying.

Worst of all, the sun was starting to set.

It went down as he skirted around a jumbled pile of what looked like construction crane parts. For a long minute Nimble just stood and watched, unmindful of the constant click of the dosimeter, until there was nothing left of the light but a faint stripe of slightly lighter blue against the junk-strewn western horizon. He was alone, in this godforsaken irradiated no-man’s-land, with no PDA to navigate with or call for help, too little ammo and no medicine. At night.

I am fucked.

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

“Vnimanie! Anekdot!”

Wolf grinned to himself, listening to the others tell their campfire stories. He’d never admit it, but this was one of the things he liked best about life in the Zone. Not the firefights, not the thrill of picking your way through minefields of anomalies (or sometimes just literal minefields, if you spent most of your time in the Cordon like Wolf did), not the strange and hazardous wonder of the artifacts. Just a bunch of fellow stalkers gathered together around a fire, drinking, playing music, and telling stories to ward off the night.

Tonight he was camped out at the old scrapyard with Bes, Bes’s crew, and a small gaggle of Cordon rookies. The Garbage was a radioactive, anomaly-strewn shithole he normally preferred to avoid unless he was just passing through, but his new crop of rookies were another story. The Big Blowout had blasted artifacts out of seemingly every anomaly south of Rostok, enough of them that they were just scattered over the the hills like so much shrapnel and you didn’t even need a detector to locate them. Most of them weren’t of much use (or value, for that matter), but of course the newbies all had fucking stars in their eyes and had taken off from the Cordon like a bunch of greenhorn Alaskan prospectors who just heard there was gold in them thar hills. Wolf had followed, not because he particularly wanted to but because most of these kids were going to die without a babysitter. Hideously.

“...so Pravik and me, we’re searching the bodies and we hear a ‘whoosh’, and you know what we saw? A bandit spinning in midair! Must have been trying to get the drop on us, til that whirligig got the drop on him! Stupid gopnik too drunk to throw a bolt.”

Wolf snorted, passing a bottle of vodka Bes’s way. Good stuff, too, not that Cossacks rotgut that was a hryvnia a dozen in the Zone. A working relationship with Sidorovich had its perks. And Bes was a good man and a good friend, an experienced Stalker who knew this whole area like the back of his hand.

Bes took a swig, nodded his approval, then shot a skeptical eyebrow at the storytelling rookie. “Your clothes look mighty clean for someone downwind of a bandit caught in a whirligig,” he pointed out drily.

“See, that’s the best part though! It never went off all the way, so he just stayed up there spinning around like a flying saucer! Might even still be up there for all we know!”

That got them all cracking up, Bes included, and Wolf almost missed it--would have missed it, if not for the sixth sense most veterans gained after a while in the Zone: the sound of footsteps on gravel.

“Shut up, all of you!” he barked, raising his hand in a curt ‘quiet!’ motion and hoping the rookies would take the hint. He got to his feet, rifle at the ready. Bes and his men followed suit, a bare instant behind Wolf. Good.

The footsteps grew louder as they approached, and now they could see the flicker of a headlamp coming from the western end of the old vehicle graveyard. Not a bandit, Wolf didn’t think; a bandit would have either darted behind cover or opened fire by now. A Loner, then, most likely...but why hadn’t he announced himself?

“You there!” Bes called. “Who goes there?”

The figure staggered on toward them, finally close enough for Wolf to make out in the beam of his headlamp. A skinny guy in some kind of camo fatigues--it was impossible to make out the color in this light--and what looked like a retooled military flak vest that had seen much, much better days. One sleeve was completely shredded, and there was a bloody bandage around his right thigh. His face was white, his eyes wide and starey.

“What the hell?” one of the rookies muttered.

“...don’t...don’t shoot….” the intruder croaked “Don’t shoot, please…” Then he fell to his knees, vomiting.

“Shit,” Wolf muttered, running up to the man and dropping down onto one knee next to him. Up close, he could see the guy was no older than most of his rookies, and that he was puking up mostly blood and bile. Shit, shit, shit. “Hang on, man,” he grunted.

He lugged the sick Stalker to his feet, slinging an arm around his shoulders and half-dragging, half-carrying him over to one of the bedrolls arranged around the fire. Drifter, one of the brighter rookies and the one Wolf had pegged as Most Likely to Survive a Year, held out a canteen of purified water and a medkit, but Wolf shook his head. “Get me one of the better ones out of my pack. Should be in a yellow box.” He’d traded for those from the Ecologists up at Lake Yantar, and they were worth every ruble. “And the pack of antirad syrettes.”

“Waste of meds,” one of Bes’s men grumbled as Drifter tossed him the packages. “Better to put him out of his misery now.”

“When I want your opinion I’ll ask for it,” Wolf snarled back. The sick Stalker was retching again, groaning. Wolf ripped the wrapper off of a pre-loaded antirad syringe, bit the cap off, and jammed the needle into the Stalker’s hip. The kid yelped, and Wolf figured that for a good sign. He followed the antirads with a dose of morphine out of the scientists’ medkit, then squatted back on his heels to get a better look while the meds kicked in and the young Stalker got his breath back.

In the firelight, at close inspection, the Stalker looked like 500km of bad road run hard. There was definitely bullet damage to the vest, which probably meant bruised or broken ribs underneath. The wound on the right thigh looked like claw slashes from an mutant attack, and the shredded sleeve revealed what was either a badly infected scrape or a nasty beta burn all the way up his forearm--probably both, considering the dirt here. There wasn’t much left of the man’s pack but the straps, but he was very obviously carrying three or four artifacts in the pouches on his utility belt--one of them a Fireball, judging from the heat Wolf could feel radiating even through the lead lining. A savvy choice that had probably saved the man’s life here, where you could eat 200 rem just picking the wrong path to walk down.

He set about stripping off the vest and cutting off the old bandages so he could get at the unfortunate Stalker’s injuries, talking to him while he did so in the hopes of keeping him conscious. “Lucky you didn’t get shot for a bandit, wandering in here in the middle of the night like that,” he chided. “Fuck, you’re lucky you didn’t get shot by a bandit out here. Garbage is crawling with the scum. You got a name, friend?”

“...Nimble,” the Stalker managed, voice slurred and gravelly from the vomiting and the drugs. “...was trying to find the Cordon...come up through the Woods, then down the road...thought...I was safe…but I got lost…lost my PDA, dogs got my pack...thought I was dead, til I saw your fire.”

The Stalker’s clothes were filthy, caked in mud and blood, but there was a patch on his shoulder that caught Wolf’s eye--not the usual black-on-yellow radiation symbol that most Loners wore, though. Two birds flying over the rising sun, on a sky-blue field. The writing underneath was half-obscured by mud, but Wolf could read it just the same. Chistoye Nebo.

Clear Sky.

Wolf glanced up at Bes, beckoning him over. “You came up from the Great Swamps?”

Nimble nodded weakly, eyes glassy. Bes looked him over, eyes narrowing with suspicion “Nobody in the Great Swamps but bandits. Call themselves Renegades, like they’re a legitimate faction.” He spat to the side.

Nimble shook his head, crying out as Wolf poured antiseptic solution over the inflamed claw slashes in his thigh. “Not me...not us. We were down there too. Clear Sky. Nobody...ah fuck!....nobody knew...just a few people, the trader at the Cordon, a doctor up in Yantar….”

“He’s telling the truth,” Wolf said “I’ve seen his folks at the village. They come in to trade with Sidorovich every now and again, if they manage to make it past the military outpost. Some kind of armed science unit, eggheads with guns. What the hell are you doing up here in the Garbage, kid, all by yourself? This is a bad, bad place to be lost.”

“...came up through the woods...” Nimble slurred. The drugs were really hitting hard now; he could barely string words together. “...nobody left down there…..just me...Vasya fell in an anomaly and died….they got everyone else, but I outran them….”

Wolf frowned at that. “They? The bandits, the Renegades or whatever?”

Nimble’s eyes slowly closed. “...not bandits...don’t know who they were….came after the blowout, in the night….burned our place, killed everyone...I saw Trodnik, he was with them, but he wasn’t..he wasn’t him....they killed everyone…” He trailed off, head lolling to the side.

Wolf finished re-bandaging the young Stalker’s injuries and sat back, still frowning. He looked over at Bes. “That make any sense to you?”

Bes shrugged. “Kid’s rad-sick and doped to the gills. Who knows what the hell he’s talking about. What are you going to do with him?”

“Take him back to the village, if he makes it through the night.” And Wolf thought he would make it through the night. Young and skinny as he was, he was clearly tougher than he looked--tough enough and smart enough to have evaded whatever had befallen his comrades down in the Swamps, to have survived wandering the woods and the Garbage for what must have been days. Wolf knew experienced stalkers who might not have made it. He admired Nimble for it. But he was unsettled by the kid’s story, filtered through delirium though it was.

I saw Trodnik, he was with them, but he wasn’t...he wasn’t him…

He knew Ivan Trodnik. He was a Guide, a rare, valuable, and dangerous trade here in the Zone, and he was good at his job. He’d worked the routes from Cordon all the way up through Rostok and beyond, before moving south to map the Great Swamps. Wolf had last seen him maybe two or three weeks ago, dressed in blue-and-white fatigues and good armor with the same Clear Sky patch on his shoulder, escorting a big Merc to see Sidorovich. Clearly he’d joined these people at some point. Had he betrayed them? To who? What had Nimble meant by “he wasn’t him”, or had that just been the delirium talking? It was bothering him.

Something bad had happened to the Clear Sky faction, that was certain, and Wolf wanted to know what the hell it was. The Great Swamps weren’t far from the Cordon and the rookie village. If there was a chance of trouble moving north toward them, Wolf wanted to be ready for it.

They came in the night...they killed everyone...

He stayed awake, smoking, listening to the groans and shrieks of the Zone and the survivor’s ragged, labored breathing, for the rest of the night.

#Fanfic #S.T.A.L.K.E.R.#S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Clear Sky #S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Shadow of Chernobyl #TW: Emetophobia #TW: Needles #Nimble #Wolf #Bes

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fernwehbookworm · 4 years

Text

Woke the F*ck Up- Chapter 14

February 23rd, 2018

The news hit the next day. Lena Luthor was missing. Last seen getting off a flight at National City Airport. No one saw the car she got into or how she left the airport. Pain lanced through Kara's heart. The blurry image Winn managed to 'acquire’ from the NCPD shows Lena still in a beautifully elegant dress from the pictures from the gala in Metropolis. She had no luggage. She must have left the fundraiser and headed straight for National City.

Kara felt like a coward. Cat had tried to convince her to go. To see Lena face to face but Kara couldn't take any more rejection. Lena had never called or even text. That was clear enough for Kara. So Cat went alone, to auction off the original for the CatCo cover that broke the record in sales the first day. Kara promised Cat ten percent commission on every other painting sold. The only reason Kara could think of for Lena to come so suddenly is to see her.

If only she had gone to Metropolis. Then Lena wouldn't be missing. Kara suspected Lillian. How else would the crime boss get to a vigilante whose mother was halfway across the world taking the honeymoon she and Jeremiah never were able to take, whose sister was an FBI agent, and whose friends were vigilantes with her. Plus Lena was her daughter and could probably serve other nefarious purposes as well.

With determination, Kara strode to the hidden panel in the central command table and pressed he palm to the reader. A green light scanned her hand and the panel opened with a small gush of air.

“Whoa, I didn't put that there. Where did that come from?” Winn exclaims, sitting up in his chair, dropping his feet to the floor from where they had been perched by a computer.

“I put it here. I may not be you smart but I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Plus Alex has the same model and helped me to install it a while ago.”

Kara begins unloading the contents of the compartment on the table. Winn shoots to his feet and James turns from where he has been studying the layout of the Cadmus base.

“Kara, I thought you didn't like guns.”

“I don't like them. Doesn't mean I don't know how to use them. Alex made sure of that.”

“Kara…” James says disapprovingly.

“Don't fucking start with me James. Lillian has kidnapped Lena and now that woman has gone too far this time.”

“You have no proof Cadmus has Lena,” James says.

“Lillian knows who I am. Of course she has Lena. This is personal now. She has been trying to take my city, she sure as hell won't take the woman I love.” Kara pauses as the word leaves her lips and knives through her heart.

“Kara, I thought you were past this. I thought that’s what all the therapy was for.” James says. Kara looks at him hard.

“Therapy was so I could handle everything in a healthy fashion. But I do love Lena. How we ended sucked, and it will take time for me to move past it, but I blaze like that leaves its mark. But I will not leave the woman I love in the clutches of her evil mother and a criminal organization.”

Kara begins strapping her collection to her uniform. Two handguns at her hips, a smaller one strapped to her right thigh, mirrored by an array of throwing knives on her left. Smoke and flash-bang grenades are loaded into the pouches at her waist. A shotgun is slung to her back. An ammo belt slings across her body as more ammo weighs down her utility belt.

“Kara I don't like this.”

“Have I not made it clear enough? James, you are only here to make sure you don't kill yourself doing this on your own. Because you threatened to do it on your own. I couldn't look my cousin in his eye if anything happened to you. But you are not my friend. You have done nothing to act like a friend. All you've done since the day I turned you down is mope and try to tell me what to do like some Alpha male who got his favorite toy taken away. Don't forget it was me that saved your ass. I don't fucking want you here. But you are because you are Clark's and Winn's friend for some ungodly reason. I couldn't give two shits what you think. And you can stay behind for all that matters.”

Silence falls after the angry ringing of Kara's words. James walks slowly away and back upstairs to the gym. Kara lets out an exasperated sigh.

When she’s dressed, she calls Alex to start forming a plan with the DEO. This was too big for just herself. Winn begins searching their known Cadmus bases for any new activity.

February 24th, 2018

Lena sits strapped to an uncomfortable chair for hours. Her mother seems convinced that that Power Girl would show up. Lena was much less sure but her throbbing lip from her mother smacking her across the month was enough for her to save her breath and any more unnecessary pain. By Lena’s best guess, a payment of three million dollars would be made to her kidnappers in less than twenty-four hours. Another two would be paid with her safe return. She had read the paperwork when she was made CEO, apparently, it was standard for Luthor’s to have their lives threatened. She could hear boots striking the floor outside the empty sounding room. Men patrolling, and, as near as she could tell, one would cross from one door to the other in the room to check her binding. It was getting colder and the dress left too much of her skin exposed. Chills ran down her spine and goosebumps rose along her arms and legs.

Silence stretches on, only timed by the repetitive hard soled shoes striking concrete. Lena’s eyes grew heavy from lack of sleep and the darkness of her blindfold. She dozed, only coming awake every time a knuckle-dragging, brute tightened her ropes. She thought of Kara in the silence. Leaving her, sleeping with Veronica, then never calling. She hoped Kara could forgive her. Or would at least talk to her. Everything was so messed up, her whole life was messed up from the moment the Luthor’s adopted her. Time ticked by slower and slower until Lena couldn't even tell if it was passing or standing still.

Then it all rushed to start again as the first gunshot rang out. Shouting began, distant and muffled but marching closer. Then a different sound. One above her, someone trying to be quiet but the distinct sound of glass being scratched, then a soft thud right in front of her.

Kara lowers herself from the glass ceiling to the floor. Lena sits blindfolded and alone, tied to the chair. Her lip is split and swollen. Lena’s head jerks up at the soft sound of Kara touching down in the large, empty room. Kara switches on the voice modulator in order to hide her shaking voice.

“Shhh, stay quiet now. I’m here to save you.” Lena stiffens at the almost digital voice.

“Power Girl. You can’t be here. It’s a trap. Go Now.” Lena whispers harshly, leaning away as best she could. Kara ignores her and works her pocket knife under the ropes.

“I won’t leave you here.”

“You will. My mother wants you dead. This city needs you.”

Kara’s hands still on the thick rope that she is almost through.

“I need you alive.” Lena’s head blindly turns to Kara’s voice as she whispers from behind her.

“You don’t even know me.” Snap. The rope breaks and Lena reaches up to remove her blindfold.

“I am not going with you,” Lena says and stubbornly crosses her arms, settling back against the hard chair.

“Ms. Luthor, please allow me to get you to safety.” Kara shouldn’t have been surprised by this but she was a little dumbfounded that anyone would choose to stay in the clutches of a criminal organization.

“The moment I stand from this chair, alarms will sound and this place will be flooded with my mother’s heavily armed lackeys with one goal, to kill you.”

“I knew this was a trap for me. Your mother was using you to get to me, but do you hear that? That is the sound of a government organization who wants to imprison your mother for terrorist crimes infiltrating this base.”

“No.”

Kara squats in front of Lena’s chair.

“Lee, trust me please.”

Lena’s eyes snap up to finally meet Kara’s. All Kara can hear is her heart pounding in her ears as she sees the recognition flood Lena’s features. Each heartbeat feels like it stretches out for hours. Kara watches as Lena carefully lifts her hands to Kara’s face, long elegant fingers pulling off her mask. Kara closes her eyes as she waits. Silence.

Blue eyes meet green and Lena knows.

“Kara…” She whispers, more of an escaping thought than a word said aloud. Kara touches the button by her throat to turn off the voice modulator.

“Now will you come with me?” Kara says softly, she holds out her hand and Lena places the mask in her palm. Kara replaces it before holding her hand out again. Lena looks away, biting her lip in that cute way she does when she is really thinking. Without meeting Kara’s eyes again, she places her hand in Kara’s and allows Kara to pull her up. As soon as Lena’s weight leaves the chair, alarms blare and lights flash. Kara begins pulling the flash bang grenades from her utility belt.

“Close your eyes.”

Lena eyes Kara carefully, like a person approaching a wild animal. Lena closes her eyes as the pounding feet and shouts get closer. Kara swiftly pulls the pins on the two grenades and rolls them towards the doors. She pulls the night-night gun from her belt and covers Lena’s head. Each grenade explodes just as the doors open and angry shouts turn to pain and confusion. As the men scramble to try and see again, Kara begins dropping each one with some sort of gun with accuracy that amazes Lena. She switches one clip out for another and continues to fire. Now the men rounding the corner were just tripping over the bodies of their fallen comrades. But soon some did start getting through, closer and closer as more men and some women burst through the two entrances. Some even began to fire their weapons, Kara somehow always between Lena and the bullets.

“And your plan is?” Lena says from behind Kara.

“In process.”

Kara slips behind Lena, throws her last two flash grenades and quickly attaching her rappelling rope to Lena and hitting the button for automatic retraction. Lena lets out a small squeal as she zips up and out of site. James was waiting for her at the top, once he detached her, he used his own rope to descend, bringing Kara’s back down to her. James used his shield to block for her as Kara reattaches the grappling device and ascends as well, James close behind. The conflict still brews below as DEO agents begin following the Cadmus guards into the room. Kara hulls herself over the edge and onto the roof. She sees Lena standing stiffly, far away from the edge, her back was turned and her fists were clenched.

“Lena?”

“Just get me down from here. I-I hate heights.”

Kara nods, even though Lena can’t see her. James just uses the zip line they set up earlier to escape the boundaries of the warehouse fence. Kara walks up slowly behind the woman.

“I’m going to pick you up now. Keep your eyes closed if you want. It will be over before you know it.”

Lena doesn't say anything so Kara takes it as a sign that it's fine. Lena stiffens at kara’s touch but doesn't pull away. Kara wraps one arm around her waist and guides her to the edge, in one swift movement, Kara is lifting Lena and hooking the grappling handle to the line to descend to street level again. She touches down in the alley between two buildings and expects Lena to pull away immediately, but she takes a deep breath before she does. James nods to Kara from his own bike before kicking it into gear and riding off. Kara nods to her own red and blue one when Lena turns to her. Lena huffs a bit then rolls her eyes but walks toward it, getting on after Kara. It feels all too familiar and all too foreign at the same time.

Even though it doesn't look it, whatever Kara is wearing feels like armor, under Lena’s fingers she can feel dents that remind her too much of when bullets hit a wall. Lena’s mind is racing and it's becoming all too much for her sleep-deprived brain. She decides to focus on the soft purr of the bike beneath her while leaning with Kara on each turn. She occasional catches glimpses the armored man she can only assume is the man dubbed Guardian by the news. The passing yellow street lights begin to lull her into a daze as the stars try to shine down through the haze of city light. No moon tonight, Lena notices idley.

Without warning, Kara makes a sharp turn down a ramp and into an underground garage. It takes a moment for Lena’s eyes to adjust to the bright fluorescent lighting emanating from the center of the dark room. Computers take up a large space on one wall, tech is scattered about with abandon as half-finished projects litter any surface not taken up by various weapons and armor. Other available space is taken up by exercise equipment. In a darkened corner Lena thinks she can make out a bed. Kara cuts the bike and the engine stills. She gets off and offers Lena a hand, Lena ignores it and slides off by herself. She sees the back of a mousy brown head that turns to reveal Winn. Guardian lumes behind him, still masked but practically radiating distrust and anger.

“Why would you bring her here?” The distorted voice of the metal man asks.

“Because she deserves to know. Now take off the helmet James.”

Lena watches the man stiffen and practically growl before removing the helmet and slamming it on the table.

“What the hell, Kara?”

“You really didn’t think she could figure out who you are after knowing who I am and then seeing Winn? Get over yourself.”

“I came back to help you .”

“You came back because you want to be a hero. Don’t pretend it was selfless.”

Lena watched as James angrily turns on his heel and walks away. He enters another room and lets the door swing shut behind him. Lena feels extremely awkward and unsure.

Kara takes a deep breath, Lena watches her shoulders rise and fall. As her argument progressed, she had stepped between Lena and James almost protectively. Kara’s hands are clenched into shaking fists, she takes another breath and slowly uncurls her fingers.

“Sorry about that. James and I have not been seeing eye to eye lately, or ever.” Kara turns to face Lena with a half-hearted smile. She takes back off the mask and sets it on a nearby table. Instead of responding to her, Lena turns to Winn.

“Winn, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you safe too, Lena.” He grins at her but glances at Kara and decides to make himself scarce. He heads to the staircase leading to what Lena assumes is the floor above. Kara opens her mouth but Lena holds up a finger.

“I need a phone.”

“Why?” Kara asks.

“So that my mother does not end up with three million dollars thanks to my life insurance. Phone, now.”

Kara rushes to give Lena hers, then waits as Lena goes through at least ten security checks varying in voice commands and typed in passwords. It all seems elaborate but considering the amount of money on the line it makes sense. Lena eventually hangs up and hands the phone back. Lena avoids Kara’s eyes and sits in what she can only assume is Winn’s chair. Her head throbs from lack of sleep, and food, and much too information. This was all getting too much to process. Lena can feel Kara watching her, but Lena rubs her eyes hard and takes a deep steadying breath.

“You are Power Girl,” Lena states, trying to wrap her head around it. Kara nods as Lena's green eyes meet hers. It catches Kara's breath in her throat. Lena takes in the woman who held her heart, who stole it away from her chest before she even agreed to a second date. She stands with hunched shoulders, arms crossed, in her red and blue suit. Her blonde hair is braided and the tail is draped forward over her shoulder. Various dents and scrapes speckle the suit, bullet holes. That is why Kara danced around Lena like a tornado, every bullet fired hit Kara instead of Lena, yet here she stands, not even in pain.

“So all those missed flights, all the calls that were sent to voicemail, you were off saving the world.”

“Yeah,” Kara says softly.

“And… and that night. That was my mother, wasn't it? She did that to you. She made you miss your flight. And I…” Lena swallows hard and loses her voice as she pieces together the gaps in everything. Tears spring to Lena's eyes.

“We had finally found a Cadmus base. They were making a bomb. I was calling Alex for back up-”

“Alex?”

“Yes. She works for a secret government organization tasked with taking down Cadmus.” Lena rubs her temples. Her headache is pounding.

“So while I was calling Alex, I saw your mother walk into the room from my vantage point. I just knew she was the head of Cadmus once I saw her. She was going to get away before the strike team could come. I decided James and I could stall that long. But we couldn't. I lost conscience and woke up in a black ops site infirmary a couple days later. By then, I was too late.”

Silence falls heavy on the pair. The darkness of the room seems to be trying to suck out the lights that they sit under. It stretches for minutes. Lena hears Kara take a breath but before she can speak her phone rings.

“Alex?” Kara says into the speaker. A muffled reply.

“You want me to bring her to the DEO?... Yes… Okay…. See you in fifteen.” Kara hangs up.

“They need to debrief you on your kidnapping. Also, Alex wants you to be examined and make sure none of your injuries are life-threatening.”

Lena just nods and stands to follow Kara back to her bike. Lena can take in the sleek design now that there is light. This time Kara takes the time to hand her a spare helmet before hopping on. As soon as Kara grips the handles, the bike purrs to life. Lena is impressed. She may have not been interested in technology these past few years but this looks very high tech. Lena climbs on behind the blonde vigilante and resigns herself to more hours without sleep.

Kara takes more turns than Lena can count and after the first dizzying few, Lena closes her eyes and rests her head against Kara's back. She feels Kara stiffen slightly before relaxing. All too soon Kara pulls into a nondescript garage and is helping Lena off and supporting the sleepy brunette as they walk to the elevator. Everything else is very dreamlike as Lena fights to stay conscious. She is aware of figures in black moving about the most open space as Kara practically carries her to a central command desk.

“Kara!” A familiar voice calls. Lena tries to focus on the fuzzy face and recognizes Alex.

“What the hell happened to her? Why didn't you bring her here first?”

“I think she's just tired. And I wasn't sure if the secret government organization tasked with taking down the Luthor's would want me to bring a Luthor into it.”

Lena struggles to stand fully on her own two feet and focus her eyes. How many days has it been now? Two? Three?

“Agent. I have been drugged, tied up, kept without food and minimal water. Also, I don't know the last time I slept. So, if we could move along with whatever you want to do, by all means.” Lena is impressed with how clear her voice is.

“Come on. I want to examine you, we will get you a change of clothes, some food, and a bed. Once you've slept, my director would like to debrief you personally.” The redhead sounds cold but the idea of food and a bed is too much.

They stick Lena inside of some sort of on-duty room after Alex is sure her injuries are minor. It has a bathroom with a shower, a bed, and a small television. She takes the opportunity to rinse off at least some of the grime from the past couple of days and reemerges to a change of black sweats and black long sleeve shirt, both emblazoned with some sort of eagle logo. Gratefully, she puts those on and throws the ruined dress in the small trash bin. A soft knock and a man also dressed in all black is handing her a tray with a sandwich, chips, and a bottle of apple juice. Lena hardly gets halfway through it all before the bed is calling too loudly. The mattress is lumpy, the sheets scratchy, but her body doesn't care. It had been too long.

February 25th, 2018

In the morning, Lena meets the Director. A very serious man named John Jones. He asks a bunch of questions, most of which Lena has no answer for. She directs him to her CFO, reassuring him that Jess will be open with him in sharing the information he needs. Lena is released and an Agent is assigned to take her to the hotel of her request, A protection detail was also following in the car behind, they would stay with her until her mother was found. She had somehow slipped away in the chaos.

Despite being told she had slept twelve hours, Lena was exhausted. All she wanted to do was crawl into her bed back in London where she felt safe and loved with the Arias women. She slides her card into the door and when the light turns green she escapes into the room as men take up position outside the door.

“Lena!”Jess exclaims and throws her arms around Lena before she can even let the door swing shut.

“Jess!” Lena tightens her arms around her CFO and soaks up the warmth of someone who has always told her the truth, even when it hurt.

After a few moments Jess seems to recollect herself and tries to pull away but Lena tightens her hold.

“I am so glad to see you,” Lena says softly.

“I was so worried when we got word that you were missing. I thought… and God I hate that I thought it… that maybe you went off the deep end of a bender.”

“Well, that does sound like me. But no. No drugs, not since I moved in with Sam and Ruby.”

Finally, Lena pulls back and lets Jess go. Her former assistant walks further into the room and hands her a change of pajamas that were already laid out next to a change of clothes for the next day. A new phone is charging on the hotel desk. Jess catches Lena eyeing it as Lena buttons up the sleep shirt.

“Don’t worry. I pulled your last backup from right before you left London.”

Lena nods and stifles a yawn. Jess ushers her to the bed and actually tucks her in. Lena is too tired to be embarrassed to care as Jess strokes her hair back before turning off the lamp.

#supergirl #supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #singer #Vigilante #au #fanfiction #WTFU

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