[center][img]https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/357353496057610242/531937501057777664/sym1A1.png?width=240&height=301[/img] [img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/adb01259-53a5-4c37-8dd0-07d9259d9823.png[/img][/center] Heavy rain pounded the trench. Large droplets tattered off Chopstick Eye’s wide brimmed helmet, but no matter how hard she tried to hear the rain, she never could. The rapid fire [i]tak tak tak tak[/i] of machine gun fire fought against the ringing after-wave of explosions for dominance in her ears. A mixture of mud and sweat fogged any vision she could have. [i]PTNK![/i] A stray bullet slammed into the man to her right, his head jerking back as a spray of crimson erupted behind him. Running on planks raised out of the muddy ground another soldier in red stained beige ran to the machine gun nest of the dead man. Before he could make it, a grenade bounced off the back of the trench and by his feet. Quickly the man scooped it up and as he tossed it outwards it exploded. Chopstick was thrown backwards from the blast, and between stinging blurs she saw the man writhing on the ground, dirt soaking in his exposed elbow, his severed arm nowhere to be seen. Another soldier ran up to the man, pressing a hand deep into the dark ooze that was pouring from the wound, he turned to look at Chopstick. “Daniel! Man that fucking gun!” [colour=wheat][i]Why do you always,[/i][/colour] thought the creature in the long coat, [colour=wheat][i]think you know my name?[/i][/colour] But out loud she said, [colour=wheat]”Okeydokey, sarge boy.”[/colour] It was a brief splash and a slog before she made it to the nest of sandbags and wire, set her hands on the handles of the gatling gun. From here, she had a clear view of no man’s land. The rain fell in a heavy blanket, but it couldn’t make leave her much blinder than she already was, or more far-seeing. [i]tak tak tak tak tak tak tak tak[/i] It was a remarkably effective, and a remarkably boring, tool. Men were leaping from holes in the dirt, running between the wire and the craters in the hope that they could make it to her side before being spotted. They were always men, never women, and they were never right. Chopstick pressed her buttons and the machine spoke and they fell. Every now and then one of their own machines would speak in a different tone, and she’d hear something miss her head with a zip oh wait no that last one hit. Chopstick fell back into the mud with a big hole in her face, across her cheek and jaw, an ugly blasted tunnel that showed off her broken teeth and jaw and leaked a red slime that might have been blood. [colour=wheat][i]Oh,[/i][/colour] she thought. [colour=wheat][i]Oh that’s going to start hurting soon.[/i][/colour] It did. “Fucking hell,” A voice called out. A soldier slided next to Chopstick, a crust of blood and dirt on the side of his face, staining a white band across his helmet. The man stared at Chopstick, shoving gauze onto her gaping wound, and pouring water around the edge, forming brown rivulets down her cheek. She shrieked at him, an injured, cornered fiend with teeth sprouting in a dense forest from the opening in her face. As the man fought to work on her, she noticed a figure rise above the lip of the trench. The enemy soldier was wearing a dark uniform with N.R.R. emblazoned on his sleeve, and in his hands he aimed a trench sweeper at the medic. Chopstick met his gaze and stopped, then watched, as, in one small movement, he blew a hole through the soldier on top of her, and a larger, messier one, in her belly. She shrieked, though she couldn’t hear it any more, and leapt at him, throwing the dying medic off of her one-handed without noticing him. The dark soldier had no time to stagger or pump his shotgun; she was on top of him, screaming, smashing his face with her fists, strangling him with her hands, shaking him back and forth like a ragdoll. On the ground, they were too close together for anyone to take a clear shot. As soon as she stood up over the corpse, more bullets entered her, leaving holes in her coat and her flesh, and she dropped, leaking, dribbling red. But there was something very interesting attached to the end of the killer’s gun: a long, thin knife with a single edge. Chopstick pulled her helmet away from her head and let her hair cover her, let her arms scuttle away, dragging her wounded body like a ghastly cockroach in the direction from which her attackers had come, leaving a trail of mud. More bullets came, but she was a fast target now, fast and low. Her hair cracked like a whip as she reached the first man, opening him with the knife. The hair collected another bayonet, and Chopstick leapt onto the second man. Then the third. There was a brief whistle that sounded over the cracking of bullets. Suddenly Chopstick’s entire world lit up in a ball of flame. A great explosion landed behind her, sending her barreling forward alongside disembodied limbs and clumps of mud. The pain was something new as it ate up the flesh on her back. As she dazed on the ground, she noticed a new shape in her peripheral, a mighty metal monster rolling around on treads, spouting massive explosions from a barrel, [i]Rozdeleny[/i] painted across the cannon. With a silent whirr the turret repositioned itself again, and slowly the cannon came to bear down on Chopstick, but before it could fire a familiar hand grabbed what was left of the collar on her coat and began to drag her from the scene. It was the Sarge. The man was bleeding heavily from his forehead and the beige in his uniform was blotted out by stains. He turned on his feet, pulling Chopsticks behind a bend in the trench. Slowly and gradually the sounds of the battle began to disappear behind them. A tension she didn’t know she was holding fell over her, and slowly the world went black. Her eyes snapped open, she was in bed. There was no evidence of ever being wounded on her body, and for some reason she had a feeling years had passed since that day. She even recognized the room as her own, from the war memorabilia down to the curtains. There was a urgent knock on her door. Chopstick mmrmphed, cautiously pressed a finger to the side of her head where her cheek had been missing, then pulled herself upright and said, [colour=wheat]“Fuck off..?”[/colour] She reached into the bedside table and pulled out a packet of paper-rolls with black leaves in them, selected one and lit it with a match. [colour=wheat]“Alright, you can come in now,”[/colour] she clarified, shaking out the match and dragging on the cigarette. “Sarge?” A man walked in, the left sleeve of his suit was stapled to his shoulder, his arm missing from the elbow down, “Theresa let me in, but-” [colour=wheat][i]But Theresa can fuck off too,[/i][/colour] thought Chopstick Eyes. [colour=wheat][i]Lemme sleep.[/i][/colour] “It's Daniel, he hasn't been answering any calls, haven't seen him around. I want to go check on him, but he- he will listen to you,” the man shoved his hand in his pocket, “I have the Studebaker out back.” Chopstick considered. She made sure to take the longest, slowest pull on her cancerstick before answering. [colour=wheat]“Who’s Daniel?”[/colour] The man looked at Chopstick bewildered, “Danny? From the war? Our best friend? Took a bullet to the teeth while on the gun. Our Danny boy? You pulled both our arses out of that hellhole... Is this a joke?” Chopstick sighed. [colour=wheat]“Oh yeah. That guy.”[/colour] She grinned, fit to swallow something very large, though the right side of her face seemed to have developed a twitch. [colour=wheat]“I reckon she’ll b- he’ll be pretty chuffed to see me, ey?”[/colour] “I hope so,” the man held the door for Chopstick, “I have a pit in my stomach, you know what they say about some of the good old boys who never adjusted.” [colour=wheat]“Eh, don’t worry. I think she’ll be juuust fine.”[/colour] Chopstick chuckled and slithered out of bed and onto the floor, her white vest hanging loosely from her frame. [colour=wheat][i]Now let me just figure out what a Studebaker is and we’ll be right as rain.[/i][/colour] Within a few minutes they were on their way. Choppy let her head dangle out the car window like a over eager dog. They zipped by grey sidewalks and brown buildings. People were going about their business and the clouds hung low over them. The man with Chopstick wore a worried look, like he was about to be sick and then finally he cranked the shifter in the car and put her in park. They were outside an apartment building. The man exited the car with a slam and began to walk up the chipped stairway to the front door. Chopstick followed suite as the man pushed the heavy door open and made his way down a stained hallway that reeked of cigarettes. To her, it smelled of heaven. Eventually the pair came upon Apartment 2B. The man gave it a stiff knock but there was no answer. He shared a cursory glance with Chopstick before trying the handle, it turned. The man sucked in a breath and pushed the door open. “Daniel?” The door opened into a kitchen that was rather unkempt, with dishes piling and the icebox open and thawed. The man made a face as he exited into the living room, and then he froze. Daniel sat on the floor in his pajamas, tears staining his face and prosthetic right jaw. Burn scars wrinkled the back of his bald head and the nozzle of a gun was pressed into his mouth. The man held out his hands, “Daniel- what are you doing. Daniel!?” Daniel met eyes with Chopstick. Her skewers stared at him, unwavering, and the room grew so quiet you could just about hear them creak. Very gently, very slowly, Chopstick stepped across the room, put one hand on Daniel’s shoulder, and pulled the gun away. [colour=wheat]“Here,”[/colour] she said. [colour=wheat]“It’s much easier if I do it.”[/colour] Daniel’s brain peppered the floor for an instant before he fell, his body covering the mess. The other man was screaming, swearing and rushing towards Chopstick. Before he could ever get close enough, a man wearing a nice black suit, smoking a long white cigarette appeared in the corner of the room. He looked over the scene with a long stare to match the drag on his cig. Suddenly the stranger snapped his fingers and- And then she was awake. The sea lapped gently at the gravel beach around her feet. Wind rustled in the leaves. Some had fallen to cover her- she’d been here for some time. She sighed. Building the Feasting Forest had taken a lot out of her. She rubbed her mouth and yawned. The right side of her face had developed a twitch. She looked out over the strait (why was it boiling?) and thought back to the images flashing in her head. A dream. A long dream. She didn’t know what to make of it. But... [colour=wheat][i]Vakk was right,[/i][/colour] she thought. [colour=wheat][i]Killing[/i] is [i]fun.[/i][/colour] [Hider=This] https://youtu.be/NIsm97HL0EU [/hider] [hider=M. Night Shyamalan presents] Chopstick has a long and turbulent dream: she dreams about getting roughed up in a war, and roughing up other people in turn. [/hider]