Bork

Bork Lazer's Storage Bunker

Ssorry, but I'm already cold-blooded. I prefer to kill in hot blood.

OoC

How long do you usually write?
Several paragraphs or more.
Do you enjoy writing collaborative posts for things like conversations, combat, etc.?
Absolutely.
Is grammar and depth of writing important to you?
Abso-fucking-lutely.
Are there any writing subjects you particularly enjoy exploring?
Moral ambiguity. Angst. Regret. War. Normalization of violence. Honor.
Is there anything you really dislike and want to avoid like the plague?
Sexual violence. ERP fetishization. Slavery fetishization. Gratuitous scenes of sadism and torture porn.
Is there something you are uncomfortable with happening to your character?
Nope. The mos I would be uncomfortable is if some player hijacked my character and did something with them without my say-so.
Do you have any short-term or long-term goals with this character?

My short terms with this character is to explore the underworld of the galaxy, interact with multiple different characters that are scraping the bottom of the barrel and are on top of the barrel as well as fun bounty hunting jobs with gratuitous consumption of flesh on the side. My long term goals overall are to explore whether or not a Trandoshan can still be a real lizard bean and a real hero, despite their status as a monster, by forcing him through morally complex situations, along with his ambition to form a new Bounty Hunter House in the Guild.

Peacekeepers Holonet Ad

Name: Cleqq Yrsbahk
Species: Trandoshan
Homeworld: Trandosha
Age: 41
Gender: Male
Recorded Specialization: Close Quarters Brutalization Assassination
Current Area of Operation: [UNKNOWN] Individual's last known sighting was within the Nal Hutta system.

Peacekeepers Holonet Metadata Summary

_{Detailed appearance. Imagery insufficient.}

Standing a head and a half above most individuals in the Mid-Rim, Cleqq boasts the typical recognizable reptilian characteristics of a Trandoshan. Having suffered enough combat for multiple lifetimes, his coat of scaly emerald skin is positively riddled with the past signs of blaster burns and grievous scars. His left nostril looks as if it's been chewed off by a sarlacc and black, pupiless eyes stare out from his frilled head. The amputated claws on his left hand have been replaced with durasteel substitutes, no less deadly than their original counterparts. His mouth is locked in a permanent fanged smirk, more than often subconsciously licking his lips with his slimy tongue. He bears a tattoo of the Trandoshan sigil for 'Hunt' on his left jowl.

Given that there's no footwear in the galaxy that can accommodate Trandoshan claws, Cleqq forgoes boots and mostly walks around bare-foot, unless under exceptional circumstances. Cleqq prefers to heighten his bulk with a suit of protective armor, preferring to walk around in a full tanned body-suit all the time with thick pauldrons and heavy plating. Both of his pauldrons have been decorated to include the symbol of the Bounty Hunter Guild as well as his serial bar code from his time spent as a Republic mercenary on his left breast. Whilst he doesn't prefer to wear a helmet under the justification that it restricts his line of sight, Cleqq has acquired a simple uni-visored helmet to avoid getting his head blown off.

_{Report on skills and talents, including level of skill.}

Cleqq, like every Trandoshan, has an inborn talent for hunting and tracking down his targets, having spent most of his childhood tracking beasts through the jungles of Trandosha. A city is just a jungle with buildings and skylanes. Years of serving on the Bounty Hunter Guild sharpened and honed his innate tracking instincts by looking for and connecting together clues that would seemingly have no relation with one another. His relentlessness allows him to track targets systems away.

In a bounty hunter’s short yet terribly exciting life, they are bound to encounter numerous cultures and races from every sector of the galaxy and are expected to communicate with all manner of creature. Cleqq is able to to speak fluent Dosh and Basic, whilst being conversational in Jawa Trade Talk and a beginner in Huttese. Nevertheless, he has picked up a truly impressive amount of slang from all cultures in the galaxy; half of which consists of heinous profanity, a quarter of which consists of directions to the nearest space dock and another quarter that consists of sexual innuendos.

Cleqq is a terrible pilot and every neophyte pilot with a probationary space license could probably outfly him. He knows how to park a vehicle and safely engage hyperspace but the amount of times he’s had to pay for spaceship repairs because of his negligence has cut into his yearly salary. Therefore, Cleqq usually hires pilots for his job or takes public transportation.

A history of violence and survival is embedded in a Trandoshan's genetic code which is responsible for their reputation as being the rivals of the savage Wookies. Cleqq possesses his species extranormal strength and physical constitution, allowing him to crack necks with a twitch of his hands and snap blasters in half with ease, as well as being able to regenerate lost tissue and limbs from wounds sustained during missions. His natural claws can be useful in a pinch to flay unarmored targets. As the Trandoshan are a warrior species, every member of their species is noted to have an especially high pain tolerance as well. Infrared vision supported by hypersensitive pupils help him in tracking down a target.

Also, he’s a great cook. Just don’t ask where he gets his meat from……

_{Report on known combat experience, training and weapons training.}

Having taken over 300 bounty hunting contracts throughout his 15 year career and having been mentored thoroughly by Treak, Cleqq has experienced a wide array of hostile combat situations ranging from Outer Rim pirates, rogue mercenaries, hired guns and even the odd Force user. There is rarely anything that will phase him nor is there anything that he doesn't have a backup plan for.

Cleqq's reputation as the SlaughterHouse within the Bounty Hunter Guild are mainly due to his preference for close quarters brawling, mixing firepower and his Trandoshan strength to absolutely destroy anyone who gets in the way of his acquistions. His unarmed skills focus on crippling and dismantling the target with as little fuss, striking vital points and preferring lethal incapacitation whilst using superior firepower to blast away anyone else who tries to make it close to him. Unless you’re one of those stinkin’ Force sensitives, a combat droid or another Wookie, going into personal combat with Cleqq is considered hazardous for your health.

However, he has a great deal of difficulty using weapons that are not adapted for Trandoshan digits, finding it difficult to adapt in situations whereby blasters of his size are not avaliable. Likewise, Cleqq has a reputation within the Bounty Hunter's Guild for being horrendous at being a sniper, thus, his preference to do close quarters assassinations with his bare hands rather than killing someone from far away through the lens of a scope.

_{Detailed notes on common/favored employers and any noteworthy contacts.}

//Yiilo Vans - A Pyke member of the Black Sun Syndicate and a notable employer of Cleqq's who wants to advance his way up the totem pole of the organisation ladder by having Cleqq do his dirty deeds.

//Aiolin Gavell - A corrupt Republic peacekeeper who cooperates with the underworld and bounty hunters, believing it to be the only way to control crime in the Outer Rim. He frequently employs Cleqq to assist him in Republic peacekeeping matters in return for keeping him clean on Republic records.

//Bim Bom - A Jawa tech smuggler and tinkerer who uses the guise of a space-borne restaurant as a front for his illicit activities. He considers Cleqq to be his most reliable customer and supplies the Guild with tech to use on their contracts. In return for his services, Bim Bom gets a small cut of Cleqq's bounties.

//Kuyaipa Gjunc - A Rodian representative of the Bounty Hunter's Guild who acts as Cleqq's handler and fixer of sorts, informing him of current bounties to pursue and acting as a middle man for Cleqq's clients.

_{Detailed notes on known rivals and enemies.}

// Rann Dyhl - Famed Mandalorian mercenary. Cleqq suspects him of having murdering his old mentor.

// Racallakrsk - A Wookie Bounty Hunter who possesses a deep hatred of Trandoshans as his father was a veteran of the Trandoshan-Wookie wars. He’s itching to find an excuse to kill Cleqq by any means necessary.

// Zym Gesell - The leader of a notorious band of Outer Rim pirates, Azure Glaive, and the survivor of the Red Rancors, a pirate crew that was exterminated by none other than Cleqq Yrsbahk himself on a government contract.

_{List and description of other known associates, including subordinates.}

// Khoss Liell - Cleqq's professional partner whom he owns a life debt to and unofficial second-in-command of the Venataan Consortium, even though he pathologically insists on striking out on his own.

_{List of known belongings, including but not limited to planetary surface property, civilian and military vessels, vehicles, weapons, tools.}

// Biragwin DXR-A - Formerly belonging to his former mentor, Treak Villis, this gun fires a high -powered energy blast that wreaks havoc on the molecular structure of anything it touches. Flesh,duraplast, starship hulls, nothing is immune except for the strongest of materials in the galaxy. This devastating power comes at the cost of being hideously ineffective at long ranges and heavy recoil. Modifications have been made such as filing the grip to be used with Trandoshan digits, Tibanna porting to reduce recoil as well as a LR scope.

// The TripTrap - A makeshift bola launcher scavenged from the remnants of a Wookie bowcaster. This contraption uses a gas compressed mechanism similar to slugthrowers to launch a bola composed of carbon-durasteel fibre. The momentum is enough to knock the wind out of most acquisitions and any of those who are still sensate will find themselves unable to move.

// BL-90 Special - Heavy blaster pistol. Reliable, durable and packs a punch in a tiny package.

// Chalon Hatchet - Chalon is the discount version of the Mandalorian’s Bes’kar steel. It can’t resist lightsabers but it’s versatility is almost as reknowned as its rarity, only being available in small deposits on Trandosha. This hatchet was a birthday gift to Cleqq from one of his Trandoshan friends.

// Armored Vac-Suit - Cleqq’s old security guard vac-suit, a keep-sake from his time in Kuat Drive Yards, has been modified with duraplast and durasteel plating for protection. No helmet, of course. It’s Trandoshan tradition to never wear a helmet into combat.

// ZX Dual-Spectrum Electroscope - A portable electroscope with modular magnification with a maximum range of 3.0 klicks. It includes thermal imaging software for one to spot their targets from far away during night time.

// Utility Bandoliers - Instead of carrying on him in one giant pack, Cleqq instead has multiple bandoliers strapped on his person to carry all his supplies such as water purification tablets, his set of playing cards and ammo for his blasters.

// Mystery Meat Ration Sausage - As Trandoshan are obligate carnivores, this dried log of meat is packed full of proteins, with each bite a full meal. The recipe on how to make it is a family secret. Just don’t question what’s in it and the taste is bearable.

_{Psychological evaluation Of Bounty Hunter.}

_{List and description of known and suspected flaws. To be put into restricted database.}

Cleqq regularly consumes the flesh of other species or individuals, taking every opportunity he can to either slice a body part off a corpse or a dead acquisition to store in his freezer. His appetite is voracious and can be naturally quite distressing to many people who are looking to work with him.

_{Known interests of the Bounty Hunter.}

Cleqq takes an interest in eating and cooking the meat of other species. He is also a fan of combat sports and sparring in general, particularly the brutal game of shock boxing. In terms of collections, he likes carving out statues from wooden branches picked up during his galactic ventures. Like any yellow-blooded Trandoshan, he also is fond of a good bit of hunting every now and then, but don't ask him to do fishing. Being a blaster nut is a recent interest he’s picked up out of necessity, especially from Bim-Bom’s incessant meddling.

_{Major achievements on record.}

- Earned 'Employee Of the Month' award as security guard at Kuat Drive Yards and was responsible for a 50% reduction in illegal tech trafficking from their Corellian Ship Reclamation Center.
-
- Accidentally captured and successfully subduing an Sith Knight.
- Responsible for single-handily destabilizing and eliminating the Azure Glaives, a notorious band of Outer Rim pirates, with minimal assistance.

_{Major failures on record. Confidential.}

- Accidentally murdered ?
- Failed to ......
- Violated Bounty Hunter Guild codes......
- Accidentally captured and subdued an Sith Warrior by mistaking them for another acquistion, who was by pure chance, their twin brother, along with sawing off and eating their arm. Cleqq's mistake nearly led to war between the Bounty Hunter Guild and the Sith Empire, if it wasn't for careful diplomacy. As a result, Cleqq had his license suspended for a period of one year.

REPUBLIC PEACEKEEPER HOLO-AUDIO FILE-A-534

ADDENDUM: This recording of a conversation on 3.8.5 ATC between Khoss Liell and Cheqq Yrsbahk in Mon Eisley was obtained from the remnants of a high-frequency audio recorder by Larsoon Kells. It is unfortunate that Second Lieutenant Kells was unable to survive alongside the vital information that he transmitted to us about the inner workings of the Bounty Hunter Guilds.

We have the Trandoshan to thank for that. Scum didn't even have the courtesy to give us an open body funeral......

- Captain Krost, Republic Peacekeeper Division A-34

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: Well, well, well. If it isn't Khoss Liell, the Huntsman of Hoth. Last I heard, you were operating . I don't suppose you came back all the way to Hutt Space just for little old me.

KHOSS LIELL: Came to turn in several bail jumpers at a Republic outpost south of here. Heard you were in town and figured I would stop by to meet a fellow professional.

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: Sshould I be flattered, Liell?

KHOSS LIELL: Stop looking so down, Yrsbahk. I didn't come here with empty platitudes and empty hands.

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: Hrm. Alderaan liqueur. Blowing all your credits like this ain’t considered a wise move, Hoth Man.

KHOSS LIELL: Look, scale-skin. The way I seen it, you’ve earned it after that job you pulled down in the Core. Everyone in the Guild’s been talking about what you did on Coruscant with House Berkaat.

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: Costed me a good ship. I'm not gonna blow all my credits right now just to get another vehicle.

KHOSS LIELL: So, what? You're the headline in the entire parsec, Yrsbahk!

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: Well, wait a few weeks and some Mando hotshot will probably be the new face in the spotlight. Besides, it's nothing to warrant celebration over.

KHOSS LIELL: Lucky day for me, then. Guess I'll enjoy this bottle all to myself....

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: Fine. Beats a swig of Jawa Juice from Bim Bom any day. Cheers.

KHOSS LIELL: Cheers.

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: Oh, and one more thing. Call me scale-skin again and I'll hang you with your own intestines.

KHOSS LIELL: I wouldn't expect anything less from the Slaughterhouse. So, tell me, Cleqq. How exactly did you get into bounty hunting in the first place?

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: You expect a little refreshment to loosen my tongue, Liell? 'Cause you ain't getting anything out of me.

KHOSS LIELL: Fine, I'll just make it up in my head. I know you grew up on Trandosha. Your mother died after giving birth to you. Your clutch bullied you, which I assume is the origin of your stunning anger management issues. I'm guessing your father was a little hard on you when you were young, perhaps a little too strict, gave out regular beatings with a shock baton -

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: My father tried to eat me.

KHOSS LIELL: Go on.....

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: It happened after my first molt. I still have the shedding with me in my ship cabin. In our culture, its expected for the siblings of a brood to fight each other to the death until the fittest and the strongest is left remaining. Combat means everything on Trandosha. It's how we paid tribute to the Scorekeeper. It's how we got Jagganath points. Get enough and you get to go to paradise when you die. When it came on that day where I was to fight my brothers and sisters...., I was the odd one out.

KHOSS LIELL: Your father didn't take it well, I suppose.

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: He didn't. He threatened to suck out my marrow and boil my eyes into a stew if I didn't kill my siblings. So, I did what any Trandoshan should have done at that moment. I killed him and ate him back. Costed me my left claw, though.

KHOSS LIELL: And your mother?

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: She didn't take my choice of meal very kindly, so, she decided to kick me out of Trandosha after telling the other clans about my ' lapse in judgement'. It was worth it, though. Some of my siblings are still kicking around to this day, although, some of them weren't grateful for what I did to Father. Heh. One of them's even an ambassador in the Republic senate for Trandosha.

KHOSS LIELL: So, what happened after all of that? You just signed up on the Bounty Hunter Guild as a fresh rookie?

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: Nah. I stowed away on a merchant freighter to a Mid-Rim space-dock and ended up in one of Kuat Drive Yard's ship reclamation centers as extra muscle. It was….Corellia if I remember correctly. You'd be surprised at the amount of scavs that try and loot the place. Orders were simple: warn once, shoot twice, don’t think thrice. That's how I first met Bim Bom.

KHOSS LIELL: Our Bim Bom?

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: Yeah, our Bim Bom. I caught him trying to scavenge a class 1.5 hyperdrive. Once I got him in the corner of an engine room, he begged me to spare him. My Jawa was a little rusty back then, but if I remember correctly, he said that he would pay me back a thousandfold if I let him go alive.

KHOSS LIELL: So, why'd you leave?

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: Leave? I was fired. Got caught by the boss for engaging in my dietary habits. What? You used to live on a blasted frost-pit. Didn’t you get desperate sometimes?

KHOSS LIELL: The most we did was sleep in a taun-taun, not eat other people as daily meals.

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: Hrm. But if I had to admit, I would have left eventually.

KHOSS LIELL: Why?

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: For me, Corellia was too quiet. Too safe. It's the type of place where you went to die slowly. Sure, there was some good excitement once every now and then, but those were too far and few. You get me, Liell? Sure, there was excitement on the job but it was rare.

KHOSS LIELL: So, how'd you found out about the Bounty Hunter Guild?

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: I found out about a Guild Outpost on Nar Shaara on a Holo-Ad and got in contact with a representativ. Paperwork was a maze to get through though. Guess the Republic doesn’t just hand out bounty hunting certificates on a whim. I would have nearly gotten killed on my first contract if it wasn’t for Treak.

KHOSS LIELL: Treak?...I’ve heard about him once or twice. We’re talking about the same Ortos Treak. The HeadHunter?

CLEQQ YRSBAHKL: Yup. Taught me everything I knew. He was tough but bounty hunting’s tough. Those were the good days, the both of us working together bounty by bounty. Racking up my Score. I...I thought I could earn enough to return back to Trandosha. Then, the Great Galactic War reached the Outer Rim.

KHOSS LIELL: I heard about it. Treak died. ?

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: It was 10 years before the Treaty of Coruscant. He spoke to me about retirement plans. Wanted to make a Nysillin Farm. He had just one more contract to go through before he was out of the Guild. I offered to join up with him, just out of old time’s sake but he wasn’t having it. Next thing, I know, I’m reading on the holonet that Ortos Treak was found dead in a garbage bin on Nal Hutta. Half of his body was disintegrated.

KHOSS LIELL: Now, you're here.

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: And I'm here now, alive and breathing. Curiosity satisfied for now, Hoth-Man?

KHOSS LIELL: Definitely. The Slaughterhouse acting all sentimental in front of me....The amount of credits I could get if I got a holo-vid of this....

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: Hrm. You didn't happen to miss the Republic peacekeeper whose been looking at us right?

KHOSS LIELL: Yup. Oh, he's spooked now.

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: Didn't even know you humans could sweat that much...... And he's making a break for it.

KHOSS LIELL: Thanks for telling him that, Cleqq. Must have bugged the table whilst we were having this conversation.

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: Well, you know the drill. I'm going around the back.

KHOSS LIELL: Guess that means I'm front.

CLEQQ YRSBAHK: Right. Take care of that bug, will you?

KHOSS LIELL: Alright, alright. Where could it - BZZZZTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Giving chances to bad RPs

First of all, wrong forum to post it in.

Second of all, bad RPs are subjective and relative to our standards. Is an RP bad because of a good concept but not enough players or a horrible concept but having a large player base?

Third of all, since it’s an 1x1, you can probably negotiate and state that you don’t like their character. Try to ask them to tone it done or something. Or dump them. Who cares?It’s an RP, mate. It’s not like they’re gonna stalk you to your house for revenge and dump your carcass in a river.

Fourth and this is my personal opinion, if you’re going into RPs specifically to get romance booty, maybe your priorities should be crafting an interesting storyline to supplement that romance?

Battle of Mount Olympus Interest Check

Yo, where ma bois Hephasteus, Hestia, Nemesis and Nike at?

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

_{A @The Bork Lazer and @Moskau Spieluhr Collaboration}

Dakota City Chronicles: Static and The Vixen

Special Issue #1: Loose Change

---

location:19th crowley, washington avenue, dakota city, michigan

time: 22:45

“ Stop me if you’ve heard this before. Shouldn’t I be more responsible for myself by doing my homework and not going out fighting crime while buying groceries at your store? Instead of asking that question, how about I ask you several? Do you have to drag shoplifters along with you to the police station?” His right wrist jangles as he tugs on a dozing criminal, lazing on the floor. “ His name’s - uh - Mike by the way but that’s beside the point. The point is, Do you fight murderous superpowered Bang Babies every week? Do you have to brew a thermos of coffee every night to stay asleep on your patrols? Have you ever rescued a box of puppies from being frozen out in the middle of Dakota City winter? ” He lifts up his mangled sleeve for emphasis. “ You haven’t. And I respect that, mister, because you have a much more harder job than me. I’m tired but you’re even more tired. You’re in a late-night shift. It’s eleven pm. You think I’m just some dumb punk in a costume harassing you for a discount. All we could use right now in Dakota is a little less tired. So, whaddya say we forgive the fact I don’t have 75 cents on hand for this carton of eggs and we do a ‘ I owe you a solid, you owe me a solid’ thing right now.” Virgil flashed a smile along with a thumbs up. “ Sounds good?”

“ Sir, this is a Seven-Eleven.” The shopkeeper kept a thin lip of patience throughout his entire rant. “ Please give the required amount or I will be forced to eject you from the store.”

Virgil signed. He didn’t like November nights in Dakota. The chills came in with a vengeance, riding on the coat-tails of autumn’s truce between summer’s baleful heat and winter’s cold fury. He swore that a meta or a Bang Baby somewhere was somehow responsible for the dropping temperatures that made his breath fog up into a peaky mist. Somehow, it affected the people as well. They became more moodier, more disagreeable, more grouchy like this gentleman in front of him here.

So, screw him if he expected just a little more gratitude from his fellow Dakotans, right?”

The shoplifter at his feet decided now was the best time to wake up.

“ Yoooo, man - “ Mike coughed. “ Can I...like….get some hangover food, man? You got any refried beans on hand-”

“ Now is not a good time, Mike.” Virgil chided him softly. “ We’ll go there after I get my carton of eggs.”

He then paused. Of course. He was an idiot. Sharon did always told him that he was blind as a bat when it came to obvious solutions. He leaned down and gently forced Mike’s inebriated face to look at him.
“ Uh, Mike, sorry about this but I need cash from you. 75 cents, specifically. ” The drunk criminal glanced at him with suspicion. “ Look. If you do this, I’ll buy you a capuccino.” Mike raised his eyebrows even further. “ And a sandwich from Delmar’s.”

“ Well…” The robber shrugged apologetically as he slid something out from his grimy pockets into Virgil’s hands. “ Sorry but this is all I had on hand. I don’t even know the PIN code….”

His face reflected off the Mastercard’s moulded plastic lettering, staring back at him like it was mocking him. The shopkeeper chose that moment to speak out.

“ The distribution of electronic payment has not been offered to this Seven-Eleven outlet due to - “

The flourescent lights overhead crackled and the corporate babbling stopped. Finally. Virgil was relieved for a moment for his lack of emotional control.

“ Sir, be aware, that according to Seven-Eleven’s policy on metahuman damages, damage to any 7-11 property will be fined - “

“ Zip it!” Virgil hissed out loud. He only got a deep frown from the shopkeeper as he returned back to mussing over the cash register. Virgil paced around the shop, Mike’s head following him like a sports fan at a tennis rally. He could stop Talon, Aquamaria, Kangorr, Armadillo and Shocker but…..He stared at the metallic name-tag on the shopkeepers lape...Ashwin just had to be his greatest enemy?

“ Sir-” The shopkeeper tersely spoke out again in his bored tone. “ Please stop pacing around. You are disturbing the other customers.”

The sliding doors to the 7-11 opened with a sudden welcoming *pling* and Mari strode into the convenience store with a grin on her face. Coffee time was her favorite time of the day. She’d been camped outside of the non-descript bank for hours. She was cold. She was tired. But worst of all she was bored. Bank robberies were not as fun as Hollywood movies had suggested. The planning phase was a great disappointment and she had long since tired of Nancy’s banter. His cryptic comments about fortuitous meetings had gotten old and she wasn’t sure what a spider wanted with a Boston creme donut at least three times his size.

Nodding towards the store clerk, she made a beeline towards the filthy looking coffee pot that stood sadly on a counter that had seen far better days and fewer layers of accumulated grease. Grabbing an empty paper cup, she flipped the lever, and listened to the welcome sound of coffee hitting paper.

Crossing her arms as she waited for her coffee to cool, Mari turned towards the costumed figure pacing in front of the cashier and his tied up victim. She did her best to look bored. The scarf wrapped around her face worked as well as any mask and her hoodie hid the rest of her features.

“Yo, fuck face, what’s up with the suit and your tied up friend? Did I miss the comic convention?”

It felt like a slap to his face. Fuckface? All thoughts of pestering the cashier some more disappeared as his face swiveled to the right towards whoever it was that called him out.

“ Okay, who the hell called me - “ His right hand began to burn with voltage before he saw the cup of coffee next to the person who’d spoken to him. She was wrapped in thick clothing, hooded with her mouth hidden by a scarf. Not a thief. Hopefully. He pushed down the instinct to fight as the white glow in his hand receded back.

His eyes were squinted in disbelief behind his polarized visor. “ First of all, ComicFest 2019 is actually 3 months away from now. Second - “ He pointed towards the stylised lightning bolt on his black t-shirt. “ have you been living underneath a rock by any chance? I’m Static. The Kilowatt Kid? The Bang Baby hero? Ring any bells?”

“ Actually - “ Mike piped up. “ - to be fair to the lady, I’ve only heard ‘bout you today after you stopped me from crackin’ open that ATM machine - YOOWCH!”

The amateur thief yelped in pain as a minute bolt skipped from Virgil’s pinky to his butt. Virgil stared pointedly at him. “ If you keep quiet for the next hour, I’ll buy you two sandwiches.”

“ Pastrami with pickles.”

“ Deal.” Virgil turned back to her. “ Third, he’s not my friend.” He then looked longingly at the cup of steaming coffee on the counter before rubbing the dark circles in his eye. It was getting late. Too late. “ Look, miss. I’ve had a really long day. All I want is 75 cents so I can get my carton of eggs and go home.”

“Yeah, and I’m Wonderwoman,” Mari said with a roll of her eyes. The kid couldn’t be Static. Static was supposed to be 6’7’’. He was supposed to have an 8-pack, he was supposed to be shredded. Nancy said that he rode a cloud like some modern day Zeus and threw lightning bolts at his enemies. This bargain bin knock-off was disappointing and Mari didn’t buy it. Sparky just seemed like a kid.

Narrowing her eyes, she cast a quick glance towards the 7-11 clerk. He didn’t look like he was afraid. There didn’t seem to be any danger. The clerk seemed bored. Maybe the costumed kid wasn’t telling the truth, but he wasn’t a robber. He wasn’t a threat. He was just annoying. The stellar quip that Mari had primed was interrupted by the sight of her cheerful spider companion hanging above the cash register. Mari wasn’t sure how or when Nancy had entered the 7-11, but she was glad he was quiet for once. The spider flashed a terrifying, impossible smile as he gestured wildly towards the costumed punk with one of his eight legs.

Hearts and minds. Mari thought with an irritated sigh as she caught on to the scheme. If the dude was Static, she’d have to make friends, and she’d have to play nice. Nancy had told her that they needed him. They needed the Kilowatt Kid. He hadn’t said why. But she trusted Nancy. He was the spider with a plan.

Grabbing her coffee, Mari stepped up to the counter, “Well, Sparky, it’s your lucky day. I’m going to give you a whole dollar.”

Nodding towards the pair of comedians, Mari reached into the pocket of her hoodie. She pulled out her wallet and watched as the pistol she had stolen fell onto the floor with a plastic thud. The words “Dakota City Police Department” were emblazoned on the barrel.

“Oh, fuck. I can explain...Let’s just be cool about this,” Mari said holding both her hands up in the international sign of the Fonz as she shifted between the costumed kid and the clerk. She watched the 7-11 clerk inch closer to the silent alarm that she knew was hidden beneath the counter. Choosing her battle, she pointed a menacing finger at the clerk, “Ashwin, I swear to God, if you press that button I will cut you.”

“ Ma’am,” The clerk’s voice was considerably more quiet now. “ 7-11 does not allow customers with handheld firearms to be allowed within store vicinity…..”

Ashwin’s voice became lost amidst the buzzing in his brain. It looked like a prank gone wrong. The moment the pistol clattered on the floor, the fluorescent light above the both of them flickered erratically as his breathing became strained. His forearm tingled. Just phantom shock. He hadn’t even noticed that his left arm had raised out towards Mari reflexively, electricity dripping off it like a leaking faucet. It took seemingly an eternity for him to raise his arm down, his mind providing excuses but his body paralysed in paranoia.

His crackling palm was still raised towards her as he kneeled down to pick up the pistol, eyes trained on her. Gripping it brings back memories of Paris Island, of pressing a barrel against Ivan Evan’s cheeks, of revenge. He pushes them down and focuses on the present. The now. The initials on the gun were DCPD. His teeth chattered as he breathed in, slowly breaking into a nervous smile.

“ Cool,” he chuckled. “ I think I could use some of that no-”

Virgil paused as something glowed behind the woman's shoulder. A dim orange. Had tomorrow come already or was it just hallucinations from his fatigue? The orange was becoming brighter. No, it was moving. He smelt the air.

Burning.

It wasn't sunlight. It was a sedan on fire heading straight for the store.

Without thinking, he pushed the woman down, forcing her behind him and ripping the aluminium shelves out of the wall to form a barrier, a wall, crumpling the frames apart to mesh into one -

It was too late. The mass of flaming metal shattered the windows into mist and rammed into his arms. Something broke. His joints popped and his bones buckled and bent. He wasn’t sure how his body had broke but he didn’t want to find out. His back slammed against the wall and sent him spiraling into unconsciousness, the sensation of his singed skin fading.

Which setting would you like to see more of in Roleplays?

BORK'S WISH-LIST/TOLAZYTODOBYMYSELFBUTMAYBEINTHEFUTURELIST

FANDOM RPs

-S.T.A.L.K.E.R
- SCP Foundation
- Toy Story
- Pacific Rim
- Worm
- Warhammer 40k

ORIGINAL RPs
- CYBERPUNK - rural cyberpunk, cyberpunk but it's in South East Asia,
- URBAN FANTASY - Live PD except with wizards fighting the dark forces of illegal potions trafficking, broom speeding violations and domestic gnome violence (wiz cops, wiz cops, whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do when they come for you?), fairy-tales exist and have entered the modern world of 1950s noir New Orleans in an enclave (yeah, I know I'm stealing from Once Upon a Time and Wolf Among Us. What? You're gonna sue me?),
- SUPERHEROnope, nope, nope, not having none of that. Nope, done with that. Don't need any more of that on this site.

Let's Gush!

Okay, we need some more wholesome stuff in here, stat.

@Lord Wraith, thank you for creating my first group roleplays that I actually enjoyed on this site. It allowed me to rediscover my love for the superhero genre and the communities that were created as a result of these roleplays are something that I’ve always cherished. Without you, I would never have the gall to create Static or Artistonancer.

@Opposition, it’s a damn shame you aren’t creating more roleplays because your roleplays are exceptional in the amount of effort and worldbuilding you place into them. You allowed me to create OverDriver and reinstilled my faith that a good cyberpunk RP could be created on this site, even if it’s a dead genre.

Last but not least, thank you to every player of Walmageddon for the enjoyment you've given me over the past month. I hope that this rp continues well forth in the future (lol, just kidding. This rp is probably gonna crash and burn no matter what happens, amirite?)

@ClocktowerEchos - I am honoured to continue your legacy on this site. I am severely saddened that Wal-World Dead Stock tragically ended up being closed on its intro posts. You introduced the concept of a setting like Walmageddon to RPG first and I can’t bear mysef to not mention that. You offer great substantial worldbuilding along with advice about your prior experiences of running this RP.

@AmpharosBoy - You are of great service to the RP and one of the first people to express interest in this concept as a whole. Blothmerche is a highly fun character that I enjoy watching and you offer substantial content in worldbuilding as well.

@RevetheDreamer - Your character drawings are amazing and I would greatly appreciate if you could give me permission for you to do an artistic commission of the entire cast, paid, of course.

@Mercenary Lord - You offer great critique to how the system of the world functions and you are the most critical of all the players in the RP. People need to be more critical of the world as you do. You have an amazing eye for stuffing lots of detail into short, concise posts.

Being a GM isn’t fun but you made my experience of being a GM great. You have restored my self-confidence after my disastrous few attempts in trying. Thank you.

….

Shit. I forgot to mention one person, didn’t I?

@Moskau Spieluhr, goddamn, what has it been? Seven months since you joined this site? You are perhaps the most underrated roleplayer I've ever encountered on this site. I’m not over-embellishing. I know we’ve been overly both self-depreciating in our DMs but you are genuinely a great roleplayer and a writer. The only problem with you is that you don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re not the best, or the most talented. No one is. Everyone here on this forum specializes in something. If everyone was good at everything, roleplaying would get boring. However, I have to admit that you can write better than me. Your worst beats my best by a long shot.

It’s your characterisation and ability to write out character interactions that makes you stand out from the crowd. It’s where you excel.Your characters possess an amazing amount of both originality and creativity that is unparalleled in any other roleplayer, save for a few that I know. You have a natural command of your character’s dialogue, a fatal flaw for most roleplayers on this site. Unlike most roleplayers, you’re able to execute the concept of her character on a regular basis instead of making it a self insert. Look at Vixen, look at Anansi, look at Z-Grip, look at Satra, look at Cora, look at Spellbound. Every character is a complete well-crafted dish with their own unique voice. Moreover, you’re a fun roleplayer and your writing is a joy to read. Any GM should be glad to have you as a player in their roleplay.

Moreover, you're an amazing person to talk, chat, share memes and discuss ideas with. After all, you're the one who first encouraged me to make a roleplay of an idea as absurd as Walmageddon. Oh, and thank god you're a fan of cyberpunk or otherwise I would be screaming silently in my sleep

So, yeah, how do I say this in any other way other than: keep doing what you're doing and uh, thanks for putting up for hours of me pestering and messaging you on Discord. You're a great contributor to every RP you're in, a great person to write with and most of all, a great friend.

Walmageddon: Shopping Spree [CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE]

Right, it's back to the single posts after this, fellas. We're mid to end-way towards the end of the first arc. As you know, post order doesn't matter and what matters is whether or not you want your character to go fighting with the Detergent or live to see another day.

Walmageddon: Shopping Spree [CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE]

SPILLWAY SHUFFLE

_{A collab between: @Moskau Spieluhr, @AmpharosBoy, @ClocktowerEchos, @Mercenary Lord and @RevetheDreamer}

Chaos unfolded in front of Scat and he was completely lost. It was a mire of tangled bodies, flailing limbs and blood being sprayed everywhere with a myriad of Sporting Goods. The only choice was to be a part of the Sport and not escape it. He let the Frisbee-Rang fly, knocking back a sea-monkey that was jumping towards him with its filthy paws splayed outwards. Meanwhile, Paw was mauling one of them like a chew toy, chomping down on the fragile neck of the verminous creatures.

Drawing three slow breaths, Z-Grip pulled her paper cutter sword from her back, tossing the protective canvas that had covered it over the face of an approaching sea monkey. In a swing that split atoms in twain, the penja cut the sea monkey into two perfectly equal portions.

During the chaos, the Dorf had lost hold of his holy texts and character sheet; Both having ended up sunken into the deep liquid toxins below. This caused great pain to him, but now was not the time to grieve even if his loss was great. This was a large assault; And while there were others to aid in handling the situation, his loss pushed him to aid in the defense of the Detergent post-haste.

'Gods, witness me.' Young Blöthmerche thought to himself, processing through the mess. His objective was made clear; Protect the vessel by exterminating every threat in sight. While they were being approached from afar, a current issue were the horrid little creatures preventing the Dorf from taking any shots at them with his ranged weapon. Damned creatures, he would purge them back into the Spillway below for thinking he was mere bait, when truly he was the predator they ought to have feared.

Frame club in hand, the monkeys weren't a enemy to fear: Just to overcome. A firm swing at one of the approaching beasts caused a horrid gushing sound as it's ugly eye was smashed in through the center, causing it to screech and recoil. Another had tried to bite his foot; But was met with the protective steel of his boot as the small creature was instead the victim of him progressing forward, crushing it's body underneath his boot as he approached the first beast, raising his frame club before jabbing it through the crushed eye; Destroying whatever was behind it; Which Blöthmerche assumed must have been vital as the beast ceased movement.

“ Here! IN HERE!” The same helmsman from earlier who told them to get the package opened a door to the inner storage compartments of the vehicle and waved his right hand urgently as if to usher them inside. “ The package is inside - “ He didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence as he was swarmed by a troop of sea monkeys, one of them wrapping its legs around his neck and attempting to claw his eyes out.

“No, you need to get the safe open,” Bonk chided gently. Blue growled with frustration as she watched the Sea Monkeys congeal on the deck. She had the firepower to do something about them, but...the job was the job. If they lost the package, they wouldn’t get paid, and it didn’t matter how much damage she did, without that money, she was worse than unstocked.

“Rekk it to hell,” she grumbled, before an epiphany struck. She whirled to the FabGlam first, who had been nearby. “You! Use this. Point and shoot when we’re all clear.” She tossed Kriver, the lightning shotgun of her dreams, to the FabGlam. “No recoil. Push the red switch until it turns green. Point, shoot, ya sync it?” No time to wait for a confirmation. “And I want it back!” she said, heading for the below-decks with the other two lifters.

She pulled out Cazette the hand-crossbow and sighted down the rudimentary aiming system with one eye. She squeezed off two shots, sending razor blades thumping into the Sea Monkeys on the helmsman’s back. “C’mon, rekker!” she held out a hand for the man; he needed to show them where the safe was.

“By the Silks...” Havalock muttered under his breath as he watched the Sea Monkeys stand before him. Of all the vile creatures of the Wal, Sea Monkeys were the ones he had the least experience with and was honestly okay with keeping it that way. He had been more than a little startled by the pair that was staring him down, ignoring everything else that was going on around him. With frightening speed, one of them leapt at him, giving him mere seconds to draw his blade and slash the beast with it. Realizing that more would only come if he kept standing around, he pulled out his REV-6 and made his way inside the ship.

Running down the side of the boat, he took potshots at whatever he could. As he ran, the explorer found another crewman pinned by a Sea Monkey who was tearing at his suit. With a valorous roar, sprinted to the pinned sailor, kicking the creature off of him before pistol whipping it to the ground. As it laid dazed on the deck, the last thing it saw was Havalock’s boot, its bottom covered in nails, crushing its head.

Now suitably covered in blood and battle, he made his way to the other three, bringing up the rear guard. “Go! I’ll cover!” Havalock shouted as he shouldered his charger and whispered, “A true gentleman never leaves a man behind; he always guarantees the safety of others before him as chivalry and honor dictate.” Taking a knee, he skillfully fired at every damned Sea Monkey and pirate he could spot, having to fend off one with the butt of his charger. As he tried to reload, he saw a pack of the aquatic monsters charge at him.

Deciding now was a good time to fall back, he threw his charger into the compartment and began to pull back the bulkhead door. The Sea Monkeys were gaining on him and tried to grab the door before Havalock could shut and lock it. After aggressively negotiating the door’s release with the help of several rapid blasts from his side arm, the man finally slammed the door shut with a resounding “THUNK”, crushing one of their arms and leaving it on the ground as he locked the door, picking up his rifle and running down.”

The funny looking parakeet man was shouting towards Scats just as he twisted the head off a Sea-Monkey with the edge of his ‘rang like a bottle-cap. He turned back to see that the man from Clothing was waving them all towards an open entrance. He looked around for Paw, lost amidst the chaos before spotting his white behind a few meters away from him. The rabbit was busily tearing apart the torso of a sea-monkey behind him. Coaxing his Pet to let go of his prey in a short-lived tug of war, Scats scooped up Paw and held the flailing rabbit on his shoulder, following Havalock through the frenzied violence.

The helmsman who had shouted towards the trio of Lifters threw off two twitching corpses speared with bolts off him and accepted the proffered hand of the Tron Girl. He rubbed the long nick on his chin as he staggered towards the open door which Havalock held open for a scant moment. Scat bolted in at the last moment as Havalock closed the door, the metallic bang echoing through the innards of the ship. He felt Paw shivering anxiously, in the small enclosed tight corridor of darkness and the nauseous aroma of rusted metal.

---

A small light then flickered in the dark compartment. It was the helmsman, panting and with a small Zippo held in his hand.

“ T-thanks.” The helmsman breathed out, his face ashen from his near death experience. “ Thought I was gonna get checked out there.” He then waved the Zippo to the left of the corridor. His other hand clenched the other side of his battered uniform, splattered with Sea Monkey blood. “Follow me. The package has gotta be here somewhere….”

The helmsman began treading into the wayward bowels of the Detergent and Scat followed him. The innards of the S.S Detergent were beginning to slowly flood with the scent of spillwater and shopper waste. It was a testament to the craftsmanship of the vessel that it had managed to stay afloat for this long. The water was beginning to come up to his ankles as the helmsman approached a rickety stairwell, his boots echoing off each step.

At the bottom of the stairwell, the helmsman waved the light in his hand to illuminate the innards of the corridor. Scat could see barrels tangled up in cargo nets full of grocery rations, the top half of a Battle-Cart that had been sawn off, a collection of watering cans from Gardening and several other items. The helmsman chuckled at Scat’s wandering gaze, shaking his head in amusement.

“ What? You think your package was the only one we were hauling?” His smile morphed into one of pain as he coughed for a brief moment. “ Only a few crew members know about the location of this package. All of these other ones…..were all meant to distract, to fool in the case of a raid. We never expected to get attacked by a Sam-damned Wal-Pirate in these waters.”

“ Ah, here we go.” The helmsman stopped at a pile of stacked up boxes of Whet-Bix at the end of the storage room. He grabbed a hockey stick that was lodged into the loose mountain of cardboard and wrenched it out, causing the towering conga hill to collapse apart like wet paper, revealing a mammoth size metallic box that just managed to squeeze within the enclosed space. There were several strange arrows and letters on it pointing up with a faded series of barcodes running along the bottom. The sides read “ WAL-INCORPORATED PROPERTY” whilst the front was locked shut by a strange gate. An electronic keypad with numerous buttons and switches ran the left side of its frame. The helmsman pulled out what Scat thought looked like a bent clothes hanger out of his jacket. “ Now, if we try to use the key at the incorrect time….” He jammed the key into a slot on the keypad.

A loud digitized voice issued out of the box’s miniature speakers, rattling Scat’s teeth and sending Paw jumping all over the place.

THIS WAL-TECH PACKAGE IS ONLY READY TO BE OPENED AND ENJOYED IN:

24 HOURS, 52 MINUTES, 30 SECONDS AND COUNTING

“ Now, we don’t have time for that.” The helmsman turned back towards the trio. “ By the time this package is ready to open, we’ll be sitting at the bottom of the Spillway with the Sea Monkeys using our bodies as kibble or the Wal-Pirates hanging our corpses from their boats. Now, Tron Girl, all we need you to do is to slice that open before those pirates come and don’t ask us nicely to give them our packa-”

The ginormous box boomed out again.

“ WARNING: ATTEMPTING TO OPEN A WAL-INCORPORATED PACKAGE WITHOUT PROPER AUTHORIZATION COULD RESULT IN ACUTE LIFE ENDANGERMENT SYNDR-KZZZTTTTTT “

The helmsman flashed a smile. “ Well, I like our chances already. How’s ‘bout you give it a whirl, Tron-Girl?”

---

Pure, utter carnage. Limbs went flying and the death rattles of both monkey and men were a combined cacophony on the boat. The deck was soon soaked in enough monkey blood to drip through the floorboards and down into the galley. One thing was becoming clearer as the bloodbath continued onwards. The sea monkeys might have had numbers and fanged teeth by their side but the shoppers had one advantage they did not have. Tenacity. Whenever a sea monkey took the life of a helmsman, another one took ten more in return. The numbers of the sea monkeys began to dwindle as the men and women of the S.S Detergent rallied around the band of Lifters fighting back against the odds.

One of the sailors pumping the lifeboats yelled out with the signs of a grim grin on his face. “ We’ve got the first duckie primed and ready! Move the injured to the - “

He suddenly found that he couldn’t speak anymore as his lower jaw was ripped off and pinned to the stern of a ship by a harpoon. Several more came arcing onto the upper deck, ropes attached onto them, as they embedded themselves in a rhythmic staccato. Sailors and monkeys alike were not spared, having been impaled gruesomely by the barbed fronts. The pirate ship was near enough that you could see its prow and the intricacy of the flag whipping in the air-conditioned gales of the Spillway. Sewn from baby blankets, the crude facade of a bald man with one hooped earring was stitched onto the black fabric, grinning in diaper-white teeth.

“ By god” One helmsman muttered to himself, chewing his nails. “ It’s the Misters…”

The sound of laughter and hooting-hooting was heard as shopper hands gripped the side of the boat. Bald men and women, all draped in clean pressed t-shirts, crawled over and began joining the fray of man on monkey violence. The first unsheathed his plunger out and cried out.

“ THERE’S NO CLEAN LIKE THE MISTERS!”

---

“My name is Blue, waterlogger.” Blue didn’t much care for unrestricted water. Or the people who sailed on it, despite saving the Helmsman’s life. In Electronics, uncontained water was both a terrible sin and a steadfast danger. Countless ‘Tron masterpieces had been laid to waste by a careless spray or a spilt bottle.

But there was no time for grouching. They’d have to deal with Bonk sooner or later, so...she pulled the man out of her pocket. “All right, what do we got here, Bonk?”

“Why are you asking me?” Bonk said. “You’re the expert here. I don’t know anything about Wal-Tech’s O66-SafeKeeper, or its seventy-slot alphanumeric passcode, or its—”

“Or the CD and H pointer flaw in the third generation SafeKeeper that never got patched out,” Blue mumbled. That was it! The SafeKeeper had never made it past the third generation, and for anyone but the most skilled Tronsmiths, they would be dead-in-the-water. Lucky for all of them…

She pulled The Heirloom from her kitbag, found the maintenance port along the top of the safe, and hopped to work. Her fingers were a blur on The Heirloom as she typed, channeling the progress and prowess of all her predecessors. She needed to set up a recursive function that would overwrite the memory of the processor in just the right way.

She’d never done this before, but she knew about the dangers. If she didn’t fry the memory before the countdown ran out, a swift, forceful, and invariably fatal shock would be the end of them all.

Still beat getting rekked by Misters.

With a set of trills, the safe’s lights winked off, then back on at a fainting brightness. There was an audible click, and she snatched the Heirloom free of the safe and leapt back. After a few seconds of not being electro-murdered, she turned to the Helmsman. “Easy rip’n’burn, man.”

---

Throwing the sea monkey blood from her paper cutter sword with a carefully measured slash in the air, Z-Grip turned her attention to the hairless pirates that surged across the deck of the crippled vessel. Pirates. Dishonorable water rats corrupted by greed. Most cursed, bakagaijin. They would all have to die. The honor of her ancestors demanded it. Her own honor required it. She would cleanse her spirit with the blood of the impure.

Nodding solemnly, Z returned the war cry of the plunger wielding pirate. The vicious smile that she flashed beneath her mask was lost to the black fabric that shielded her features. “May your pencil chip and shatter!”

Closing the distance between her and her chosen foe, Z grabbed hold of a smooth-scalped pirate that stumbled into her path. Lashing out with a free hand, she inserted three gloved fingers into the eyes and nose of the pirate. The gurgling scream that followed filled her with satisfaction. Her father had always said that blind pirate was a good pirate. Jumping atop the shoulders of the screaming pirate, Z spun his head around like a bowling ball sized top. The momentum of the dying cue-ball man provided the penja with enough momentum to launch herself in a swirling vortex of death towards the marauding earring hipsters.

Cutting through another soapy pirate, Z found her wicked blade parried by the plunger wielding pirate. She ducked beneath a heavy swing that would have smashed bathroom tiling, listening to the ringing of metal that shuddered through the handle of the plunger. Pirates were devious devils. It seemed the pirate that she dueled was no novice. He was no fool. He had replaced the wooden handle of his plunger with pure stainless steel. Japanese steel met stainless steel in a shower of sparks as the two warriors locked weapons.

---

“ Captain All Purpose, we’ve successfully managed to secure the S.S Detergent.”

“ Then, why has it not been wiped dry yet?”

“ This ship is proving more rust-resistant than we initially expected, sir.”

“ …...Prepare the enzyme action maneuver. The cargo that we’re after should survive exposure and our spy will be able to take care of any inconveniences. It’s time we put an end to this stain once and for all.”

“ Aye aye, captain. I’ll relay your orders to the men. ”

“ Leave me. “

“ So be it. MISTERS, FIRE THE - “

“ Quite a bold strategy, spill-sailer, though, even I have my doubts that an artifact of the Great Sam could survive such a - “

“ Save your sales pitches, Smiler scum. We’re washing your hands for you . This ‘artifact’ of yours better be worth it.”

---

“ Ah, a worthy challenge,” the Mister who was duelling Z-Grip snarled out. “ I’ve always wanted to kill me a Stationari. Let’s see if you’re made of stainless steel, indeed.” A three way deadlock was ensuing on the decks of the S.S Detergent. Wal-Pirate on sailor, sailor on Wal-Pirate and sea monkey on shopper. The misters fought frantically and with a conviction, absorbing debilitating hits like a Kleenex, their white clothes unnaturally staying immaculate, even after their death. However, the rabid monkeys were getting caught in a shopper sandwich, as they were skewered by the pipe cleaner spears of the Misters and tossed overboard by sailors. For the crew of the Detergent, it almost seemed as if their situation was beginning to improve and that the Great Sam was smiling on them from above.

Then, three puffs of smoke erupted from the portside cannons of the Mister doubloon, depositing not bleach balls, but heavy barrels into the nearby waters. Upon hitting the water, they cracked open to deposit a powdery chalk-like ash into the surrounding Spillway around the Detergent. The water turned a milky white, hissing out gas as tendrils of white began to approach the hull of the beached vessel.

Nothing happened at first.

The venerable hull of the Detergent then began to groan, buckling as everyone from man, monkey and pirate felt something shuddering underneath. The sea to the portside of the vessel was boiling, churning with caustic bubbles that whetted and gnawed away at the crumbling wreckage of the vessels like dire-roaches on empty Cereai boxes. Something broke underneath and the lower cabins began to flood uncontrollably. The S.S Detergent, the uncontested prime raft of the Cleaning Supplies department, was falling apart.

The deck, which had been shaking for the last half hour or so, was now quaking apart. The sea monkeys, whilst feral, even had their limits. The sensory bombardment was overwhelming to their primitive minds. The smell of bleach, the moving ground, the sight of all these different shoppers, the pain. When one startied fleeing, the rest followed suit, dragging shopper corpses of sailor and Wal-Pirate alike as take-away.

“ ALL CREW MEMBERS! BAIL SHIP! I REPEAT BAIL SHIP!” The remaining crew members began tossing the life-floaties out overboard in a wanton manner and jumping overboard into the merciless tides of the Spillway. Some landed inside the safety of the life-floaties while others were unfortunate enough to take a dive into the chilling Spillway, having to swim their way towards the floaties. Meanwhile, the Misters were still slaughtering and pillaging the remnants of the boat, taking advantage of the momentary confusion to slit the throats of the sailors. A senior helmsman shouted at the remaining Lifters onboard, his left eye having been pulverised by a toothbrush “ If you don’t wanna get left behind, Lifters, I suggest you come with us!”

---

“ ERROR...ERROR...ERROR...HOSTILE INCURSION DETECTED….ACTIVATING SHOPLIFTER COUNTERMEASURES..”

Scat warily backs up away from the box. Parts of it begin stripping away like the layers of an onion, glass eyes and metal fingers aimed towards the group. He does not trust the strange arcane arts of the ‘Trons or their strange devotion to technology. Dozens of shoppers have been slain due to overestimating one of these very technologies. The panel that the Tron accessed with her device rumbled, fidgeting before turning silent. There was the click of clockwork before a soft voice like birdsong chirped out of the speaker.

“ REBOOTING….CUSTOMER PACKAGE IS NOW READY FOR ENJOYMENT.”

The box began unfolding itself like an onion, doors sliding apart and layers upon layers of metallic gates unlocking. Scat realises it looks similarly suspicious to a Dog shedding its coat of fur. Eventually, the end product is a miniscule bone-white cylinder with a small slot on top. He walks up to it and lifts his finger to the slot. The box whirrs in place before the slot deposited a rectangular plastic card that exactly fitted Scat’s palm.

The PetMaster began to examine it, lifting it up towards the other Lifters for them to see. He first noticed that It was deceptively heavier than its flimsy appearance indicated at first, so razor thin at the edge that Scat thought even the smallest breeze could break it in half. The blue surface of the card shimmered and rippled like an oasis, a maze of silver threads being woven through it. In the right corner of the card was a circle with eight spokes around which glowed a lustrous neon, seemingly suffusing the room with dawn. Scat took a sniff. The scent of it was clean. Not in the unvarnished manner of the Kleaners but clean. Free of any familiar smells of the Wal. It was not of anything he'd encountered before.

There was something inscribed on the back that he saw. He tried pronouncing the words labelled. “ Words on back. Says S-say-ham’s Ka-la-” He was stopped mid-sentence as pain blossomed on his back. A q-tip arrow had speared him through his belly. An instant later, he felt a meaty arm grip him by his neck as the helmsman held him hostage. He pressed the front of the crossbow into Scat’s cheek, the bolt digging into his skin.

“ W...why?” Scat grunts out.

“ Why?” A wig slid off the helmsman's head to reveal a shiny dome that had been grazed to its roots. “ I am an aspirant of the Clean One and by the Seven Spills, I will deliver this prize to our Captain.” Scat gasped for air, dark dots dancing in the Pet-Master’s eyes. With mad twitching eyes, he stared at Havalock, Blue and Bonk with a toothy grin. “ Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’ll let me go with this package and I’ll let you go with your - “

Scat heard the sound of wood splintering and water gushing, the floor rumbling as if they were trapped in the belly of a Dire-Lizard. Cracks were beginning to form alongside the walls and the ceiling, eventually caving in with a thunderous crash. The natural light blinded Scat for a moment, his eyes trying to acclimate again. A massive hole had emerged in the side of the Detergent, the integrity of the ship finally falling apart as its innards were revealed to the world like a gutted Pet in the savannahs of the Petting section.

" What in the Great Sam are you all still doing down there! Get out there before you go down with the boat!"

A sailor in a life floatie had spotted the four of them through the massive gyre rent in the ship’s hull, unaware of his fellow helmsman betrayal. He shouted and waved at the Lifters for their attention, before signalling to the rest of the sailors on the floatie to begin rowing towards the wreck of the Detergent. The shaking continued as the pirate vessel continued to unload its chemical payload. The helmsman was stumbling on his feet, his mind focusing on not tripping on the various bits of cargo, whilst still hanging onto Scat’s neck.

NEOTOKYO: State of Disarray [Open]

Sorry, but after thoroughly reviewing my priorities and the character concept that I have at the moment, I don't think it would be the most opportune time for me to join an RP like this. Believe me, I love my cyberpunk but I think I've been rushing into this RP without a thought of whether I would enjoy it.

Thus, I think I am dropping my interest and therefore, opening a space for any other roleplayer to join.

Bork Lazer's Storage Bunker

PROJECT CODE: THE IRON ITAMAE (WIP)

---

" In the Tokyo night

Lost souls hungering for

The chrome, the gun, blood.

Sea flesh and chrome scale scabbing

A blade stabbing through the mouth

---

//N.S.F BIOMETRIC DATA

/ NAME

MOHAN LEE

/ N.S.F NUMBER

B-323-986-454

/ HEIGHT

5'9

/ NATIONALITY

INDONESIA

/ AGE

27

/ SEXUAL PREFERENCE

ASEXUAL

/ BIRTHDATE

24/6/2004

/ BIRTHPLACE

JAKARTA CAPITAL DISTRICT, JAVA, MALACCA CANAL ECONOMIC TRADE ZONE

/ N.S.F ROLE

COVERT ASSASSINATION SPECIALIST

//APPEARANCE

//PERSONAL PROFILE

//PRIOR EMPLOYMENT

Security Guard at

Assistant Chef at Suraiboshen

//HISTORY

//PERSONS OF INTEREST

//PSYCHOLOGICAL EVALUATION

//EQUIPMENT

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