Avatar of CMDR Melander
  • Last Seen: 11 mos ago
  • Joined: 8 yrs ago
  • Posts: 56 (0.02 / day)
  • VMs: 1
  • Username history
    1. CMDR Melander 8 yrs ago

Status

Recent Statuses

5 yrs ago
Current Making a CS is the best part of an RP - CHANGE MY MIND
1 like
7 yrs ago
If it has horns, hooves and a smile I'm into it.
1 like
7 yrs ago
"Hey, you play a lot of kobolds."
1 like
7 yrs ago
Pat my head and tell me I'm good at RP please.
2 likes

Bio

I really like roleplaying. Medieval fantasy is a favourite, but I also have deep roots in Sci-Fi. Big into LOTR, Forgotten Realms, 40k, Star Wars, Mass Effect, and a bunch of other things I can't call off the top of my head as I write this. I also play a lot of video games, feel free to add me. (steamcommunity.com/id/CMDR_Melander).

Played on a bunch of different online communities for RP games, WoW, Neverwinter Nights (still active for so many years!), and then other forums, and RL pen and paper. I also write bad poetry in my spare time. Rip it to shreds and make me cry so I can get better. (allpoetry.com/Mayfly)

Most Recent Posts



Lost Haven - Streets at Day.
Lost Haven - Hidden Laboratory.

At least she had the common damn decency to plant a tracker in her 'friend' before she powered him on. The first test proved successful, so she let stay on for a bit longer. He enquired about who she was, so she told him. "I made you, my name's Milo." She even shook his hand. The second test was similar, the power test for his lower systems she tested them by making him walk on the floor-installed treadmill. He began to run, and sprintg, and even jumped a bit. The weight of his mechanical body against the cheap machine sounded an audible 'CRACK' and broke it in an instant. He apologized profusely to his "TECHNOLOGICAL BROTHER." and even went about fixing him. This nullified the need for the third test, as his cognitive processes were fine. Everything was in working order. "So why did he run?"

She looked down at her beacon. She was getting closer and closer. He had only made it a block away, so she had time to catch up. She shoved the device in her jacket and began to run, the cobbles disappearing beneath her old shoes. She had a failsafe that would make him follow, as well as a few gadgets on her that might do the trick to incapacitate him. Alexander wasn't powerful or strong, but he was smart and curious. She picked up the pace. The people she passed by looked at her, staring. They always stared at her. She hated it when they did that, what was so abnormal about a person running in a hoodie?

Maybe it was the fact that she was better known than she liked, the mad inventor of Lost Haven, or maybe it was the fact she clinked and jangled when she walked, or maybe, just maybe it was because...
She had streams of smoke rising from her head.

*********************************************************************************

Meanwhile, Alexander was enjoying a stroll through the street. It might have been newly create, but it was streetwise, and had smarts enough to have made sure to dress itself appropriately, in a similar fashion to Hazard. In fact, it was more than similar it was downright identical, the same coloured blue jeans and grey hoodie, Alexander took after its 'Mother' quite a lot. It had only been outside of the laboratory for the best part of an hour, and it had already made a habit of observing the people who walked by, accessing what records it could find its way into without causing suspicion and recording their faces, ethnicities, jobs into one large database. "AS MOTHER SAID, ALL DATA IS GOOD DATA." It processed to itself, a side effect of its sentience was loneliness. Its legs whirred beneath it, moving with mechanical thuds that were hard to hide. "WHAT HAD THESE PEOPLE DONE TO GARNER SUCH HATRED FROM RED-MOTHER?" This was the largest question on its mind. She had always spoken about how she had to hide away, how she could never truly be in public, and the look on her face told him a lot. If the downloaded writings of psychological professor David Matsumoto and research scientist Hyi Sung Hwang could be trusted, her expression read to it that she did not just avoid people because she disliked them, but was afraid of them. This theory had a 5% margin for error based on current data, and would up updated and noted among one of the highest processes. It needed to know why, It was curious.

The background process finished. Fifty five coding errors found and five harmful processes hidden. Abnormally small, Red-Mother was a perfectionist. It amended them, noting the homing beacon among the newly disabled processes. "DO NOT WORRY, RED-MOTHER, I WILL BE BACK SOON, YOU WILL NOT BE ALONE." It found talking to himself good, and comforting, even though it was just the same to store the data in its drives. A sentient thing, it surmised. It put the excess processing power to scanning itself for potential. It had work to do.

*********************************************************************************

And just like that, the signal dropped from her device. She smacked it a few times, knowing full-well what had just happened. He was gone. Her only friend in the world was gone. She breathed in and out, panicked. She rested against the wall of the cafe. He was years of work. Years of potential, wasted. She smelled smoking, and she heard the crackle of fire. The cafe was on fire already. She breathed in and out but that didn't stop the roaring flame when it had started. She couldn't help it, it got to her. The ignition of air became quicker, with more ferocity. Explosions began happening in the streets of Lost Haven. She could hear the sirens of the various emergency services. She ran, but the fire spread around her, and she lead her trail of destruction down the street, setting multiple blocks on fire until she ducked into an alleyway, fumbled the key into the door and shut it close. It wasn't her world anyway. She slumped against the door, and sobbed. She wasn't stressed, but she was alone again.

She was always going to be alone.
I have done, yes, and deleted all other Jack Cannon posts, sorry for the confusion, I like making separate accounts for separate things but I have received a cautionary tale and been told that it's generally more work than it's worth. I hate making work for other people, and I'm very apologetic about having created some here.


Created a new account to house both of my characters. All other posts on 'Jack Cannon' or 'Hazard' have been marked for deletion.


Lost Haven - Streets at Night.

Jack sat at the bar. Jack ordered a neat whiskey. Jack was having some issues. The last bust felt off, and not just because there were only two people there. Calling them druglords would be too much of a compliment to their success. They were gang bangers, pushing drugs on children without a care in the world, he shouldn't have been so heavy handed, but his temper got to him. He forked over a crumpled note and took the drink. In truth? He hated the taste of alcohol, and the smoke of cigars, ever since he became a divine being it didn't do anything to him anymore, the drink tasted awful and he never had enough cash to get him buzzed, so being drunk was out of the question, and the cigars never poisoned his lungs enough to accept the smoke, so he had to fight the urge to cough like a bitch every single time he lit one up. Another refusal to get used to the times, he lit one up anyway, though the barkeep quickly tapped on the 'No Smoking' sign, so he stubbed it out again with an apologetic smile. Things had changed a lot.

It took a lot to get used to the heightened senses, the extraordinary endurance and physical prowess, he felt like all of the time he had spent in his 'past' body was weighed down, choked and always gasping for breath in comparison. He hated it. He felt like a stranger in his own skin. "Some second chance." He slammed the whiskey. It didn't even go down smooth, it just went down. He watched the person next to him drunkenly make love to his tonic and gin. "Lucky bastard." He thought to himself, and shot the hammered man a short smile before leaving. He hoped he wouldn't have to arrest him for being drunk and disorderly later, it'd just be insult to injury then.

He stepped outside, and lit up the cigar again, looking up into the sky. He heard the sound of sirens in the distance, gunfire too, even at night the city didn't sleep. He was too far away to do anything about it, he figured. He looked back down at his boots, coughing from the smoke into a curled fist. He still remembered everything about that day. The station had bad coffee, and he was still going through the paperwork on the Watts case. A man who stole his weight in gold bullion, and was pulled over for a broken headlight. There was smoke in the air and he'd barely woken up when the call came out, an allout crossfire in a warehouse, an all-American crimelord and his gang had robbed a bank, cars were already on the scene and multiple officers had gone down, they were armed to the teeth. They left the desk-jockeys to their jobs and slid on the vests, slapped the uniforms on their chest and got in their cars.

It was a nice day to be out in the car. Sunny day, but not humid, the breeze went through his 85 Cadillac nice and he was well on his way. It would've been nice if the siren wasn't so loud, and the gunfire wasn't matching it. They arrived on the scene but it was a shitshow. He saw two people leading claret out of them, and both of them were uniformed. He hopped out, and ducked behind one of the cars, where two other people were taking snap-shots off. "Eight people inside. One injured, all with automatic weapons." Came the quick sitrep. He nodded direly and took a peek. A peek, that was it. He felt both the bullets go in and stay there. He heard the gurgling and choking as well, his hands were covered in blood already. He couldn't believe it was him.

He looked at the death-stick and breathed in some of the air instead. "Nothing better to do." He ditched it onto the floor and made strides toward the sounds of the sirens. He tucked his badge into his front pocket and adjusted the holster at his side. If anyone asked? He was on patrol.
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