Doc Doctor

{Dystopian Sci-fi} Soldiers of Fortune |SoF| {open}

@Zora

Nooo, that's not weird. Now THIS is weird.

{Dystopian Sci-fi} Soldiers of Fortune |SoF| {open}

@Zora

If you're not sure where to start, try just having your character cross paths with someone else's. Find some reason to stumble upon the rest of us.

{Dystopian Sci-fi} Soldiers of Fortune |SoF| {open}

@SmileyJaws

Synchronicity. Unlikely, meaningful coincidences. They say it's a small world, but really, it isn't. But you know. Anything can happen, and sometimes, it does.

"I swear, I don't know 'em! Try askin' Stevie Boy 'bout the Engineer!"

"Oh, Shush. Bog off with that now, Mister Ray. I'll not be having that. You /do/ know, and I know you know. Pick up your feet, will you?"

The hushed exchange occurred not fifteen feet from where Yuri had briefly exchanged flirts with a street gal, at the entrance to an alley between a casino and a restaurant. A gaunt man wearing a suit and thick glasses was roughly guiding a balding fellow in an apron deeper into the alley. This was dirt, if dirt there ever was. Should Yuri follow the two at a safe distance, keeping out of sight, they'd eventually reach the back of a dilapidated apartment building. The exterior of the structure was dimly aglow with crimson and blue light, flickering bulbs protruding from the walls. It meant that the building was soon to be "restructured". In the olden days, one might have brought up the word "demolished", but that process, as it had been, was now vastly inferior to what currently existed. You didn't need to tear down buildings to make new ones, not anymore. Still, pity for the fool that was dumb enough to hide in a building whilst it was being restructured. He'd find himself thoroughly fused into the floor, or perhaps reduced to a pile of reconstituted meat inside of a random cabinet.

The lanky man with the spectacles stopped, having found a location he deemed suitable enough for the task at hand. He turned to address his companion, one hand folded neatly behind his back, the other softly stroking the schmuck's bald head. Ray flinched each time the black-gloved hand touched skin, as if he felt he were being brushed by something quite undesirable.

"Look, Xil Gil, I know why you'd come to me, right? I swears it, I do. If I knew, I'd have talked already, yeah? What alternative have I got, huh? You're puttin' me through the wringer for nothin'!"

Xil Gil. That was bad news. He was well known, but for what, none could say exactly. He was a sort of unintentional figurehead that stalked in the shadow of Eurocorp, and those that carelessly stepped upon that shadow sank into it, never to be seen again. His official position was "Chief Investigation Officer", though that was really one of those utterly meaningless corporate titles given to those who fulfill either no worthwhile role at all, or a task that is less than legal. One might find safer company amongst gangbangers. At least people had a rough idea of how gangbangers operated, how they went about their shenanigans. Who Xil Gil was and what his precise purpose was could only be speculated about within the sort of trashy magazines that claim several new celebrities are in danger of dying from heartbreak or obesity every two weeks. Being as inventive as they are, they've thrown all kinds of unsavory accusations Xil Gil's way. None stuck, and none had ever been addressed.

"Right then, so I've come to a dead end have I? Bollocks to that. You haven't been put through the wringer yet, Mister Ray. Shall we see what you've to say for yourself when you have, old horse?"

Xil Gil stepped closer to Ray, hand gliding down the back of the man's scalp and over his spine, coming to rest on his backside. Xil Gil gave the man's buttocks a squeeze.

"YEOW! Holy fuckin' titties!!"

Surprisingly, Ray screamed in pain from the squeeze and lurched into Xil Gil. The Brit was knocked off balance and tumbled backwards, falling into a sitting position through a large cardboard box. He sputtered indignantly and stood up, but could do so only partially as his ass was still wedged partially through the box, which was lifted up when he tried to stand.

"Tinny! Just Tinny!..."

After several moments he managed to shove the box off, proceeding to curtly brush himself clean afterwards. Ray hadn't made any move to escape, though he probably could have ran. Running did no good against these types. They had resources, they had lawyers, and they could find you in the system as easily as you may see a rat in a cage. He simply stood there, cheeks red and shoulders trembling. Xil Gil stepped forwards again, and this time with much more deliberation reached out to take Ray by the face. It was slow, deliberate, and the bald fellow didn't move an inch or raise a hand for himself. He bellowed in pain almost immediately, and the sound of leather squeaking could be heard. It wasn't leather though, but Ray's flesh. His crabby skin was stretched taut enough to reveal the curvature of his skull, Xil Gil's middle and ring fingers digging into the soft meat beneath Ray's eyes. His head was gradually forced backwards at a steep angle as he sagged to his knees, groaning. Were one to listen closely, they'd be able to hear his cervical vertebrae creaking dangerously, on the verge of...

"Oh, cabbage. Now who could that be?"

A muffled fart, shortly thereafter followed by a homeless man running into view. False alarm.

{Dystopian Sci-fi} Soldiers of Fortune |SoF| {open}

@SmileyJaws

My body is ready.

{Dystopian Sci-fi} Soldiers of Fortune |SoF| {open}

@Ashevelendar

I hate drunk drivers. IMO, when some asshole gets into a motor vehicle while intoxicated, he's in the process of attempting murder.

Glad you didn't get hurt too bad by the mofo.

{Dystopian Sci-fi} Soldiers of Fortune |SoF| {open}

Xil Gil

Name: Xillian "Xil Gil" Giles
Age: Thirty-two
Sex: Yes please
Gender: Male
Notoriety 0

Appearance: Xil Gil by all means appears to be a douchebag's rendition of a quintessential, stiff-gaited British salary man. He stands six feet tall, 180 pounds (He looks like he should weigh less, but you know, he's full of metal shit), with coke bottle glasses, tidy hair, and tea-stained teeth. He is never seen without a pair of black gloves on.

Personality: Xil Gil comes across as a character you'd see in Monty Python. Everything about him screams "awful British humor". He's well-mannered but prone to accidental offences, a true upper-class twit. He enjoys the little things in life, and decidedly avoids discussions of a complex nature. Xil Gil is shallow and superficial, his quirky tidbits doing nothing to alleviate the unbridled cruelty with which he visits upon those his employers deem "troublesome". If anything, one could call Xil Gil a Bondian henchman and be right on the money.

Funny – Ruthless – Polite – Moronic

Bio: Xillian Giles had a fine upbringing in (formerly) Great Britain, though he had poor showings in school. Despite his poor aptitude he proved himself to be a hard worker and managed to claw his way into the Ministry of Defence, secret service. Hmm? His childhood? Not everyone has interesting childhoods, least of all little English turd tukeys. Trust me, it's boring. After a few years he migrated to Europa and found work in Eurocorp. They appreciated his talents, and did their best to put him to good use. He was fitted with cybernetic enhancements and told to discreetly kill those that undermine the company. An assassin? No. A mercenary? Not that. You've gotta call it what it is, the lable on the can. They helped Xil Gil to become a murderer.

People began disappearing at a greater rate than before. Opponents of Eurocorp, some quite famous, vanishing into thin air. Every force has its Red Baron. The one that people learn to fear. Is Xil Gil feared? Let's just say that he can get an empty table at any restaurant, at any time.

District: None specific. He is always on the move, workin' overtime.

Weapon(s): Xil Gil uses his hands. His mitts are completely robotic, and their strength is such that he can crush the skull of a cyber soldier in his grip as if their head were an egg. He can squeeze the juice out of an engine block. He can rub a quarter between two fingers and reduce it to warm shavings. This man gives steel girders Indian sunburns. You get the idea. The raw power of his pinching phalanges can make an industrial hydraulic press wet in the panties. The high tension single-atom filament muscle fibers and fiber optic nerve cables situated throughout his entire body serve only to make his paws as ridiculously strong as possible. Most of his frame is, metaphorically speaking, a pulley-system that powers his hands and wrists.

This being the case, it should be obvious why he likes to shake hands in dark alleys.

Armour: Since most of the sinew and bone in his body is interwoven with composite metals to power his crushing grip, Xil Gil is quite the tank. His body serves as its own protection, and he can endure as much dakka as can one touting a full set of heavy battle armor (and since it's his own body, his weight remains relatively low). His innards are studded with electrostatic transformers that create a field which reduces the effect ion blasts have on his circuitry. All in all, he's almost as tough to put down as the Terminator.

Cybernetics: His feet are purely cybernetic like his hands, but for another purpose. The circumference of his soles are flanked by retractable claws which can dig into concrete or seal against metal via magnetism. The primary purpose of this is to allow him to walk up walls to get at hard-to-reach victims and maintain sure footing in combat.
His brain also has a few chips in it that allow him to process information at a faster rate than what a normal human is capable of, juicing up his reflexes real good-like.

Account Balance: 2500 creds

Other: Despite Xil Gil's toughness and hand-to-hand killing power, he likes to avoid direct confrontations. He lacks the ability to deal with long-ranged attacks, and contrary to the public's perception of what a cyborg is capable of, he's actually no faster than a normal man. Yup, that's right. Xil Gil has no speed enhancements or guns. If you can outrun your average fit Brit, then you can outrun and most likely outmaneuver Xil Gil. Needless to say more physically balanced cyborgs can run absolute rings around him, and a good marksman can Kobe his ass from a hundred yards easy. He's also not exactly the brightest bulb in the basement, and can be outsmarted if somebody has the presence of mind to try and bluff him. The only conceivable way Xil Gil can nail a competent opponent is if he catches them unawares and grabs them before they can bolt. If he does manage to grab said opponent though, what usually follows is ghastly enough to make John Carpenter ralph in a baggie.

{Dystopian Sci-fi} Soldiers of Fortune |SoF| {open}

@SmileyJaws

This looks sick. I noticed your roleplay this morning and instantly got inspired to make a new character. Here he is, hope everything fits the bill!

Xil Gil

Name: Xillian "Xil Gil" Giles
Age: Thirty-two
Sex: Yes please
Gender: Male
Notoriety 0

Appearance: Xil Gil by all means appears to be a douchebag's rendition of a quintessential, stiff-gaited British salary man. He stands six feet tall, 180 pounds (He looks like he should weigh less, but you know, he's full of metal shit), with coke bottle glasses, tidy hair, and tea-stained teeth. He is never seen without a pair of black gloves on.

Personality: Xil Gil comes across as a character you'd see in Monty Python. Everything about him screams "awful British humor". He's well-mannered but prone to accidental offences, a true upper-class twit. He enjoys the little things in life, and decidedly avoids discussions of a complex nature. Xil Gil is shallow and superficial, his quirky tidbits doing nothing to alleviate the unbridled cruelty with which he visits upon those his employers deem "troublesome". If anything, one could call Xil Gil a Bondian henchman and be right on the money.

Funny – Ruthless – Polite – Moronic

Bio: Xillian Giles had a fine upbringing in (formerly) Great Britain, though he had poor showings in school. Despite his poor aptitude he proved himself to be a hard worker and managed to claw his way into the Ministry of Defence, secret service. Hmm? His childhood? Not everyone has interesting childhoods, least of all little English turd tukeys. Trust me, it's boring. After a few years he migrated to Europa and found work in Eurocorp. They appreciated his talents, and did their best to put him to good use. He was fitted with cybernetic enhancements and told to discreetly kill those that undermine the company. An assassin? No. A mercenary? Not that. You've gotta call it what it is, the lable on the can. They helped Xil Gil to become a murderer.

People began disappearing at a greater rate than before. Opponents of Eurocorp, some quite famous, vanishing into thin air. Every force has its Red Baron. The one that people learn to fear. Is Xil Gil feared? Let's just say that he can get an empty table at any restaurant, at any time.

District: None specific. He is always on the move, workin' overtime.

Weapon(s): Xil Gil uses his hands. His mitts are completely robotic, and their strength is such that he can crush the skull of a cyber soldier in his grip as if their head were an egg. He can squeeze the juice out of an engine block. He can rub a quarter between two fingers and reduce it to warm shavings. This man gives steel girders Indian sunburns. You get the idea. The raw power of his pinching phalanges can make an industrial hydraulic press wet in the panties. The high tension single-atom filament muscle fibers and fiber optic nerve cables situated throughout his entire body serve only to make his paws as ridiculously strong as possible. Most of his frame is, metaphorically speaking, a pulley-system that powers his hands and wrists.

This being the case, it should be obvious why he likes to shake hands in dark alleys.

Armour: Since most of the sinew and bone in his body is interwoven with composite metals to power his crushing grip, Xil Gil is quite the tank. His body serves as its own protection, and he can endure as much dakka as can one touting a full set of heavy battle armor (and since it's his own body, his weight remains relatively low). His innards are studded with electrostatic transformers that create a field which reduces the effect ion blasts have on his circuitry. All in all, he's almost as tough to put down as the Terminator.

Cybernetics: His feet are purely cybernetic like his hands, but for another purpose. The circumference of his soles are flanked by retractable claws which can dig into concrete or seal against metal via magnetism. The primary purpose of this is to allow him to walk up walls to get at hard-to-reach victims and maintain sure footing in combat.
His brain also has a few chips in it that allow him to process information at a faster rate than what a normal human is capable of, juicing up his reflexes real good-like.

Account Balance: 2500 creds

Other: Despite Xil Gil's toughness and hand-to-hand killing power, he likes to avoid direct confrontations. He lacks the ability to deal with long-ranged attacks, and contrary to the public's perception of what a cyborg is capable of, he's actually no faster than a normal man. Yup, that's right. Xil Gil has no speed enhancements or guns. If you can outrun your average fit Brit, then you can outrun and most likely outmaneuver Xil Gil. Needless to say more physically balanced cyborgs can run absolute rings around him, and a good marksman can Kobe his ass from a hundred yards easy. He's also not exactly the brightest bulb in the basement, and can be outsmarted if somebody has the presence of mind to try and bluff him. The only conceivable way Xil Gil can nail a competent opponent is if he catches them unawares and grabs them before they can bolt. If he does manage to grab said opponent though, what usually follows is ghastly enough to make John Carpenter ralph in a baggie.

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

Arena Chat Thread

Been working on a werewolf character. The twist? The poor bastard is utterly infested with all kinds of parasites. Mange, ticks, scabies, various worms, you name it.

Problem is trying to obtain good images to represent him. There are surprisingly few pics of ugly, diseased werewolves.

Crime Bosses

@Flightless_Soul@Vas Khaleen@KaijuBaragon

Donny was paying careful attention to the conversation. He was applying for a job here. Somebody his potential employer didn't like was nearby. Somebody that warranted enough of a reaction to make another hired killer prepare their firearm.

But none of that really mattered. What was important was the perfect opening for some business that Linda had provided.

-----
"I just wanted you to remember somethin' Becca The Bastards are here; we ain't leaving bar you or the goddamn Russians."
-----

Whilst Linda was finishing up with her speech, Donny neatly plucked a cigarette from his pocket and poked it into the corner of his mouth. The left hand dipped back down and silently retrieved his lighter.

*Click*

He took a few light puffs, tendrils of smoke coiling from his nostrils.

Then, before Linda stood up, Donny lashed out with his left foot to knock out the nearest rear leg of the chair she was sitting in to make her topple backwards. It happened fast, without warning.
Should Linda fall, then by the time she figured out what had happened, whether it was an accident or not, she'd notice probably the biggest hand gun she had ever seen outside of a movie aiming down at her. The hitman had a strong center of gravity, and his eyes were sharper than coffin nails. If she make any sudden or suspicious moves, if she reached towards anything, he'd probably blow her head clean off.

"Rhi-Rhi won't shoot ya. But ol' Donneh? Ayuh, Ah will. Yuh can bar Miss Rebeccah an' thuh Russians. Jus' yuh don't group Ol' Donneh in with 'em. Naow then...

"Don't call for yuh friends outside. They'll die if yuh do."

The son of a bitch actually intended to take Linda hostage.

Arena Chat Thread

@Carrot

Let's see the character sheet. Sounds like a fun match!