ERode

Deep Ground Online (Hiatus)

Uwah, that was one hell of an edgy bastard. Horribly out of place in the Faded City’s cyberpunk aesthetic was some cartoonish humanoid monster in garishly yellow armor, featuring a single cyclopean eye and hair so spiky that it HAD to be something that was weaponizable. Pink hair and blue skin as well, made him look more like some mid-boss in a JRPG rather than a player, and after watching his salty rampage through a bunch of weakling dissolutions, Mauve Night nodded to herself.

Yup, this guy was good to fight. Same level, from a different guild, and didn’t look like a filthy mage or a cheap-ass speed-spammer. That dash maneuver looked like he may be the bitchy type who’d dash away if things got rough for him, but hey, that was fine! As long as she could land in a couple hits early on, it wouldn’t be difficult at all to land in more hits later, even if he decided to turn and run!

“Yo, porcupine head,” she called out from above, “Grinding for levels? Or are you just salty that the Bruisers got wiped?”

Dropping from two stories above, Mauve Night landed on the dissipating remnants of one of the Dissolutions he had onepunched, and grinned at one-eyed demonic dark elf thing.

“Cause I want to get a fun win, and you look better than the mage-types and speedsters that are popping up these days. So let’s do it! I’ll say…countdown of five seconds before I splatter you in four minutes?”

Was she being a bit aggressive? Probably. But he looked like he was on rageroids already. Surely a light jab like this wasn't going to make him any grouchier than he already was, right?
@Lord of Evil

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Four out of six. For such an explosive attack, Brent was surprised that it didn’t do nearly as much as expected. Past the veil of smoke, five other dogs were charging into the fray as well, their centipede brethren joining in on the fight.

That was enough information.

“Offensive Support, listen up,” he began, pressing against the radio, “Five are charging in from the distance, forwards through the smokescreen. Someone needs to drag Hazel out or clear away the dust.”

Brent chewed on the inside of his mouth. Could any of them even hear him in such a violently loud environment?

“Spiders are spinning a web. Don’t know what for, but might want to stop them soon.”

He scanned over the rest of the area with his scope, but nothing else of note popped up. The overclocked scope felt warm within the palm of his hands, and the arbiter turned his attention to the constantly updating map once more. Holding the phone still, he rearranged himself into a more comfortable position, watching the movements of the larger beings and gulped.

Gods, they were all converging upon Gregory’s point. Some sort of radio-based communication between all four of them? Brent narrowed his eyes, trying to imagine how fast Gregory could move over the rubble-filled terrain. Could he outpace the speed that those behemoths moved? If Gregory moved east, he’d be leading the giants towards him. If he went north, they’d pick up Offensive Support, no doubt. If he went south, he’d be running into them.

“Angelic,” Brent said, “Can you all take on four of those giant things we heard?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” came the stressed reply.

A deep breath expelled from the amethyst-eyed youth’s body. Sounded like a no.

“Grego, head west, on the main road. There’s enough rubble to keep you out of eyesight, and maybe deter them. Pay attention to where your feet are going. The giant dots are all converging on your location. Probably got a lock on you or something. Lead them away from everyone else.”

Fuck, this wasn’t really winning at all, but if a lost battle brought forth a won war…

“You’re on your own for now. Chris may be able to assist soon.”

Who supports the supporters?

No one.

He tasted a bit of blood in his mouth, as Brent resumed observations, eyes flickering from the map to the battlegrounds and back again.

Cliffnotes

Scope: First Clock (5 minutes)
Buffed towards improving visibility. Infrared light used to filter out visual obscurants.

Remaining in position.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Ah, there she was, missing the point again.

Brent suppressed a chuckle as Angelic let out a scream, the sonic blast smacking one of the birds right out of the air. He had intended on her using her superhuman voice to say something encouraging or badass, but…this was probably a better use of her power anyways. They were doing well, if nothing else. With the support of the Remnants of the Main Team, not a single clockwork monster had made it past their offense. Things were going down, and now, up in the sky, Brent could see the dark form of Chris, catapulting through the air towards the birds that he hid from. Good, he could breathe a little more ea-

The sky burned red, a searing beam remaining in his vision long after it had faded.

He could feel the sudden burst of heat even at a distance, and immediately, Angelic’s voice crackled through the radio, filled with worry, even as she had her own problems to deal with. Brent’s jaw tightened, swallowing the bile that had crept up his throat. The raven-haired x-marked was kind, but she had her own things to worry about. Sander was invulnerable, and Callan was strong. If they were done in before even reaching Factory, that wouldn’t even be funny as a joke. They were alive.

He forced himself to believe that, and soon, it turned out that his beliefs were correct.

His gas mask hissed again, taking in the filtered, rubbery air that he had now become accustomed to.

Angelic, Siena, Emma, Grant, and Hazel were all handling things well. Chris had just tore apart a flock of birds by himself. Sander and Callan, judging by the map on the phone, were both going strong after all, reaching Factory. Healer teams weren’t close to any of the giant fatties that were lumbering around. Evacuation team was just cruising on by, hopefully with the ability to run over any clockwork mooks that were in their way. But…

“Grego,” Brent said, bringing up the phone closer, “Giant thing is real close. How th- Can you escape? Need any help?”

One thing that was problematic with these radio phones: no messaging capabilities. If the clockwork giant had the ability to hear, Gregory would be pretty screwed if he tried to respond. But on the other hand…how did that thing get so close without the blond x-marked noticing anyways? The Arbiter bit his lower lip, before balancing his phone on his knee. The map was useful. He really shouldn’t be keeping it in his pockets, lest he end up like Gregory.

Turning his attention back to Offensive Support, the youth clicked his tongue at the rising smoke that obstructed his vision. Hazel had launched another one of her explosive attacks, and now, it looked like the Aberration was shrouded in dust, blinded by her own attack. It was thin enough that he could make out the shadow of her form, standing at the edges of the smokescreen, but Brent unattached the scope from his gun anyways.

The function was improving visibility. The improvement was adding infrared capabilities. The inspiration was in the equipment firefighters used to see through smoke.

Silver circuits ran beneath his skin, dimmed slightly by the wishalloy before touching scope, filling it with a fluorescence. It disassembled and reassembled within an instant, noticeably bulkier, with the lenses a shade of red instead of clear. He brought it up to his right eye, peered through, and breathed. The smoke and any other obscurant was gone, replaced by a light shade of grey that indicated where it still was. Though reduced to black and white, he could clearly see Hazel’s form, as well as that of the clockwork dogs within.

If they were still alive, if they were still moving, if they were using this dust cloud as cover to attack unseen angles, Brent would be ready to alert Offensive Support.

His gun was in his right hand, but it lingered, close to the radio, ready to snatch it up immediately if those monsters had survived Hazel’s second destructive wave.

Cliffnotes

Scope: First Clock (0 minutes)
Buffed towards improving visibility. Infrared light used to filter out visual obscurants.

Remaining in position.

Deep Ground Online (Hiatus)

“I’m home.”

No, she wasn’t.

A small suite with a living room, a kitchen, and a bathroom wasn’t a home. It was just a temporary abode for Moe to crash in. Discarding her raincoat, she shook the water off it outside, before hanging it on a coatrack. Spare droplets still dripped down onto the linoleum floor, but the pink-haired girl didn’t pay much attention to that. Her barefeet slapped against the wooden boards as she strode over to the refrigerator. Power drinks and ingredients for sandwiches welcomed her, as well as a bag of frozen mandarins.

The girl closed her eyes, imagining how tasty last week’s ramen was, before shaking those delusions away. Food was tasty. She needed to stop dawdling about and learn how to cook for herself. Ramen wasn’t even that hard to make. Just the soup base and then noodles, at the very base.

Still, Moe didn’t feel like trying anything today, and the rain hadn’t let up at all from her trip back home. Twisting open the cap of a fruity power drink, she guzzled down the entire bottle before pulling a few pieces of ham to jam in her mouth. Settling down on her comfy bed, Moe closed her eyes. She’d get fat from this, eating and then sleeping, but…

…she still had steam to release.

Stepping into the other side of the world, where datastreams were made visible and everything was controlled by ones and zeroes, Mauve Night stared up at the dark skies, feeling the abnormal sensation of simulated wind. The Faded City was as gloomy and cyberpunk-esque as ever, and as she closed her eyes, she could hear scraps of combat throughout the expansive landscape. Her buddies from the Reds had been rather needy recently, always wanting to drag her along for Dissolution-hunting missions like a bunch of White wannabes, and thus, she found herself looking at the neon lights of the Faded Spires more often.

Goddamn weaklings. If they wanted to git gud and crack open masked heads, they should be fighting people, not monsters.

Another unpleasant memory replayed in her head, and the red-eyed Avatar’s grip tightened. There was combat somewhere, and she was particularly interested in stress relief.

Time to go a-hunting.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

He became accustomed to it, for what it was worth. The flames, the trash, the blood, the constant need to swivel one’s eyes around in every direction. There had been a sense of comfort, approaching the battlefield in a group of powerhouses, but even then, the rumbling of massive machines could be heard. The flying snake stood out as a symbol of just how massive Factory’s automatons could be, and once Brent separated from Offensive Support in order to reach his own location, his heartbeat only rose.

He had a gun with limited ammunition and a machete that was more useful for chopping shrubbery than steel. Perhaps he should have grabbed more guns after all, but with no opportunity to practice with them…

He had to optimize his spare time better. The handgun was a good start, but he should have stayed persistent, requesting heavier arms earlier. Not that it’d help him here. Alone, Brent strode through rubble-filled streets, trigger finger pressed against the side of the polished steel of the Desert Eagle. The map had told him roughly where the enemies were congregated, but who knows how accurate it was? A shotgun would have been nice, huh? In case one of those monsters were just lurking inside a building. Blast it away in a single Overclocked buckshot, before pulling out the machete and slicing it into ribbons.

Brent breathed deeply, readjusting his gas mask. The filtered air tasted of rubber, but it was better than dying to a random gas attack. His grip tightened over the phone as it cracked to life. Ping locations that survivors are found in? Irrelevant for him. The areas before him were shaded heavily with orange, property destroyed via collateral damage. Chunks of concrete and rebar formed mounds that could be climbed over, but not hidden in. The main team, or, what remained of it, was doing good work, huh? His grip loosened on the phone and grasped for his machete instead.

The Flag and Seek game came to mind. Taking too big of a risk for, ultimately, no reward. Jumping down into a group with no immediate backup, nor any plan of taking them all out before the surprise wears down. He really didn’t have any support right now, and Brent’s gaze only continued to sharpen as he entered the apartment complex.

Who supports the supporters?

No one.

Four flights of stairs, and then a trip down a hallway of scattered belongings. Clothes, dented cans, toys. Not a single door locked, many of them ajar. A few were busted off the hinges, leading to rooms with bloodstains and no people, the walls shredded by jagged appendages. Within, even as explosions from the warzone shook the building, there was a distinct silence, the emptiness of it all ringing in his ears. Breath hissed from the dual filters of his mask, the pounding of his own heart echoing in his skull. Something crinkled below his feet as Brent marched into an arbitrarily chosen room, closing the door behind him even if the lock was busted. Furniture was strewn about, and a display rack over the faux fireplace was empty. A crib laid in the corner. A portrait remained upright on a work desk. The bedroom was only large enough for a single person.

But what was important was the patio, glass shards sprinkled all over it. Stepping out onto it, the brunette pushed the toppled-over BBQ grill away, eyeing the propane tank curiously. The flamethrower of his dreams?

Ah, already punctured.

Clicking the safety off, he cocked the hand cannon and brought the cellphone out.

Suppress and re-focus.

“This is Brent, in position. Angelic, looks like Hazel’s already begun the ass-kicking, but how ‘bout you play as our Joan of Arc and start things off with a proper warcry? Announce the debut of Experimental Group B and blow this terrifying atmosphere out of the skies!”

With that said, Brent shuffled over to the toppled grill, using it as a little more cover, another thing to hide behind as Factory's birds flew through the air, still not challenged by Chris.

The sniper life was real tough, huh? He couldn’t even hit anything at this range.

Cliffnotes

Brent is on the fourth floor of the apartment building, on the patio of one of the rooms facing the direction of Offensive Support. He is crouched beside a BBQ grill, and as so far not overclocked anything.

Deep Ground Online (Hiatus)

Salt everywhere.

Deep Ground Online (Hiatus)

One-two one-two, her fists went in and out, striking an enemy that existed only in her mind.

One-two one-two, she swayed from side to side, dodging invisible blows that sought to take her head off if it landed cleanly.

One-two one-two, she stepped in and out, imagining the range of her foe’s arms, magenta eyes flickering about.

It was all image training, and the cold autumn wind made things so much more unpleasant, but Moe didn’t care. Nor did she care about all the strange looks she got from other students passing by, who’d turn and scurry away the moment they entered her field of vision. She cared about none of this crap, because, for the past week or so, everyone in her class was talking about DGO. Oh, boohoo, adults didn’t give a shit. Oh, boohoo, Masks took advantage of the lack of shits given and kicked your ass. Did they enjoy their little self-pity party? Did it make them feel them better about their otherwise pathetic lives?

The atmosphere was stifling, irritating, and, more than that, absolutely GARBAGE.

Sweat, no, rain dripped from her brow, the pink-haired girl picking up the pace, pummeling the foe that only she could see. As if she could clear this depressing atmosphere that those glass-jawed babies created just by punching shit.

A final strike towards nothingness ended her routine, and she brought her fists to her sides, letting out a deep breath. This…was enough for now.

White mist escaped her lips, the warmth of her own blood preventing her from feeling the chill that the weather would cause to her core. She looked at her fingers, clammy and red from how cold it was and grimaced. Pissed her off way too much. Moe shook some life into her fingers, hid them in the sleeves of her raincoat, before stomping off the muddy fields. She smirked at a passing couple, huddled together like a bunch of hobos too poor to purchase two umbrellas.

Heh, dependent weaklings.

As if to drive in the point, she walked through the same puddle that they avoided.

Small things like that really did make her feel better, huh?

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Greg and Brent's Spectacular Lunch Time Romp

12:30, Cafeteria

Time: 12:30
Ah, he was beat. Perhaps he overdid it after all, with all his experimentations. The silver blood that rested within his core had waned during his time at Ground Zero, and after two hours of blowing shit up in the rain, all Brent wanted to do was eat lunch and nap until it was time to leave. The thought of it made him smile. Was he channeling his inner Grant now?

Grabbing an assorted bunch of sandwiches and a frosty glass of 2% white milk, Brent brought out his phone and tossed a message to his buddy Grego.

Yo, down for lunch and chit-chat?

He stifled another yawn before glancing away from his laptop towards the phone next to it. Sitting up properly as he took his feet off the table, Gregory quirked an eyebrow when he noticed the time that popped up as he turned on the device. ‘Geez.’ He’d spent more time aimlessly on the laptop than he had expected.

Sure. Be there in 10.

A quick look towards the window revealed that the rain hadn’t let up completely just yet, so he grabbed the slightly wet jacket off the door it hanged from before he left the room. One of the carrying bags for the things he’d gotten on the second day was slung over the shoulder. The laptop screen remained on, with the occasional thing flashing or scrolling past. Something to come back to after the mission was finished with.

The smell of hot food urged Gregory to find his seat quickly, which was easy enough since he’d spotted Brent while putting his things away. Setting the fully laden tray onto the table in front of Brent, he fell into the seat without much grace. “So, what’d you want to chit-chat about?” With that out of the way, he started on his meal and took some comfort in the soup’s warmth.

Ten minutes? More like 11 minutes and 32 seconds. By the time Gregory had arrived, Brent was already halfway finished with his own sandwich fiesta...and that was with him restraining himself. Waving the blond boy over, he waited for him to get settled down from as he sipped on his milk.

“Just checking up on my partner in crime and all,” Brent replied with a typical smile, “And, you know, the whole ‘hurrdurr my power is this, your power is what’ sort of deal.”

“Well I haven’t keeled over,” Gregory muttered as he set the empty bowl aside. Tilting his head a bit, he had imagined that despite their assignment to the same task they would have just been keeping out of each other’s way. Each of them take half the area or something, y’know. It was no reason not to be aware of what Brent was capable of though he supposed.

“Sure, you can go first I guess.” Brent seemed to have finished off a good chunk of his meal, and there was maybe only an hour or so before the guards came knocking for them to be sent out. He still wanted some time at GZ if he could make it.

“Object enhancement. Can do it three times, with each buff lasting ten minutes. Must be touching the object in order to do so. Object can’t be magical in any form,” Brent blandly replied, not interested at all in reexplaining his magic, “Gonna be buffing up a gun and going on a shooting spree. You?”

“Acceleration. Doesn’t work on living beings. Touch’em, mark’em, and draw a line on a nearby surface. Speed corresponds with length of line. Max weight is probably something like 200 lbs.” All of that was said in between bites of his ravioli, and Gregory frowned briefly at the thought of the coming task. “Probably keep out of the way and try not to spear one of the others by accident.”

“Draw a line?” Brent cocked an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to be, just a general direction for your objects to go?”

“Basically,” Gregory replied with a shrug. “It’s not exactly accurate, so at the distance we’ll, hopefully, be from the others it’ll be a shitshow.”

“Huh, and how many lines can you keep up at once anyways?”

“One. Oh right, the line’s six meters at its longest, so it takes a few seconds to even draw.”

“Eh…” Six meters, huh? “Does the line like...disappear after you use it or something?”

“It’s specific to whatever object is marked, so yeah.”

“Wow,” Brent laughed, “Sounds like a pain in the ass.” Still, the destructive power had some degree of use. If Hazel’s power proved less effective than imagined against those inanimate clockwork beasts, Grego accelerating toilets into those might help.

Or it might just break against the brass and iron.

“Guess you’ll be going camping?”

“Yeah, it’s a huge one,” he agreed, pausing his eating to take a drink of juice. “Camping?” He seemed to think about that for a moment before he ended up shaking his head. “Naw. Marking the objects lights them up with some magic circle bullshit, so I’m probably bailing after a shot or two. Depends on the reaction I guess.”

“Hm...you know how much you weigh?”

“Dunno. 160 to 170? Less than the weight limit though. This better not involve launching people.”

“Naw, just figuring how much of your fat ass I’m going to have to lug around,” he replied, “Got a bike, right? If we’re supposed to be mobile ranged support, it’s probably a good idea if we got some actual mobility.”

“Yeah, it’s not meant to be a two-seater, though I guess you can do something about that? We should probably test that out beforehand. We’ve got like an hour or two left.”

An hour or two...and a bike would be fairly large as well. Brent clenched and unclenched his left hand, feeling the strength that remained in his body. It would have to be enough. Just keep it short and how draining it was. A single-seater bike becoming a two-seater. He had done three seats with the dragon-saddle.

Shouldn’t be hard at all.

“Yeah, sounds like a plan,” Brent nodded, “You planning on heading to Ground Zero for this, or can we just do it, like, immediately after you get your bike out?”

Leaning back into the seat and munching on a cookie, Gregory glanced towards the coat room and sighed quietly. Well, it wasn’t like the missed practice would make a big difference. “We might as well head over to Grounds Zero. The town’s probably in just as bad condition. Sides, we can test things on the way there.”

“I mean, it’s not like there’s much to test,” Brent replied, “Could probably get there faster on a motorized bike than anything else.”

There was a pause as he finished the rest of his milk.

“Right, if you touch an object and draw a line that’s more than six meters, what happens?”

“What, are the enhancements random?” He could only pray that they didn’t wind up with something that caught the rider by surprise if that was the case… Not exactly inspiring, but this whole “operation” was sorely lacking that department already.

“Nothing. Line stops at six meters, and I’m stuck until I finish it.”

“Naw, only the third is random, so we have like, a hell lot of space for that. And wait…so if you’re dragged by a car or something, and do your whole line drawing thing...you’ll be stuck in place even with said car pulling you away?”

“Not sure how external forces would work, haven’t tried. Ideally my power would just fire off, but who knows. Might rip my arm off,” Gregory finished with a shrug.

“Something else to test then, right? Done eating yet?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” Swiping another cookie from his tray, Gregory munched on it as he dropped the tray off and then picked up his belongings.

“Cool. Lead the way, Grego.” With that, Brent pulled his raincoat over his clothes once more. Glancing through the glass walls, he was slightly relieved that the rain, while not stopping yet, was becoming softer. The whole ‘cycling through Maryland while shooting shit up’ plan wouldn’t be nearly as safe with heavy rain, after all.

Within a few minutes, the two were out of the cafeteria and setting a brisk pace towards the dorms.

Fiddling with the combination lock on his bike, Gregory shook his head in annoyance as water drops fell from it. A second try finally unlocked it and he wheeled it out of the rack towards Brent. “So who’s riding passenger?”

“I’ll ride in the back. You can tag objects with your feet too, right?”

“Yeah, as long as I touch it.” Kicking the pedal and letting the chain run for a moment, Gregory took a seat and waited for Brent to do the same. “Let me know what you’re going to do to the bike before you do it, yeah?”

“Set up will probably be this,” Brent explained, keeping his hands away from the bike for the time being, “First I’ll be turning the bike into one of those tandem bikes. Then, I’ll improve the handling, so we can do quick turns and all that without falling over like a bunch of losers.”

He cracked his knuckles. It would be nice if they could get an Overclock centered around speed as well, but considering their lack of protective gear, a high speed crash was going to wreck them.

“Sounds good?”

Pedalling with a passenger was more annoying than Gregory remembered, but he managed nonetheless despite a slow start. “Good enough…” He seemed to have more to say, but dismissed it with a shake of his head. “You try anything with rappelling gear or the like? Hustling up and down building’s gonna eat up a lot of time.”

“Naw, was mainly just brushing up on my more offensive skills. All the climbing in the world’s not gonna do me much good if I’m going to have to put a bullet into someone, eh?” As he spoke, Brent pedalled along as well, one hand on the handlebar while another grasped an imaginary gun.

“What are you plans for Ground Zero anyways? Gonna try drawing circles?”

Riding in tandem was an odd sensation, but one he quickly ignored. “Fair enough. And just using it as a range. Still can’t lead for shit, but might as well get some practice in not hitting the others.”

“Oh, right, while we’re here…” Brent leaned from side to side, before spotting a discarded soda can on the road. “...how bout you test that whole six meter thing on that can? See if you or the can gets sent flying.”

Turning the bike slightly so it headed towards the can, Gregory reached down with a foot to tap the piece of trash as they rode by. Dragging his foot along the road left behind a path for a few moments before it abruptly ended at the 6m mark, though the two of them continued unimpeded. Squeezing the brakes, he turned the bike by that foot to look back at the result with a soft, “Huh.”

Lifting the foot sent the can hurtling down the marked path until its practically non-existent weight caused it to fall to the ground harmlessly. “Well that’s mostly useless,” he remarked with a click of his tongue before balancing the bike and starting to pedal again.

“Useless? What, did you want to get dragged off?”

“That’d be more, “Wow this power of mine actually wants to kill me,” y’know?”

“I mean, hey, now we can pretend to be a tank, right? Shit your bricks and then send them flying in the direction of wherever we’re going!”

“S’long as there’s nothing we care about ahead of us. Sides, a sidecar would work better for that wouldn’t it?”

“Feel like tandem would be better for mobility and that sorta jazz. Two people peddling and more narrow.”

“Guess the tank idea’ll wait for another time then. We’re still on the first enhancement?” The campus grounds were just behind them now, but there was probably a minute or so until they hit Ground Zero proper.

“Yeah, I’ll test the second one now,” Brent said, before dipping into his reserves once more. Underneath the two, the frame of the two-seater bike creaked and twisted, before turning into something much sleeker. A black frame with silver highlights, the handles in front resembling a performance bike, while there appeared to be…

“Well, training wheels aren’t that bad, I suppose.”

Feeling the bike warp and shift beneath him was even odder, but it was a quick change at the least. Blinking a few times before he looked for himself, there were indeed a pair of training wheels. “How do training whe-” Cutting himself off, Gregory shook his head as he wrenched the handles to the side and put the enhancement to the test.

It certainly handled...oddly well. Even when leaning towards the side to drag his foot against the ground, the bike’s training wheels kept it from falling over, while sharp turns were still performed with some degree of ease. Was it the lightness of the frame? The improved balance? Regardless, the two cruised fairly well towards Ground Zero, the tires of the bike almost unaffected by the rain.

“Yup,” Brent said as they arrived to the killing grounds once more, “That went better than expected.”

Considering how it didn’t explode underneath them and all.

Not eating asphalt was pleasant enough for Gregory. Slowing to a halt without any problems despite the rain, he nodded in agreement with Brent before asking, “Going to try a third?” He readjusted the bag that was slung over his shoulder before looking towards the buildings around them, looking for one that was suitable.

“Third is where there’s a chance of the bike exploding underneath our asses,” Brent grinned, “Feeling dangerous?”

“That just means we get to skip out, and ‘sides, I didn’t pay for it.” Wearing a matching grin Gregory nodded as he tapped a foot, wondering what the hell would happen next.

“Eh, I mean, that just sounds like a bad time for me.” Brent looked at Gregory, wondering if the blondie had masochistic tendencies. “Christmas would probably just bleed on us to heal our ruptured anuses anyways.”

“Right, there’s a healer.” Scratching at the side of his face as he was reminded of that, Gregory shrugged in the end. “So, no go?”

“Not unless we need to. Probably a bad idea to wreck your ride before you even get to use it, right?”

“Fair enough.” Rolling his shoulders, Gregory kicked out the kickstand for the bike before hopping off. “If you don’t have anything else in mind, I’m gonna get some practice in.”

“Yeah, go knock yourself out.” Brent leaned against a wall, prepared to amuse himself with Grego’s antics. ”Actually, if you think about it, getting knocked out would probably be a good way to get out of this situation, huh?”

“Brain damage’s a bit much.” Gregory fumbled around his pack for a bit before he pulled out a roll of red duct tape and walked towards a building down the block, ripping off strips along the way. Ignoring the one resident that he saw, he spaced a few X’s out on the wall before he made his way back.

He didn’t spare more than a glance at Brent before he entered one of the dilapidated buildings and hustled up to the second floor where he promptly smashed out one of the windows. It wasn’t long before there was a glow, though it was much longer after that for anything to actually happen. Almost a minute in fact before a grey blur smashed apart raindrops before it exploded just a few meters before the target marked wall.

Should he show off now? Brent’s fingers grazed the handle of his own gun, before letting go. “Nice try, Grego!” he called, not a trace of sarcasm in his tone, “You aligned your path correctly, right? Was it the wind or something?”

“Apparently not,” came Gregory’s slightly annoyed reply, even as a glow lit up the window again. This time though a thin red laser marked the wall several times as he apparently used it to adjust his aim. Another gray blur flew out, but this time it actually hit the wall, albeit slightly above the X he’d apparently been aiming for.

“Woah, getting closer now! Pinpoint shots like that would probably be real sketchy against moving targets though!”

Really. What was the point of this?

“Out of curiousity, did you try launching grouped up pebbles or something like that? Or does each individual one count as a separate object?”

“Not telling me anything I don’t already know. Can’t run before I know how to walk though. And yes, I have. Unless it’s bundled up like grapeshot or a shotgun shell, it doesn’t work. No point either, it’s not fast or heavy enough to do shit.” And cue another glow.

Right, the 200km/h speed limit. Gregory probably would be more useful if his projectiles could move at the speed of sound, huh? Of course, the main problem was that their enemy, in this particular case, was going to be clockwork animals, with all their skeletal shits and all. Something that would absolutely maim a human would just be an inconvenience to their metal chassis. Brent scratched his head. Sounded like the only option would be for the blonde x-mark to shoot off large, heavy objects and bludgeon them to pieces. At merely 200km/h, there really wasn’t much else, huh.

Or, at least, nothing that could be done that Brent couldn’t do better.

“Better bring a sledgehammer for knocking bricks out of buildings then,” he joked, “Would be super awkward if your spears just slide through the gaps within those animals, eh?”

“Who knows, they might get pinned by them if I’m lucky. Though I’ll probably be lucky enough to hit any of them scurrying about.” Firing off another javelin, that one shattered as well even as it cracked the wall right on the X. “Fantastic,” he remarked dryly as he leaned out of the window to squint at the distant target.

“Flashy,” Brent remarked, giving Gregory a thumbs-up from below, “Shaping up to be a real American Sniper!”

Staring down at the other boy from the window, Gregory wasn’t exactly sure what to make of Brent’s apparently honest remarks. If they were meant to be mocking, his tone certainly didn’t give that off. Frowning briefly, he shook his head and turned to look at one of the other many X’s. “Whatever you say…”

“Right, can the object be moved if you marked them? Or are they locked in place until you let them fly?”

“Hilariously,” he began with a tone that suggested it was anything but, “yes. If anyone so much as nudges them, I have to start the whole thing up again. So no, I can’t even block things off with them.”

“Damn, sucks.” Yeah...compared to the powers that other x-marked people had, this was pretty meh. At least it didn’t sound as bad as Ernie’s though. “Still a form of artillery though. Maybe Grant can drag out some chunks of concrete for you to sling.”

“Better be some small chunks of concrete. Can’t toss anything over 200 pounds or so, and even that takes a lot longer than slinging these. Aiming anything without a clear front’s a pain too.” Another javelin shot forward as he finished with some more gripes, smashing to the left of a different X and shattering into shards and pieces from the impact.

“They still go 200km/h though?”

“Think it’s closer to 220, but yeah. They’ll drop like a bitch though.”

“Wow, so realistic that it hurts, huh.”

“They don’t for the six meters on the path. That cou-” Gregory couldn’t even finish the remark before he cut himself off and launched another sacrificial javelin instead. This one shattered a bit above the current X.

“How about propelling grenades? Grego the Human RPG might work better against clock-thingies.” Of course, whether or not that’d screw over everyone else in the vicinity was another question for another time.

“They wouldn’t even give me metal javelins. Plus, the grenades will blow up in my face before I finish drawing a path.” Ammunition for a grenade launcher might work, but what the fuck was the point of complicating things instead of just using a grenade launcher. A few javelins fired out in relatively, for him, fast succession afterwards. One shattered on the street, two broke apart against the wall, and then two actually managed to get decently close to the targets. Considering it took a minute though? Bleh.

Brent scratched his head. Gregory’s power really was rather lackluster, huh? At least Ernie had durability and a snaring trap. On the other hand, outside of the gimmick of being able to move heavy ass objects around at surprising speeds, there really wasn’t much that Gregory could do that technology couldn’t also do. Mage powers were more effective than technology?

Not when your power involved shooting projectiles that couldn’t break the sound barrier.

Not everyone is useful.

Brain damage might not be that bad of a route after all.

He wouldn’t even be able to effectively use his power on those clockworks to sling them away.

“Well, maybe your javelins will distract something or the other,” Brent said, “And hey, at the rate our powers seem to grow, maybe you’ll awaken to a new function soon!”

Or maybe just die like those two girls and get eaten.

“Who knows,” was the noncommittal remark Gregory gave as he disappeared back deeper into the building. It took about a minute before he emerged on the rooftop of the four-floor building, the bag on his shoulder significantly more empty now.

“Done already?”

“Not quite,” Gregory called out back as he pulled out another javelin and raised it before an array formed around it. Adjusting the tip by a degrees here and there, stepping to the side to judge the aim, rinse and repeat, it was all dreadfully uninteresting. “You can bike back first.”

“It’s your bike, dude,” Brent replied, “I’ll walk.”

“See ya in.. an hour or something then.” Launching the projectile after that, Gregory rubbed at the back of his head as it shattered off in the distance.

“Mm, don’t knock yourself out!”

Wishalloy. Factory. Rogue subnaturals. Clearance to remove the cuffs. Deterrence against escape. Positioning. Isolation. Support and finish. Knowledge tumbled in his mind, puzzle pieces that never perfectly fit together. His ‘training’ with Gregory was pointless now. They would be positioned in different areas, taking the high ground in order to snipe enemy clockworks that may prove to be troublesome to the support team that was tasked with thinning out the horde.

Thinning out the horde that the titanic human spewed out constantly, endlessly. It was 2PM. No need for his night vision goggles. Gas leaks were a dangerous possibility. A need for his gas mask. He was ranged support. A need for his Desert Eagle. Close combat was dangerous without a dedicated weapon. A need for his machete. Wishalloy provided much of the same protection, but broke apart after multiple impacts. A need for his vest. They were in an urban environment. A need for his rollerblades.

There were many things he needed, much more than anyone else within the group, and the belt that the soldiers provided brought a smile on Brent’s face. Something to carry many things. He needed that as well. Pepper spray could be good to disable a human enemy. A baton provided bludgeoning force in case there was something he’d rather not cut. A knife to pierce, as opposed to cut.

“Hah,” he laughed to himself, “Slowly becoming a walking armoury, huh?”

But he wasn’t done yet. He was Brent Roless, the Arbiter who was only useful if he had objects to Overclock. He needed more. A scope to improve his accuracy further when it came to long distance attacks. Rappelling gear that could be overclocked to provide a swift descent if clockworks were rushing up the stairs. What else? His eyes scanned over the weapons available in the truck as everyone filed in. Machine guns. Sniper rifles. Flamethrowers. Rocket launchers. Everything that had been denied of him in his request was there, and after asking one of the soldiers, he was basically given permission to take them along, provided he could carry them?

It was too good to be true. It was too ridiculously tempting. Flamethrowers overclocked to generate enough heat to melt hordes of monsters to slag. Sniper rifles to pierce through an entire army and strike the very heart of the Factory. Rocket launchers to generate massive amounts of explosive power. But…

If he were so prone to falling to temptation, he’d just be a loser with an addiction.

His job was to provide support. Not to try to match Hazel in kills. His Desert Eagle, the one firearm that he had extensively practiced with, experimented with, will have to do.

Well, all this shit was pretty damn heavy as well.

After awkwardly loading everything up on him, Brent definitely looked like some sort of B-grade serial killing kleptomaniac, equipped with more weapons than he had limbs. If he could see himself, he would doubtlessly be laughing at himself, but as it was...all these things would give him a slightly higher chance of survival, a little more adaptability in a bad situation. There was no way he’d be able to pull off any sort of stealthy tactical maneveurs with rope slapping against his butt and all the things that were attached to his belt, was there? He’d probably be in deep shit if he had to hide, huh?

Brent slapped a helmet on his head, sat down as comfortably as he could, and let out a deep sigh. Google Maps had already told him the obvious: that the trip to Wisford would take at least three hours. He’d have to take all this off again in order to apply the wishalloy, huh?

“Welp, just how it is.”

His right hand loosely held the phone that they had been given.

His left hand remained in his pocket, tightly clenched.

His eyes stayed in place, transfixed by a target that only he could see.

No hesitation.

It was still three hours before the mission began.

Deep Ground Online (Hiatus)

“Yeah, would be super nice going up against that type,” Moe agreed, “Gotta show those foreigners why Purple Crown is the place with the biggest badasses in DGO.”

Any further discussion about this mysterious idol figure, however, had to wait as the brightly-colored duo entered the noodle stand. Whistling at the advertisement that promised ‘extra large’ variations of anything they wanted, Moe took a deep breath of the aroma next, her stomach gurgling again. It was truly a shame that there wasn’t any sort of ‘food challenge’ advertised, such as finishing an extra-extra-extra large bowl of ramen in 15 minutes, but…well, this was free, so it’s like she already won!

“Master,” she said with a toothy grin, “Gimme the fattiest pork you got!”
Bouncing up and down on her seat as the cleanly-dressed chef got to work with preparations, Moe’s eyes glittered as a plus-size bowl of calories was presented to her, the steam warming her face as she dipped a spoon into the broth and took a sip. Too bland for her tastes…but still amazing! Following that up by dashing chili flakes all over her meal until it was as red as hell, the girl swallowed once before getting to work, slurping away at the spicy hell. No doubt, her weight was going to bear her sins, but…Moe was a growing girl!

Surely all the fat will relocate into her breasts, right?

Letting out a satisfied sigh after finishing half the bowl, Moe turn to Itsuko and realized that the blondie was already onto a next one. Wow. No wonder she had no girl friends. A godly metabolism like that was definitely something worth getting jealous over. Fascinated at how quickly she ate, Moe asked, “Yeah, it’s super good. Gotta share this place on my feed some time, but…wow, you a food eating champion or something? Can’t tell if you can even taste it at your speed.”

“…and tch. Got to fight but also got wrecked. Mannnnn, the speed meta suckssssss.”

She groaned some more, before bringing the bowl to her lips and shutting herself up with some more spicy goodness. At the end of it, there was a creamy red moustache over her lips.

“Seriously though, backliners and dodge-spammers. Super annoying, am I right?”
@KoL

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Curfew ended at 5AM.

Which meant that, past 5AM, he was free to do whatever he wanted.

If he woke up at 5AM in the morning and spent half an hour before and after to prepare and then rest up, he still had an excess of three hours before classes. And because his priorities was on attaining ‘skills’, he didn’t need to rest his body nearly as much. Callan, Sander, and Chris can become physical gods if they wanted.

He needed skill.

And that’s why he was awake at 6 in the morning, vicious rain whipping against the dark blue jumpsuit that covered his body entirely. A transparent, perfectly spherical bubble kept the rain off his face, the rain sliding right off the non-existent material, while, within that bubble, futuristic shades covered his amethyst eyes, filtering out the rain from his vision and turning ‘living’ beings into blobs of color.

An overclocked raincoat, keeping him dry, warm, and undeterred by the rain.

Overclocked infrared night vision goggles, allowing him to find targets even within all this visual ‘noise’.

And…

A magenta beam flashed through the torrential downpour, piercing through a concrete wall before spiralling into the right leg of a colored blob. It exited out the other end before the blob fell over, squirming. In this weather, at such a distance, Brent couldn’t hear the response at all. Which was fine with him.

This was just target practice, with a Desert Eagle overclocked towards accuracy.

Legs, arms, chest, head. If he couldn’t pick off six different targets from a more or less standstill target at this range, that was pathetic. Right. This wasn’t a ‘success’. This was not yet ‘winning’. This was just a rehearsal, for when such accuracy actually mattered.

He breathed out, his breath fogging the bubble momentarily. His fingers, the only parts of his body not covered by the raincoat, were chilled to the bone, but still, Brent leveled his aim towards the next targets within his vision, wandering aimlessly about within buildings. Their heat signatures disappeared as they crossed inbetween each window, but that was fine.

He could still extrapolate their movements, still predict where their limbs will be swinging.

More shots split the rain. Some missed entirely. Others missed their mark. A few hit. Rain steamed off the overheated firearm, and Brent lowered it, releasing a deep breath. It was enough for now. He could hardly feel his hands, and his accuracy was dropping with each shot due to that numbness. Still not at the point where he could decisively end a fight with a cracked head.

The stainless steel hand cannon was holstered and he pulled out his machete, just in time to hear a voice call out from behind.

Ah. Guards once more. Holding umbrellas that certainly didn’t prevent them from being drenched in the rain. One gestured towards the blade with his gun, and Brent sighed, sheathing it.

“Sorry guys. I would have come over if you just messaged me, you know?”

No response, as always. Wouldn’t hurt if they showed a little more personality, really.

“Well, whatever. Just lead the way I guess? I’ll hold the umbrella too. Keep us all…oh, right, you’re already wet, so it doesn’t matter.”

A bit too much? Brent laughed at his own jab anyways, before they started prodding him with their guns.

Yeah, maybe next time, he should bring a thermos of hot chocolate with him. Give these peeps something to be cheered up about.

Maybe.

---

There was nothing to be happy about.

Of course this was what they were brought in for, instead of having it be announced during morning classes. The blurred image of a monstrosity of gears and cogs, nuts and bolts. The announcement that this was a category three threat, something that was just as, if not more powerful, than the golem that Shane had turned into powder during a time that seemed so long ago. Except this one created more monsters, spewing them out like a demented factory.

A subnatural that had fallen so far, that hated this world so much, that it became a monster instead.

A clockwork titan that served as the fortress of the subnatural. The strikers should be strong enough to tear through such a frame.

An army of inorganic beasts. Unless something had changed, Hazel should be more than capable of cleaving through them all by herself.

A town turned to smithereens. Most likely, it was the supporters, the ones that had to help with evacuation while not possessing much offensive ability, that had their work cut out for them.

He was in a duo with Gregory, the ‘healer’ with that curious projectile ability.

“Long range support meant to assist both supporters and strikers,” Brent muttered, slowly internalizing the information. His hand, still cold to the touch, went for his gun once more, stroking the hefty grip. It wasn’t comforting at all, but it was still…what? An object that promised some degree of protection? An object that promised to make him ‘useful’ because he wasn’t useful by himself? Hah.

This was going to be fun.

A meaningless smile formed as the meeting was adjourned and everyone was lead to the cafeteria. His head was already spinning, already thinking, spitballing all sorts of ideas. Sophia to track down where exactly that subnatural was within that clockwork giant, if they were there at all. Hazel to turn into the ultimate shield, leading Allison over to the point that Sophia detected.

And from there?

All Allison would need to do is graze that subnatural with her own sword, and all those creations should disappear. It would take time for that subnatural to regenerate that massive army. Enough time for the strikers to descend and turn that bastard into paste.

Then, unexpectedly, Brent recalled what had happened last time he thought of a ‘good’ plan. How quickly everything fell apart. How much harder everything was compared to the simulated ‘best’ scenario. How ultimately, he lost. How he failed them all.

…

Didn’t mean he had to be a bitch and give up just because of that, right?

Lean meats and fruity salads found their way onto his tray, filling it up halfway before Brent decided he wasn’t all that hungry yet. Spotting his extraverted kickboxing instructor, the Arbiter was about to call out to her, maybe make some joke about how she must still be sleepy if she wasn’t going about tracking down her team members and discussing strategy, before stopping.

Right, they could die before the day ends, huh?

He settled for sitting at the same table and shooting Angelic a small smile.

“Morning.”

He wouldn’t push it if she wanted the conversation to die there.