Recent Statuses

25 days ago
Current @Plank Sinatra yessir, he got pronounced dead pretty quickly after the initial news got out, I think.
25 days ago
goddamn, I can't believe Nipsey Hussle got killed, that was the last thing I expected.
1 like
26 days ago
okay but has anyone ever actually seen an RP to it's end? 6+ years and it has eluded me still
1 mo ago
literally just watched that video skies, that line was gold
1 mo ago
the guy who created the annoying orange is worth like 3 million dollars. i like to think he's making that same stupid voice as he's fucking hookers and doing blow in his mansion


cordell, 21

i am a hero, kengo hanzawa

kohh, rapper, oji-tokyo

lil uzi vert, rapper, philadelphia-pennsylvania

berserk, kentaro miura

these are just a few of my favorite things.

Most Recent Posts

@OppositionYou can go ahead and make that delilah post, I'll just wait

As the sun began to set on the streets of Baltham, a wider spectrum of lights began to make themselves apparent, bouncing off the glass-sided buildings and puddles leftover from the rain the day before. Headlights, taillights, neon-laden ads, all of them come together to create a loud mishmash of colors, all imbued with a hint of deep pinkish-orange from the dying sun. The air was finally beginning to dry out, and the buzz of bustling evening traffic filled the air, as everyone rushed to get home. There was a sense of mild panic amongst it all, as more and more people began to grow wary of the random attacks that had been happening around the city.

Sitting out on a sidewalk in front of a stripmall in smaller, more isolated street, Gideon was straddling his bike, surfing his phone, sifting through the various headlines and news articles. Amongst the normal headlines and stock market tidbits, there was a string of local headlines detailing the sudden rash attacks dotted around the city. The random acts of violence around Baltham certainly made him feel a little more trepidation than he usually did, but it didnโ€™t seem to be having too much of an effect on plenty of people. There was still plenty of foot traffic flowing out of the Subway in front of him, and the booming and bustling clubs of the nightlife part of the city were still drawing plenty of attention and party-goers.

Downing another mouthful of water, Gideon lifted his t-shirt to wipe the beads of sweat slowly trailing down his forehead towards his eyes. His skin felt warm and tired, and the slight breeze helped thwart the humidity that was slowly dissapaiting. Heโ€™d finally finished his route of packages, and was getting ready to make the ride home, which was unfortunately at least a 45 minute ride away, given traffic wasnโ€™t too heavy. Usually, even if he tried to make the last package closest to his house, they were still usually an annoying distance away from his home, but this was the farthest heโ€™d ended his route from home in a while.

Gideon scanned the various headlines a few times more, before locking his phone, putting it and his bottle away. Adjusting his substantially lighter backpack, and giving his legs a quick stretch, he finally started moving again, slowly rolling onto the street when traffic got thin. He had a deecent ride ahead of him, and heโ€™d like to get home sooner rather than later.


As his Gideon zipped and glided through out the city, he had passed at least 4 groups of cop cars, blaring their sirens and flashing their lights. More than before, it seemed that all the streets Gideon rode through or past were either completely free of activity, or full of people rushing back to their homes, all of them carrying looks of worry or nervousness on their faces. Of course, the city wasnโ€™t in a full blown panic, looting stores or burning buildings or anything of that sort, but there was certainly a creeping discomfort seeping through the streets. Stationary groups of people kept their heads on a swivel, suspicious eyes darting back and forth. Dark, abandoned alleyways carried an even more foreboding aura than before, as everyone treated the others on the streets as possible assailants.

Feeling the wind stream across his face and skin, Gideon was gliding along in relative comfort, but he still didnโ€™t waste time trying to get across the city. Even for night time, the traffic was heavy, and he had trouble making it through a few intersections without getting stuck at multiple lights, even riding a bike. Despite the lonely desolation of some streets, the ones lined with bars and clubs were still very much alive, but just more, stifled, perhaps. People stuck to their groups more than they would move around freely, and many found a bar to run into and elected to stay inside rather than out in the open. Cutting through the streets that had been blocked from vehicle traffic helped cut a few minutes off his route, and it was made even easier that he had less pedestrians to dodge around.

The Police were out in even more force, though. Along with the usual police that patrolled the party streets, there were plenty of pairs of them dotted around various street corners and intersections. They usually just gave Gideon a passing glance, and the few he waved to simply ignored him, choosing to continue their scan of the streets around them. The cityโ€™s mood seemed to stiffen and become more stern, as the sidewalks emptied, and peering sets of eyes set to watching the streets from above, through the windows in their apartments, high above the ground.


The halls of Gideonโ€™s apartment building seemed scarce of people, and those few that remained outside their rooms were huddled in whispered conversation, and didnโ€™t display their usual warmth or welcoming to him. Locking his bike at the entrance hall, Gideon made his way to the staircase, trotting past a pair of people who were leaned against the front desk, looking rather comfortable, despite the widespread trepidation.

โ€You two seem pretty comfortable, considering everyone else seems to be scared shitless.โ€

โ€Yeeaahh, I dunno. This place is usually pretty quiet, but itโ€™s even the quiet parts of town that been having those little spats today.โ€

โ€Right? I dunno, you should see the streets right now. Cops all over the place, and parts of the city are fuckinโ€™ dead.โ€

โ€Oh yeah? Crazy shit, dude, crazy shit.โ€

Gideon chuckled, and gave a bit of a wave to end the conversation, which the pair of men returned, and resumed their own conversation.

Gideon began his ascent up the stairs, and before he knew it, was unlocking his door, tossing his backpack and bike gear aside, slowly sliding down his couch and taking a deep breath. He was exhausted, as usual, but glad to be home. After a few moments of laying on the couch with his eyes closed, he finally found the will to get back up to make the short trip to his kitchen. After pouring himself a bowl of cereal, he went to searching the living room for his remote, before turning the television to the news, and opening his blinds to see the street below his apartment. As the reporter droned on about the attacks, Gideon munched away, watching as a few people dotted the sidewalks, briskly making their way to where they needed to be, leaving the street bare of any life after a short time.

Time to enjoy the evening, I suppose.
I'm just kinda waiting, right now, as well.
I'll be messaging you soon enough, Capn! Lemme just formulate some idea for a bit.

But that would put me in the middle of the Abandoned Zone, which is a bit of a death sentence in-and-of itself.

During his wait for the debate to resume, Proctor had leaned up against the wall, a small crowd sharing the wall with him, all in their various groups, or some standing alone, same as him. Amongst all the bobbing heads, he could see a few he recognized. They were just small time street enforcers, working on his rather skim dime. It was mostly their respect for Proctor that fueled their decision to be there, rather than the promise of a payday. The potential of hitting it big helped keep them there, too.

Trying to drown out all the bothersome noise, Proctor had taken to trying to plan an escape route ahead of time, should the need arise. There were plenty of roads and alleyways flowing in and out of the Square, but around him, most of them led to dead ends or sometimes, something worse. His options were thin and questionable at best, but Proctor would take having to fight off a few junkies in an alley, rather than whatever disastrous events could take place here.

Before he knew it, the debate was back on, and he listened to it on and off as he stopped paying attention to look around him and observe the now much more quiet crowd. His gaze casted over thousands of people, almost all of them facing the stage or the various screens around the Square with the candidatesโ€™ faces on them. The stillness and silence, at least, relative to earlier, made Proctor somewhat anxious. Now that most of the attention was turned to the stage, itโ€™d be easier for some unnoticed crazy to pull off a dangerous stunt. Of course, the place was brimming with security, so the notion was still far fetched, but it still stuck to Proctorโ€™s mind.

Feeling like he had scanned the crowd for long enough, Proctor turned his gaze back to the stage, across the crowd, and up to Campbellโ€™s face, which had burst in a bloody mist and cut his speaking off. Campbell fell limp to the stage, and even more of what Proctor had registered as gunshots rang out. In mere moments, the entire Square was in a state of unadulterated chaos. Multiple security personnel had been cut down in a matter of seconds, Campbell had been assassinated, and all Proctor saw before he turned to run was a large slug of plasma strike Gatch, which surely sealed his fate.

Whatever his fate was, though, Proctor did not care, nor did he even notice, as he had quickly scrambled away from the chaos, following a large herd of fleeing Citizens. The Reclaim had come violently alive, and the air vibrated with not only the sounds of what could only be described as war in the streets, but with the shrill screams and death cries from dozens of people all over the streets. Proctor followed a portion of the crowd down an alleyway out of Central Square, but he could already tell it was going to end badly. A large pile of junk and trash lay ahead of the crowd, and Proctor could already see the beginning of a pile of humans being trampled and they fell atop the barrier, failing to get across and falling victim to the herd.

Spotting a sort of alcove ahead of himself, the sprinting cyborg stiffened his feet to a halt and slid into the small doorway, taking a second to breathe, and collect himself. His heart was beating almost out of his chest, and even though he hadnโ€™t run far or fast enough to break a sweat, he was still heaving with inhalations and exhalations, his mind absolutely exploding in a frenzy of fear and flee instincts.

Gazing across the alleyway, through the thick crowd that still surged down the alley, he could see across, and for only moments at a time, make out the contorted, nervous face of a man in a similar predicament as his own. They were both stuck in small alcoves on either side of the alley, watching as the tidal wave of flesh and metal flew past them. Neither of them had an idea what to do next, but both of them knew their lives were nearing the end if they didnโ€™t do anything.

Thatโ€™s when he saw it. Through the bodies rushing past, in those few fleeting moments in between seconds, Proctor saw, very clearly, the insignia of Rottโ€™s Knights printed on his jacket. Amongst the crashing waves of confusion, fear, anxiety, rose mountainous peaks of rage and violence. Here, was one of Rottโ€™s men, in the middle of what obviously had to be Rottโ€™s big plan, yet, he had fled and ran, same as everyone, with such great trepidation youโ€™d think he was just another of many victims. The gall.

Proctor could feel the servos and gears in his arms and legs tighten up, not in old age or disability, but in a rising surge of anger. Anger that he had let himself believe that joining Campbellโ€™s campaign could lead him anywhere. Anger that he had let himself become entwined once again with an enemy that he had eluded for so long. Anger at this lone Knight, who had run and fled as his comrades tore the Square apart. Anger that he was sure he was about to meet his death. Finally, he launched himself, dashing across the alley, his metal arms and legs helping him pelt people away, and shove himself through the horde of people running by. His short run was ended when his metal shoulder put a sizeable dent in the metal door that stood next to him and the Knight. Before the other could react, Proctor reached his arm out, grabbed the Knight by his neck, tightening his grip as he used his other hand to punch a hole in the door, finally reaching a metallic arm in and releasing the lock from inside, and taking them both in.

Once inside the dark abandoned factory, Proctor slammed the door shut, as to keep any unwanted guests hopefully out. His metal vice grip on the Knightโ€™s neck tightened, and the man, who was now on the floor, yelped and moaned in pain as Proctor could feel his fingers stiffening. Pulling his machine pistol from his jacket, and shoving the barrel forward onto the Knightโ€™s forehead, he took off the safety as he prepared to kill the struggling man in his grip.

โ€Son of a bitch!โ€ The man rasped as hard as he could with his windpipe being crushed.

Feebly, the man tried to swat at Proctorโ€™s gun, but realized the futility of it and went back to trying to pry Proctorโ€™s hand off his throat.
โ€Give me one reason why not.โ€ Proctor growled. โ€You got ten seconds to give me a reason not to blow your fucking brains out.โ€

Proctorโ€™s teeth were gritted, not only in his rage and anger, but also because the arm he was using to choke the Knight had locked up on him, sending a deal of pain soaring through his arm up into his shoulder.

The Knights gangerโ€™s own metallic limb clawed against the APEX machinery pinning him back. Even in the face of his fading breath, the man seemed to stare down the barrel of the gun. Rott was always right in teaching his boys to fall honorably and fearlessly, though death was never the only option. With a pistol pressed against his head, however, the ganger was in no fighting mood. He struggled for breath, but proceeded to force forth words despite his pain.

โ€You donโ€™t know shitโ€ฆ Campbellโ€™s teamโ€ฆ Doesnโ€™t know shit. We doโ€ฆโ€ In his final exhalation of words, one could have sworn the Knights ganger showed a twisted smile, as though heโ€™d played his gambit. He knew he had, but what followed would determine his fate. He knew his odds and played them regardless.

Only one of the fingers wrapped around the Knightโ€™s throat had loosened after Proctorโ€™s struggling, which drew a raspy exhale from him, with the pain in his arm calming slightly. As his suffocating grip loosened, the grip on his weapon tightened. Lifting the barrel up off the Knightโ€™s head, Proctor took a second simply lining the bottom of the pistol grip up with the side of the Knightโ€™s head, then suddenly rearing back and bashing the Knight savagely on the side of his head, leaving sizeable gash, which soon started leaking crimson.

โ€You Knights arenโ€™t built the same as you used to be. And Iโ€™m sure itโ€™d be much more fun to give you back to your own Paladins and let them know that while they were trying to take over the whole Reclaim, one of their very own was running away with his tail between his legs.โ€ Proctor returned the barrel of the pistol to the Knightโ€™s head, pressing the barrel into the bleeding gash on the side of his head, giving a twist to dig it further into the seeping skin. โ€Start. Talking. Just what the fuck is going on out here, and why do you seem so scared to join in the fun?โ€

The eyes of the dazed ganger pierced Proctor despite their emptiness. The blows to his skull had surely stunned the man, but he was by no means ready to fall. In his moments of recovery, the Knights ganger would offer a nearly inaudible chuckle. His reason, however, remained a bit ambiguous. Perhaps he was surprised that a man like Proctor could still bring forth a certain savagery. Perhaps he knew something that Proctor did not.

โ€I expected more from guys like youโ€ฆ Is this really all Campbell can offer? Psycho old men whoโ€™ve got as much information as any one of the street rats their trying to rallyโ€ฆโ€ The nameless ganger lifted his non-metallic limb to wipe the sanguine stains from his cheek as the blood ran down from the base of his skull. โ€This one ainโ€™t our battleโ€ฆ As much as you seniors would like to thinkโ€ฆ Weโ€™re busy elsewhere.โ€ A blood-stained set of teeth curled out from the manโ€™s cracked lips.

โ€Thereโ€™s bigger players in this game than washed up thugs like youโ€™d like to thinkโ€ฆโ€

Even if more fingers had come loose and relaxed on his hand, Proctor returned them all to their tight curl around the manโ€™s throat. His eyes bore into the Knightโ€™s, as the thought of ending the manโ€™s life entered the forefront of Proctorโ€™s mind. He didnโ€™t seem to recognize Proctor, so itโ€™s not like he could run back and report to Jackson that the Ghost was still alive. Leaving him alive still wasnโ€™t an option, though. Too much of a liability for Proctor to allow. What had to be done had to be done. His trigger finger slowly began to coil and squeeze on the trigger, and the Knight had shut his eyes, as to give Death a warm welcome. Just as Proctor readied his arm for the recoil, thought, something clicked in his head. His finger relaxed, and his grips on both the Knight and his pistol loosened. Just as the confused Knight opened his eyes to examine the change in situation, he received a vicious blow to the side of his head, behind his ear, knocked him unconscious nearly instantly. Just to be sure, Proctor gave another quick and precise hook along the side of the Knightโ€™s head, with the motors and servos whirring with surging energy.

Proctor went to quickly patting him down for weapons and the sort, finding a few items of interest, such as a pocket knife, and a locked personal computer pad. Surely, something, if not the Knight himself, would yield some interesting information one way or another. Perhaps a brain augment, which Knights were known to have, or some sort of other inner computer could be found. He just needed the help of the campaign members he was , ironically, getting ready to abandon just a few minutes ago.

โ€Della, Iโ€™ve got a live one here. I managed to catch one of these Knights escaping with the crowds, and subdued him. He wonโ€™t talk to me, but he knows more than he lets on. I figure you could have a little fun digging around in his brain.โ€

With the augments the man carried, he was heavier than he looked, but Proctorโ€™s augments made the difference rather negligible. Getting him tied up was easy enough, as the Knight had enough sleeves and pant legs to make sure he was secure, but dragging him up the stairs of the building was a different task. Half-way up, Proctor finally picked the man up and tossed him over his shoulder, making every step calculated as he slowly scaled the staircase. Around every corner, his pistol went first, as Proctor felt uneasy at the possibility of the upper floors holding unpleasant surprises.

Stopping to take in his surroundings, Proctor found himself near a window facing the square, and, making sure to stick to the wall and out of sight, slowly leaned over to take a look at the chaos ensuing. Wiping some grime and dirt off the glass, he got a clear look at the square below. A lot less time had passed than he thought, as the Square was still alive with people fleeing in every which direction, and more security forces had poured out of the surrounding buildings, creating an even larger firefight between them and the Knights that were dotted around the area. He had lost sight of the monster of an assassin that descended on the debate, but he wasnโ€™t exactly disappointed to not have to face him again.

Dozens, if not at least a hundred, of people lay limp, scattered amongst puddles off pooling blood. Left and right, Knights and Enforcers joined the ranks of their dead brethren littering the ground, but even more yet poured from streets and alleyways to reinforce the ones that remained standing. The debate stage was near collapse, and same as their assassin, Proctor couldnโ€™t quite see either Dexter or Gatch. Spatters and pools of their blood, though, were visible, making the bile in Proctorโ€™s gut stir a bit. Even with how often heโ€™d encountered and dealt Death in his life, it never made the sight of it any less sickening.

Taking a breath, Proctor ducked back down from the window, setting the Knight down next to him, then he himself slid down the wall to sit on the floor. He realized heโ€™d had his earpiece turned off, and turned it back on to listen if the team were communicating, but it was quiet for the moment.

โ€What the fuck is even going on out there? Is this shit really happening?...โ€

He spoke dispondantly into his communicator, losing the vigor of his last message. Seeing for himself the mess that everything was in, and having the memory of Dexterโ€™s face being perforated etched in his mind, really set in the dire consequences he and his fellow campaign members faced. A bit of concern finally tricked up in his chest, through the rising feeling of hopelessness.

โ€Are any of you even left out there?โ€
well, the last body guard character kinda vanished so i don't see why not. that's up to Opp tho.
i hope people come crawling out the woodworks to apply tbh I'd like this to be a big RP.
@OppositionI PM'd you btw. Waiting on you to determine how I finish my post.

ooh page claim
got a post up!
© 2007-2017
BBCode Cheatsheet