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    1. Firecracker_ 10 yrs ago
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4 yrs ago
4 yrs ago
if you have ever gone grocery shopping and just left your empty cart in the middle of a parking spot or just out in the lot, please die. die.
22 likes
4 yrs ago
I call these people friends.
4 yrs ago
alright, now what are you all thankful for?
4 yrs ago
i got like half a 6-pack in the fridge...who tryna go halfsies
1 like

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hello, my name is cordell

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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!




Hacking and coughing, one of the two men that walked across the floor was hunched over in pain, struggling to keep up with the other as he could barely focus on walking. The pair of patrons had garnered the wary attention of many sets of suspicious looking eyes, but, finally made it out the front door and out of the cafe, and as Gideon rose from his seat, stretching, everyone turned back to the televisions along the wall. Even more news was coming up about more instances of violence around the city. Gideon was immediately drawn to it, but quickly sidestepped out of Jesusโ€™ way, as he and the other two men all exited the booth after leaving their respective bits of tip money on the table. Even with their attention pulled in the way of the televisions, the four men had routes to return to and packages to deliver. After a moment to soak in the sudden rush of breaking news, the four men all made the agreement to leave with a shared nod, and began weaving between and around crowded tables. Everyone craned their neck and moved their heads, and patronsโ€™ eyes looked right through them as if the four werenโ€™t even there. Everyoneโ€™s attention was on the news.

Passing through the glass doors, entering back into the relative warmth of the afternoon, Gideon was glad he had forced himself to hold back on ordering desert, as he felt just stuffed enough that it wouldnโ€™t make him sick to cycle around the city for the remainder of the day. His friends had begun to put their protective equipment back on, fastening helmet straps as they talked about the routes they faced for the rest of the day. Carter and David began to have their usual cigarettes, as Jesus sat on his bike making sure the packages in his backpack were well arranged.

โ€How do you guys do it? One cigarette fucks my whole day up, but you guys just ride around smoking one after the other.โ€

Carter chuckled, but David simply frowned.

โ€Iโ€™ve been trying to stop, man. Ricky keeps telling me to hurry up and kick this shit so I can help save for our vacation, but itโ€™s so tough. If I try cold turkey, the withdrawal makes me cranky as fuck, and if I try the patches or shit, it just makes me crave having an actual cigarette.โ€ David said, taking the cigarette out of his mouth, taking a look at it, and reluctantly taking another drag.

โ€You didnโ€™t even smoke before the two of you got married, did you?โ€ Carter said, not even bothering to take the cigarette out of his mouth as he spoke. His hands were busy fastening straps on his pads and bike bags as he spoke.

โ€No, I did, but the stress of the whole wedding made me start just churning through these damn things, and I never have been able to slow down.โ€

โ€Good luck with tha-โ€ Jesus had just pushed off the sidewalk on his bike, when a loud yell broke through the usual cacophony of city traffic and chatter, stopping Jesus in his tracks and making everyoneโ€™s head turn towards the source of the scream.

Just down the sidewalk, there was a crowd growing around a bit of a developing situation. Spread eagle on the sidewalk was the man from before, who seemed to be in even worse shape than before. His chest was rising up and down rapidly as his friend held onto his hand, begging passersby to help him as he rushed to pull his phone out and get ahold of emergency services. While, many people walked by, unsure how to react, just as many had gathered around the two, with a few good samaritans kneeling by the struggling man, asking him questions or trying to give him water. Jesus had started to slowly move again, staring at the scene as same as everyone else, before he finally took all the way off, eventually disappearing from view amongst parked cars and traffic.

David, Carter and Gideon all shared a bit of a confused glance, as they all stood in one place, trying to get a peek at what going on, not wanting to be nosy enough to walk up and join it. One after the other, David, then Carter secured their packages and rode onto the street, just the same as Jesus did. Carter, who had gone down the street in the same direction as Jesus, noticeably slowed down as he tried to get a better look at the ordeal but the attempt was short lived, and he rode on, leaving just Gideon, alone, to watch from afar.

Giving into temptation, Gideon took his bike, and slowly walked down the sidewalk, towards the frazzled crowd. He knew better, he knew he had a job to be doing, but a few minutes wouldnโ€™t hurt, would they?

Just as Gideon finally got close to the crowd, Gideon could hear a cry pierce the air, and many concerned voices followed it. Gideon froze, and watched in horror as the healthy man began to panic and cry. The sick man seemed to be lifeless now, and was ghost pale, unresponsive to even the violent shakes from his friend. Many of the onlookers had taken out their phones, and were all frantically trying to explain the situation to whatever dispatcher they had been connected to. One of the good samaritans was trying to take a pulse, but appeared to get more frazzled and frightened with every failed attempt.

Finally breaking his gaze and looking away from the rather shocking scene, Gideon realized that there was a pair of prying eyes even in a nearby alleyway. In the alley stood a white bearded man in tattered clothing, who seemed to be watching the ordeal intently, but out of anyone elseโ€™s line of sight. Gideon could tell the old man felt the same trepidation he did, not wanting to get involved. But Gideon also felt this tugging sort of guilt for doing nothing for what could be a dying or dead man.

Theyโ€™re all already calling ambulances for this guy. Thereโ€™s not much left I could do any way. Iโ€™m no life saver. Gideon tried his best to free himself from any sort of guilt or responsibility, was began on his way out of the whole situation.

Giving the old man one last look, Gideon picked up his bike, which he had dropped in surprise when he had noticed the severity of the situation. As Gideon made his quick exit from the whole fiasco, he could hear people get more frantic as it seemed the man was not getting any better, and the pitiful sobs from the manโ€™s friend were getting even more gut wrenchingly audible, even over the cityโ€™s worth of noise. Hopping up onto the seat, and setting his legs into the ever familiar motion, Gideonโ€™s bike began to gain some speed, and right before he took the turn to enter the street, he gave one last quick glance back. Through a gap in the crowd surrounding them, he could see that someone had resorted to doing CPR on the fallen man, with his friend watching ever so intently. The man on the sidewalk was a sick, ghostly pale that heโ€™d never seen before. It had to be the color of death.

Gideon felt a chill run up his spine as he quickly turned back around and got onto the road.

That had to be one of the rougher things heโ€™d seen in his time riding around Baltham. Fights, shootings, car wrecks and housefires, Gideon had seen all of it at least once, but it wasnโ€™t every day you see a man drop dead in the streets. Today, the world seemed filled to the brim with a lot of bad news and people dying left and right. Gideon shook his head to himself, trying to shake the thought and focus on the road. Slipping his sunglasses on, Gideon was now onto the afternoon part of his route, and traffic was sure to be as dangerous as ever.

Hope cars donโ€™t come flying at me today. Iโ€™m not trying to be on the news anytime soon.

As he turned the corner of the street, and entered one of many busy roads, en route to his next delivery, the situation certainly escalated to a level that he wouldnโ€™t have believed. One deathly white hand rose from the sidewalk, eliciting a gasp from the group of people surrounding the man. Even after seemingly dying, the man had the vigor to sit straight up, and before anyone could react, grabbed his friend and yanking his collar violent towards him. What they thought was going to be a frightened embrace after a brush with death, instead turned into a violent bite, with the sickly man sinking his teeth deep into his shocked friendโ€™s shoulder, dragging a scared scream from the whole crowd that only made it to the end of the block. Past that, no one really seemed to notice what was going on. The rest of the city continued with itโ€™s bustling everyday routine.

im also writing a reply for another roleplay at the same time as this one, so please excuse a little delay
alright, finally got the chance to catch up and read, gonna start on my post right now. hope to have it posted it within the next few days.

EDIT: While I've got your attention, can someone remind me how the team is meant to communicate?? All the characters had little mics and connections to Delilah, right?
time for me to get to WORK
i've had my head deep in fallout 4 mods, how many people are left to post?
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