Academic who somehow got conned into working for the Government. Been role-playing both on forums and TTRPGs for close to twenty years at this point. I'm like 99% retired from active RPing on the Guild, but I still like to poke my head onto here once in a while to make sure that I didn't leave the lights on.
Info is great! I felt it was about time Alexis had some detail put into her background. I mean... I keep seeing these awesome posts from @Hexaflexagon and it inspires me to build on Alexis more. xD
Oh and I'm working on a post. Should be up sometime today or the next depending on how things pan out.
“Each of us has only a quantum of compassion. That if we lavish our concern on every stray cat, we never get to the center of things. What do you think of it?” ~ John le Carré, Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy
Luther's Justice League although this is nothing but a front as her true allegiance remains with the Федеральная служба безопасности Российской Федерации (Federal Security Service)
History:
Officially the Cold War ended. Try telling that to everyone that was involved.
The story of the one known as Natasha Romanova starts in Early 1943. The new year was not christened by fireworks, cheering or the marching of the armies this year in the City of Stalingrad. It was rather brought in by a sound that had become familiar over the last few months artillery shells and screaming voices. The Germans continued their defense in the city that was supposed to be only a milestone on the path to Moscow but had instead became their frozen tomb, as the Red Army pushed them back room by room, building by building. Caught in the middle of this brutal bought of urban warfare was the populace of the city. Those that hadn't fled when they heard the approaching Tanks in August, those that couldn't flee when their homes became battlegrounds. They hid in buildings, swears and among the dead and dying hoping that the Nazis would not find them.
One such woman was caught with a small girl when the Germans torched the apartment building they were in to smoke out any Russian soldiers that may have been hiding inside. It was three in the morning when it happened and the woman had been trying to catch what little sleep she could in the small lulls between the fighting. They were a few stories up, because if the Germans entered the building they could hear them charging up the stairwell. It also meant that when the German Flamethrowers began to torch the bottom floor they could escape the blaze the conventional way. Instead the woman forced her way outside onto a frozen fire escape in cold and icy January Winds holding her sleeping daughter in her arms as she descended. Sadly halfway through the descent A German Sniper had spotted her and shot the Woman. She fell but in her last acts on Earth cradled her child and in that saved the Child from serious bodily harm.
The landing in the hardened snow had awoken the child and so she began to cry in the snow alone. Luckily it was not the Germans that had torched her building that had found her, no instead it was the Russian Squad that had repulsed them hours later. The leader of the Squad was Ivan Petrovich Bezukhov and he and the rest of the squad would take the small girl in from the cold and give her food. Natasha Romanova became the "littlest soldier" and would stay with the squad till the end of the Second World War, serving as their mascot and helper running messages and ammo between lines.
Natasha remembers these times fondly. It was back when the world was simple. When everything was black and white.
Following the dropping of atomic weapons on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the Second World War ended and the World entered the Cold War. Thus began the origins of Department X, a covert Soviet Agency designed to rival the Super Soldiers of the West such as the famous yet ill-fated Captain America. One of these projects was the Black Widow Ops Program. They took Russian girls - war orphans from across the ravaged USSR - and spirited them away where everyone would forget them. Natasha was one of many to join their ranks when Ivan reluctantly let the girl go into KGB hands once they learned of her and her potential. Here they were whisked away to become assassins ready to kill for the glory of the Motherland. And there they would stay in a base hidden deep away in the wastes of Siberia in a research station hidden deep underground.
The training itself was harsh and of hundreds of girls that were whisked away over a few dozen made it through the program's initial phase. This consisted of physical condition everything from ten mile runs in the snow to hours upon end of seemingly endless body weight exercises. This was followed by combat training everything from various forms of close quarters combat techniques to firearms training among others. The girls were expected to be accurate above levels of standard soldiers within three months of training. After combat training they went into book learning, they learned military history, tactics, law, dozens of languages, cultural skills such as dancing, chemistry among others. And if they were even found to be leaking mentally they were beaten and forced to scrub the bathrooms until their scores improved.
Eventually those one hundred or so that remained entered phase two of the program. It was here that the augmentation process began. Dr. Lyudmila Kudrin, a premier biochemist perfected what she called the new age of super sermons. The remaining one hundred were subjected to 48 hours of constant injections and around the watch hospital supervision. The chemical combinations were too deadly for most of the subjects and many died of complications and organ failure in the twenty four hours that followed. Natasha was one of twenty eight girls to make it through the procedure. As a result they were granted superhuman reflexes, strength, durability, speed, senses and an inhuman longevity. In short they had finally become the perfect assassins.
Soon they were put into active duty and it was here that she met Ivan again. Having retired from the army he was picked back up again by the KGB for his considerable skill and was once again assigned to watch over Natasha, this time as her handler.
And thus the life of Natasha Romanova began to hit something of a period of 'normalcy' to it. Ivan and her began to serve the Motherland and KGB in interests around the globe. Natasha had a cover produced for her as a trained dancer in the Bolshoi Ballet which give her an excuse to travel and Ivan was the ever watchful bodyguard hired by her Father. Together the two danced a path of fire and blood across Europe and many of the West and countless traitors to the Motherland were killed by their hands. But do to their policy of leaving no survivors and no witness her cover was never blown and things continued to normal.
She had her hands everywhere from Korea, Vietnam, Nicaragua and Afghanistan. She killed politicians, generals, spies, and double crosser with a brutal efficiency. Some may have been confused by the ruthless and seemingly heartless behavior of the girl but it was all she knew. It was all she could do and having been force fed the soviet ideals from a young age, it was what she knew was right. During this time she ran into other products of her time. She would run across men and women like: The Star-Spangled Kid, Shining Knight, Miss America, Whizzer, Jack Frost and many of the men that would take the costume of Captain America. It was these defenders of the West that presented her and Ivan the real problems. Their powers and abilities defied even her own superhuman injections and many a times they would fate Natasha would have to vanish into the shadows.
But as it turned out the USSR would not persist as long as Stalin had envisioned it to. The collapse was slow and lethargic like a corpse being taken apart by crows. Natasha's own life seemed to mimic this collapse when on a mission in West Germany Kingsley Faraday shot and mortally wounded Ivan leaving Natasha emotionally broken and shattered as she held her only friend and father figure in the rain as he slowly bled to death. It was in that moment that a fight that she had always been distance from became very, very personal as orders became a personal vendetta against the West.
But soon the Dissolution of the Soviet Union began in December of 1991 and the KGB was replaced with the FSB. But agents like Natasha remained in service, for them the changing of the guard may have meant a loss of ideals and virtue but it never meant that the end of the job. Life continued but under a new rule under the Russian Federation rather than the USSR.
In the 2010s the world changed with the so called "next generation" of heroes. Mutants and superheroes men and women changed by the power of atom, to become far beyond the normal humans that once walked the Earth among us. For one reason or another some believe do to the amount of atomic testing done there and other circumstances America had a huge population of these superhuman among their masses. This was a fact that many nations around the world became worried about especially former foes such as the Russian Federation. The Russians needed somebody on the ground to report back them, to feed them Intel. They needed to know what these knew God-men planned to do. And so they called in one of their best agents for the job. They called in Natasha Romanova. She hadn't been outside of Eurasia in a while at this point dealing with internal security issues that arose after the fall of the USSR. Unlike some members like the Winter Guard, Red Rocket Brigade and others she had remained in the shadows for the most part. Doing what she did best, make people disappear.
And in the time she had grown from the young teenage girl who had killed her way through Europe, and all the old heroes of the West she had fought long ago where at this point confined to their wheelchairs and losing their minds slowly. Nobody remembered her, nobody knew her. And so she was sent into America. She found her way into the mercenary circuit first working alongside names that would become big in the business later down the rode, Deathstroke, Deadshot, and others. And slowly she assimilated herself into the spectra of Superheros and super villains of America none the wiser that she still was reporting back to the Kremlin. She even became an American Citzen.
In fact she had infiltrated one of the most powerful Superhero organizations in the country if not the world. Lex Luthor's newly established Justice League of America. She joined sides with Captain America unaware of her experiences with his predecessors among others. She became part of a symbol of cooperation and hope for a new world. But beneath it all, beneath the double crossing, benath the spying for the Soviets she was still in America for one reason and one reason only. She was going to find Kingsley Faraday, no matter what path of bloodshed and chaos she had to make to do it.
Supporting Cast:
Superhero Associates: Dmitri Pushkin: 'Rocket Red #4' and a member of the Rocket Red Brigade. This Power armor, jet pack using, vodka drinking Russian. A kind man with a love for American culture especially 'cowboy-movies'. As one of the few Russian Heroes active in America he is the occasional confident of Black Widow even though he little taste left in his mouth for the games of the Kremlin.
Daredevil: During her early years of American infiltration when was still working as a mercenary she met one blind New York City attorney known as Matt Murdock. Little did Natasha know that Murdock was the masked vigilante known as Daredevil. Though after being kidnapped by Bullseye, Murdock soon found out that Natasha was a little bit more than she was letting on as well. After a brief romantic fling the two broke apart. Requires approval from Daredevil player
Captain America: Another member of Lex Luthor's Justice League. The Captain has no idea of Romanova's past. A little awkward for her as she has tried to kill other incarnations of him in the past. But that was before right? requires approval from Captain America player
Alexi Shostakov: Black Widow's one time lover back when the Cold War was in full swing. He was trained as the Red Guardian, the USSR's response to Captain America. But he "vanished" under mysterious circumstances in the later period of the war. Thought to be dead.
Other Associates:
Lex Luthor: One of the founding members of the Justice League of America. As a member of the JLA, Black Widow has a working relationship with the man.Requires approval for Lex or Sup player. Or both I guess
Nick Fury: Natasha knew Fury from his CIA days back during the Cold War. Back then they almost killed one another once or twice. Now well he's gone to ground and even if Fury remembers her, she's seemingly turned a new head in life.
Rivals, enemies, and targets
Kingsley 'King' Faraday: Ex-CIA Operative, seems to have 'retired' after the end of the Cold War. Killed Ivan Petrovich Bezukhov and Black Widow wants him dead for it. He's seemingly vanished from the face of the Earth. But that won't stop her. She'll get him, eventually. Whatever it takes.
Nightshade: Eve Eden was King Faraday protege and a superhuman at that with the ability to manipulate shadows. She worked for the CIA for some time before quitting and going freelance. She's been seen around recently having popped back up after some years of silence. She's Black Widow's first stop in finding Farady. She's the first stop in revenge.
Black Lotus: Female Assassin for some reason or another she wants Black Widows head. Something to do with what she did during the war. Not that Natasha stuck around to really talk to her.
Leonid Novokov: Another KGB assassin, he went rogue several years ago and has been on the run ever since. Like all runaways Black Widow has a kill order on sight if he is spotted.
Petra, Marina and Yelena Belova: Other surving members of the Black Widow Project, once again the Russians have put a kill order on all of them to clean up their dirty little secretes. Locations are currently unknown.
How does the New Frontier version of your character differ from the original?:
Paranormal ghosts may not exists (well at least in our world) but people are certainly haunted ghosts of the past. Last vestigial motes of could of beens and what ifs. This incarnation Black Widow that I'm aiming for is very much haunted by the Ghosts of the Past. I always figured it made sense given her character and her history. A child of war, turned killer, spy and assassin while others her age learned to like boys and did algebra. She's killed more men then many men will ever in their lifetime and she's watch her own world rise and crumble around her while she remained almost suspended in time watching those around her age and fall to a place where sane minds do not dare venture. And the Ghosts of her deeds haunt her, the are specters in her sleep and ghastly flashes across her eyelids when they close for a moment.
And unlike the Black Window of mainstream, none of it just goes away because she falls for some boy. You don't just step away from a life of soviet doctrine being smashed into your head day in and day out, you don't just step away from the people that have become your family, you don't just defect because you might like a pretty boy. Black Widow is not a hormonal teenage, I've think she's gone past thinking with her sexual organs first. So yes this is a Black Widow that never left the KGB, that never defected who still holds alternative agendas, who carries secretes and operations behind the backs of her so called friends.
And it's all because well I have a little morality tale in mind, to tell you the truth. A story of revenge (a tired and well worn concept I know) and a story of duality. So while even she has mission from the the JLA and the Russians, she has another mission one more personal, one I created by taking a father figure and a ex-spy that has sort of been forgotten by the DC Mythos to create a classic tale of revenge. But Revenge is never quick and it's never easy. So well we will see what will happen won't we?
Hello Madame. You have managed to catch my interest in your little endeavor. So here are two writing samples for you to examine. I'm no Shakespeare, but I like to think I get the job done
It was like the Father used to say during his sermons: Porque la paga del pecado es muerte. They were right it seemed: For the wages of sin is death.
Jack was only fifty. Yet he felt like an old man, as if he had walked through a dozen lifetimes only to be shit out the other side without a care in the world. His back ached in pain, his shoulders sagged, and his feet dragged against the desert sand which resisted his every move. The bullet lodged somewhere in his back wasn't helping and neither was his companion.
Javier Bermudez was very much dead. People came back from a lot of things but not a .45 round fired point blank into the back of your head by a vengeful whore. You just don’t. It would of been easier if he was alive. At least Jack would've had somebody to talk to, at least he wouldn't of had to drag his bloated corpse through the sand. But it was never that easy. They never take the easy option, they always want to go down in a blaze of glory. Jack had seen a lot of blazes of glory in his life and many more aftermaths when the blaze is just some burning embers. They always ended up like his companion. Dead and starting to smell.
What the hell was he doing? Out in the middle of the goddamn desert with the corpse of a petty drug lord and for what? Money? It wasn't like they were paying him much, maybe a 10000 pesos if he was lucky. No. He certainly wasn’t doing it out of the kindest in his warm fuzzy heart. No. He knew why he was there. He always knew. It was the same reason every “retirement” ended early and why he wasn't back home in Santa Fe. He needed it. The blaring sounds of gunshots, the screams of hatred, the feeling of adrenaline pumping through his body. It made him feel alive like nothing else did. It was the only thing he wanted to do, despite how much he wanted to get away.
Mary was right. He was nothing but a drunk wannabe cowboy with a deathwish. He wondered how Mary was doing, if she was still waiting tables at the Sunrise Diner and still smelled of roses and hard liquor. He wondered how the kids were doing to, Luke would be graduating college this year becoming a real man. He probably should've talked to them more but it was better this way. Better to leave one night with nothing but the duster, rucksack and motorcycle leaving nothing but a note. Hate was easier to deal with than disappointment or grief, Jack knew hate all too well.
He squinted up at the desert sky above as the sun beat down on his windworn face. The desert sky was different than anything else you would ever see. Just a big old expanse of blue stretching out into infinity, the void threatening to swallow you whole. But in the big blue empty he spotted three black shapes high above... circling. He would've laughed if he had the energy left to. He’d seen many a man die in the desert but he would not be one of them. If he was to die, he would do it in a warm bed.
The Moscow Zone lays on the eastern edge of the Expanse. A solemn congregation of dark steel rising to meet grey skies of snow and rain. The “Gateway of the East” was once the dominate force in the technologies of the future fueled by the remnants of Soviet ashes and persistent ingenuity. They rivaled anything coming out of the Pacific Corridor, or the American Consolidations. These days those times of glory and prestige seemed little more than vestiagle motes of dust suspended in time. A crude but effective combination of rising crime, political corruption and lack of care leading to its decline.
Though like any rotting corpse, the maggots and carrion eaters still thrived. Gangs, corporations and anyone looking for a place to just disappear all eventually found their ways to Moscow. These complex and dazzling spider web of backroom dealings, espionage, and murder created a new ecosystem in the wake of the one long since decayed. It was now a city that ran on more simple things than bureaucracy or ideology. It ran on currency; sheafs of old world dollars and rubles, or small intrinsic credit chips for the new age. It didn't matter what you paid in as long as you had the money you could get anything that your heart desired and more. In the Zone you either knew how to play the game or died in some neon saturated alleyway.
The last real resemblance of public authority in the Zone was the Moscow branch of the Public Security Bureau. Located far away from its headquarters in Berlin, the PSB was heavily undermanned and underfunded. Nobody cared about the safety or well being of the wretches and rats living in a black hole when they had other corporate interests they needed to look after. It didn't help that most of the Moscow PSB was already being paid out of pocket by at least five different “reputable sponsors” to look the otherway and basically let a crude mixture of private security forces and street justice deal with the problems that arose. Attention was bad for business after all and the less that PSB HQ heard about problems going on in Moscow the better it was for the rats that lived within.
Of course there were always outliers in these equations of life. Individuals whether through some sort of death wish, self honor, or other odd mental disruption got it into their minds that the PSB still had a job to do. where even though most of their coworkers were corrupt and as bad as the gangsters and criminals they were supposed to bring in, they still felt like they had a duty to the regular people of the Zone stuck in the mess just like them. Detective Mykhaila Krajnik was one such damned soul.
“Hey watch it!” A voice yelled after Mykhaila as she shouldered her way through the crowd. She did not move for other individuals as they approached her rather they parted from her as if propelled by some innate deep force. She pulled the heavy black trench coat closer against her body as the wind began to pick back up again buffeting her body as fresh flakes of cold january snow danced around her. She pushed on with persistence, head down against the wind. She moved with purpose down the street towards the old wrought iron gate that marked the entrance of the Gutter.
желоб in the common tongue, the Gutter was a den of bright neon and depravity. It was situated between the squat smog churning factories of the industrial sector and the tall obelisks of glass that the CEOs who ran the show dwelled inside of. As a result you got a mixture of all types with smartly dressed businessman consorting with basic five penny whores all indulging in a sensory overload of uppers, downers, hallucinogens and pulsing neon. It certainly wasn't a place for any tourist or the faint of heart to sally forth through, everybody had an agenda and everybody was packing. You didn't go to the Gutter to find something, you went to get lost in the ritualistic haze to forget about your worries for awhile, to be consumed by the pulsating energy that swirled about.
Of course Mykhaila knew that желоб was as bad as the rest of the city. A lot of bodies get pulled out from behind clubs and from the alleyways when the sun rose up in the sky and the many bars and other “reputable places of business” closed their shutters waiting for the tainted darkness to sweep across the sky once more. It was natural selection really; as soon as you stopped moving, stopped pushing forward, stopped checking behind your back you were eaten alive for being too slow.
Business was the dull roar of a raging current and death the accepted punishment for carelessness, laziness, lack of vigor, or failure to follow intricate and age old procedures of honor and justice. It was no place for a Detective in the PSB. If any of the harvesters, runners or fixers found out who she was they would swarm upon her in an instant and rip her apart until she was nothing more than a faded memory left in the blood soaked ground. She wasn't afraid though, she grew up in streets like these back in Kiev. She knew the rules: never make direct eye contact, head pointed down, hands in pockets, always look like you know where you're going, and shoot first. They had gotten her out of a lot of bad situations back then and now she was only ten times as worse as she was then.
She broke off from the main crowd of people turning down one of many narrow and winding side streets. She passed stall vendors yelling in a variety of languages some Russian, Ukrainian, English and Chechen among others, They were selling everything from knock off watches, to exotict animals barking and bawling in cages, and every kind of illicit substance one could ever wish to flush through their body. Navigating these crowded side streets, she pushed her way forward avoiding the occasional wide eyed vagrant or stinking human deification left preserved in the cold January evening. She continued in this looping pattern going from brightly illuminated expanses with prostitutes dancing in the window, to dimly lit alleyways where harvasters looked upon her for any sign of weakness ready to pounce.
Eventually she found her way to her destination tucked away in the heart of the Gutter. Behind a long abandoned meat packing factory sat a small building with a crowd of people gathered outside indulging in cigarettes as the soft drum of music came from beyond the door. The name etched into the glass was simple. Darkwire. Looking around one last time she made her way across the street and making her way through the crowd outside she entered the threshold.
The sounds of a heavy industrial beat surrounded her as her black boots meet solid wood rather than a mixture of ice and snow. Upon entering Darkwire the dwellers inside turned their heads to look at her for a moment but upon seeing the Enforcer strapped to her leg they decided it would probably be best to just leave her alone. The Darkwire was a simple dive with the dominant space in the center being a pulsating neon dance floor lighting up the darkness around them as a series of booths and tables lined the perimeter with the bar on the far side. Skirting the perimeter of the dance floor she made her way to the bar and took a seat. A tall african with broad shoulders and a muscular build on the other side of the bar walked over his entire lower jaw replaced with a metal prosthesis.
Nobody knew his real name but most people just called him Niz. One time long ago he was special forces working with Hawkins Security Solutions, now he was the sole proprietor and barkeep of the Darkwire. Niz prided himself on his clean record and sense of peace that he was able to keep in the Darkwire. Last group of gangers that tried to extort him and harass his customers ended up across the street hanging from the light fixtures for all to see with a whole lot of bullet holes in them. Niz didn't even have a scratch on him. As a result the Darkwire had become a meeting place for many different individuals where exchanges of information and deals could be brokered without the fear of rivals coming in and shooting them dead.
“And what will you be having little lady?” Niz asked sounding almost bored as he polished a stout glass in his hand with an old and beaten rag that made Mykhaila question the actual effectiveness of the cleaning.
“What’s the strongest you got?” She asked looking up from the woodwork of the bar a metallic flicker in the circuitry beyond her eyes. She wasn't asking because she was particularly fond of hard liquor or even because she was trying to play tough. No, it was the only stuff that actually had an effect anymore everything else was just diluted through the implants in her body. Sure it was great at dealing with poisons and toxins but it made getting drunk a pain in the ass.
“Hmm I’ll see if we have any of the Svyatogor Special left.” He told her as he turned around shuffling through the shelves of bottles behind him before he pulled out an old square bottle from the top most shelf. Taking a fresh glass he popped the bottle and filled the glass with a murky almost black liquid and slid it down the countertop. Mykhaila caught it and in one swift motion brought it up to her mouth as she produced a handful of old world bills from her pocket and shoved them on the table. The shit was bitter and burned as it went down her throat... it tasted like home.
“So if you don’t mind me asking little lady. I remember every face that comes in here and your new. What brings you to the Darkwire on such a terrible evening?” Niz asked the woman sitting at the bar with a mild curiosity as he took the bills from the table and put them away for safekeeping.
“I’m waiting for a friend of sorts.” She quipped as she took another drag from her glass. It wasn't a total lie of course but calling “her” a friend was like calling an abstinence supporter a perfect match for a brewmaster. No, she was here because reputable sources had informed her that the anarchist she had been hunting down for the last half a year was coming into the Darkwire tonight for some sort of deal. The source was reputable enough and Mykhaila made sure that no word of her questioning would get out. So now she just had to wait until her target arrived.
Looking down at the swirling liquid in her glass she absentmindedly brought up the target’s folder in the PSB database, the display appearing in her vision being projected on her retina. They had little information except for a name and a grainy picture taking by a security camera. Irina Zherdeva. Well tonight was finally going to be the night that she got her. Mykhaila was not going to fail after all these months. But for now even as she watched the door in the reflection of the bottles behind the bar, she could only wait and drink.
You actually kind of got the idea I was going for without needing my help @Atrophy. Old cloaking technology like Blank's would without going into the hypothetical science around it (though you can read a fascinating article/report on it here if you so desire) works basically by bending light around around the target in such a way that it would mimic the presence of nothing being there. Pretending to be nothing, an odd concept right? So this would effectively hide the person, the shadow and muffle heat signatures for a small period of time. So most standard imaging technology wouldn't work on them and even some of the fancier stuff wouldn't work like Crash's eyes because they use Thermal Signatures along with simulated T-Waves to effectively predict a targets location behind walls. That being said some body with high grade optical gear that allows somebody to see in a varied amount of wavelengths like X-Rays would still be able to see Blank just fine. That being said since it effectively is bending light and other waves around under the user if the person is moving reasonably quick somebody with normal eyes who was perceptive enough would be able to spot small flickers in seemingly empty air. So it's generally not a good idea to break into a run while cloaked unless well some sort of firefight was happening (maybe in a chaotic and crowded train car of somesorts) where your foe would be too distracted with other things to really pay attention to flickers in the air in front of them. Oh and you know the running produces much more noise anyway and well camouflage is cool it ain't no noise dampener. But Bank has those so he is okay in that department at least.
That being said Newer Spooks are a whole different story. They are outfitted with top of the line tech where they don't just have almost absolute camouflage, they have absolute absolute camouflage and while they still have to run the risk of overexerting their cloaking modules, for rather outrageous periods of time they can move as freely as they want from a crawl to a sprint without anyone every knowing they were there no matter how good their augs or eyes are. The only thing that might give them away would be something like a natural tell like blood dripping to the ground or footsteps in the snow. And even in that Spooks don't seem to make footprints and the rumor has it these new guys don't bleed anyway. It's one of the few perks of basically become cyborg abominations stripped of all other feelings while your augmentations keep what little remains of the human you alive almost indefinitely in a life of eternal agony where every couple months all your memories get erased because things like memories would only slow you down. And it's one of the reasons why Divers never want to deal with Spooks ever, like ever. If you hear that you have one coming after you, unless your really stupid you'll just put the bullet in your head there and then.
@Mifuyne Well some people said that they wanted to join but for other reasons they sadly could not join us. So we do have some availability. So I'll make a deal, you make a super awesome CS and I'll probably be able squeeze you in.
@Rockette Roger that. But yeah depression can be a bitch sometimes, I've dealt with BPD since I was just a young lad so I know how it feels. It's winter around her so when it hits me its pretty bad because I have no real way to vent out either the anger, sadness, terrible pit of existential dread and feeling that I'm a worthless meat sack on a rock hurtling through space at freighting speeds with other meat sacks all waiting for the day we die. At least when it's nice outside, I'd just run until I can't run no more, something about the feeling of the impact of the ground on your feet and the like. But then I find it's five in the morning and I'm like ten miles from my house but at least I feel better. xD I and probably the others as well are sure to await a post from our lovely dwarf-lady with baited breath.
@Traitor Well I mean think of it from a practical point of view as well. I'd imagine if Gorgon started blending her way through a crowded train car filled with civilians as well as enemy enforcers the bloody chunks would start adding up party quickly and those could very will clog up the gears and other mechanical parts of the Medusa. It would be like trying to use your blender to blend through tar. All sticky and slow like. xD
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[u][i][b]Hexaflexagon (Concept)[/b][/i][/u]
[quote][sub][url=https://maa.org/sites/default/files/pdf/pubs/focus/Gardner_Hexaflexagons12_1956.pdf]In geometry, flexagons are flat models, usually constructed by folding strips of paper, that can be flexed or folded in certain ways to reveal faces besides the two that were originally on the back and front.[/url][/sub][/quote]
[u][i][b]Hexaflexagon (Person?)[/b][/i][/u]
[quote][sub]Academic who somehow got conned into working for the Government. Been role-playing both on forums and TTRPGs for close to twenty years at this point. I'm like 99% retired from active RPing on the Guild, but I still like to poke my head onto here once in a while to make sure that I didn't leave the lights on.[/sub][/quote]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media3.giphy.com/media/v1.Y2lkPTc5MGI3NjExamE0ZDl0dTlzcm9peXR2OTN0ZjE4cmdoZGc0NjAyd3pjbzZqZmt1eiZlcD12MV9pbnRlcm5hbF9naWZfYnlfaWQmY3Q9Zw/PlEqIvCQj2TLy/giphy.gif" /></div><br><br><span class="bb-u"><span class="bb-i"><span class="bb-b">Hexaflexagon (Concept)</span></span></span><br><blockquote class="bb-quote"><sub><a target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener" href="https://maa.org/sites/default/files/pdf/pubs/focus/Gardner_Hexaflexagons12_1956.pdf">In geometry, flexagons are flat models, usually constructed by folding strips of paper, that can be flexed or folded in certain ways to reveal faces besides the two that were originally on the back and front.</a></sub></blockquote><br><br><span class="bb-u"><span class="bb-i"><span class="bb-b">Hexaflexagon (Person?)</span></span></span><br><blockquote class="bb-quote"><sub>Academic who somehow got conned into working for the Government. Been role-playing both on forums and TTRPGs for close to twenty years at this point. I'm like 99% retired from active RPing on the Guild, but I still like to poke my head onto here once in a while to make sure that I didn't leave the lights on.</sub></blockquote></div>
mickilennial,
Alisdragon911,
Rockette,
Lemons,
DocTachyon,
Captain Uni,
vietmyke
