Howler

God Neon

@AdobeFlash
Excellent, looking forward to it!

As everyone else might notice, the first post is up! I'll probably be editing it here and there, but consider the starting gun officially fired. While it's an IC post that contains some logistics, I'll be spelling out a few things here (and at the top of the OOC as well for reference) to help clear up any miscommunications and settle a few orders for things:

• The H10 Crew is invading a warehuose converted into an 'auto club' called the AutoMach, which is the headquarters of the Breakers.
• H10 Crew members are arriving in one of three commercial vans converted for the purpose, which means the seats have been stripped out and replaced with long metal benches like poor-men's SWAT vans.
• H10 Crew members can be assumed to have access to a semi-automatic 9mm pistol of their choice, street/civilian/law enforcement model, as well as a spare magazine for the same. If you have a different gun you want by all means, but be prepared to keep it reasonable and explain how you got it.
• H10 Crew members have 3 hits (pills) of Neon starting out.

Similarly, a few guidelines for abstract combat posting. Some of these will be appropriated into general combat guidelines (that I'm still working on, and somewhat using this as a test for) while others are specific for this fight:

• Assume that your character can drop about two bad guys per post via whatever means you feel appropriate.
• Only one of the enemies dropped can be hopped up on Neon due to limited supply. Feel free to make their power be what you like.
• While I invite you not to come away from this completely unscathed, you are responsible for the damage your character takes.
• Similarly, if you want to push yourself a bit and take out more than two dudes, you can leave yourself in a compromised position and hope the next person covers your butt.
• Perhaps most importantly, each hit of Neon lasts for the equivalent of a 2-dude-killing post. If you want to take more than a hit of Neon at a time, you can either stretch that out into multiple posts of Neon use or blow more than one hit's worth in a post to take down more than your normal share of dudes.
  
  For Example: Alex popped 3 hits at the beginning of the fight. He can either roll that into three turns of dropping 2 dudes a turn, 2 posts where he drops 2 in the first and 4 in the second, or one super-post where he drops six.

Neon management will be something of a theme for the RP--this is crazy shit with some significant chemicals involved in making it, and as such is not super-readily available even with a cooker on your side. While Alex popped his three, don't feel that you have to in this fight.

From a candid standpoint, as the one running this game this is something of a test for how we handle ourselves in large combats and such. There will be significantly more emphasis on character development and such as time goes on, but I'm intentionally throwing you guys into the thick of it to get a feel for how people will roll with things.

If everyone's interested, I would not be opposed to encouraging quality by voting via PM to me on the best post of a given battle and giving the player an extra hit of Neon at the next distribution. Let me know if this is appealing, or just a silly gimmick! :)

Similarly, let me know if there are any questions, comments, or suggestions. Happy to take them into account.

God Neon

If roads were the veins of a city Brighton must have been the elbow, or that spot between your toes. It sure looked like someone had taken a city-sized needle to them, jammed it in over and over until all that was left was cracked blacktop rippled from years of water damage and freight. In the back of a cramped old McMasters Plumbing van it sure felt like it, at least, the bench-style seats bolted down by chop-shop boys hard on fat asses and slim asses alike. It wasn't the only one of it's kind swimming upstream, little white blood cells on the offensive. It had been a long time since someone had stirred up Hoxton's human immune system like this and the H10 Crew was pretty well determined to make them sorry they had.

Meanwhile, Alex was counting.

Thumbing bullets into a magazine, more importantly, but the principle was the same. About a week ago he would have said clip, as per common vernacular, and would have had no more idea of what he was doing than the average asshole walking down the street, but that was about a week ago. Now Alex was practically an expert, having researched the mechanics of the various most common firearms in the H10 arsenal somewhat extensively. He could have told you that the most common weapons they had were the 9mm handguns that were also statistically the most commonly appropriated by police officers and, thus, statistically the most re-sold by the blue on the take. He could have told you that the Glock 17 9mm in his hands was the most commonly confiscated gun in Chicago as of 2014, as well as the gun that was most spoken of in rap music. If you'd really wanted to know, he could have told you the seventeen different parameters the Austrian government provided in their initial request for a firearm to replace the aging Walther P138 service pistol.

Not that he cared, but you know. Good to be thorough in what you do.

What he didn't know shit about was the little silver pills burning a hole in his pocket. Some people had already taken theirs, back during Dante's little war-rally. Others were waiting, the effects of their powers a bit too extreme or detrimental in close quarters to warrant popping it before the moment. Dante had only just taken his, skin beginning to boil and blister and crack like tar, like something burning him from the inside out until all that was left was scorched carbon. When Alex had first heard about the effect his immediate thought had been 'what happens to his hair', answered now by the acrid smell invading the van as the long dreads sizzled away and fell like fuzzy, decapitated snakes to the floor.

"Man, that shit is nasty." KillRoy muttered from where he sat next to Alex, waving the stink away with a gloved hand. "The fuck you gotta do that inside for?"

"Like a dutch over, bitch. You think he don't wait to make you smell it?" Someone else from down the bench muttered, earning a tense laugh from a few of the rest as the driver thumped his hand to the ceiling.

"Yo jockies, saddle up! Two blocks to go!"

"This is it." Dante was muttering, teeth clenched together as they blackened and cracked, hardening and flowing at the same time. His eyes were balls of jet, rolling, and the van was sagging distinctly on his side. "This is it, boys and girls. Ain't nobody gonna walk into our house anymore, you feel me? Let's get this done and make it real."

"Fuck yeah."

"Make 'em pay."

"Fuckin' stains."

"Get ready to roar, boys, we're the fuckin' lions in here! I want fifteen minutes of apeshit from every one of you motherfuckers, am I clear?"

"Clear!"

"I said am I fucking clear!"

"Clear!" Fists pounded the ceiling, one hard enough to dent the metal and leave four little knuckle-marks of flickering street light above them. Its owner was sheepish for all of a second before Dante's craggy hand caught him behind the head and shook him hard enough to jostle his eyes.

"That's my goddamn boy!" He shouted as the van came to a stop outside The AutoMach, the nominally-retail auto-club the Breakers used as their base of ops. Dante and Alex' van might have been the first to roll up but it wasn't the last, two more skidding to a halt just behind them as the men inside stood and fumbled to get the door open.

"Show these assholes some apeshit motherfuckers, boys!!" Dante apparently couldn't be bothered to wait for the door to open all the way--he pushed off as soon as he saw fresh air and no tin-can sliding nonsense was about to stop him. It burst open like something out of Alien, tearing away against stone shoulders like it was nothing as Dante Black charged headlong through the wall and into what was very suddenly a mess of gunshots, shouts of alarm, and various battlecries.

Speaking of battlecries, whether it was the most eloquent thing or not Dante's bravado seemed infectious. As the rest of the assault boiled out towards the breach in the wall (or, you know, the front door) Alex waited for them to pass, hopping out only just before the van pulled away. There was no exit for this mission, no 'Plan B'. This was kill or be killed, and the H10 Crew had decided which side they were on the moment that stupid sonofabitch put his fist through David King's left lung.

His brother Alex pulled his hand from his pocket, fist clenched tight around three silver pills, and popped them into his mouth as one. He'd never taken so many at once before--Hell, this would be his second time glowing--but as the rush slammed through his system and pulled his lips back in rictus he flexed his fingers and chambered his first round with a cool professionalism he absolutely didn't have. Alexander King wasn't scared, no matter what anyone thought.

He was out for blood. And funny thing about that...

God Neon

Been meaning to make a post saying that I'm probably not gonna be getting an app up for this. Sorry.

Won't bother with the details. Writing has just been difficult. I may surprise myself and actually get it done. But if I don't I didn't want to leave anyone hanging. So yeah.

@NorthernGR

The struggle is real. Sorry to hear that, if you change your mind let me know. I'm sure we'll be able to squeeze you in.

God Neon

Not at all! And full alologies, my players, I have not been able to make good on my hope to post yet due to emergent local necesities. Tomorrow!

God Neon

@Fox Fable
Ah, the fabled kiss of death. Approved! For the record, I'm working on kicking this off either on Monday or Tuesday, depending.

God Neon

@God
Ah, God the Everlurk. Always a pleasure. Svetlana's approved, get her up there.

So many Archer references just flashed through my head. This is gonna be a hoot.

God Neon

@R31GN
Nope, you tagged me correctly! Ramsay is approved, we have our getaway driver.

God Neon

Alex King

Name: Alexander King
Nickname: Freak, the Machine



Age: 24
Gender: Male
Ethnicity: Caucasian/Mixed

Physical Description:

It's hard to put a finger on Alex. He's an average enough guy to look at him--in shape but not jacked, attractive but neither 'hot' nor handsome. His hair is dark, his eyes light. It isn't until you realize how impenetrable that makes him that you begin to notice the little things--like how his hair is always just short enough that there's nothing to grab. That he doesn't have any piercings or visible tattoos of any kind. That he always wears the same shade of matte-black, carefully unadorned (which is harder to find than most people think). The scar on his lip that his brother gave him is really the only distinguishing thing about him, and it's something he'd change if he could.

Though that isn't really true. Watching Alex is an exercise in watching focus. It's not as if he's spending energy on it, but when his attention is there it's on something one-hundred-percent. If he's listening, he's hearing every word. If he's watching, he's tracking every detail. Disarmingly still, he moves like people think Shaolin monks or psychopaths move. They're not necessarily wrong.

Skillset:

• While E. King, Supergenius - Alex is smart. Really smart. The kind of smart that you don't really get to be unless you're at least a little bit on the spectrum. He can do the kind of math in his head that most people have to read their calculator's manual to know the right buttons for and tell you how far it is from Techmian to Kumasi because he read it that one time. Nobody's saying the kid was meant for the street life, but dammit if they weren't all over him at college.
• Dammit Jim, I'm a Doctor - Well no, he's not really. But he was going to be before all of this, and it shows. With a particular focus on trauma-care, Alex is the guy you want to go to if you happen to find a hole in your arm (or stomach, thigh, liver...). He may not be a walking hospital, but give him some sutures and a sterile needle and you'd be surprised what he can put back together. Especially if you get a little neon in him...
• This is my Caring Face - Having grown up as the quasi-autistic brother to a local badass, Alex learned early on not to give a shit what people thought of him. Most people don't even think he's capable of giving a shit, the kind of cool cucumber that can stand there and be called every foul name in the book without losing his temper. What's it matter to him if you think he's a faggot? Of course...
• The Quiet One - You know that guy in the back of the class? The one who did his homework, ate his lunch, went home and for all you knew sat watching the wall until he got up to do it again? The guy you were pretty sure would fucking gut you like a fish if you disturbed the angle of his pencil? He's got nothing on Alex in a bad mood. Y'know. When he has 'moods'.

History:

David King's mother died in child birth.

It happens. It happens more than it ought to in America, but that's another story. The awkward fact of the matter is that left David's father, an otherwise decent mechanic with heavy hands and a drinking problem but a heart of gold, out a bed warmer. By the time David was old enough to to realize his old man was paying for sex (approximately five--kids say the darndest things!), Mr. King decided it was maybe a good moment to settle himself back down. While the dating pool for an older African American man of his position and stature wasn't exactly tremendous, he was a well known and loved guest on the Strip and it didn't take him long to find a snuggle bunny ready to cash in on a meal ticket.

Enter Cherice and her son Alexander, who moved in about a week after Mr. King first laid eyes on her twenty-four-year old can. Nothing against the old man, who was pushing sixty at the time--she knew what she was getting into and so did he, and between the two of them things went alright. Yeah, she disappeared a few years later, but nobody expected otherwise and there were no hard feelings, even little Alexander who she left behind.

Mostly.

For much of David's young life, having a younger brother was a pain. He was pretty sure he was retarded, if he was being honest--seriously, the kid followed him around everywhere. He didn't talk, he didn't play ball, he didn't pick locks or boost cars. He wasn't quick, he wasn't funny, he wasn't even the same color as David. As far as he was concerned, white boy just came out hard boiled and that was all there was to it. So when all of a sudden a sick beating he was getting thrown stopped, the last thing he was expecting to see was the Freak standing there with a brick in one hand and his converse on Brian O'Conner's wrist where he'd drawn the knife that David hadn't seen.

So yeah. Maybe he was a freak. But from that day on he was David's brother, and the two were thick as thieves.

Not, you know, literally. He was still a weirdo, but at least he wasn't totally brain dead. He could talk, at least, and even did so on occasion when the two of them were alone. Not a lot, but enough to let his big brother know he had a head on his shoulders. That he missed his mom, sometimes, but not all that much because he knew she didn't really miss him. That he wondered if he would always feel this lonely, and if he would ever grow up to be like David.

David, who knew for damn sure he wasn't about to let his little buddy grow up to be anything like him.

David boosted his first car at fourteen. By the time he was twenty he had enough cash saved up to send Alex to community college, where he went grudgingly. A little more talkative in his teenage years, it was clear enough from the time they occasionally spent together that Alexander King was a smart motherfucker. Smart enough to have a shot at something real, something better than playing hood-rat with the rest of the thugs in the neighborhood. He tried, sure, but David wasn't about to have it--he sent him off to school every day, no matter what, and if he wanted to hang around with the hoods that was too damn bad. Somewhere along the line David got it in his head that Alex was going to be somebody, and by God was he going to make that happen. His old man sure wasn't, God rest his soul--he hadn't made it past the kid's eight birthday.

Alex wasn't stupid. He knew what David was doing, and knew better than to fight it. It meant something to him, so he made it worth his time. Around Hoxton he was a freak, but at school he was 'gifted'. Associates degree by the time he could smoke, pre-med by the time he could drink. He got to be more of a person over the years, little by little--turned out he wasn't retarded, just damaged. A little liquor here, a little familiarity there, and he was almost sociable. College was good for him, dorms even better. He started smiling, came back on weekends or for school breaks instead of every day. For a while it looked like he might really make it.

And then someone put their fist through his brother's chest.

Nobody was glad to see him when he came down, even if they knew it was coming. Dante wasn't about to let all of David's hard work go to shit, but when he opened his mouth to talk and Alex put a gun in his mouth you could have heard a pin drop.

"Someone killed my brother." He said, calm as could be, looking Dante square in the eyes. "So I'm going to kill him. You try and stop me."

He pulled the gun out of the man's mouth, popped out the round in the chamber. Ejected the mag, set it on the table, swapped it for a beer. Alex King walked past Dante, who couldn't quite help but wonder who the fuck he was all of a sudden, and that was three days ago.

Today? Time for payback.

Psychological Profile:

Alex isn't a sociopath, but he's definitely not quite right in the head. Call it childhood trauma, call it brain drain, call it whatever you want--the only person to know the real deal is dead, and even neon's not about to change that. The world for Alex is a simple place, black and white. He's either on your side or not, and if he's on your side he'll support you pretty much regardless of what you want. If you're not, you're slightly better than a table lamp (but you're also probably not as useful). Focus is a defining trait of his, and in keeping with his one-way-or-the-other mentality he can be both incredibly perceptive and incredibly narrow-minded when it comes to certain things. Once upon a time that included people, but he's a bit more nuanced these days. You might actually get a decent conversation out of him, if he likes you.

When it comes right down to it, Alex is neither autistic nor deranged. He's a very damaged young man who realized a long time ago that triage was the only reasonable solution to his problem, which is that he has absolutely no idea how to process his emotions. When he's mad, he's furious--when he's sad, he's inconsolable. It's so much easier to not, to just not deal with that part of him that he doesn't understand how everyone else can bear it. The emotional distance between him and most is a tough barrier to push past, but for those who take the time to get past it he's as caring as every barren wasteland is at heart.

So, you know. Very. Probably.

Powers:

Hemomancy - Under the influence of Neon, Alex gains the ability to manipulate the blood of living creatures (including himself). A creepy enough talent in and of itself, it can be especially disconcerting to see in practice as he bursts soft tissues or causes even minor wounds to vent, halts a circulatory system or hardens his blood beneath his skin. Though the talent is versatile, Alex is completely new when it comes to the use of neon and has relatively poor control, able to maintain or use only one affect at any given time. It also does not, for instance, heal the effects it may cause in his body, and he must be careful not to find himself in worse shape than if he'd just gone into a fight without it.

He...really likes using his power. Then again, he would.

God Neon

@Vietmyke
Diggin' it, was wondering if anyone would pull the walking boom-box angle. Approved, throw him up in the character thread!

God Neon

Well good lord, they do just pop out of the woodwork don't they.

I was a bit busier today than expected, but let's see if I can't get a few things done...

@NorthernGR
1: Some info will be provided about Dave when I can get it up, but in general he was a good guy with a knack for leadership and a talent at making friends. More even-keel than Dante, he was the one that really believed the H10 Crew should stand for the Hoxton community instead of just being another hood gang and he was actually able to make it happen. He was kind of 'that guy', the one that was everybody's friend, lead by example, and did what he could to make things better. Hope that helps!

2: Would be totally cool with that, sure. Definitely they'd have been way into being able to pay off the cops to get their boys back instead of having them wind up in juvie or jail, and not just so they could go back to dealing or whatever they were doing. If he was on Team Hoxton's side then he was brother enough as far as Dave was concerned, and in general the sentiment was shared. Dante certainly would welcome him back and haul him along if he was up for revenge.

@Zorogami

Approved, Sarah looks good! Feel free to post her on over in the Characters tab.

For everyone else, I'm excited to see so many people getting involved in this! When your characters are done, if you could please tag me in your post (or a different post, or whatever) just so I don't miss giving it a look over.