ONL

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Alexander Polawski Location: Moving through the streets of CMB with Freedman -> General Housing/Apartment 1C(M7) Skills: N/A

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What what with this man, this man who was so free of judgement towards a stranger as Freedman was? Alexander did not know how to take it, the feeling that there was a man who, if not knowing what the old veteran felt, at least could imagine knowing it. There didn't seem to be a single harsh or judging word in the man's vocabulary, only understanding and words of wisdom. Help, encouraging words and suggestions. If Alexander did not know better, he'd thought he as the old father back in is family's Catholic church home in Chicago.

Alexander looked back at Freedman at his suggestion of a group session, though with a very special group. He nodded, wondering, hoping that it could be something. "Yes, yes that sounds like an idea. Haven't had my own shoulder for…God, years…" Was all Alexander said of the matter, refusing to tear up at the thought of the last person he carried him through their troubles times. He missed her, every day and night.

The rain showed no signs of letting up its campaign of bombarding Camp Mexico Beach with carpet raining, though Alexander paid it no head anymore. The damp feeling of his feet soaking wet didn't bother him, nor his wet hair messy and sticking to his forehead. His conversation, confession, session or whatever it was he had with Freedman, was all that mattered to him. Hands washed of blood, but the image never leaving your sight. He knew it all too well, much better than Freedman's following advice.

"I'll…" Alexander stopped himself from saying it, the same line he'd thought to himself perhaps has a defense mechanism. "I'll try." No, he tried but failed. He had to take a stand against his most fiercesome enemy to date. Himself. Alexander breathed in deeply, exhailing and repeat a few cycles, until he looked Freedman straight into his eyes, forcing himself to look into the abyss. "I will. I will find the next moment, remember it, and stick to it." A soldierly discipline was perhaps needed in this struggle, the same discipline which he was both haunted and supported by. Follow your orders, don't think. "Yes Sir."

The apartments were fast approaching, much to Alexander surprise at the slow pace he though they had. Everything looked the same in the rain, the streets and buildings. Alexander nodded to Freedman as he opened the door, feeling the pat on his shoulder. A warm pat, sending its warmth through his weary body only felt a few times the past weeks. Alexander looked at Freedman again, one last time before entering and leaving him behind. "Thanks…thanks a lot. God bless you."

Manny was standing in the common area, now noticing Alexander entering after his talk with Freedman. Alexander smiled a tired smile at his fellow Baby Boomer, his judgement not recalling the little incident between him and Freedman. Only partial images of the exchange appeared before him, as he'd stormed off out into the rain like the broken shell of a man he was. To his surprise Manny apologized, only half of Alexander actually understood the context for. A part of him wanted to tell Manny it was nothing, to live and let live, like he used to. No words were able to be formulated in his mouth, however, only a feeling of sadness of a friendship on rocky ground. Alexander approached Manny, not knowing what to say or to, but following an instict he had surpressed for years.

Alexander embraced Manny and gave him a hard hug, one long overdue. Only after a moment or two did Alexander actually say anything.

"You don't know when to shut up, Manny, but you're good…Thanks."

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Nigel Cooper Location: Gymnasium (K7) -> Towards the Mess Hall Skills: N/A

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The world was slowly but surely coming back to its correct balance as Nigel kept lying on the Gymnasium floor, with the stars disappearing from sight and his senses turning normal again. While defeated, Nigel didn't feel the shame of being bested in combat which he thought he had the moment he yielded. On the contrary, helped by what little he could hear and see from the others in the room, this had been a good fight. Most of that came from Thalia herself, looking down at him and giving him a fist bump while telling him it was a good round, but one thing tingled him.

Hadrian. She called him Hadrian. He could get used to that.

A smile cracked over Nigel's face, giving him the strength to return the fist bump to the one-armed Amazon while the others continued to comment on the fight. A hand reached out to help him back on his feet, though only after actually standing up did he realize it was not Thalia who helped him. Thalia was gone, and in his stead stood Medic with his hand. Perplexed at her sudden disappearence, Nigel wiped the sweat and few drops of blood of his face while listening to the talk of lunch. "Lunch? Yes, that would be good…" Nigel half-way mumbled, shaking his head to get the ringing out of his ears as he made his way to the lockers to change.

Soon Nigel was back into his regular clothes, looking fairly all right after getting a good beating as he probably made his way over to the Mess Hall alongside Volts in the pouring rain. "I have to give it to her, was not anticipating that last move of hers. I guess playing dirty is allowed in war, sometimes, though it was good fun. Any suggestions?"

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Alexander Polawski Location: Standing outside of the Chapel -> Moving through the streets of CMB with Freedman Skills: N/A

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Voices began to speak to Alexander, voices he'd heard many times before over his long and hard life. Voices he knew to be far away, or more likely, dead. The sound of raindrops hitting the concrete ground around him, the never-ending rattling of tiny drops colliding with the rooftops and his heart pounding in his ears couldn't drown out the voices that spoke to him. He wanted to tell them to stop, to go to Hell and leave him alone. The voice. One voice.

He recognized it through the rain, underneath the thin canvas of an umbrella protecting from the hail of rain from above. Freedman. Freedman? Why was he there?

Alexander didn't turn to face Freedman as the two men stood there, keeping his gaze out at sea just like his confessor was doing. He had the same distant voice he knew from fellow sorry sods who'd seen some shit, mostly from himself. Listening to what the good man with his words of wisdom himself confessed to Alexander, Alexander could naught but nod along, captivated by each and every word flowing in-between the raindrops. Death, murder, prison and scars. It was getting to him. Not only what Freedman revealed about himself to an emotionally wrecked Mugsy on one-and-a-half leg, but the fact he did reveal his story.

Alexander looked for a brief moment at Freedman at his side, taking a breath as long as a bad year of many bad years, before looking down at his soaking wet shoes, as if he as thinking to himself "Should have gone for combat boots or Wellingtons today. My feet are wet…" His thoughts were far, far away from that though. Everything he was just told all made sense, awfully good sense. "I know…I think I know. I've been living with this for nearly fourty years now, though I kept on picking up baggage along the way. Perhaps you're right, I hope it at least. Thana, Thalia and Manny, they're all I have, perhaps they see someone else that who I see every morning I wake up…"

Ol' Mugsy wiped his face clean of raindrops and tears with his already wet and dirtied hands from the ground, holding in a wave of emotions he knew he could cope with out there on the street. They were the type of emotions he dealt with lying in bed, tightly holding onto a pillow and crying himself to sleep. Now he was to follow Freedman back to his place and get changed. Why was this man so good to him?

Pity? Love for your fellow man? Devotion? Perhaps he as just a good man with a bad past, like himself.

"I really hope you're right about…about me, and about what you said about living with it. Some days I cope with it better, but other…other days I can smell it as if I was there. It clings to your nose, no matter how much you wash yourself or stuff smokes up your nostrils. Napalm…burning flesh…and the rain, not to mention the screaming and shouting…I'm just so fucking tired of it…"

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Nigel & Thalia Location: Gymnasium (K7) Skills: Hand to Hand, Hard Martial Arts

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Previously:

The sparring session started awkwardly for both Nigel and Thalia, resulting in neither being able to catch advantage. After a touch of light banter from both of them, Nigel was the first to inflict a meaningful, physical hit. First blood, as it were, goes to the Neo-Roman. But the blow seemed to bring out something more aggressive in Thalia, who is now pursuing the contest as such.

Now:

A light growl escaped Thalia's lips as she continued to push forward. As each jab and counter developed, she instinctively tilted her head slightly behind the lined-up shot for greater protection and accuracy. It was an effective technique in a marginal sense, but thusfar had not been able to penetrate Nigel's defense. She gave note to his footwork as she pressed on, her mind processing what his style and technique choices might be. But for the life of her, Thalia couldn't tell what she hell he was about. Then it came to her - he didn't have one. She was fighting someone who was moving off of instinct and personal experience. That changed things. Thalia was a pressure fighter, as were many in her family. She used to be pretty good at it, too. But what many people didn't realize about her before it was too late was that she was a switch hitter. It was this quality that she hoped to exploit. Moving with a series of nigh formulaic combinations, she kept the pressure on Nigel to hopefully react rather than act. The instant that it became predictable (and her more vulnerable), Thalia growled through gritted teeth, bringing her steel hand around to bear for a single, devastating blow to her opponent's body that, from the look of the setup, might be a sternum-cracker. Call the medics. Possibly court martial Thalia. Inform next-of-kin. But THAT blow never came.

This opponent was no mere street-thug mugging the well-to-do citizens of Rome. No, she was an Amazon, one-handed but still capabable of dealing a good blow to those opposing her. Nigel had to give it to her, for even though he'd gotten in a solid blow at her, she was still standing and ready to strike out at him. She focused herself onto him, clearly attempting to get a gauge on him so that she could strike. Nigel was not trained in this kind of combat, but he'd proved a worthy opponent at his first strike, and so was determined to keep up a good match. Stepping back and forth, arms raised as Thalia came in for the attack, he was ready for the strike at his torso...

It was a feint. A full setup for a punch that she had no intention of throwing. Instead, she tensed and leapt as high as her muscles would allow, finally giving her a height advantage on the much larger Nigel. Using the momentum of gravity reasserting herself, Thalia brought her other hand down in a devastating overhand right, kicking her legs behind her for momentum. Her hit was finally true, hard knuckles making formidable connection to the side of Nigel's head, right in front of his ear. It was only when she landed that Thalia realized she was roaring something primal, and her metal arm was already cocking back for a follow up.

The failure as not only a complete surprise, a painful surprise, but shameful. What his neo-legionaire soldierarly mind had expected to be a powerful punch at his body, transformed itself into a precision strike at his head. A bolt of pain jolted Nigel to the opposite side of Thalia's attack, his ear ringing like the roars of Carthaginian war elephants. He could see stars blinking before his very eyes in a world which rocked harder than the sea at the Pillars of Hercules.

Nigel brought in a long breath of air before counter-attacking, though his blow was ill-aimed. He'd aimed at punching her somewhere further down her torso, hoping to either deflect or obstruct the coming strike of her metal hand, but his blow failing to flank her defensive posture. He'd called himself a Son of Mars, and so far he was losing the war.

Inertia carried Thalia to a low stance, her metal arm still poised at the ready. The defiant, animalistic roar had subsided, a sort of purge of her frustrations that gave way to a colder, less emotional woman. Her focus seemed to sharpen considerably even as her muscles tensed, waiting for the appropriate opening. Then she saw it: the telltale contraction of muscles from her opponent that let her know an attack was coming. Keeping low, Thalia dropped even further. Her remaining flesh and bone hand trailed on the ground from where she was crouching, giving her a balancing point. She pivoted from this point, moving to Nigel's less defended flank. That's when she made her move.

Compressed energy erupted as the pixie-cut Mestiza streaked forward, her metal arm brought to bear on the back of Nigel's knee. Her smaller, leaner body didn't have enough power to compete with the man in a fair contest of strength, but she had two things working in her favor in this situation: 1) a metal arm, and 2) an unwillingness to participate in a fair contest of strength. As soon as connection was made and she saw the initial telltale wobble of Nigel's leg compensating for the sudden, involuntary shift in balance, she wrapped both arms around his calf and stood as hard as she possibly could. Their positioning was suddenly reversed as Thalia found herself high on her feet, whereas Nigel was now mid-air and horizontal, descending to become one with the floor beneath them.

It was true then, what people said. Humilitas occidit superbiam. Humility conquers pride, or the modern phrase of "Pride comes before the fall." In the case of Nigel "Sportacus" the Scholar, it came in a literal sense. Thalia's manouver had caught an already disoriented Nigel by surprise, and when he realized the world was turning on its side, it as already too late. The small but fierce Thalia lifted Nigel up to the point gravity did the rest. Nigel fell down hard onto the floor, luckily not hitting his head as hard as the rest of him did. More than anything he got the air knocked out of him, signalling the results of their first skirmish.

Thalia was the victor.

Nigel fought for a breath of air, coughing as his lungs no longer were deflated, looking up at Thalia as tall as she was. She was quite the woman, like no one he'd met, besides those medieval reenactors before the End. "I...yield. Are you not...entertained?"

World of Light

The Heavy

Level: 1 (7/10)
Location: Lakeside
Tag: @Archmage MC@Lugubrious
Word count: 926 (2 EXP)

Heavy as in awe of the very sight of the massive, camel robot-thingy that had simply strided up to their little battle in the middle of the desert, his eyes fixated on it in a mix of said awe and confusion. His mind raced back to conjured up images of robots descending from the sky to hunt down and murder his fleshy tiny baby comrades of RED, though Medic was the only one in present company that he recognized in his vision. Again his conflicting thoughts bothered him and angered him even more. Why did this battlefield feel so empty…

The mighty mountain of a minigun-wielding mercenary had little time to contemplate that, however, as more figures appeared in their fenced-off battlefield. They were…strange to say the least, stranger than anything and anyone previously killed by Heavy's own two hands so far. A lady, or someone lady-looking with robotic additions as the first one to approach the group of fraternizing enemies, speaking to them in a friendly tone…what? This was not normal, not normal at all.

Heavy slowly and surely leaned over to his German comrade of a Medic, whispering quietly into his ear - or as quietly as Heavy could be, which was not very good at all. "Who are these ne people…They are strange, and they have no blue or red colour on them…AND if that camel is 'little' titan….then how big is normal titan, or BIG titan?" Heavy asked in curious amazement, scratching his bald head as Medic tried to answer to the best of his abilities. "Heavy, my dear, dear Heavy. I hate to say this, but Ich have nein idea! This zertainly was not in ze job-description…"

The lady-robot, calling herself Poppi had greated the fighters of the team, asking who they themselves were and what they were doing there. Several mercenary comrades had answered so far, leaving Heavy and Medic discussing amongst themselves until Poppi asked some very good questions which Heavy couldn't answer to himself. Well, not without a script or piece of paper.

Heavy strode forwards, his back straight and chest puffed out, pushing the Soldier to the side as he proudly decided that Heavy Weapons Guy needed to answer. "Miss Poppi, I am Heavy Weapons Guy. It is honour to meet new face here, not often we kill new members. I can not answer how long we have been fighting here, BUT I can tell you why…" Heavy answered in his thick, bass Russian voice, reaching into his vest and pulling out a folded piece of paper, when Knight shouted from the back.

"Well that is certainly an easy answer, my dear lady: for HONOUR!" The Knight boldy and boistrously shouted out, raising his mace up into the air for dramatic effect as several members of RED turned to look at him, most facepalming. The Spartan looked up and answered "For Humanity.", while the Raider calmly answered with "Loot, plunder and thralls." Heavy shook his head at these answers, clearly all wrong as he unfolded said piece of paper.

"That may be true for other RED comrads, but Heavy and Medic fight for RED: To fight against the enemy team of BLU over the valuable resource of gravel. Also Heavy fight for money to pay family home in Soviet Union. Is that answer enough for lady robot?"

Heavy's answer was probably not enough for the second individual to approach and speak, or…insect? A giant bee, coloured gold and blue, larger than even Heavy, adressed the comrades of RED as if she was a monarch speaking to her lowly subject peasents…as it turned out, she was an actual queen.

The Russian giant looked up at this humanoid insect, visible confusion upon his face as the insect queen spoke to them about their own quest to "bring purpose and beauty to the world", not to mention their "allies"… Allies? But all of Heavy's allies were already here in this desert, with him and Medic and….Yes, where were the others? Something finally snapped in Heavy's mind, something both good yet sad.

"Queen Bee mean that…Scout is real? Pyro, Demoman and Engineer? AND SCOUT? So this was not figment of Heavy's imagination! Medic I told you I was not mad!" Heavy shouted at the other team members, most of them looking at him like they did not agree one bit with Heavy's last statement. Heavy just shook his head at his comrades, though at Medic his eyes pleaded for answers. "Heavy, I…Ich don't know, this iz very strange, und how can we truzt zem?"

"But if others of us be out there, then we MUST help tiny baby team!"

Heavy turned to face Poppi and Queen Sectonia, picking up his beloved Sasha as he approached them. "If you tell Heavy rest of REAL team RED is out there, and that Heavy can fight more bad enemy than tiny coward BLUs, then Heavy will join fight against…against…LIGHT! Yes, Heavy remember now! Evil reactionary Light that seeks to destroy world and make new, like counter-revolutionaries! Yes, Heavy will fight as long as he can fight people his own size."

"Heavy, get your ass back here! You're making a fool of yourself. There aren't any other places to fight, you stupid, fat Russian brute."

Heavy stopped in his tracks and turned around slowly, giving whoever said such mean things to him the deadliest of looks. He had a desire to reach down and pull out an imaginary revolver, shooting whoever said that with one deady imaginary bullet, but he would not do so. Not for now. "For last time, I am not fat! And you are all stoopid, and easy to kill. Heavy want challenge and to save world like true hero!"

Turning back to the group of strangers who'd convinced Heavy and brought back certain memories of the Light and his life before it, Heavy gave one last look of sadness to Medic who he was probably leaving behind, but proudly walked over to Poppi and Queen Sectonia. "I as I said; I am Heavy Weapons guy, and this is my gun. How can I help?"

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Alexander Polawski Location: Chapel (V) -> Standing outside of the Chapel Skills: N/A

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Alexander had stood up and walked away, simple as that. Away from Freedman and his confession which wasn't a confession, away from his friend and fellow Baby-boomer, away from the Chapel that which represented the only constant anchor in a troubled man's troubled life. At this point he didn't even think about it. His legs moved on their own accord, evacuating Specialist Polawski out of the shithole that was the jungle of Vietnam. He didn't think, nor speak a single word. He couldn't feel anything, refused to feel anything, until he felt the wet drops of water roll down from his grey hair and down his cheeks.

The rain. He stood out in the rain, helmet-less and without anyone to follow down a narrow dirt path. He was alone and safe, hard as it was to comprehend.

Come you Masters of War…

Alexander came to his senses, standing in the pouring rain and getting soaking wet. If Manny had passed him already or was close behind him, Alexander had no way of knowing. He'd simply blacked out, just like he'd done during Quarantine; like he'd done so many times before; like the first time it happened - May 20th, 1971. It had been a Thursday, the day before a Friday they would be over with their patrol. They had all been dead-tired and close to death so many fucking times. On edge, that's it. So that the blacking-out had returned, it troubled Alexander.

Ol' Mugsy stood for a solid minute, just trying to figure out…what? Alexander was looking for answers to a question he didn't know he'd asked. Had it been Freedman, or Manny? He…he did not know, and it scared the living shit out of him.

Alexander fell to his knees, one foot soaking wet to the core while the other was content being a peg-leg for an old veteran. Alexander, who had never slept as well as he did the last week and never felt more safe, was tired. Tired and scared. Scared of what he'd found in the basement of the Education Center, in the room Aeron had given him a key to. Tired of the relentless attack on his personal HQ and…and…Alexander could pull out his own hair, fingers grasping tightly at his own scalp as he tried to repel those manic thoughts. How much longer could he hold them back? When would he fail?

He'd already failed so many others.

Alexander struggled back onto his feet, steeled himself, and started walking back to his apartment. He needed to change.

And I hope that you die, and your death will come soon.
I'll follow your casket on a pale afternoon.
I'll watch while you're lowered
Down to your death bed,
And I'll stand over you grave and make sure that you're dead.

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Nigel Cooper Location: Gymnasium (K7) Skills: N/A

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Nigel had gotten that kind of look many times before. The Look, capital L, when someone were either trying to decode the archaic lines which Nigel were performing of the stage that which was life, or actively thinking of him as a fool with too much time on his hands. Perhaps the Professor had been true, that buys never really grew up. Nigel was about to elaborate in clearer terms like the teacher he had been, when to his surprise Medic came to his aid in a most unusal way.

With knowledge.

"That…that is correct. It is not often I meet others I can talk about that subject." Nigel said back to Medic, throwing his support to the scholared man after Volt's snickering. Clearly in jest, Nigel would have rebuked the haughty words against those in wisdom and knowledge. The mouth-rivalry continued between the two of them, including references to cartoons Nigel had never heard, much less read himself. In the end Nigel added his own opinion on the subject. "Who says one can't master both the books and the battles? Fight during the day, read during the night, so to speak."

Nerva, the first of the Five Good Emperors. Having finished changing into proper training clothing, Nigel nodded in agreement to Medic's choice. "I can back you on that. Peaceful transitions of power is an underrated part of a functional society. I mean, 2000 was one precarious election year here in this state, and even that was mild in comparison. Don't know if I miss that or not." Nigel chatted along, stretching out like Medic in preparation for to coming session.

World of Light

The Heavy

Level: 1 (5/10)
Location: Lakeside
Tag: @Lugubrious
Word count: 926 -> (2 EXP)

It would appear that the physical presence of Heavy Weapons Guy once again was dominating the battlefield. Not only in the sense that he had knocked the Shield senseless after bypassing his very signuature weapon, but that his bellowing taunts had caused their enemies of BLU to cease their very assault on the RED Motherland, much to Heavy's delight. Standing tall and strong as he did, he could not help but look in a mix of joyous glee at the mesmerized BLUs, and with murderous hunger as he was still not ready to give their enemies any respite.

"What is the matter? Are you afraid? Shamed? I am still alive and eager to fight!"

Heavy's second taunt was so frightening to the enemy, that when he heard a loud bang from his side, the head of the enemy Assassin exploded into a million, tiny and bloody pieces of brain matter. Heavy as at first surprised to see his intimidation work as good as it it, followed by a deep and joyous laughter. "Ohohoho hahaha! That slaps me on the knee!" Whether or not he realized it had been their own Infiltrator firing that shot or not, it mattered little. Heavy's mood was only improving, and with a lack of enemies to punch, Heavy turned to the last sorry BLU that stood on his way.

The Vanguard. Poor, tiny baby man in armour.

Heavy lumbered forward like a giant Siberian bear approaching a foe, standing on its two hind legs and looking menacingly down at its unfortunate victim. This as too easy, but it would be fun nonetheless. Heavy, following the slowly retreating Vanguard, grab hold of his armoured left arm and easily picked up the tiny man. Vanguard punched and prodded at the Russian giant man, but Heavy only laughed at his meager attemps at escaping. Lifting Vanguard by his arm above his own head, Heavy lowered his other arm and curled a massive fist, shooting it up harder than a speeding freight train.

BOING

Vanguard flew straight up into the air a few yards, before plummeting down again and hitting the sandy ground with a thud. Heavy chuckled, looking down at his unmoving opponenty and taunting him one last time. "The burning you feel? It is shame."

As if right on queue came the Announcer's voice over the speakers, declaring team RED as the victors of the match. Heavy instantly looked up, cheering and laughing as always, jumping up into the air while he shouted "YES!" What followed could be best described as a circus bear with a surprising control over his own point of gravity, squatting down and starting to dance to a tune playing from somwhere unseen.

Heavy's Victory dance

After Heavy had danced around the Red Point a few rounds, the music ceased to play and Heavy stopped accordingly. The match was won, the battle over for now, and now they had a few minutes to fraternize with the enemy. Yes, Heavy enjoyed the heat of battle and knocking around some skulls as much as any massive Russian man armed with fists of steel and a minigun, but he was social as any other sane mercenary in his line of work.

The Shield, coming back to his senses, attempted to get back on his feet after Heavy had given him a good knock-out blow, only for a massive hand to appear before his dazed face. Heavy stood over his formed foe, extending his hand out to the fellow giant man like the good comrade his was. The Shield, at first sceptical, shot Heavy a smile and a manly chuckle as he accepted the help. With the help from Heavy, they got Shield standing on his two feet in no time, the shield proper strapped to his back. "I have to give it to you Heavy, you really got me good. But you listen to what Totem and Infiltrator says; without your precious Medic, you'd be…what do they say?"

"Toast. You mean RED would be toast? Maybe, maybe, but we still on this battle. It was good fight! I will make sure to give you fair chance next time, Shield…to run away! Ahahaha!" Heavy joked with Shield, hands clapping his own belly of Russian muscle and fat, wiping away a tear of laughter as he turned to find the Medic and give his beloved doctor a big hug as thanks for helping him.

As Heavy was about to shout out for his doctor, Soldier took the word and pointed at somewhere over Heavy's shoulder. Heavy, confused as to what in the world he was talking about, turned in anticipation to be pranked with like so many times before. Once Demoman had replaced his Sandwich with one made of only bread and salat. NO SAUSAGE! It had made Heavy as angry as a bull…wait, who was Demoman, why was he thinking about a black, Scottish cyclops, and why was there a giant camel standing next to their sandy, Egyptian battlefield?

"Oh oh…Is this new BLU weapon? Tiny baby men need giant camel to win? Doctor, what is that thing?" Heavy asked out loud, scratching his bald head as Medic walked up beside Heavy and scratching his own chin, looking just as confused as Heavy did. For that matter, everyone on the map looked in either wonder or horror at the giant, mechanical camel. Medic finally answered, though the answer as as enlightening as one could expect. "In my medical opinion, I have never seen anything like this before."

"Then this is bad. Very bad."

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Alexander Polawski Location: Chapel (V) Skills: N/A

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Alexander continued to breath heavily, in and out with determined motions of his chest - A chest that carried a ton of weight, picked up over many years of living through the bullshit he'd been through. So much shit that it as enough for twice his lifetime, and yet he was still very much living his current one. Alexander breathed out one last time, not noticing Manny making his way up the stairs and joining their little confession. The black mass throwing itself against the barriers of sandbags, jungle logs and pre-fabricated bunkers he'd put up around his little HQ of mental stability, it had grown stronger over the past two weeks. On the other hands, perhaps his defences had been neglected, or simply worn out over time in safety.

Regardless, Alexander was growing tired of carrying the troubled past all alone. All the things he'd experienced; all the things he'd done himself.

"I don't…well maybe I do know how to tell you, Freedman. It is because…" Alexander fought to formulate the monsoon of thoughts and experiences crashing into eachother in his head. He stuttered, closing his mouth for a moment and biting down hard. The old Mugsy would have let it simply ebb out into nothing, before standing up and going to do some other shit. Beatrice would have supported his silence, while Thalia and Thana would have respected it. Sergeant Jackson would have demanded it, but Judith…No. She wouldn't.

"You probably know that Aeron…The General, I mean. We both fought in 'Nam back in our youths. I…I don't really know how to give it square to you, just that…" Alexander punched himself mentally, forcing back a trail of tears from escaping the iron shutters that were his eyes. He continued his confession. "I can't forgive myself because…because…"

Alexander was thrown back to a certain place at a certain time, or were it a culmination of many different scenes into one? Because to him it looked like Eden, the hellscape they had infiltrated and wrecked havoc at, except for the people they were fighting. They looked different, very different, enemies from a different time and place. Alexander was armed with the Coll 1911 .45 ACP, aiming it at what he thought was a Eden asswipe laying dying on the floor. It had to be, because if not, it as someone completely different, but who suffered the same fate. Pulling the trigger, the man was dead, calling out a name.

His name.

"Because what I did caused so much pain, so much suffering to the very children of God, and…What I had to do later, I don't regret. That is why I can't forgive myself. Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay,” says the Lord."

Alexander failed to hold back a pair of years, flowing so gently down his cheeks as he said those words, not finally seeing and hearing Manny talk to the two of them. Feebly Alexander wiped those tears from his face and straightened himself, looking between Freedman and his very good friend.

"It was a war nobody with their right mind thought as just. Those who did had no idea what bullshit it was. Didn't even Court Martial me...hypocrits." Alexander said, and with that stood up and began to walk away. He had to be for himself for a while now.

"I see a red door, and I want it painted black. No colours anymore, I want them to turn black…"

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Nigel Cooper Location: Following Volt -> Gymnasium (K7) Skills: N/A

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Back to reality so to say, or back into the rain to be more specific. After having just come out of the pouring Gulf of Mexico-rain, it was back to jogging through and in-between the falling drops of warm rain Nigel had just escaped from. Nigel though to himself that he better just get used to it. After all, he was growing more and more fond of staying in CMB, especially now that he was making companionships with different members of the Floridian-Military civilization; Thana, Thalia, Joaquin and others. Now to prove his worth, with steel or fists.

Nigel was given his answer as they pulled up to the Gymnasium, nodding in understanding as he mentally attempted to bring forth his knowledge of the arts of martial fighting. Just their bodies, like Greek Pankration of the Olympics, of which Nigel had limited skills. He was a swordsman, not a brawler for Mars' sake! "No weapons, got it. I'll prepare myself mentally to face the iron fist of our local Amazon then."

The Gymnasium was as good as one could expect in the event of the world ending, so Nigel was in no position to complain about its state. Warm, but dry. They were going to sweat either way, so why bother? Nigel duly noted Volts' words and followed after him into the men's lockers, giving Thalia a look of "Let's get this fight done." It didn't take long for Nigel to follow suit after Volts and Medic, wringing off his clothes and revealing a worn but well-kept body of a warrior, some scars and muscle visible to those looking. Changing into the new clohes, he sighed audibly at what he should have expected.

Sportacus, the name he did not chose, yet was haunted by. Was this his curse?

"Well…It is a long story." Nigel would have preferred to not answer, but where would he go? That question would haunt him for as long as he ignored it, and at this rate it had clearly spread to the whole of the Camp. There was no escaping. "Two of the survivors I came in with, Wayne and Hank, decided it was a funny jest to call me after a cartoon character. I'd prefer Spartacus, a real historical figure, but I assume that galley is long gone now. I used to go by Hadrian, but…Oh it matters not."

World of Light

The Heavy

Level: 1 (2/10)
Location: Lakeside
Tag:
Word count: 1327

The battle was just beginning. No, not just a meagre battle, but a full-fronted war. A Patiotric War to drive out the neferious forces of BLU away from the Point in the middle of the desert battlefield, a clash of forces of red and blue. It was intoxicating! The Heavy bursts out in his loud, bass tone of laughter, surely echoing across the entire map and some distance away towards the pyramid and dunes surrounding them. This was going better than expected, though the Heavy himself rarely expected anything but a good fight. This was good, very good!

Heavy continued his suppressive fire from Sasha the minigun, watching with the greatest of glee at the sight of blue figures in the distance taking cover. "Cowards, baby cowards! Come and get me…" was Heavy's battle taunt, cut off by the next sight of something big coming out of the BLU's exit. A huge man with an even huger shield came ruining Heavy's day, the shield taking up most of his suppressive fire and allowing the members of BLU to continue with their advance. The Knight was right in his damnations. "Da! We must capture Point before big shield man do! Скорее!"

Two mercenaries of BLU were already at the point when Heavy had shouted to the Knight. Time as short, like Heavy's stubby little legs, so he ran as fast as he could fowards towards the enemy. The Soldier and the Assassin. Both focused their fury at the Heavy, who thankfully had been anything but an ordinary man, would have been very dead - Not big surprise! Rockets flew at him like the glorious Katyusha, and tiny Assassin of BLU lashing out at him with her blades. The pain was immense, but not more immense than the Heavy was, causing only medium injuries to the Russian Bear. Some of the rockets found their mark, fewer than the blades of the Assassin, like BLU Demoman, Sniper or Spy had caused him before. "Aawgh! Tiny Dagger Lady will pay!"

Heavy was ready to fight back the Assassin and Soldier as best he could, with a good pair of fistcuffs and possibly some good bite of the Sandwich, when his TEAM became great credit! From the cover of the side burst forth the Knight to mace the Soldier, while the Viking Raider took quick care of the Assassin. Heavy was for a brief second sad he would not get the joy of murdering them, but the sadness blew away as soon as it had washed over him. "The Point! Quick, get on Point everyone!"

The BLU Shielf was took quick for Heavy though, taking position on the Point. Worst of all he was making quick work of the Knight with too much of a mouth and not enough fist, according to Heavy at least. Breathing heavily and having dropped Sasha for his expected fight with other blues, Heavy was ready to face a rather painful demise at the hands of the Shield, only taunting him with a "It is GOOD day to DIE!"

That death never came, however, as Heavy felt a brief but sharp pain in his back. So brief in fact that it could only mean one thing. Heavy grinned broadly as he felt the healing power flow through him and watching his wounds bind themselves before his very eyes. His best friend in the whole world had just entered the battle. "Medic! You are great doctor! Let us kill BLU now!" Heavy shouted with morbid joy, picking back up Sasha and advancing on the Point.

It was time to do some heavy lifting.

The Point was slowly but surely turning red as Heavy and Medic stoon on it, revealing the RED logo emitted from the Point holographically. Soon the dynamic duo were accompanied with Knight and Raider, giving Heavy confidence that this match would be a victory for RED once again! "Good! Heavy was afraid this would be boring match." Heavy quiped back at the spooked Knight, feeling the weight of Sasha in his hands and the confidence in his fellow red team mates by his side. Outnumbered and surrounded? Heavy had to grin and chuckle. A deep, Russian, manly chuckle.

"They are no match for us! Tiny, baby men need more numbers than us to fight. HAHAHAHA!"

The sight of the Spartan charging into Shield's…well, shield, and Inkling dashing past and under the enemy team with an ink bomb. She reminded Heavy very much of his nemesis Scout. Friendemy? Rival? Something along those lines, if Heavy could remember who Scout was. GAH! Why were these strange thoughts so intrusive today? Heavy was there to fight, not think! Heavy shook the thoughts out of his head, turning to the Medic at the sight of a wounded Inkling. "Medic, care for Inkling! I have pain to give team BLU…"

An anger was brewing inside of Heavy. One not just brought forth by the slaying of two of their comrades, but by a primal anger that had rested in Heavy for many years. This anger he was about to unleash upon his enemies, both with lead and fists. "DIE COWARDS!" Heavy shouted at the top of his lungs, wirling up Sasha and unleashing a fury of lead down range at the Assassin who had made her presence known dashing back and forth in an attempt to unsmart the REDs.

It was too bad Heavy had yet to meet anyone able to outsmart bullet.

The gunfire surrounded the Assassin, yet was unable to ultimately kill her outright. Instead the cloak'n'dagger figure as forced to take cover behind an obelisk. Good enough, as Heavy then turned his fury towards the Shield. [b]Clik-Clik-Clik![/] Damned! Out of bullets! Heavy screamed out in anger, dropping Sasha to his feet as the Point turned completely red like BLOOD, charging the Shield. It was time to end this, as more of both teams fell around them. "You, yes YOU! I will squash you like bug!" Heavy taunted the Shield, raising both his fists up in a boxer stance, striking out at his shielded opponent with as much fury as he could muster from his Russian deep.

To the side of the Russian giant and the Shielded brute duking it out, stood the Spartan having taking up the fight with the Assassin. Behind them all still stood Medic, dillegently shooting Inkling with his healing beams after her grivious injuries. It was a bloodbath, nearly literary. Heaving loved it, truly loved it. Throwing his weight behind the next punch after the other, the fight continued around them. The Point was still red, but only for now. The Dwarf rushed at Knight, circling around him faster than any dwarf was supposed to hasten, while the Knight failed to land a crucical blow at his short-heighted enemy. Where the others? The Totem had fallen, defeated on the ground, while the Spartan got the stab in the back that only a true Assassin could inflict. A bloodbath indeed. How would this end?

Heavy's punches struck time and time again at the shield of Shield, each blow causing the fellow big man to kneel more and more. One last blow was needed to get the Shield knocked out, and it was Heavy's great wish to grant. After a series of blows from his massive fists, Heavy grabbed the side of the shield and pulled it towards him, causing it to flip enough for Heavy to lock eyes with Shield. Heavy grinned and laughed his usual laugh, showing his teeth to the soon dead baby man. "Nighty night, baby shield man!" With one last big punch, Heavy's fist flew straight at Shield's face, knocking the man back quite the distance, shield still held firmly in the man's hand. Whether the man was dead or simply knocked out was up for grabs, but for now there was only one big man left standing out in the field.

"RUN! RUN, I am coming for you all!"

World of Light

@Lugubrious Next round, as in perhaps a little collab after next update yes. I'll try to get a post for this round out tomorrow. It's been a tough week so far.

World of Light

@Lugubrious I'll try to write out the battle for now, perhaps next round. But for how long will the battle continue before the other heroes show up?

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Alexander Polawski Location: Chapel (V) Skills: N/A

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Alexander's gaze lifted itself suddenly from observing the pool of rain water that accumulated around his shoes, looking down to the ground floor and seeing another person having entered the Chapel - Manny. He'd been so silent that Alexander's decision to speak with Freedman had blocked out his perception of his fellow Baby Boomer, now much to his shame. Looking down at Manny sitting at one of the benches, Alexander waved down at him and gave off a nervous chuckle. "Oh, Manny! Didn't hear you come in." It was a simple greeting to his friend, seeing just have much water dripped from him as well.

They were two old hounds soaking wet, and probably smelled like it too.

Ol' Mugsy had other questions to ponder hard on, however. He knew he'd been asked tough, inner questions if and when he decided to talk with Atticus, and now Freedman, but what he had been just asked was a hard answer to search his soul for. It was a damn good question, just one he had avoided answering for so many years. Had he forgiven himself? The hard, cold and black mass threw itself against his barrier, launching assault upon assault at his position he needed to defend at all costs. Failure was not an option.

Failure, for who?

Alexander took a deep, weighed breath at the question still lingering in the damp interiour of the Chapel, yet to answer Freedman as he was asked about the court martial. It was why he was there, wasn't it? Alexander lifted his head up to look at Freedman, hearing how he'd been on both sides of it before. Alexander commended him for that, for being open about his past. He did it with such ease, such graze and matter-of-fact. How?

"It does…the way it's been explained to me, it sounds like it. Being fair, I suppose, and I hope." Alexander feebly replied, folding his hands tightly and fighting the urge to look away from Freedman's caring eyes. Aeron had spoken about them fighting in a new war, one against the Dead. That much was true, just that Alexander never really had left the old war behind. "What? Oh, yes I…I think so. I don't know." Was that true? "No, never really spoke with the kid, only saw and heard him from a distance. Maybe I see myself in him, somehow. Can't say I did things right when I was his age…Never a court martial though."

With one last heave of his breath, Alexander straigthened himself up and looked emptily in front of him, holding back years upon years of assaults against his own defences, holding down the black dread deep inside of him. With barely a whisper, Alexander finally answered the first question Freedman had asked him.

"No…no I don't think I have. I don't think I ever can. Only the Lord can..."

"Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay,” says the Lord." Alexander said to the dying man, slowly pointing his Colt at his head. "Forgive me Lord, but this one deserves it."

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Nigel Cooper Location: Quarantine (W) -> Following Volt Skills: N/A

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It as apparent that those having just been playing pool and poker had some history behind and between them, guessing from the tone of language they threw at each other. Verbal skirmishes, diplomatic insults and taunts charged at your enemy, all things considered it seemed light-hearted to Nigel. He himself was and never had been good at such oratory fistcuffs, save from the last incident with Thalia's cousin in the Mess Hall. Be it intentional or not, he'd made a friendly rival back then. If that relationship was going to develop into what he witnessed inside Quarantine, Nigel did not know truly if he found joy in it or not.

Okay, perhaps a little. A man of scrolls and swords, he still needed practice with the tounge.

Nigel turned to Volt after parts of the battle of mouths between him and Tesla, giving him a smile of appriciation as he and Medic were invited to join him and Thalia in the sparring. It was a pleasent surprise to be invited like that, like a Romanized Gaul being invited to visit a bathhouse. It marked another step into the process of integration, if not assimilation. "That would be great. I promise to earn my salt, so to speak. Lead the way." Nigel said back to Volt, beginning his march into what could become an arena, only to stop for a moment to take in Wayne being his normal self.

Some things didn't change then. Good, don't change too much, Wayne.

Following the small group of fighters, Nigel turned to Medic and Volt who in all fairness would lead their little battle. "So in what manner will we combat? Weapons or only fists?"