ONL

Foxtrot Oscar- The Eccentric Military RP

Astrid Norheim - Gungnir

Name: Astrid Norheim

Age: 31

Apperance: Standing at a fair height of 5"10 and slender build (not to mention her athletic curves, even underneath her armour), stares at you with her grey eyes as she crosses her finely toned arms. Had it not been for her modern looks, dressed sharply and wearing her medium-cut hair of blue and red colour. Astrid looks like what you'd imagine a ballerina dancer with a knack for heavy lifting and long-distance running would look like. A clever smirk on her face, she looks ready to either dance or snap your neck, perhaps both.

Nationality: Norwegian

Callsign: Gungnir

Skills: Artic- and sub-polar survival, stealth, extreme climbing, base-jumping, long-distance recognizance, infiltration, long-range firearms training, TBA

History: Astrid hails from an ancient family of soldiers, well as ancient as her great grandfather who served during the Second World War. One could say it runs in their blood, with each successive generation determined to serve in the military in some capacity. It was only recently that such a privilige was bestowed, or forced upon Astrid herself after many generations. Born into the army life at the very start, her upbringing involved many times on the move from one military base to another; Greenland, Norway, Belgium, Cyprus, Taiwan, Canada, The United States, you name it. To Astrid, few of these can be called home.

Norway and Greenland are the two expections.

Astrid as bred and raised as a true-blooded Norwegian, right down to the 17th of May celebrations, waffles, bunads and an affinity for the winter life. The only thing which has given her the qualities of a non-Norwegian, is perhaps her excessive use of hair-dye and desire to follow her forefathers' militaristic lifestyles. Her great grandfather served as a British commando during the Second World War, her grandfather and grandfather serving around the globe in NATO and special operations, and her own father who still doesn't speak of his own experiences. Her own began at a young age with martial arts, rock climbing and hunting with her grandfather.

The Norwegian Army was something quite different, especially her time overseas. Conscription into the army as for all Norwegians turning 18, basic training and such. Astrid decided to stay on after her term was up, becoming a professional soldier. Her specialisation, recognizance and sharpshooter operations, gave her plenty of tours around the world; Peace-keeping operations in various African warzones, counter-terrorism operative in the Middle East, border patrols on the Norwegian-Russian border, the list goes on. In all these times in the line of fire, her extreme cool under fire and persistance on long-range operations in extreme climates was noted by her brothers in arms and superiours. Few soldiers, and even fewer women could survive as well as she did in hostile territories, make accurate shots at insurgent leaders and get more looks at her ass than Astrid. In short, another Norheim didn't fail to get noticed.

It was at the age of 25 Astrid was contacted by [REDACTED] for clandestine operations patrolling the Artic region against [REDACTED] and [REDACTED]. Her record was spotless, her killcount of [REDACTED] yielding her several commandations and ensuring her future was safe, provided she should survive against the special forces of a certain Norwegian foe in the artic waters. Certain missions involved Astrid trekking miles across icy wastelands and tundras, making sure elements of [REDACTED] armed forces not set up military outposts in neutral, international zone of research. Global warming and all made the prospect of resource excavation tempting for [REDACTED]. Astrid's operations against [REDACTED] were top-secret, barely mentioned in standard military briefs to world leaders.

Perhaps it was not unexpected that she was hand-picked for a role in Foxtrot Oscar by the one they call Oracle. Not that she had much choice, even if she wanted to say anything. Like her forefathers, she followed her orders wherever she went.

Personality: Astrid's the type of person who highly enjoys the company of others and her friends, as long as they know when to shut up and leave her alone. Chalk it up to her getting accustomed to her long-distance missions out in the cold wildernesses of the world, wherever she's sent to fulfill her mission. Sometimes you'll hear her witty commentary over the operative comms, remarking how it's sad the last guy she blew the head away was kind of cute, if short. Puns, sarcasm and such isn't uncommon for her when she's enjoying her job.

And then she goes into full Gungnir-mode, shuts up and is laser-focused on getting into position. It's this part of Astrid you better stay clear off, unlike most men who sees this as their queue to make their move. Wrong move, a knee in the balls and a snarl from Astrid later she's off to do some outdoors jogging. It's a wonder she has a partner who's not afraid of her, if she even has one.

Not one to be alarmed by the many looks she gets for her appearence and swagger, she takes it either as a compliment or simply shakes it off. She's not intimidated by anyone, and whoever decides to take advantage of her or gets the wrong idea, she's sure to enlighten them in a most painful way.

Tactical Suit:

Visual representation of Astrid's Light Mech Suit

The custom adjusted Tactical Suit for Astrid enhances her tactical specialities of Stealth and vertical manouvering. In it's default setting, it's features bare minimum of military accessories. Sound-absorbing fabrics make Astrid's movement in the suit as good as impossible to hear with the naked ear, let alone assists her in distributing her weight as to minimize external sound factors on various surfaces. It even softens the sound of her snapping necks or subduing enemies by suffication.

The non-reflective external texture ensures nothing but the brighest beams of light gives away her position, combined with its temperature regulatory material which drastically lowers her thermal profile. In short, she's a shadow with delicate angles.

Additional features can be quicly attached to Astrid's light suit, giving her vastly improved climbing abilities with increased grip strength and better grip. In the hands of Astrid, she can effectively climb any and all surfaces like Spiderman, but with looking a whole lot better. Furthermore, she equips herself with a glider-suit when on high-altitude missions, allowing her to quickly evactuate her firing position and fly away to safety at breath-taking speeds. That's if anyone can figure out where the black-clad Norwegian operative fired from in the first place.

Weapons:

• FN Ballista .308 Winchester Sniper Rifle
• Duel-wielded Glock 17 Gen 5 with attachable surpressors
• FN P90 5.7x28mm Submachine Gun with attachable surpressor

Equipment:

• Tactical Knife
• 2x Flashbang
• 2x Smoke grenades
• 2x Fragmentation grenades
• Quad-Optic NVGs
• Multi-zoom binoculars
• Climbing gear (Nano-fiber rope, climbing hook, etc.)
• Adaptive Arctic and woodlands camouflage cover
• Military Wing-glider

Hobbies: Climbing, ballet dancing, reading, TBA

Foxtrot Oscar (A less-than-serious Military RP)

@kingkonradAs we've discussed and bantered off-sight, you already know my idea; stealthy infiltrator and long-range operative, or hardy assault specialist with a nack for vertical manouvering.

Foxtrot Oscar (A less-than-serious Military RP)

As always, my dear English-Pole, you have my interest ;)

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Alexander Polawski Location: General Housing/Apartment 1C(M7) -> Education Center: Auditorium (M) Skills: N/A

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Made to do greater greats things. Manny's words resconated with Alexander as they rushed on through the hail of rain and humidty in the streets, akin to a wise phrase an elder grandmother would impart to her grandchild. He did not consciously know what part of him it touched so warmly, though it lit up a fragment of a feeling inside him. One chamber, basked in darkness for an eternity, now a glimmer of hope shining ever so dimly.

Made to do greater things. Perhaps Manny was right, perhaps something to happen in the future? A meaning, purpose, destiny? Grand words Alexande normally would scoff at, since only God knew their place in the world. Alexander had lost hope many times that he would do greater things in life, considering everything else he'd done. Did his Post-Apocalyptic Dentist friend know better? In the very least, Manny laughed at his jokes like he had no bad thoughts about him.

A true friend. A friend who sadly had no umbrella. Too bad, they had a court martial to attend to.

"At least we're waterproof, unlike our clothes."

Alexander's statement reflected the state of which both of them reached the Education Center in. Armed guards kept watch of the coming hearings, which was understandable. The military preffered to have things under as much control as possible, hence the guns. Entering the center, Alexander heard the clear-cut instructions; End of the hall, take a seat and wait for your name to be called. Spoken like a true member of the military. Alexander followed Manny's lead, finding a seat beside him in the middle and waiting for the hearing to begin. He would maybe have said something, but the voice of Atlas told them to remain quiet. Fair enough, Alexander thought, instead trying to make himself comfortable in his seat, still wet from their run through the streets.

The only thing Alexander did of notice, was to give Manny a reassuring nod and try to clear his own thoughts. This would be a hard thing for him to pull through, but Freedman's word gave him strength. So did Manny's. The question was if that was enough.

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Nigel Cooper Location: Education Center -> Auditorium (M) Skills: N/A

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Nigel, now inside of the Education Center and awaiting their turn to enter the Auditorium where he guessed the trials would be held, turned around upon realizing Volts had also followed suit. Had it been the rain which drowned out the sound of him behind him in the streets? Well, it didn't really matter, except it meant more people Nigel was semi-familiar with to make an unknown situation less unknown. "While we're waiting, what should one except? I have not had the opportunity to attend a trial before, nothing like this at least." Nigel would ask Volts, only giving a brief head to Thalia with her short reply. She thought he would give her one in return for their fight earlier. He was looking forward to it.

Soon they were shuffling into the Auditorium, ordered to divide their ranks by who had been summoned and who attended for leizure, Nigel being of the former. Alongside the people he had been in Quarantine with, Nigel followed the stream into the Auditorium and attempted to find a seat in which he would not be completely isolated. And somehow he managed to both see and hear two of his former 'comrades' from their trek through the swamps; Hank and Wayne. For some reason Hank had kept Ashton, the companion of Thana as far as he understood still, company with his usual 'friendy' personality. Nigel didn't need to hear exactly what he said, Ash's demeanour said enough.

Nigel shuffled through the seating arrangments to sit beside Ash or in proximity to him, when he heard the unmistakable sound of someone trying to be sneaky. Trying was the word, with a capital T. It had been Thalia, now seated and seething with anger out in the corner of his eye, prompting him to make a mental note; do NOT attempt to open diplomatic channels with her in the forseeable future. Even Nigel was not that social inept as to attempt that. Instead he focused on Ash, about to ask if Wayne was bothering him, when the call to remain silent came. So Nigel only give a quizical look from Ash to Hank, back to Ash, before seating, as if asking him "What was that all about?"

World of Light

The Heavy

Level: LEVEL UP - 2 (1/20)
Location: Lakeside
Word count: 562 (1 EXP)

LEVEL UP - New Power aquired: Showdown

With a flick of the wrist, the Heavy mimics a quick-draw Pistol Showdown and shouts before blowing out the imaginary smoke from the "barrel". This attack has the chance of killing an enemy outright in one blow, or severly injure a stronger enemy.

The battle was in full swing then, though not in the way Heavy had anticipated today's battles to play out. The teams had changed dramatically, but to Heavy it was all the same story, only with new targets: Shoot to kill! Heavy's massive minigun of ridiculess amounts of firepower spewed bullets in appropriate spreads across the sandy map, the recoil but a light push against his massive frame. Some of the targets he was accustomed to shooting at, others not so much.

Heavy kept up the suppresive fire for his new team mates, slowly backing towards the giant camel robot as some of them made their way on top towards safety. For a RED member such as Scout, it would have been pancakes, while Heavy was in no position to scale such a height. Not that it bothered Heavy in the slighest, for he was far to preoccupied with killing cowards of enemy team. Fast approaching and outnumbering them, but all the better. It only meant more blood to spill!

The suited-up soldier from space, the Spartan, came into view of the Heavy. Spartan was aiming his sci-fi rifle up into the air, at first aiming at nothing in Heavy's mind. Only with the distant sounds of shouting behind him and a quick look over his shoulder, did he realize the target; The Robot Lady - Poppi - and the tiny furball mechanic - Tora! Why was Spartan fighting like Sniper now? This was not how this was meant to be fought! But Spartan was too far away for Heavy to kill him quickly with Sasha, even for how wonderful of a gun she was.

Quick thinking was needed. Or perhaps better yet, a quick flick of the wrist?

Heavy suddenly felt a surge of inspiration flow through his veins. Not cultural or artistic inspiration, no, but murderous inspiration! As if from the distant past of his life, Heavy instantly knew how he could accomplish such a feat; by shooting the Spartan! Brilliant!

So it must have been a dampening sight to see Heavy put down his minigun for a moment, as if he was to surrender to the enemy team. On the contrary. Heavy knuckled his fists, bent down his knees and looked straight ahead at Spartan, blood in his eyes. His fists went down to the sides of his hips, his right hand reaching for something not there. A holster? A gun? But how? There was nothing there…

"POW! Haha! You are dead! Not big surprise."

In an instant, Heavy had pulled up his right hand and pointed it square at the Spartan, firing at him with…his finger? There was no gun in sight, no smoke or sound of a gunshot, only Heavy's imaginery gun pulled on the Spartan. And yet the unthinkable had to be thinkable, for a tremendous force hit the Spartan straight in his chest, knocking him back and onto his side. Had Heavy just killed the Spartan…with his imagination?

Best not to dwell on it too much, not now at least.

Heavy turned his attention back to the fight at hand, watching his allies fight to stem the tide of advancing BLUs and REDs towards them. "Cosmonaut Fox, do you have plan to get us out of here? If not, that okay! Heavy will fight to the end. Heavy is always happy to do some killing."

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Alexander Polawski Location: General Housing/Apartment 1C(M7) Skills: N/A

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His fellow Baby Boomer was not the only one who thought their turbulent relationship to be quite amusing when one thought about it. They had come a long, long way since their first encounter in the Hell that was Eden. Arms held tightly around Manny, Alexander had no trouble picturing the scene from so many months ago; the group descending the stairscase, having just lost their beloved Kiwi moments earlier and now pressing forward. Out of the whole group, Alexander had been the one to keep watch over the self-proclaimed prisoner, or as Thalia so-well put it, "bitch detail."

Manny had grown to become more than mere "bitch detail." The fellow old man hugging Alexander back, perfectly answering back at ol' Mugsy's remark, was the damn best dentist in the world he knew. He'd saved his life…and was his friend, through bad or worse. Freedman's words echoed in the back of his mind, intermingleling with Manny's words of friendship. Pulling away, Alexander returned the smile to Manny, taking a deep breath and looking at him. "Probably somewhere practicing experimental dentistry on someone a whole lot uglier than me, if you ask me." Alexander answered as serious as he could, before chuckling at clapping him on his shoulder, shaking his head. "Nah, our paths crossed for a reason, I hope. But we're here now, and that's what matters."

The Trial, yes, it was fast approaching. Alexander sighed, remembering the very thing that had brought him to the Chapel in the first place. No, he had to be there. For who? He didn't know. "Give me a minute, and I'll tag along with you. Got to get into some dry clothes first. I'm looking like a wet cat thrown into Lake Michigan."

Alexander was quick - well, as quick as an old-ass man with one good leg - in changing into something dry. He looked quite modest as he reunited with Manny, his hair drier after applying a towel in all haste. Compared to how he looked not fifteen minutes earlier, he looked quite presentable. "Okay, let's get going. Got an umbrella or something, or we're making a run for it?" Alexander asked Manny, not keen to head outside again, or any of the following events of that day. He would have to steel himself, become the barrier within himself once again, toughen up his defences and so fourth. Whatever may lay in that trial, Alexander would follow Manny there.

The point of no return.

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Nigel Cooper Location: Towards the Mess Hall -> Education Center (M) Skills: N/A

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Nigel had to nod along to Volts as they got out of the Gymnasium and towards the Mess Hall for a well-deserved lunch. "You can say that again. Well, both of those points. Women are ferocious warriors when they are allowed to, and arrogance the folly of Man. I'll be careful to learn from her, and perhaps my fortune will be better once I've got a good sword in my hand." Nigel commented to Volts, as if they were in the middle of a highly academic discussion on the topic of Eastern Mediteranian trade in the post-Alexander era. Hopefully Nigel's outward portrayel was not too theatric as had pushed away many a layman before.

From the sounds of it, Camp Mexico Beach had had their fair share of disabled survivors, at least those able to put up a good fight regardless of their weaknesses. A wheelchair-bound gladiator? "Sounds like he'd be quite the show for Caligua back in the day, but such a man garners respect from me. Deception is a powerful card to hold in war." Into the pouring rain would have been a pleasent change of climate after their time in the Gymnasium, had it not been for the temperature being a fiend that day. "…I'm not sure I'm getting soaked or sweating in this weather. Come on, better get to…Oh bother, I'm supposed to be at the Trial soon! Maybe catch said lunch later? Thanks for the fight, Volts, will look forward to our sparring next time."

Nigel began a steadfast jog through the rain, making his way towards the Education Center, hoping to get more time inside to dry himself. If that was realistic or not, only time would tell. The same went for the Great Trial awaiting them later on. Nigel was unable to refrain from picturing what the trial would look like, his only reference points from TV and his studies of Roman law. Military law was another matter all together. Where would Nigel be placed in all of this? Only time would tell.

Soon Nigel stood inside, a roof keeping the treacherous rain from launching onagers of liquid death upon him. Nigel was dripping with rain water, or sweat, or both. He had no idea which. Clearly he was not the only one who was called fourth to attend this important event in CMB. He recognized Amelia and Thalia also standing inside, one he had a much more intimate relationship with. Literary. Running his hand through his not-so-bald scalp after having it shaved first day of Quarantine, Nigel approached Thalia out of habit. "This will be an interesting day, don't you think? Good fight, thanks again. Next time I'll pay it back."

World of Light

The Heavy

Level: 1 (9/10)
Location: Lakeside
Word count: 926 (+2 EXP)

As it turned out, there were more than just the two strangers who attempted to recruit Heavy and his fellow teammates. Well, recruit was perhaps too direct of a word. Rally, encourage, ask or plead, one of those words Heavy could think of from the top of his head. A fox of all creatures was the next to join before gathered group of mercenaries, all dressed up like a fighter pilot Heavy had seen before, only more…what's the word? Spacey!

A fox…a cosmonaut fox, or from his lack of accent, an astronaut fox. Very peculiar, but after seeing robot lady and queen bee, not big surprise.

Heavy, who at this point had already made his mind up about his new-found quest to rescue Scout, Soldier, Spy and the other members of the real RED from the infamous, evil Light, still paid attention to the little speech Fox gave. The furry astronaut made a fair point in pointing out the prospect of a larger world beyond the steel gates surrounding the Lakeside battlefield, though Heavy at this point leaned over to the Robot Lady known as Poppi and not-so-quietly 'whispering' into her ear. "Ha, I could fight giant camel. Good you came though, Heavy need bullets to shoot BLU instead."

The prospect of possible rewards did not go unnoticed by Heavy, almost childishy rubbing his hands with glee at Fox mentioning a possible deal being worked out. "Aha, good! Very, very good! Heavy has not won reward for many rounds. What is reward? Weapon, jacket or…or Hat? Hat is good!"

What Heavy had not expected for Fox to inform them of, was the apparent presence of kids in the pyramid in need of rescue. Children, in pyramid? Heavy had not been told there would be children here! Sure, Inkling was small and tiny, but she was the exception. "Somebody has sent babies, actual babies here to fight? That is not fair, must be bad for children! Yes, Heavy will join in quest to help…again!"

Heavy looked on with a broad grin as more members of team RED stepped forward to follow in his footsteps. It made him proud of his 'fake' RED teammates, nearly bringing him to tears, but only nearly. Mostly he chuckled manly, in Russian, watching them approach. Their fight over Lakeside was over, and soon they would find greener pastures, or deadlier battlefields…

"What was that? The speaker…The Announcer!" Heavy instantly went into a fighting stance, minigun at the ready and his face turned into an aggressive demeanour, though it did not last. Poppi attempted to calm the situation down, while the Announcer warned both RED and BLU that they were first after their briefcase, and then after themselves. Briefcase? Heavy shook his head, for that was in another map!

"Announcer Lady is fooling us with her bourgiouse toungue! Putting fellow comrade against another! Do you not see, Soldier?" Heavy shouted back at Soldier who called him and the others traitors, feeling a sharp sense of sadness shoot through his chest for the first time in ages. Soldier's words hurt, like stab from Spy. "Soldiers? No, you may be Soldier, but we are not. I am sure not, I am mercenary, but more importantly I am Heavy Weapons Guy, and he fight for friends!"

Heavy spun up his beloved 'Sasha', aiming it up, up and up where the voice of the Announcer was coming from. While Fox began to command the strangers in the background like a true leader - who all astronauts must have been like in Heavy's mind - Heay unleased a brief hail of bullets, striking the speaker from which her voice had eminated from. In a sparkle of electricity, the Announcer's voice warped and died down, much to Heavy's pleasure. "Baha! Heavy does not fear death! Come and get me, you cowards!" Heavy shouted loudly at the now mostly empty battlefield, count ticking down now that there remained only them; Himself, Poppi, Fox, Queen Sectonia, Dwarf, Shield, Blue Poison and Medic.

Things were going from bad to worse in quick succession, though Heavy was not worse for wear. On the contrary, he was eager to get back into another round of fighting, all be it a rather different one than earlier. New comrades from enemy team and new team, fighting against combined team of RED and BLUE…no, the real RED and BLU were not here. He needed to fight to find and save his friends, now that his memories were coming back to him, however few and foggy they were.

Following the orders of Fox, Heavy moved as quick as he could on his stubby little legs into whatever cover he could find. Stretching his neck and double-checking that Sasha was working, Heavy looked at Fox with determination. "It will be honour to fight with Fox and new team. This fight will not be easy, but as far as I am concerned, they are no match for us. Come and get me! Fight us like men, I dare you! You seem to be leader of team, Fox. I can supress the enemy team with Sasha, cover you all."

🧚🏻‍♀️ 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?"