She's just going to have to share then!
- Last Seen: 8 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Sarpedon
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 1097 (0.24 / day)
- VMs: 2
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Username history
- Sarpedon 12 yrs ago
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10 yrs ago
Current
I'M BACK! Hit me up!
10 yrs ago
Leaving 20 September until 30 October. Going to be a shitty time in the field. Probably going to be a week after that before I even think about writing again.
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10 yrs ago
Going on exercise as of 19 September. Not sure if I am going for 3 or 6 weeks...
10 yrs ago
Vacation time! Will try to keep posting, but can't guarantee anything, please be patient.
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10 yrs ago
RIP in peace, Bauble. We barely knew ye...
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Bio
ATTENTION:
Course is over! Whoop! Whoop!
I have no fucking clue what the fuck is going on.
Posting speed and availability is subject to change without notice, and I won't have internet when my vacation ends, which is tomorrow...
Thank you, have a nice day!
Course is over! Whoop! Whoop!
I have no fucking clue what the fuck is going on.
Posting speed and availability is subject to change without notice, and I won't have internet when my vacation ends, which is tomorrow...
Thank you, have a nice day!
Most Recent Posts
The man waited patiently, relieved when ten seconds had passed and the machine gun turret hadn't gone off yet. That didn't mean it wasn't going to go off, but he figured if he'd lasted ten seconds, he probably wasn't going to die. Some more waiting rewarded him with an invitation to come in for some coffee, and an open door. The contractor sighed and stepped inside. It was surprisingly well-lit, and he relaxed a little, knowing that. He took his hat off, and tucked the brim into the top of his chest rig, then he loosened his scarf, and pulled his eye protection down so they were resting under his chin.
He couldn't get very far into the bunker, but he wasn't too worried. The inner door was locked when he tried it, so the vampire hunter continued to wait, figuring someone would eventually come get him. For now he tapped his robotic arm increasingly roughly against the wall until his elbow started to work again. Then he switched his shotgun sling back to its two-point configuration, and swung it around behind him, so he could appear as non-threatening as possible. Whoever was inside sounded sane enough, so he wasn't too worried about being eaten. He was just hoping they were going to be agreeable. They had to at least be willing to negotiate if they were letting him in, he figured, so the man was hopeful.
If nothing else, the optimism kept his mind off the fact that this could be as much of a trap as the machine gun turret hidden outside. He went over his sales pitch in his head and hoped things would go smoothly. Of course, when he was feeling ready to try and sell this vampire on an adventure, his chronometer went off. Checking the alarm, he began swearing vehemently, though he managed to keep the volume low. "This is not the fucking time." he groaned, shutting off the alert and clenching his fists. His elbow locked up again, and that kicked off another round of swearing. Things had been about to go well, so of course Murphy had to show up again. "Fuck you, Murphy. Eat a dick!" he declared, as if the man himself was around to hear him. "Just gotta hold on... Couple hours... I should be okay..." he didn't realize he was talking to himself, and barely noticed that he hard started pacing. "Shouldna quit smokin'..." he muttered, doing his best not to look too insane in case his host showed up...
He couldn't get very far into the bunker, but he wasn't too worried. The inner door was locked when he tried it, so the vampire hunter continued to wait, figuring someone would eventually come get him. For now he tapped his robotic arm increasingly roughly against the wall until his elbow started to work again. Then he switched his shotgun sling back to its two-point configuration, and swung it around behind him, so he could appear as non-threatening as possible. Whoever was inside sounded sane enough, so he wasn't too worried about being eaten. He was just hoping they were going to be agreeable. They had to at least be willing to negotiate if they were letting him in, he figured, so the man was hopeful.
If nothing else, the optimism kept his mind off the fact that this could be as much of a trap as the machine gun turret hidden outside. He went over his sales pitch in his head and hoped things would go smoothly. Of course, when he was feeling ready to try and sell this vampire on an adventure, his chronometer went off. Checking the alarm, he began swearing vehemently, though he managed to keep the volume low. "This is not the fucking time." he groaned, shutting off the alert and clenching his fists. His elbow locked up again, and that kicked off another round of swearing. Things had been about to go well, so of course Murphy had to show up again. "Fuck you, Murphy. Eat a dick!" he declared, as if the man himself was around to hear him. "Just gotta hold on... Couple hours... I should be okay..." he didn't realize he was talking to himself, and barely noticed that he hard started pacing. "Shouldna quit smokin'..." he muttered, doing his best not to look too insane in case his host showed up...
Thanks for understanding.
Only so much I can write about someone waiting for a response... I guess I could flesh it out a little if you want...
When a machine gun suddenly popped out of the ground, he groaned a little. He had ten seconds to plead his case. Stuffing his revolver back into its holster, the man mashed the "talk" button on the keypad and got started. "Please don't kill me. I've got a business proposition for you that is entirely unrelated to the amount of firepower I'm lugging around. You're no good to me dead, so just let me give you a reason not to kill me." He was pretty sure he didn't have enough time to run away at this point, so his only real option was to stand there and wait, and hope that he wasn't about to get machine-gunned to death. He wasn't going to sit here and beg for his life, though. He was too proud to do that. And he was too ambitious to let this opportunity escape him. Whoever was on the other side of that door had to be the key to his success...
The heads-up display in his glasses chirped quietly after some walking. The location he'd been given wasn't very specific, but he'd put it into his navigation system, and now he had a rough area to search for, conveniently highlighted by a ring overlaid on his vision. The human didn't waste any time now, switching the sling on his shotgun back to a one-point and hefting the weapon as if to use it. If the vampire he was after happened to be crazy enough to try something, he would rather by alive and lose his payday. Scanning his arcs carefully, he walked more slowly now, searching for any signs of life, any indication that there might be someone living around here.
It took a good deal of looking, but he did eventually spot the signs he was looking for. An inconspicuous vent poking out from the ground, doing its very best to exchange air quietly. Anyone determined enough had to find it eventually, but the vampire hunter was a little surprised it wasn't better hidden. Then again, most people were deathly afraid of leaving the safety of their walls. He just needed to find a way in, now. Working outward from the vent location, he started looking for a door. He assumed it would be at least a little bit hidden, and continued to move slowly. He had all day, and wasn't exactly worried.
Of course, Murphy was probably the worst person to ever live, and while he made finding a door relatively easy, by the time the contractor had reached it, his elbow was seizing up. "Fucking bullshit." he growled quietly to himself, "Stupid dumb bitch, giving me last year's model..." then his voice switched to a higher pitch, but remained quiet, "Oh, we fixed you up great. You're better than new!" he spit the words out like they tasted vile before continuing in his normal angry growl, "I'mma fuckin' kill that bitch." then his elbow locked up completely. Outdated modern cybernetics were the worst idea in the world. The older, pre-virus models were great, they could work in any conditions, and wouldn't stop working until they were in pieces. Newer models needed updating, and he couldn't afford such a thing right now. That left him with a left arm locked in a ninety degree bend. Grumbling, he stuffed his shotgun under his arm, and pulled out his sidearm.
The massive revolver was matte black, with an eight inch barrel and a nine round cylinder full of the biggest, nastiest .44 magnum rounds the man could get his hands on. It was bulky, impractical, and terrifying. And the only reason it wasn't the larger, fifty calibre version, was that he couldn't afford one yet. He fixed a snarl on his face, and tapped the barrel against the top of his hat's brim. It whirred in response, then he attempted to key open the door. It wasn't in default mode, however, and it didn't take long for the him to realize that this was an active, secure bunker. Whoever was in there was sane enough to maintain this place, and obviously had no intention of coming out if it wasn't of their own accord. He wondered if standing around with a gun in his hand was a good idea, and hoped he wasn't about to get shot. If she ruined his shirt, they were going to have a problem...
It took a good deal of looking, but he did eventually spot the signs he was looking for. An inconspicuous vent poking out from the ground, doing its very best to exchange air quietly. Anyone determined enough had to find it eventually, but the vampire hunter was a little surprised it wasn't better hidden. Then again, most people were deathly afraid of leaving the safety of their walls. He just needed to find a way in, now. Working outward from the vent location, he started looking for a door. He assumed it would be at least a little bit hidden, and continued to move slowly. He had all day, and wasn't exactly worried.
Of course, Murphy was probably the worst person to ever live, and while he made finding a door relatively easy, by the time the contractor had reached it, his elbow was seizing up. "Fucking bullshit." he growled quietly to himself, "Stupid dumb bitch, giving me last year's model..." then his voice switched to a higher pitch, but remained quiet, "Oh, we fixed you up great. You're better than new!" he spit the words out like they tasted vile before continuing in his normal angry growl, "I'mma fuckin' kill that bitch." then his elbow locked up completely. Outdated modern cybernetics were the worst idea in the world. The older, pre-virus models were great, they could work in any conditions, and wouldn't stop working until they were in pieces. Newer models needed updating, and he couldn't afford such a thing right now. That left him with a left arm locked in a ninety degree bend. Grumbling, he stuffed his shotgun under his arm, and pulled out his sidearm.
The massive revolver was matte black, with an eight inch barrel and a nine round cylinder full of the biggest, nastiest .44 magnum rounds the man could get his hands on. It was bulky, impractical, and terrifying. And the only reason it wasn't the larger, fifty calibre version, was that he couldn't afford one yet. He fixed a snarl on his face, and tapped the barrel against the top of his hat's brim. It whirred in response, then he attempted to key open the door. It wasn't in default mode, however, and it didn't take long for the him to realize that this was an active, secure bunker. Whoever was in there was sane enough to maintain this place, and obviously had no intention of coming out if it wasn't of their own accord. He wondered if standing around with a gun in his hand was a good idea, and hoped he wasn't about to get shot. If she ruined his shirt, they were going to have a problem...
I wanted to write more but I was all like "I prolly shouldn't because I don't wanna get too far ahead of myself". Gotta leave room for more exposition before shit kicks off.
Try this on for size!
It was very early in the morning, earlier than anyone in their right mind would get out of bed, let alone be out and about. But even that fact couldn't stop one man from slipping out of town. He'd checked out of his hotel and was heading back out into the wilderness like there wasn't a veritable menagerie of horrors beyond the AI-guarded walls of the city. A Synthetic that had given up trying to pass for human in exchange for more firepower, bid him farewell with a silent raised hand, its other hand filled by a multi-barrelled machine gun that looked like it had no business not being mounted on a vehicle of some kind. The man returned the gesture, but didn't look back. He was too focused on finding his next objective.
He'd heard rumours of someone who sold bootleg data they collected from plugging directly into cyberspace. Anyone who didn't need an interface had to be infected, but if they were, then how were they managing a business? He was determined to find out. To aid that, he was kitted out like the operator he was. Lightweight boots that managed to perform as much like running shoes as steel-toed work boots covered his feet, though they were largely obscured by his heavy cargo pants, just baggy enough to provide freedom of movement, while not interfering with anything. A full drop-leg holster sat on his right leg, rendering the pocket there useless, but that seemed to be compensated for by the bulge in his left pocket.
His long-sleeve shirt was badly faded, and from more than thirty or so feet, it appeared to be just a muddy green colour, but closer inspection revealed that it had once been a tiger-striped camouflage. Despite the obvious wear, however, it was in good condition, and even in such bleak conditions, his collar was still neatly folded and pressed, as if the minor point of professionalism might mean anything to anyone that wasn't him. Over it, he wore a chest rig, with an obvious lack of a plate carrier. For someone so obviously equipped for battle, his lack of protective gear would surprise the more perceptive. Most people were more concerned with the surprising number of shotgun shells strapped to his chest, however. There were easily a hundred or so there, not to mention the ones already strapped to his shotgun. The weapon itself, an older, semi-automatic model, well-beloved by shotgunners everywhere for its stubborn reliability, lacked a stock, and instead sported only a pistol grip. The seven round magazine tube terminated in a wickedly spiked standoff device, and the receiver was barely visible between the eight-round shotshell card on one side, and the two spare rounds strapped to the other side behind the ejection port.
His only concessions to protective gear were the mechanic's gloves on his hands, and the high-contrast eyeshields necessary to keep the wasteland out of his eyes. The leather jacket casually thrown over his ensemble, the well-loved shemagh around his neck, and the innocuous but high-capacity backpack on his back did very little to hide his contracting background. The only thing he had going for him was the fact that most people assumed he was military, rather a glorified security guard.
Less than a hundred metres from the gate, he reached up and adjusted his raid cap. Once black, it was now badly bleached by the sun, though it held up well, other than the lettering that had once read "GoldGate Assurance". Now it was left saying "old Ass nc" though thankfully formerly gold letters were as badly bleached as the rest of the hat. He double-checked the clip for his night-vision display, but he knew it wasn't going to fall off until the hat it was clipped to did. After playing around with the heads-up display on his glasses, the man finally got to actually walking. He switched the sling on his shotgun from one-point to two, and picked up the pace. There was nothing that could really hurt him out here, so he saw no reason not to be comfortable.
Walking with purpose now, he didn't look much different from any of the other brave souls wandering the wilderness. Closer inspection might reveal that he definitely liked tattoos more than most, but his otherworldly nature was entirely hidden, at least for the time being. Appearing as human as he did was a point of pride for the man, considering how some of his compatriots turned out, and he'd even recently managed to stop fingering the charm around his neck so incessantly. That had mostly been replaced with fondling the hilt of his sidearm and sipping at his water a little more than was necessary. He insisted there was nothing wrong with being hydrated or prepared, though, and resisted further change. He was too focused on his goal to worry about nervous habits now, anyway. He had to find that bunker, and the person inside. Not only was there money to be made, but they might even be the first step to curing the vampire plague that had rendered so much of the world uninhabitable...
He'd heard rumours of someone who sold bootleg data they collected from plugging directly into cyberspace. Anyone who didn't need an interface had to be infected, but if they were, then how were they managing a business? He was determined to find out. To aid that, he was kitted out like the operator he was. Lightweight boots that managed to perform as much like running shoes as steel-toed work boots covered his feet, though they were largely obscured by his heavy cargo pants, just baggy enough to provide freedom of movement, while not interfering with anything. A full drop-leg holster sat on his right leg, rendering the pocket there useless, but that seemed to be compensated for by the bulge in his left pocket.
His long-sleeve shirt was badly faded, and from more than thirty or so feet, it appeared to be just a muddy green colour, but closer inspection revealed that it had once been a tiger-striped camouflage. Despite the obvious wear, however, it was in good condition, and even in such bleak conditions, his collar was still neatly folded and pressed, as if the minor point of professionalism might mean anything to anyone that wasn't him. Over it, he wore a chest rig, with an obvious lack of a plate carrier. For someone so obviously equipped for battle, his lack of protective gear would surprise the more perceptive. Most people were more concerned with the surprising number of shotgun shells strapped to his chest, however. There were easily a hundred or so there, not to mention the ones already strapped to his shotgun. The weapon itself, an older, semi-automatic model, well-beloved by shotgunners everywhere for its stubborn reliability, lacked a stock, and instead sported only a pistol grip. The seven round magazine tube terminated in a wickedly spiked standoff device, and the receiver was barely visible between the eight-round shotshell card on one side, and the two spare rounds strapped to the other side behind the ejection port.
His only concessions to protective gear were the mechanic's gloves on his hands, and the high-contrast eyeshields necessary to keep the wasteland out of his eyes. The leather jacket casually thrown over his ensemble, the well-loved shemagh around his neck, and the innocuous but high-capacity backpack on his back did very little to hide his contracting background. The only thing he had going for him was the fact that most people assumed he was military, rather a glorified security guard.
Less than a hundred metres from the gate, he reached up and adjusted his raid cap. Once black, it was now badly bleached by the sun, though it held up well, other than the lettering that had once read "GoldGate Assurance". Now it was left saying "old Ass nc" though thankfully formerly gold letters were as badly bleached as the rest of the hat. He double-checked the clip for his night-vision display, but he knew it wasn't going to fall off until the hat it was clipped to did. After playing around with the heads-up display on his glasses, the man finally got to actually walking. He switched the sling on his shotgun from one-point to two, and picked up the pace. There was nothing that could really hurt him out here, so he saw no reason not to be comfortable.
Walking with purpose now, he didn't look much different from any of the other brave souls wandering the wilderness. Closer inspection might reveal that he definitely liked tattoos more than most, but his otherworldly nature was entirely hidden, at least for the time being. Appearing as human as he did was a point of pride for the man, considering how some of his compatriots turned out, and he'd even recently managed to stop fingering the charm around his neck so incessantly. That had mostly been replaced with fondling the hilt of his sidearm and sipping at his water a little more than was necessary. He insisted there was nothing wrong with being hydrated or prepared, though, and resisted further change. He was too focused on his goal to worry about nervous habits now, anyway. He had to find that bunker, and the person inside. Not only was there money to be made, but they might even be the first step to curing the vampire plague that had rendered so much of the world uninhabitable...
Will do!
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