thatguy Member
Lady AryaStatus
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
None of those names compare to OMK though
As soon as Victor lost consciousness, a foreign sensation overtook his entire being, like he was being torn apart atom by atom, he was unable to scream, to vocalize how much pain he was in. Then his atoms repaired themselves, and Victor's eyes opened, from shock and pain and terror. He saw the young woman from moments earlier as she teleported away.
"I'm in over my head," Victor managed in his mind, "I'm in over my head," he tried to move, to raise a finger at the very least, but everything hurt, there wasn't any way for him to express the pain, he could only watch on, immobile.
His eyes looked for some way to solve his situation, but then he heard movement and managed a cough in the ashy, destroyed environment. The movement was sounding like it was coming closer, and through the fires, a figure appeared, and for the first time in a long time, Victor was in fear for his life as the figure formed into Deadshot, a gun in the man's hand.
Victor's eyes grew in fear, but also anticipation as he registered a rise in everything about him, and he was able to move once more, If only a little bit here and there.
"G'night birdie," he heard Deadshot say in a mocking tone, and time slowed down once again, as Deadshot's finger landed upon the trigger, Victor reached out and grabbed the gun and pushed the marksman's hand up.
Time resumed and the sound of the gunshot rang in Victor's enhanced ears, "You missed!" Victor declared, and delivered a kick to Deadshot's recently broken rib, then he delivered a spinning kick to the rear of one of the man's knees, bringing him down a notch.
As Deadshot was getting ready to make a move with one of his wrist guns, Victor pulled out his last Vulture blade, and slammed it with as much force as he possibly could into the red recticle that protected a human eyeball in hopes of breaching it.
"Vultures only devour the desperate," Vic growled, his hearing picking up approaching authorities, "but maybe some other day," he scoffed and limped away from the wounded assasin, barely able to manage the two flights of stairs, looking at the body he tossed over the side and wiped sweat from his face and coughed as he avoided another small fire and finally reached his motorcycle, listening to the police sirens, The howls of the fire department, but he was lIstening to the worst of all those sounds as he started the bike back up.
As he drove through the hole he had entered, and down several stories, he was listening to everyone's reactions to his actions, his face a mess of sweat, pain, and resignation.
Some random vigilante had killed a man...
"I'm in over my head," Victor managed in his mind, "I'm in over my head," he tried to move, to raise a finger at the very least, but everything hurt, there wasn't any way for him to express the pain, he could only watch on, immobile.
His eyes looked for some way to solve his situation, but then he heard movement and managed a cough in the ashy, destroyed environment. The movement was sounding like it was coming closer, and through the fires, a figure appeared, and for the first time in a long time, Victor was in fear for his life as the figure formed into Deadshot, a gun in the man's hand.
Victor's eyes grew in fear, but also anticipation as he registered a rise in everything about him, and he was able to move once more, If only a little bit here and there.
"G'night birdie," he heard Deadshot say in a mocking tone, and time slowed down once again, as Deadshot's finger landed upon the trigger, Victor reached out and grabbed the gun and pushed the marksman's hand up.
Time resumed and the sound of the gunshot rang in Victor's enhanced ears, "You missed!" Victor declared, and delivered a kick to Deadshot's recently broken rib, then he delivered a spinning kick to the rear of one of the man's knees, bringing him down a notch.
As Deadshot was getting ready to make a move with one of his wrist guns, Victor pulled out his last Vulture blade, and slammed it with as much force as he possibly could into the red recticle that protected a human eyeball in hopes of breaching it.
"Vultures only devour the desperate," Vic growled, his hearing picking up approaching authorities, "but maybe some other day," he scoffed and limped away from the wounded assasin, barely able to manage the two flights of stairs, looking at the body he tossed over the side and wiped sweat from his face and coughed as he avoided another small fire and finally reached his motorcycle, listening to the police sirens, The howls of the fire department, but he was lIstening to the worst of all those sounds as he started the bike back up.
As he drove through the hole he had entered, and down several stories, he was listening to everyone's reactions to his actions, his face a mess of sweat, pain, and resignation.
Some random vigilante had killed a man...
Posted :)
Victor had just enough time to throw his two Vulture blades into two of the remaining guards, each heavily armed. He had another second left, and looked into the terrified faces of the hostages. A woman's mascara ran and her mouth gag was soaked. An oriental gentleman was crying for his mother, and a white guy had the look of a man who was at peace with the his fate.
Then he locked eyes with the greatest gunman in the world, and it happened.
Time sped up to it's usual pace, and everything just happened all at once. Something crashed through the window on the opposite side, the guards went down, and a trap Victor had triggered was set off, the explosive thermal winds sent him into a water cooler, and knocked him out cold for several moments.
In the last few moments between consciousness and unconsciousness, he saw a young woman with brown hair, and possibly grey eyes, something you don't normally see on an attractive young lady like her. In his state of pain, Victor thought he was hallucinating, so he thought up something cliche to say, "If you're an angel, go smite that sonofabitch," he said, weakly pointing to the figure of Deadshot.
Then he locked eyes with the greatest gunman in the world, and it happened.
Time sped up to it's usual pace, and everything just happened all at once. Something crashed through the window on the opposite side, the guards went down, and a trap Victor had triggered was set off, the explosive thermal winds sent him into a water cooler, and knocked him out cold for several moments.
In the last few moments between consciousness and unconsciousness, he saw a young woman with brown hair, and possibly grey eyes, something you don't normally see on an attractive young lady like her. In his state of pain, Victor thought he was hallucinating, so he thought up something cliche to say, "If you're an angel, go smite that sonofabitch," he said, weakly pointing to the figure of Deadshot.
Im already at Deadshot's dootstep
Victor sat in his bare, crusty apartment after doing what he was told to do with that sushi restaurant in Gotham's chinatown district. He was sitting in nothing more than a lawnchair, popping his knuckles and glaring at a web of interconnected pictures and clues, his television, or what could pass as one playing in another room.
Getting up, he walked into his bedroom, which was merely a torn mattress, and a television on cinderblocks, he had it on the news channel, just in case anything of interest were to occur tonight in this rotting city, as it did every night. Sitting on his cot, he paid silent attention as the scene unfolded before him. The master marksman known as Deadshot had taken hostages downtown, and damn near everybody had shown up to the party.
Turning to his closet, he said quietly, "Time for the Vulture to make his debut," and opened the door, revealing his costume in dim lighting, keys to a stolen motorcycle down the nearby alleyway beside it. The outfit was a simple blue half mask made of cloth, there were bits of blood and gore on it, but it wasn't his. The outfit was made up of a bulletproof vest that he stole from a cop, only moments are saving his hide in a shootout, and a letterman jacket with yellow and blue lines intersecting on it to look similar to a bird, or a vulture to be exact. Fingerless gloves and steel toed boots for an extra umpf in close quarters, and the young man was set after grabbing what little supplies he had.
Outside, the bike was covered in a tarp next to a dumpster, and only the desperate homeless folk would ever venture this close to one so he knew it was safe. He pulled the tarp and started the beast up without a hitch and drove off into the night, passing cars and pedesterians unlike, uncaring for their safety at this time, until he reached the ritzy and glamour of the downtown area, he broke through a police blockade without any notice and was mere blocks away from the scene.
He pulled to a stop shortly before reaching the multi-story office building and assessed the situation.
There was a way he could do what he was thinkIng of doing, but It would take time, of which the hostages had little, or he could ride straight in, but that would run the risk of being stopped by the police. So he chose the former and drove straight into the adjoining office building, glaring at the security cameras because of how easy it would be for a robbery to occur while everyone was paying attention to Deadshot.
He finally pulled the bike into an elevator, and set it on the corrosponding floor of the two buildings, pausing only to listen to the elevator music, popping his joints to release the stress his nightlife gave him.
Once it reached the floor he desired, he floored the accelerator as the doors swung open and popped a wheelie just as he hit and shattered the glass window.
"Vulture'a gotta fly," he said to himself as he soared through the night sky for mere moments, a police search lightlight had found him half a second before he broke through the level below Deadshot's hostage floor.
There was a guard standing just outside cubicle farm he landed in, giving him a 1% boost in his faculties. Skidding to a stop, he tossed out makshift Vulture shaped blades from within his letterman jacket, not outright killing the man, but potentially paralyzing him.
"Now on with the show," Victor said aloud as he picked the man up and kicked him out of the hole in the window that he had just come through, and watched as he fell about four stories, the searchlight had found him again, if only for a second before he retreated into the darkness.
"He's not walking soon," Victor said as he walked out into the hallway and up a flight of stairs, getting another single percent boost as he slammed his blood encrusted brass knuckles into another guard and watched him tumble over the railing.
Deadshot was now mere feet away, and it was only for a second that Victor began to doubt himself, if he had jumped into the deep end without any floaties, but the life if his loved ones was at stake, and the lives of other loved ones as well, so he soldiered onand took out two more of a total of five Vulture blades and got himself ready for what came next as he kicked down a door...
Getting up, he walked into his bedroom, which was merely a torn mattress, and a television on cinderblocks, he had it on the news channel, just in case anything of interest were to occur tonight in this rotting city, as it did every night. Sitting on his cot, he paid silent attention as the scene unfolded before him. The master marksman known as Deadshot had taken hostages downtown, and damn near everybody had shown up to the party.
Turning to his closet, he said quietly, "Time for the Vulture to make his debut," and opened the door, revealing his costume in dim lighting, keys to a stolen motorcycle down the nearby alleyway beside it. The outfit was a simple blue half mask made of cloth, there were bits of blood and gore on it, but it wasn't his. The outfit was made up of a bulletproof vest that he stole from a cop, only moments are saving his hide in a shootout, and a letterman jacket with yellow and blue lines intersecting on it to look similar to a bird, or a vulture to be exact. Fingerless gloves and steel toed boots for an extra umpf in close quarters, and the young man was set after grabbing what little supplies he had.
Outside, the bike was covered in a tarp next to a dumpster, and only the desperate homeless folk would ever venture this close to one so he knew it was safe. He pulled the tarp and started the beast up without a hitch and drove off into the night, passing cars and pedesterians unlike, uncaring for their safety at this time, until he reached the ritzy and glamour of the downtown area, he broke through a police blockade without any notice and was mere blocks away from the scene.
He pulled to a stop shortly before reaching the multi-story office building and assessed the situation.
There was a way he could do what he was thinkIng of doing, but It would take time, of which the hostages had little, or he could ride straight in, but that would run the risk of being stopped by the police. So he chose the former and drove straight into the adjoining office building, glaring at the security cameras because of how easy it would be for a robbery to occur while everyone was paying attention to Deadshot.
He finally pulled the bike into an elevator, and set it on the corrosponding floor of the two buildings, pausing only to listen to the elevator music, popping his joints to release the stress his nightlife gave him.
Once it reached the floor he desired, he floored the accelerator as the doors swung open and popped a wheelie just as he hit and shattered the glass window.
"Vulture'a gotta fly," he said to himself as he soared through the night sky for mere moments, a police search lightlight had found him half a second before he broke through the level below Deadshot's hostage floor.
There was a guard standing just outside cubicle farm he landed in, giving him a 1% boost in his faculties. Skidding to a stop, he tossed out makshift Vulture shaped blades from within his letterman jacket, not outright killing the man, but potentially paralyzing him.
"Now on with the show," Victor said aloud as he picked the man up and kicked him out of the hole in the window that he had just come through, and watched as he fell about four stories, the searchlight had found him again, if only for a second before he retreated into the darkness.
"He's not walking soon," Victor said as he walked out into the hallway and up a flight of stairs, getting another single percent boost as he slammed his blood encrusted brass knuckles into another guard and watched him tumble over the railing.
Deadshot was now mere feet away, and it was only for a second that Victor began to doubt himself, if he had jumped into the deep end without any floaties, but the life if his loved ones was at stake, and the lives of other loved ones as well, so he soldiered onand took out two more of a total of five Vulture blades and got himself ready for what came next as he kicked down a door...
The blacked out 2014 BMW pulled up to the curb of a sushi restaurant that was recognized by the public for such delicious food, but to those in the know, it was a meet up spot for organized crime.
Stepping out of the back passenger side, a young man with raven black hair stepped out, a look of constant anger easy to read upon his facial features. He pulled the hood of his sweatjacket over his head as the light rain made a soft, annoying patter on him, he then stepped onto the curb and watched as the BMW pulled away and drove off.
Sighing quietly, the young man walked inside and took note of the few exits, fire extinguishers, and the oriental employees. He made eye to black eye contact with one young man who was cleaning and pulled out a roll of cigarettes and a lighter, only for a short asian lady to approach him, screaming in another language, the busboy approached him to roughly translate for her, "i'm sorry sir, but this is a non-smoking establishment,"
For the first time, the young man spoke up, his voice full of hidden aggression like a jaguar ready to pounce, "Sure about that?" He asked and proceeded to light the roll aflame. He smiled at the sight of their eyes wide in shock, then turned to the busboy, "I know what this place really is, so you have two choices," he tossed the burning cigaretted behind him, soon catching a curtian on fire, "you can tell the owners of this joint that is place under new management, or," he paused to go and grab the fire extinguisher, ignoring the screaming asian women, "or this becomes a smoking establishment,"
He let them think it over, while the wall began to burn behind him, then he turned and started towards the front door, an image of a vulture emblazoned on the back of his grey and black sweatjacket. He took one last look at the asian family and walked out with the fire extinguisher in his hands, whistling a quiet, yet random tune. Then he walked towards the front window, emblazoned with the restaurant name and phone number, and slammed the fire extinguisher against it so hard that it shattered, giving them back the fire extinguisher, but damaging their image as well.
Then he walked off without another thought of what he had just done, yet at the same time he was full of regret and self hatred, but he knew the end of all this was worth it.
Stepping out of the back passenger side, a young man with raven black hair stepped out, a look of constant anger easy to read upon his facial features. He pulled the hood of his sweatjacket over his head as the light rain made a soft, annoying patter on him, he then stepped onto the curb and watched as the BMW pulled away and drove off.
Sighing quietly, the young man walked inside and took note of the few exits, fire extinguishers, and the oriental employees. He made eye to black eye contact with one young man who was cleaning and pulled out a roll of cigarettes and a lighter, only for a short asian lady to approach him, screaming in another language, the busboy approached him to roughly translate for her, "i'm sorry sir, but this is a non-smoking establishment,"
For the first time, the young man spoke up, his voice full of hidden aggression like a jaguar ready to pounce, "Sure about that?" He asked and proceeded to light the roll aflame. He smiled at the sight of their eyes wide in shock, then turned to the busboy, "I know what this place really is, so you have two choices," he tossed the burning cigaretted behind him, soon catching a curtian on fire, "you can tell the owners of this joint that is place under new management, or," he paused to go and grab the fire extinguisher, ignoring the screaming asian women, "or this becomes a smoking establishment,"
He let them think it over, while the wall began to burn behind him, then he turned and started towards the front door, an image of a vulture emblazoned on the back of his grey and black sweatjacket. He took one last look at the asian family and walked out with the fire extinguisher in his hands, whistling a quiet, yet random tune. Then he walked towards the front window, emblazoned with the restaurant name and phone number, and slammed the fire extinguisher against it so hard that it shattered, giving them back the fire extinguisher, but damaging their image as well.
Then he walked off without another thought of what he had just done, yet at the same time he was full of regret and self hatred, but he knew the end of all this was worth it.
Walking Dead season 2, or Supernatural :)
How about Superhero x High School girl? :)
Im interested, and I love the show. Though id perfer no zombies because you could simply kill them off that would be the end of that.
© 2007-2026