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I'm waiting for someone to make a post in the hotel to react to my actions so that it doesn't feel awkward making another post right off the bat.
Only me and you, @MegaOscarPwn
Arnold was approaching lower Manhattan, swerving and cutting through conga lines of traffic, whilst gleaming towers of concrete and steel shadowed over his lone vehicle. He’d took a moment to admire drab grey and built-up metropolis of Inner Manhattan, even though he was more inclined towards a forest of trees rather than a forest of apartments. New York City was an urban jungle where the soil was replaced with tar and pavement, lamp-posts taking the position of uprooted trees, buildings that had been erected out of mountains, the rivers gutter streams and the air a sooty mixture of smoky exhaust and minty snow-melt. He looked towards the Google Map on his smartphone with his position marked out as a singular arrow in a labyrinth of streets, the interface constantly updating him of his ETA.

He turned on the radio again, keeping an eye on the map.

“ - Update on the recent hostage situation at the Marriot Marquis Hotel. 16 armed men have been identified by police squads-”

He swerved to the left, nearly clipping a motorcyclist.

“ 12 casualties composed of security officers in the hotel. Shots have not been fired yet - “

He screeched at the intersection, red light taunting him.

“ - ring-leader of the group has been identified as Adam Meadows, former Navy Seals captain and JSOC operator, who was thought to be KI-”

His feet were slamming on the pedals.

“ - SWAT and all available police units within the district have been relocated to - “

“ Finally!,” He screamed out loud as soon as he saw the Marriot Marquis Hotel in sight. To the businessmen and wealthy of New York, it probably seemed like some sort of majestic temple. To him, it looked like a building that had contracted a severe hernia.The building, normally bustling and hustling with New Yorkians, was eerily empty with a noticeable lack of cars streaming in or out of the multi-shopping complex that was located at the bottom of the hotel. It looked like if someone had stuck two thick grey slabs together with super-glue. He stopped his car into a nearby alleyway and parked it there, wincing as his car bowled over a garbage dumpster, rats scattering away out of its remains. He walked out of the alleyway, a block away from the hotel, and was mortified by what he saw.

Broadway was crawling with squadrons of SWAT teams, pouring out of their vans in unified formations, whilst several helicopters stood by in the air. Officers fanned out around the building, setting a perimeter whilst the hordes of angry hotel guests who were more concerned about the lack of a free breakfast buffet rather than the current hostage situation were slowly evacuated out of the hotel. Doubt struck him like a bad omen before he re-composed himself. He could do this. It wasn’t like he was out of his depth or that he was about to potentially face a group of ex-military mercenaries who had no compunction about drilling him full of lead. Right. He closed his eyes and concentrated in the air around him, a jumbled discordiant mess of muttering and loud voices. He felt a wet pop in his earlobes before his enhanced senses began to act as a filter, honing in on useful information.

“ - Snipers set up on roof - “

“ - Thermals show several hostiles. Eight - “

“ They’re all in the dining room - “

“ Can’t get a bead on them. They’re away from the windows - “

“ - Get a squad ready, ASAP! - “

“ - Dining rooms located on first floor-”

“ - Secure the mayor - “

“ - Shit, something’s happening down there! Lights just went off - “

Arnold open his eyes again and processed the information. 50 or so hostages currently in the dining room. Something was happening or rather, someone was interfering in the situation. Multiple scenarios ran through his mind about what could have been possibly happening, but he couldn’t just dwell on any of them. He had to secure Aldrich and get out of there. He couldn’t give a damn about the mayor any less. Arnold ran into the street, avoiding the mass of policemen and using the commotion and chaos of the crowds of the riled guests to sneak into the front of the hotel. The ground level was sparse, the counter empty and shattered ground sprinkled on the polished granite floor. Arnold had to stop himself from gaping at the opulent architecture around him and the massive square chasm of rooms. Behind the counter was a spire of clear glass elevators.

So, what to do? Arnold stood around awkwardly, looking for any visible staircases to the first floor. He walked towards the elevators, pressing the up button and entering into it. The doors closed with a metallic shut as with a slight jolt, he began moving upwards towards the first floor. As soon as the doors opened, Arnold barged out of the elevator, determined, following and running past the series of display boards that showed the directions to the dining room.

In hindsight, he probably should have approached the situation in a more covert manner. Perhaps, he should have been more patient. Aldrich’s life was on the line, however, and the more he waited, the higher chance that Aldrich was going to be put in harm’s way.
Adrenaline surging in his veins, Arnold slammed through the main door like a freight train, causing them to nearly fly off their hinges, as he leveled his eyes around the room. For some reason, some of the lamps in the room had been replaced with bouquets of flowers and the drab-black men, dressed in combat gear, were fanned out, searching for something. He searched through the crowd, looking for Aldrich before spotting him. He was in a state of shock, staring at Arnold with an open mouth before it transformed into fear.

He was confused at his expression before he heard the click of a rifle. Along with seven others in unison. With all the commotion that he’d created, he’d attracted the attention of the hostage-takers and they were all currently focusing on him. Great. The lead member of the eight-man pack, wearing a cap and a cybernetic leg, with something nasty in his right eye was aiming a bulky automatic assault rifle, scope in his left eye, towards his face.

“ Kneel down. Put your arms around his head or we won’t hesitate to shoot you.”

He probably shouldn’t have taken a step forward.

There was an errant shout, a few high-pitched screams from the crowd to his right. Arnold tried to duck to the right but once the hail of bullets arrived, he was suddenly stuck in place. There were few things that Arnold had survived in the past that could be considered downright deadly. A car crash, being stuck in a furnace, having his face imbedded in a concrete wall and drowning. A bullet was different, though. E.R.A had never used bullets on him, only non-lethals. Even Gomez, the monster he’d faced last year, was nothing more than an hyper-muscular gorilla. He’d only taken a few bullets before. This time, he was taking more than an accidental shot from a spooked sheriff and a revolver.

Arnold staggered backwards from the force of the heavy fire, hot agonising pain erupting from multiple points in his body. He could feel each and every bullet sink and cut through his flesh, denting his hardened bones and saw through his torso. It was like as if a rabid animal was mauling him. One of his eyes went black at one point and he began gurgling blood once his lungs had deflated. At some point, the firing had stopped and his back was pressed against the wall.
From the perspective of Aldrich Killian, the damage was grievous. His blood had been splattered on the wall in the pattern of a gruesome impressionistic abstract painting. Red paste oozed out of every wound in his body and he had been blown apart. At this point, the only thing recognisable about Arnold was that he was the remains of a person and not a butchered animal. The old professor waited and waited, hoping to whatever God was out there that Arnold could heal back from this. However, there didn’t seem to be any response. Arnold laid still, unmoving, lifeless.

Dead.

“ Hostile down.” One of the hostage takers muttered before they continued their patrol around the room.

Tears began to erupt out of Aldrich’s eyes in grief for his lost friend. He should have deserved better last words than a stern talking to from him. There was a loud gasp from one of the hostages and Aldrich looked up, dried salt on his face, and then, gawked.
It was small to the eye, but it was noticeable. There was a twitch, then a movement in Arnold’s body before he began to stand up. It reminded Aldrich of a video rewind, seeing his body in action. His body began to knit back together, some unknown tailor sewing back his joints and his ligaments. Pounds of flesh began to coat his ivory white bones, before a layer of skin was draped over it back again. Within a manner of several seconds, Arnold was standing back up again, looking no worse for the wear, and only suffering the issue of finding a good laundry for his soiled clothes. His bandana and sunglasses were completely destroyed and there was a look of surprise on his face, presumably from his near-death experience.

There was a sense of tension in the room as the scenario began to re-play out again. The hostage takers were pale with fear on their face at seeing a man rise back from the grave with ease. Aldrich had to admit their tenacity in the face of supernatural phenomena as they leveled their guns once more, albeit with uneasiness in their face.

They fired once more as Arnold approached them, Aldrich flinching and closing his eyes in expectation for what was to come. The firing suddenly ceased, much earlier than before. Killian opened his eyes in confusion before he looked at Arnold, dumbfounded. He was unharmed, not a single sign of blood on him, but with more holes in his jacket than before. His skin seemed to shine with a unnatural lustre as Arnold blinked his eyes before looking down. On the ground were dozens of flattened bullets, like chewed wads of gum, near his feet. Arnold reached for the ground and slowly picked up one, staring at it oddly, He then smirked and flicked it away like it was a pest.

“ Well, that’s useful.”
@TheWizardLizard

Is it okay if I write out the actions of Adam Meadows or is he a strict GM character?
He tries to speak, scream, say something to them but nothing comes out of his mouth. No words. No sound. They don’t speak as well but he can feel their intent. Their intent to experiment. Their intent to prod at him like a subject. Their intent to explore beyond what is sacred.

He remembers the word, metamorphosis. Change in form. Only this time, he’s the caterpillar. His body moves against his own will. Forced, violated, vivisected. Something seeps inside his torso and everything begins to burn like he’s standing inside the sun. His organs are pulled out of his body one by one, brain, spine, stomach, liver and intestines only to be reassembled once again like a puzzle piece, his own heart thudding and beating in front of him, every molecule and cell in his body reorganizing themselves, flesh rending apart, mind tearing at the seams, his soul -

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Arnold Newell, now legally known as Barney Sanchez, awakened blearily to find himself on the bottom of his bedroom floor, blanket coiled around his shoulder protectively. His three hearts skipped a beat once he became more aware of his surroundings, groaning in a half-baked mixture of fatigue and annoyance. Hopefully, the neighbours wouldn’t make any noise complaints. It’d been the third time it happened this month and already, he was starting to grow sick of it. Funny, really. His body could adapt to almost anything but it couldn’t adapt against dreams. Well, it was nothing that a quick shower couldn’t fix. Arnold walked towards the bathroom in a straight bee-line, closing and locking the door with a snap. Scalding water sprays over his back, cleansing away ache as his ears tune in on the multiple radios and televisions coming back to life in the early morning.

“ - “ Man, I ain’t fooling y’all. I saw her flaming, winging and knocking out those robbers like they were pinatas- “

“ NYU has declined any official relationship between the power outages in late February last year and the recent reports of the vigilante, Tensor - “

“ - Mayor Stephen’s campaign fundraiser expects to be - “

The doors of the stall opened, fog rolling out to disguise his body as he made his way towards the sink. He rubbed away the mist that clung in beads and crawled up like mites on the mirror’s surface. A reflection stared at him with curiosity from the other side, as if he was a total stranger. Barney was bugged by its gaze as he went through the motions of a daily morning routine. He didn’t bother to think about how his own puritanical immune system had completely removed the need for oral hygiene. Or basic hygiene at all for that matter. Dropping his toothbrush on the counter, he reaches for the white flaked towel behind him to dry himself with, smothering his face as if wanting to deprive himself of oxygen. His knuckles turn white as he continues to stare at his own form in the mirror. His glasgow smile that conceals row upon row of razor sharp teeth. His fractured irises that he took great effort to disguise. The nascent bony protrusions that arise in bumps against his ribs and shoulders.

It’s like meeting a new person everyday.

He escapes back into the shower stall to wash himself again, the mirror steaming over and hiding reality away from him.
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“ I can’t believe you declined my invitation to go to the fundraiser, Barney. I had a spot specifically reserved for you.”

Arnold signed as he walked out of an shabby grocery store carrying an armful of paper brown bags that had been stuffed in the crook of his left elbow towards the parking lot. Living on the most upper-north side of the Hudson River near Albany was a chore for him but it was necessary. He couldn’t stand the risks of walking on streets everyday where huge bustling crowds crossed and migrated from block to block like a herd of cows. Public transport was a big no as well. Unfortunately, that meant he had to cross over from Albany to the east side of the Hudson every weekend to get groceries. One of the new changes that he had to adapt to was his body’s rigorous metabolic needs. Pounds upon pounds of protein were needed to supplement his bodies new adaptations. Of course, his dietary needs were met on demand by Professor Simmons who he was currently conversing with.

“ I don’t think I’m the type of person to enjoy caviar and foie gras in Broadway Avenue.”

There was an audible verbal tic on the other side of the phone, a hybrid of a groan and a sign.

“ Please spare me your condescension, Barney. I’m trying to get you back into society.”

“ I’m grateful for that, Professor, but I’m busy right now -,” he just managed to get the last of the groceries inside his miniscule car boot before the Professor began to mutter out a string of anger and frustration.

“ With what? Building the world’s largest greenhouse? Doing home improvement projects? Applying for membership at gardening clubs?” He caught his breath before continuing on. “ When you contacted me all those years ago about a cure - “

“ You said you would still be working on it.” Arnold said, entering the front of the car and locking the door, his fingers grasped tightly around the handle.

“ I’m not going to beat around the bush, Barney when I say this. A cure is impossible, and any other cures are highly experimental and may be dangerous to your own health and being- “

He turned the key on the ignition, the old Ford heart sputtering and hissing like a coughing man.
“ Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

“ You can’t just - “ He suddenly paused on the phone. “ What in the goddamn hell-”

The sound of crackling gunfire erupted in the background along with a cacophony of screams. Barney held the phone close, jumbled bits of the Professor’s voice reaching him.

“ Professor, what’s happening?”

“ Can’t - Talking right now - Lay - SHUT THE FUCK UP! - Oh cra - “
“ Professor? Professor!”

The line became dead and Barney laid back in the seat of his car, one hand on the steering wheel trying to process the situation. He shook his head and turned on the ignition, reversing the car out of the lot and into the driveway. It wasn’t his responsibility. The police could handle it. Being a vigilante wasn’t going to help the situation at hand. Exposing himself ran the risk of being captured and would ultiamtely do more long-term harm than doing nothing at all. Doing nothing was his best shot at survival. Someone else would come along.
But Aldrich was his friend. A confidant that he’d trusted with his secrets. What was he afraid of? Dying? He couldn’t die. No, he was afraid of having publicity whilst Aldrich was afraid for his life. His fingers pressed deeper into the steering wheel while he looked at himself in the rear-view mirror. What to do? What to do?

“ This is New York Daily News, reporting live. There have been reported gunshots at the Marriot Marquis Hotel, where currently 50 hostages, including Mayor Lewis Stephens, are being held by a group of heavily armed individuals. No official police statement has come out yet regarding the intent of these - “

His eyes hardened with a steely expression before he began to turn towards Broadway Avenue, police cars and multiple SWAT vans passing by his own vehicle towards the hotel. He opened the front compartment of the car and shifted the car into forward gear, busily tying a bandana around his mouth his mouth to conceal himself whilst keeping an eye on the road ahead.

Just what was he getting himself into?
I'll be at the Breakfast.
Congrats to everyone who got in. Can't wait to begin roleplaying with y'all.
Themes: Bio-Punk, Science Fiction, Isolation, To What Measure is a Human Being?



Edited Tardigrade's character sheet so that he's not just a vigilante for the sake of being a vigilante.
Hopefully, this RP doesn't flop over like a beached whale after everyone does a first post.
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