Stealth Bomber
"Sub-Zero? Can you hear me?...Sub-Zero?"
"Yes, Smoke."
"How do you feel?...What is it?"
"I remember. The things I have done for Shao Kahn. The realms cannot be allowed to merge."
Nightwolf, along with his fellow Earthrealm warriors, stood around Sub-Zero, who sat on a table. They stood in a U-shape around the cyborg ninja. On Nightwolf's left was Haokah, or, as everyone else in the group knew him, Raiden. On Raiden's left were Smoke and Major Jackson Briggs, better known as Jax, and on their left were Sergeant Kurtis Stryker and Kabal. Nightwolf was proud to see how these last two had fought in this invasion. He had handpicked Stryker to the Earthrealm cause not long after Kabal's near death at the hands of Kintaro. When Kabal returned from the brink of death, he, too, had proved a formidable warrior. In fact, the Apache shaman's respect for all of these warriors was plenty. But now, Sub-Zero's restoration of his free will raised a question to Nightwolf. He turned to Raiden.
"Haokah," asked the shaman, "how can Sub-Zero best help us?"
"I do not know," answered Raiden, still looking at Sub-Zero. "My attempts to alter events have only had negative consequences. Sub-Zero should never have undergone this transformation. Enlisting him will only divert the flow of time."
"We need intel, right?" said Stryker. "Let's send him back to Outworld undercover."
"They will be unaware of my defection," said Sub-Zero, looking at Stryker. Then, he looked to the group and said, "Perhaps I can deceive them."
Soon after Sub-Zero left to regroup with the Outworld forces, Raiden turned to Nightwolf. The two spoke privately.
"There is a task you will soon undertake," said Raiden.
"What is it, Haokah?" asked Nightwolf.
"Sub-Zero will soon encounter Quan Chi opening up a Soulnado in St. Dominic's Graveyard. This Soulnado is essential to Outworld's hold over Earthrealm," said Raiden. "You must be prepared to destroy it."
"Is there a trial I must undertake first?" asked Nightwolf.
"Indeed, there is," said Raiden. "You will need to go on a quest vital to all realms. You will encounter realms not even the Elder Gods have ever seen or heard of before. You will encounter warriors from alternate versions of Earthrealm, versions where the sway of the universe is dependent on people with superhuman abilities, versions where a man's best weapon after nuclear war is an explosive martial art, versions where some men can only be killed by decapitation, and more. In order to take down the Soulnado, you must be spiritually, physically, and mentally prepared. Can I trust you with this?"
"Indeed you can, Haokah," said Nightwolf, bowing before the thunder god.
"Then let your journey begin," said Raiden. Nightwolf created two tomahawks using his shaman magic, threw them down at his feet, and let a blue light overcome him. When it disappeared from Earthrealm, the Apache shaman was gone.
edited 23rd Oct '11 12:47:41 PM by TestYourMight
J-E-T-S JETS JETS JETS!
Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun.
Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-eight million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue-green planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea.
This planet has- or rather had- a problem, which was this: most of the people living on it were unhappy for pretty much of the time. Many solutions were suggested for this problem, but most of these were largely concerned with the movements of small green pieces of paper, which is odd because on the whole it wasn’t the small green pieces of paper that were unhappy.
And so the problem remained; lots of the people were mean and most of them were miserable, even the ones with digital watches.
Many of were increasingly of the opinion that they’d all made a big mistake in coming down from the trees in the first place. And some said that even the trees had been a bad move, and that no one should ever have left the oceans.
And then, one Thursday, nearly two thousand years after one man had been nailed to a tree for saying how great it would be to be nice for people for a change, a girl sitting on hero won in a small café in Rickmansworth suddenly realized what it was that had been going wrong all this time, and she finally knew how the world could be made a good and happy place. This time it was right, it would work, and no one would have to get nailed to everything.
Sadly, before she could get to a phone to tell anyone about it, a terrible, stupid catastrophe occurred, and the idea was lost for ever.
This is not even the story of that terrible, stupid catastrophe and its consequences.
This is the story of a man who, after escaping from this first disaster, became embroiled in a wholly different terrible, stupid catastrophe with an entirely different set of consequences, through no fault of his own. This man’s name is Ford Prefect, and he is no stranger to terrible, stupid, or terribly stupid things.
______________________________
As appearances go, Ford is not a remarkable man in any way- his wiry hair is pulled backwards from his temple, with strange skin that seemed to be pulled backwards from the nose. There is something slightly offputting about him; whether it is the fact that he does not blink as much as he should or his overly-wide grin is a matter of debate. What is remarkable about him, though, is the fact that, despite appearances, he is not a man at all, but is in fact from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse and spent much of this time as a travelling researcher for that remarkable repository of Galactic knowledge- the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, which although frequently apocryphal and inaccurate, the Guide has already supplanted the Encyclopedia Galactica in many of the more relaxed civilizations on the Outer Eastern Rim of the Galaxy .
It is Ford’s job to travel the Galaxy, researching planetary culture, geography, demographics, wildlife, nightlife, alcohol, and especially sex on every planet he meets. For Ford, this mostly entails getting drunk and trying to have sex with pretty girls. The editors at the Guide turn a blind eye to this, of course, because this is what more or less what every other roving reporter (and in fact, most of the editors there too) working for the Guide do, so that’s alright then.
Nevertheless, as a seasoned Galactic traveller, Ford is prepared for anything. He has smuggled Antarean parakeet glands out of Antares, he has trained with ex-Pralite monks in the Hills of Hunian, and he has consumed more than his fair share of alcohol. He has narrowly escaped death and oblivion more times than he cares to mention. He is prepared for just about anything the Galaxy can throw at him.
What he is not prepared, for, however, is the curious, mind-boggling, and frankly infuriating events that the Universe is going to throw at him.
______________________________
Ford always did find the “travelling through space bit” of space travel to be rather tiring. When one was a roving reporter for the Guide, writing for other impoverished hitchhikers on how to see the Marvels of the Universe for less than thirty Altarian dollars a day, one could not be choosy about one’s mode of transportation. The Jatravartian cruiser upon which he had managed to hitch a ride hadn’t particularly taken a liking to Ford and had decided to toss him down into the ship’s hold for the time being until the spaceport authorities could sort him out.
Ford shivered a bit and wrapped his towel around himself to keep warm. It was clearly a well-used towel, a largish one from Marks and Spencer, with some nutrient chew slathered on one corner and assorted length of wire threaded into it.
Reaching into his satchel, he rustled round for something, pushing past a Sub-Etha Thumb and a few joysticks on the way. There it was- an object that resembled a largish electronic calculator, with about a hundred tiny ppress button and a four-inch screen. This was, of course, that most remarkable book ever to come out of the great publishing corporations of Ursa Minor- the Guide itself. Ford pressed a few buttons, calling up an entry at random. As letters and numbers, accompanied by simple animatics, scrolled across the screen, the book began to speak in a quiet measured voice, detailing the life and adventures of Veet Voogajig and his highly controversial theory on ballpoints.
Ford sighed again and shut the book midway through. He sucked contemplatively on his towel for a few moments as he looked around. There wasn’t much down here in the Jatravartian’s hold besides several crates of industrial-strength handkerchiefs, a few rattling pipes, and the occasional maintenance robot. And the small silvery disk that appeared out of nowhere in front of him.
That was something unexpected, at least.
"Zark," he muttered to itself as he picked it up. It hummed faintly as he turned it over. It was about the size of his hand, solid but not extremely heavy, and, strangest of all, it had the words “DON’T PANIC” inscribed on it in large, friendly letters. Whatever it was, Ford thought, it did know how to make an entrance.
A sudden rumble shook the ship’s hold- it was clearly slowing down. Ford cackled with delight as he saw the bright shimmering curve of Broop Kidron 13. For a few more minutes he sat and watched as the gap between the ship and the planet grew closer and closer, as the computer massaged the factors that would allow it to enter a stable orbit. Now all he needed to do was find the escape craft that would allow him to make a clean getaway… and maybe find a nice chilled Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster on the way down. Stuffing the disk into his satchel, he made a break for it, clambering into the nearest escape vessel.
He made a note to himself to write a suitably vitrolic review of Jatravartian spaceships as soon as he landed.
edited 23rd Oct '11 12:15:19 PM by Locoman
Breath of the Sun
"No, no, that won't work." Muttered an old man, tapping his chin as he gazed at a small statue. Large spectacles adorned his face, and he lacked hair. He wore a white lab coat over pajamas, and he paced around in slippers. The statue in question was golden, in the shape of a robot's face. It lay in a large machine, covered in flashing lights, buttons, levers, and switches.
"Hey professor, can I borrow some money?" Asked a silver robot, entering the lab. This robot, coincidentally, looked exactly like the golden statue. Said statue immediately drew the robot's attention. "Ooh, what's that? Aw, professor, you didn't have to make me a birthday gift so early!" The robot said, feigning sincerity as he reached towards the thing. He was totally going to pawn that thing, because he loved easy money.
"No!" Professor Farnsworth slapped the robot's hand away. "You musn't touch it, Bender. I've analyzed it, and it possesses connections to OTHER WORLDS!" He shouted dramatically, hands raised in an overblown fashion. "Though I don't yet know what that means, I must study this further. If you'll excuse me, I'll be in the Chamber of Understanding. But I reiterate: DO NOT TOUCH." The old man hobbled over to the side of a room, where a glass dome descended from the ceiling. Inside the glass dome, a disco ball dropped down, and techno music began to play.
"...heeheeheeheehee." Giggled Bender, grabbing the gold statue and shoving it in his chest compartment. Laughing madly, he ran to find the nearest pawn shop.
What is so amusing about this? Why do you take lives? How can you forget?
I'm Back Bitches (not really)
Meanwhile in another universe a fateful battle between science and magic has erupted yet again. The Dark sorcerer Malachite has obtained his old gauntlet of power and is trying to eradicate technology from his universe once and for all.
Malachite's brow drips with sweat as his magic collides with the ring of his former nemesis Aion for the second time in history. I thought I finally had it. I was going to finally get what I deserve. A world of magic to rule. No...this isn't Aion. It's but a boy. I can still be victorious.
A green beam pushes against a purple beam trying to collide both beams into the wielder of Aion's ring. Yes... yes. I have it at last. The boy is slipping while I only grow more used to my old Hand. Soon I can heal this accursed twenty-first century and usher in a better world. A world Aion never saw or believed in. The old fool.
Suddenly Malachite traces a faint source of power flying towards him. What?! Did the king give Aion enough power to let him construct even more rings?
The power starts to become clearer. No... it's connected to Hypertime. Not even the gun of the hat-wielding fool contained this much power.
The flying gauntlet attaches itself to Malachite's hand. Ah not now. Why does fate always doom me in the last possible seconds?
This slip of concentration causes a prismed explosion and the last words the sorcerer hears is a chant of "Ma-Ti! Ma-Ti!"
To Be Updated when I'm not Lazy
Somewhere in the universe, something glinted in the dirt. A small green and silver, vaguely star shaped object, with a brown leather cord attached to one of the points.
Ven crouched down by where he'd spotted the flash, and lifted the object gently from the soil by the cord.
"Hey, this looks a lot like..."
He patted down his pockets, looking for an object that turned out not to be there.
Maybe it is then. Aw man, if Aqua found out I lost this she'd never let me hear the end of it.
But what he didn't know was that the object he'd found in the dirt was not, as he thought, the Wayfinder he'd been given by his friend what felt like an age ago now, but rather something else entirely...
edited 23rd Oct '11 2:22:55 PM by Deadbeatloser22
"Yup. That tasted purple."
Wild Horse
One thing to always make note of is that There is nothing scarier than a woman scorned. Our erstwhile yet dense protagonist learned this the hard way many times over, yet repeatedly committed the same mistakes over and over again, sometimes deliberately, many other times without knowing. Really now, the offender in question had done nothing wrong save for ribbing his hot headed fiancé, something most couples did. What most people don't do however is to counter said words with reckless and brutal violence, impressive enough to be deemed as domestic violence in most developed countries and some still developing ones. It is here we begin a new chapter of the hapless victim's life...
A tumult of chaos was erupting in the streets of Nerima, district of Tokyo, set in modern day Japan. Many a bystander either gawked or panicked as the eye of the literative storm tore through their daily life like an actual twister, even flinging unlucky people and objects to the side, causing at least millions of collateral damages to their surroundings. The cause of such an event was rather unassuming at first glance, namely two girls of teenaged years. If one could describe them, they would say such words as "cute" and "tomboyish".
Indeed, that was true for the female individuals in question, one who sported a short bob cut, her hair black. She was an unassuming person with a cute face, dressed in a long skirted maroon school uniform. The other girl was the more impressive one, with her ruby locks tied back in a pony tail, and a petite, yet curvaceous frame. The conflict in question had caused these two to engage in an impromptu match of tag, where the it gets to do physical violence to the runner, who was indeed frightened out of her mind.
"Stay still!" The pursuer roared out, her angry tenor causing many civilians to flinch from the force of her voice aloud. In her hands was the bludgeoning weapon she would use on her prey once she got sufficient enough range, a rather large mallet of sturdy oak, the handle itself nearly as tall as she was, the face the size of a manhole cover. The proclamation only spurned the redheaded girl to put more distance between the two, knowing full well that even if she stopped, she would get at the very least a slam of the almost comedic looking bludgeon. Concentrating on running away, the girl didn't notice the can of corn that rolled from flung shopping bag until she fell forward, smashing into the wall with great force.
Ordinarily an impact of that caliber would've crumpled a normal female, but the girl in question was anything but. Nursing her forehead instinctively to push away the pain, this let the pursuer enough of an opportunity to not only catch up, but engage in a stance that allowed her a 180 degree swipe at the other girl, her weapon screaming until it smashed into the smaller girl's side, knocking out her air with a painful oomph. Not even finished yet, the black haired one simply propelled more power until her vicitim's feet left the ground and was flung bodily into the air, not a few scant inches, but rather a hundred feet upwards in a diagonal ascent, as though she was a missile.
"Hmph... That'll teach you for saying my cooking sucked." It was an overreaction of the highest caliber for stating the truth. Most other people wouldn't have survived, and even worse was that such things kept happening to the unfortunate victim at least daily, inflicting wounds for things she may or may not have committed (the abuser in question was the type to act first, ask question later). Satisfied that the girl was punished for her insolence, the savage enforcer turned around and walked back home.
Her victim however was sailing through the sky at 100 mph or higher, mind blotting out the pain as readily as all the other times. When one went through such treatment so often, they gain a high pain tolerance. Scowling, the pig tailed girl waited for the inevitable impact of her body meeting some sort of hard surface, aware of what comes at the conclusion of her flight like all the other times. It was at that moment that Ranma, for that was her name, was wrong. A temporal disturbance came into existence, weakening the bonds of the local universe and opening a window to another locale. The oblivious Ranma then sailed through such a window and disappeared from the skies of Japan, which then closed scant nano seconds after it was penetrated by the living juggernaut.
edited 23rd Oct '11 3:03:50 PM by GreyStar
Always be ready to do the unusual and unexpected.
Sometimes, Satsuki wondered if she had actually died that night, and that everything that followed was just some deranged fantasy caused by severe blood loss.
It was bad enough when she woke up to find she was a vampire. That took a bit of getting used to, after all. And it just got even more confusing when Tohno-kun got involved, dragging along Ciel-sempai and the True Ancestor with him to fight the man who had made her what she was today. She still had no idea how she got through that alive. Well, "alive" in a manner of speaking, seeing how she was already dead and all. Kind of.
...And then the Night of Wallachia came to Misaki and all semblence of sanity left in her life was shattered beyond all repair. Now, her life was nothing but a non-stop parade of tiny cat-people, psychotic maids, far too heavily armed robot maids, little girls with martial arts skills that put Bruce Lee to shame...
...Oh, and she still wasn't even a blip on Tohno-kun's rader. Isn't it sad, Sacchin? she thought to herself. Even after all the impossible things you've been through, the one impossible thing you want remains out of reach?
It hadn't all been bad, though. She'd made some good friends during all that. Sion had helped her get through her initial misgivings about being a Dead Apostle, and she'd really been starting to get along with Riesbyfe. The three had even tried entering an open-mic stand-up contest recently.
...The less said about that, the better.
...I should probably get back to Sion's place, actually...
Her reminiscing over, she slowly let go of the bars on the gates of the Tohno Mansion, and quietly made her way back into town. She had said she was only going out for a short walk, but somehow had spent a few hours just gazing at the mansion. At one point, she'd even thought of trying to jump the gate and sneak into Tohno-kun's window... Only to see that the True Ancestor had also had that idea. She didn't want to imagine what was going on in that room anymore.
It was almost sunrise, so she quickened her pace. She knew she was late, but somehow she felt Sion would understand.
Don't worry, she imagined her friend saying, it was all within my calculations.
Unfortunately, she wasn't paying much attention to where she was going, and ended up running straight into a grey-haired man dressed in black as she turned into an alleyway.
"Aaah! Um, sorry, uh..." she stuttered. "I, um, wasn't looking where I was going, and, um..."
"Hah, don't worry, Miss Yumizuka!" laughed the older man, dusting off his shirt. "Just pay more attention next time!"
"Um... R-right, sorry..."
It was only once the man had passed out of sight that Satsuki noticed something rather off.
Wait... How did he know my name? And... Wah, he dropped his glasses!
She quickly picked up the discarded glasses, and looked them over. Hey.. They look just like... Tohno-kun's glasses...
As soon as she thought this, however, something... Strange happened with the glasses...
Bitch pills
"Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!"
Adrian Shephard only barely was able to run and dodge back into cover as a green laser zorched past him, diving behind the steel door just as it slid shut and blocked the second laser that the giant creature had fired at him.
"What was that? Was that a laser beam? And the-it was a giant...bug..."
He peered through a metal grill out at the enormous monster blocking his path, trying to catch his breath, both from the obvious terror that would follow coming face-to-face with a 40-foot tall laser-spitting centipede-shrimp alien monster, and from the burst of exertion that followed lunging through a closing steel door to EVADE the 40-foot tall laser-spitting centipede-shrimp alien monster. Even staring through the grate, Shephard's mind all but refused to believe he was actually seeing it, and he returned to the door, opening it to stare dumbly through at the beast, almost casually dodging to one side as it fired another laser through the door at him as soon as it saw him. He stepped back to safety out of the monster's line of sight, raising his shotgun in preparation to start doing his best to blast the thing's giant eyeball out of it's head.
"I should've gone to Afghanistan..." he muttered, shaking his head as he whipped around to aim at the alien-
Adrian had just enough time to be aware of a sort of sizzling sound, and then a BANG. Some kind of concussive force seemed to strike him square in the middle of the chest, right in his combat vest, and hard enough to knock him backwards into the room and to the floor...ironically causing yet another laser beam fired by the beast to miss him as the door slid shut again. He landed hard on his back, sending his weapons...and, to their dismay, Gil and the as-yet unnamed barnacle skidding across the floor. Sparky remained, as usual, firmly attached to his arm, but even he let out a chitter of displeasure.
"Oh...fuck...me..." Adrian grumbled from where he lay, but slowly sat up, reaching up to touch the sore spot where...something had hit him...who even knew what it was at this point-
He felt something that was like metal, and frowned, looking down at it. Okay, thus far he hadn't seen any aliens flinging what looked almost like award medals, so...he had no explanation for why there was now what looked like a solid gold pin fused into the front of his combat vest, an eagle with outstretched wings
◊, though with strange symbols rather than letters. "What the hell. Was I an Eagle Scout? I don't think I was...or am. However that works."
He scooted over, picking up Gil, who was making small sounds of gurgly distress, and Adrian patted him on the head a minute before allowing the baby alien to slither back into his favorite spot in his backpack, then started crawling to where the barnacle was laying. "C'mere barnible...baracus...barcl...barney...Barney! Hey, that's a name for you." He picked up the relatively inert red alien, moving to put it next to Gil in the pack. "Barney. I should've thought of a name for you already, but...Barney. I like that. Like that dude I met when I was stuck in that locker earlier. I'll call you Barney."
Having collected his pets, Adrian moved to pick up his pipe wrench...it was an odd weapon, yes, but he'd gotten attached to it in the last few hours...and his combat knife...which was perfect for cutting alien crabs. He carefully tucked them back into their places...the knife in a small scabbard on his vest and the wrench in a pocket of his backpack. Next, his guns. He swept up his two handguns and started to collect their ammo, still casting curious glances at the new medal that had appeared out of nowhere.
"You know, considering the day I've had, I'm not even remotely concerned about this. I've already had my transport shot down, been to an alien planet numerous times, fallen through infinite space, been a part of several violations of the laws of physics, killed about a million aliens, and almost lost my pants. Plus I'm having this conversation with three aliens who spit various degrees of death. Yeah, compared to all that, a shiny new addition to my wardrobe is really nothing to be fazed about. Actually, I kind of like it. Makes me look like a superhero. Behold, Eagle Man! ...no. Bird Man! No, I think that's been taken, actually. Hmmm. Oh, oh, I got it, I got it. The Lone Ranger. That's perfect."
He continued to chat...supposedly...with his pets, while still picking up the ammo for his handguns, even as the giant monster outside squawked and screamed.
edited 23rd Oct '11 7:38:00 PM by MystyGlyttyr
Easing back into life one step at a time
Did you know this section has a character limit?
Adjust course of SH-3 Sea King. Collision imminent. Object materialization has occurred in forward pocket of jacket. Collision has occurred, vehicle has entered Crystal Peak compound. Rotors of SH-3 Sea King have broken, vehicle has lost controllable movement. Explosions detected, all vehicles within compound have been destroyed. Structural integrity of compound compromised, debris from collision and ceiling has settled on floor. T-X unit has been hit by SH-3 Sea King, leg section trapped beneath SH-3 Sea King. Torso of T-X unit still operational.
Attempt exit from SH-3 Sea King. Unable, door has become jammed due to collision. Door has been removed. Vehicle successfully exited. Subject John Conner has been found. Subject John Conner is showing signs of human emotion fear. Possibility of belief that unit continues to be compromised: 75.645%. Psychological data advises reassurance of unit being uncompromised.
"I'm back."
Subject John Conner showing signs of human emotion relief. Alarm detected, door to safe zone of Crystal Peak compound closing. Commence movement towards it, top speed. Commence attempts to keep door open. Attempts currently successful, hydraulic strain building. Hydraulic failure in two minutes. Issue verbal command to subjects John Conner and Katherine Brewster to enter safe zone of Crystal Peak compound.
"Go! Now!"
Subject John Conner has issued command to Subject Katherine Brewster: "Come on!". Subject Katherine Brewster has successfully entered safe zone of Crystal Peak compound. Secondary Hydrogen Fuel Cell reports rupture, failure in one minute. T-X unit has detached torso from legs. Subject John Conner is attempting to enter safe zone of Crystal Peak compound. Subject John Conner is detected speaking: "Thank you." Issuing response.
"We'll meet again. Go!"
Subject Katherine Brewster has issued command to Subject John Conner: "Come on!". T-X unit is restraining Subject John Conner by the ankle. Unit begins restraining T-X unit's arm. T-X unit has ceased restraining Subject John Conner. Subjects John Conner and Katherine Brewster are escaping T-X unit. Subject John Conner has received injury in ankle due to T-X unit's restraining. T-X unit has breached restraint placed upon it's arm, restraint re-established on loose torso/leg connection.
Hydraulics failing. Secondary Hydrogen Fuel Cell Failing. T-X unit requires termination. Solution acquired.
Secondary Hydrogen Fuel Cell ejected. Possibility of Subjects Katherine Brewster and John Conner being outside blast radius: 80.567% T-X unit has been brought into grappling distance. Reserve power online. Secondary Hydrogen Fuel Cell has been forced into T-X unit's mouth. T-X unit is expressing human emotion shock. Issuing statement.
"You are Terminated."
Catastrophic failure of Secondary Hydrogen Fuel Cell occurring in 5 seconds.
Object in jacket pocket extracted. Object identified as pair of sunglasses, identical to sunglasses damaged in combat with T-X. Sunglasses placed on face.
Catastrophic failure of Secondary Hydrogen Fuel Cell occurring in 1 second...
edited 23rd Oct '11 3:20:06 PM by GeekCodeRed
They do have medals for almost, and they're called silver!
Figure of Hourai
In the same world as the hapless human missile known as Saotome Ranma, the same island, and even the same region, there was a school campus of considerable size and prestige. Mahora Academy was known for two things: the first was that it was correctly described as a town unto itself, with the yearly festival receiving more funding than most professional events. The second thing that the various schools were known for was magic. The head of the Kanto Magic Association was in charge, the world tree in all its glory stood over all, and a magnificent, enigmatic library consumed an entire library. The school was also the prison of one individual whose name struck fear into the hearts of magic users the world over, a certain Evangeline Athanasia Katerina McDowell.
The ancient vampire was seated on a bench outside a well-maintained cottage. Whilst no-one ever went there without invitation or purpose, any lost wanderer that may have passed by wouldn't have the faintest idea that the blonde child didn't need comforting, let alone that she was the single most feared person in the world. It was nigh impossible to reconcile the despondent ten-year old with the image of the demonic vampire of legend.
Eleven years, now. Eleven years and the only change is that an elementary school girl wants me to help them make a robot. The vampire thought, gazing up at the sky and frowning. Too bright, much too bright... the sunlight and her blasted hayfever made Evangeline want to retreat inside. The principal, however, was supposed to be coming around at some point in the next five minutes and there wouldn't even be time to get comfortable.
The immortal child—not dressed in the uniform of the Girls' Junior High but instead in a disturbingly adult dress of black silk and innumerable silver lace frills—winced as a shift in position caused the sunlight to catch on something hidden in the grass, reflecting off of its mirrored surface and blinding the blonde where she sat. This had better not be those high school boys' doing, Konoemon complained too much when I only broke their arms. It's not my fault that some people are too stupid to live.
It turned out that it was a cross of burnished silver on a chain of the same that was to blame for the vampire's blinding. A bad thing to be losing, for sure, but Evangeline wasn't complaining—it seemed a fitting toll for daring to approach her residence. Many, having read far too much vampire literature, would question why the Magus Nosferatu was picking up a holy symbol, assuming that it should have hurt her. The simple fact of the matter was that Evangeline was no more vulnerable to mere symbols than she was roasted soy beans and a cross was just another shape—one that complimented her dress perfectly.
Ignoring the brief tingling sensation, Evangeline fastened the cross about her neck and returned to the bench. Konoemon was late.
Avatar Source
sword of promised halp
The violet sky danced with lightning, and the peal of thunder echoed across the floating island. It was no ordinary isle, however – for although down in the ocean far below, others of its kind had already been taken over by humans and exploited to serve their every need, this one only served one purpose.
An especially bright flash of lightning cut through the clouds, followed by a resounding crash. Its master had returned.
Walking up the stone steps to the Confrontation Beast Hall was the man who now once again stood as the head of the Evil Path. His long brown hair blew out behind him in the howling, biting wind, and though the light, form-fitting black leather armor that covered his body was already being assaulted by the light rain that had begun to fall from the sky at his arrival, nothing could stop his firm stride or the smile on his face.
Moving through the ancient courtyards without a single pause, he stepped up to the tall, black iron-cast doors that led to his inner chamber, casting them open without a thought. Inside the spacious area, dim torches illuminated a small space on the ground, which contained a straw mat and a familiar black mantle. Walking over, he picked it up, smile widening at its familiar weight in his hands. He cast it over his shoulder, donning it with practiced ease, before assuming a kneeling position on the mat, with his back to the doors and his eyes closed. Mind slowly clearing, he began to focus on his victories, on his new strength, on the path that now lay before him…
Two things shook him out of his meditative trance. One was the bright flash of golden light that suddenly burst out from the middle of nowhere. The second was the arrival of a certain green-clad individual. A familiar perky voice bubbled out from behind him. “Rio-sama! I’m so glad you’re back! How did your meeting with the Fierce Beast Fist brat go?”
Rio made no reply at first, instead glancing down at his chest. A single golden lion’s head brooch (not unlike the ones on his mantle) had appeared on the upper left corner of his breastplate. Odd…
But he had no time for that now. Standing up, he turned around to face his most trusted subordinate, his right hand woman – Mele. The Chameleon Fist user was smiling sweetly, trying hard to contain her excitement as her hands played with the front of her dark green skirt. He looked evenly at her, returning only a slight hint of her smile and none of her excitement. “The Three Kenma have been destroyed by the Fierce Beast Fist users,” he said calmly. “And as I thought, Kandou Jan’s power has indeed been increased by Beast Power Bloom, more than enough to exceed Maku’s - but not mine.” He slowly raised his gauntleted hand as he said this, looking down at it and gradually curling his fingers into a clenched fist.
After a moment of stunned silence, the spry RinRinShi regained her senses and burst out into rapturous applause. “Oh, Rio-sama! I knew you would do it! Now you’re back as the head of our clan, and you can finally face your rival! I’m so happy for you!” She giggled, as if that much enthusiasm had still not been enough.
Rio smirked. He was in an unusually good mood today. “Yes, Mele,” he said softly. “Now, please leave me. I wish to be alone.”
“Of course, Rio-sama~!” The woman bowed, before leaving the hall, her brow creased in a confused frown. Strange... Rio-sama seemed so distracted today.
Once she had gone, Rio resumed his position on the mat, attempting to go into a trance once more – though his mind kept wandering back to the strange brooch that had just suddenly burst into existence. Every now and then, he would attempt to detach it, or finger it thoughtfully in a fit of uncharacteristic curiosity. Nothing happened. What did it do?
Whatever it did, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that he would find out very soon.
edited 24th Oct '11 1:43:08 AM by troydenite
'Being around you guys makes me go "wtf" instead of pondering the ever increasing dread of time' - EchoingSilence, 2023
The Chew Toy of Gaming
The year, 199X.
The world was engulfed in nuclear flames.
Nuclear war had annihilated almost all life. However, humanity did not die...
In the wasteland that was once Asia, the strong prospered, and the weak were stepped on like ants.
Then, Kenshiro came.
Seeing the oppression of the people, Kenshiro fought and killed many difficult opponents in order to ensure the safety of those who couldn't defend themselves.
The most recent town Kenshiro had wandered into had been besieged by a small band of roving thugs with Mohawks and knives, who were demanding food and water from the populace in exchange for protection. The bandits were “negotiating” with the town elder when Kenshiro came, so they decided to pick a fight with him in order to make an example for the elder.
It was a fatal mistake. Before they knew what happened...
*CRACK* “HIDEBU!”
Kenshiro performed a spinning kick that decapitated the entire group.
Ken quickly set out after being thanked by the elder. He never stayed in one place for long. The curse of Hokuto assured that.
However, on the way to another town, something shone in the sky before Kenshiro. He noticed the sudden light and looked up, noting it as a “shooting star.”
Needless to say, the Hokuto Shinken successor was surprised when the “shooting star” slammed into the ground in front of him. He whipped off his protective cloak and looked around, fearing that the star was an attack made on him by some martial artist who wanted to end the 2,000-year legacy of Hokuto Shinken. However, the only thing he found was a strange object: a brooch in the shape of a flame
◊ that reminded him disturbingly of...
“Yuria...” Kenshiro whispered, still mourning over his late girlfriend. He placed the brooch on his right vambrace, ignoring the tingling sensation he got from the action.
Little did he know that the brooch has opened a world, no, MULTIPLE worlds of adventure to him...
edited 23rd Oct '11 5:39:46 PM by DragonGeyser
Lampshade Hanging: It's a lifestyle.
He fought his first battle on the Scottish Highlands in 1536.
He will fight his greatest battle on the streets of New York City in 1986.
But before that, his strangest battles are yet to begin...
His name is Connor MacLeod.
He is Immortal.
Fasil was faster then Connor remembered. The strikes of his blade had shown a crisp snap and fluidity not present in their last duel. He'd been practising... but not enough. After an arduous duel his opponent stood disarmed before him, his face soaked with sweat, his sword on the ground out of reach. Connor's own sword was raised. Fasil knew what was coming, and to his credit showed no signs of distress. He raised his neck. Connor swung.
The man, born Gaultier de Savoie in France, 1145, met his end under the name Iman Fasil ibn Said, in the parking garage under Madison Square Garden. Now, lightning crackled over his headless body, expanding outwards and engulfing Connor, who stood with his arms outstretched as the energy coursed across the cars, shattering windows and destroying engines.
As the Quickening filled his body with explosive energy, Connor noticed a still brighter light appear floating in the air before him, with something at it's center. Strange... he had never seen anything of the sort before.
He took it out of the air and examined it closely. It appeared to be a metal brooch in the shape of... the crest of the MacLeods?! He had purposefully avoided all reminders of his mortal life for centuries, and it came as a cold shock. This had been sent by someone who ''knew' who he was.
Connor pinned the brooch to the jacket he wore beneath his long coat. He was unsure if he wanted to know the source of this mysterious trinket, but had the feeling that he would soon find out regardless....
Tonight's the night. It's going to happen again and again. Has to happen. Nice night. Miami is a great town. I love the Cuban food and pork sandwhiches, my favorite. But I'm hungry for something different, now. Dexter watches as a young man takes smokes a cigarette outside of the Mc Donald's he worked at. He seems so peaceful now. Hard to believe he killed his fiance in a fit of jealousy, then managed to pin it on his best friend. Must have been an awkward reunion in prison.
Dexter watches as he tosses his cigarette on the ground, and walks towards the bus stop. Quickly and silently, Dexter moved up behind him, and stuck a needle into his neck with his black gloved hands, pressing down on the other end. The young man collapses. Picking him up, Dexter drags the young man to his car, and places him in the passenger's seat. Dexter drives to a now abandoned house. They bought this together to spend the rest of their lives in. A fitting place for him to meet his end. Dexter exits, and drags the young man into the house, and to the kitchen. He places him on the table, and hurries himself in securing the man to the table. Dexter busies himself with wrapping him up, and strapping him to the kitchen table. He takes his knives out of his bag, and lays them on the counter. As he does so, he checks the time. I should hurry. I don't want to force Sonja to stay longer than she has to and I need to grab some eggs from the grocery store, pick up some diapers, and dump the body... The young man began to wake up and starts to make noises under the duct tape covering his mouth.
"Hello, Jeremy Steele," Dexter speaks to him without looking as he takes hold of his scalpel. He turns, and removes the duct tape, "Let's talk."
Jeremy sputters at Dexter, his speech is slightly slurred as the M99 has yet to fully wear off, "What? Who are you? Where am I?"
Dexter slides his scalpel along Jeremy's cheek, putting a sample of his blood on a clear metal slide. Dexter points to the picture he put up of Jeremy's fiance, "How about we talk about Sara, your fiance? Oh, sorry. Ex-fiance. She's dead now. You killed her."
Jeremy looks up at Dexter, eyes wide with terror, "Wh-what? No! It was Jonathon, I swear!"
Dexter continues as if Jeremy had said nothing, "You saw the two together at a club, and assumed the worst. You confronted her, and she denied everything. The neighbors could here the two of you yelling. She stormed out, and you followed her, and, when she was somewhere quiet and alone, you bashed her head in with your favorite golf club, and fled."
Jeremy begins to panic, "No! That wasn't me! Jonathon took my club! I swear! I-"
Dexter cuts him off, grabbing his head with his gloved hands and leaning in close, "Shut up. You killed her with your golf club, and left it at your friends house."
Jeremy loses it, and begins to yell, "That bitch deserved it for what-" Dexter sticks some white cloth in his mouth. Pathetic in life, pathetic to the end.
Dexter grabs one of his knives, and stabs Jeremy in the heart. He grabs his power tools, and dismembers Jeremy's body, and places its pieces in black garbage bags, along with the clear plastic tarps he used to create the kill room, and takes them to his car. He places them in the trunk, and drives to the marina. He carefully transfers the bags to his boat, and goes out into the water. I always feel calm after a kill, and the trip out into the ocean always helps. Dexter begins to dump the bags. Of course, these trips serve a purpose beyond bringing me peace... Dexter goes back to the marina, all the bags gone deep down to the ocean floor. He steps off of his boat and begins to walk to his car. He sees a small crater to his right. Wonder what that is. Dexter walks over to it, and finds a pair of white gloves nearly identical to the ones he was wearing. That's strange, its as if someone intended for me to have these... Dexter pockets them, and continues to walk back to his car.
Wait, he isn't dead! Shia Surprise!
The Baxter Building, a short while later…
“Well, Reed?” Peter asked, suspended from the ceiling by a narrow strand of webbing; that he was presently hanging upside-down did not trouble the arachnid avenger in the slightest. “What’s the scoop?”
The sole other occupant of the cavernous laboratory did not respond immediately, instead humming thoughtfully to himself as he examined the apparatus containing the gauntlet from several angles. Reed Richards, better known to the world as Mister Fantastic or the World’s Smartest Man, had placed the glove into a small, spherical chamber made of a highly durable transparent polymer, where he would hopefully be able to observe and study the object without risk; the polymath’s body stood next to a console some ten feet from the sphere, but his neck had stretched out like the powerful coils of a python, and he examined the chamber’s contents with a critical eye from a rather short distance—only two inches of clear, radiation-blocking polymer separated his face from the mysterious object.
“Curious,” the leader of the Future Foundation muttered under his breath, his words barely audible over the deep humming of the many apparatuses which filled the laboratory. “Very curious…”
“And what might that be?”
Reed jerked then, as if he had started to fall asleep and been jolted awake by Spider-Man’s words. “My apologies, Peter; I’d almost forgotten you were here for a moment there. At any rate, this gauntlet is truly a fascinating device; from what my instruments can discern, its structure is somewhat similar to that of the Infinity Gauntlet itself, though obviously I doubt it has the capacity to hold all of the Infinity Gauntlet’s reality-altering gems. Furthermore, I have determined that it is coated with a large quantity of tachyons and trace amounts of some rather peculiar molecular ions. By my estimations, I would posit that this gauntlet originated in another plane of existence and crossed over into ours, possibly by means of an artificially-induced Einstein-Rosen bridge.”
Spider-Man flipped himself over so that he was positioned right-side up and dropped a short distance to the floor, frowning behind his mask as he approached the spherical container. “So it came from another universe, then…but why did it appear in front of me? Did this belong to some inter-universal traveller, maybe?”
“Ah, well that I do not know,” Reed admitted, turning back to the console to examine his findings. “Even so, I’m confident that I’ll be able to divine the gauntlet’s origins and nature with further study. Let me see now…if I can determine the precise charge of its subatomic particles, then perhaps this will make it easier to determine just what universal stream it originated in…”
Reed continued on, talking mostly to himself, at which point Peter tuned him out; Peter himself was hardly dim-witted and was indeed something of a genius in his own right, but Reed’s mind seemed to work on a level far beyond that of most people, and even for Peter it was at times difficult to keep up with all his scientific theorizing. So instead he approached the container, peering at the metal gauntlet with no small amount of trepidation. The more he stared at it, the more convinced he became that someone had made the gauntlet specifically for him, and that it appearing before him was no coincidence; something was going to happen soon, he was sure, but what that might be he could not begin to guess.
“What are you?” he whispered, reaching out to touch the transparent polymer.
As his fingers drew near, a klaxon suddenly rang out, and Mister Fantastic turned towards him. “Get back, Peter! I’m detecting a sudden energy spike within the gauntlet’s matrices; I believe it may be reacting—”
Before he could finish speaking, Peter’s spider-sense abruptly flared up again, and the gauntlet, previously inert, curled its fingers into a tight metal fist and punched through the glass. Yelling in alarm, Peter leapt straight into the air in an effort to get out of the way, but the fist altered its trajectory mid-flight and shot towards him at an incredible speed, sliding over his left hand before he could even blink.
“Connection established,” a stern, female voice intoned, its words seeming to emanate from the crystal on the glove’s back. “Bearer positively identified as Spider-Man [Parker, Peter], designation MU-Six-One-Six. Acquisition complete; now initiating emergency planar shunt…”
“Hey, wait!” Spider-Man yelled, but it was too late; before he could pry the damned thing off, its crystal suddenly lit up with a blindingly-intense radiance, and then his senses were overwhelmed by a sudden onslaught of bizarre scents, sounds and colours that he had never known existed before. Fire surged through his veins, burning him from within, and in the wake of this sudden blaze a creeping numbness spread outwards from his extremities to engulf his entire body.
Then everything went white, and Spider-Man knew no more.
Reed lowered his arm as the flash of light abated, staring in shock at the spot where Spider-Man had been scant moments earlier. It was completely empty, all trace of the wall-crawler’s presence eradicated as though he had never been there.
Seconds later the door to the lab slammed open, and the hulking orange form of the Thing charged inside. “I came as soon as I herd da alarm, Stretcho,” he rumbled in his typical Yancy Street drawl. “What’s happ’nin’? Where’s da webhead?”
“I wish I knew, Ben,” Reed uttered in response, a look of worry spreading across his face as he spoke. “I wish I knew…”
???
The first thing Spider-Man noticed when he regained consciousness was that it was exceedingly cold; the bitter chill rolled across him in a biting wind, bringing him to wakefulness in short order. The wall-crawler sat up quickly, his head panning back and forth as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.
“Well, T-t-t-toto,” he said to no one in particular, his teeth chattering and his breath escaping in a thick jet of visible gas as he rose to his feet. “I d-d-don’t think we’re in Kansas, anymore…”
He stood on a vast plane of ice which stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction, its featureless and frigid expanse marred only by a circle of strange formations which lay a short distance away; from this distance, they seemed like a ring of eighteen squat tree trunks big enough to sit on, and in the center of this circle he could just barely see what looked like a small pile of kindling or something similar. The sky overhead was an oppressive wall of iron, nothing but grim grey storm clouds from here to the horizon; they hung in place, unmoved by the driving winds which howled across the barren expanse, and though he heard peals of distant thunder every now and then no scintillating bolts of lightning accompanied them.
Drawing his arms close to his body for warmth, he noticed then that the gauntlet was still attached to his left hand; hard to miss, given that its silver hue was a striking contrast to the red and black of his other hand. A slight change had come over the glove since he had last seen it; a simplified image of his mask appeared to have been etched into the depths of the crystal, and beneath it lay a long string of letters and numbers written in a font too small and fine for him to make out. Frowning at the apparent source of his troubles, Peter reached out with his right hand to pry the gauntlet off; to his consternation, however, he quickly discovered that it was stuck fast. It resisted his efforts to remove it, and when he gave up on finesse and tried brute force, the pain which resulted then was excruciating; it was like trying to tear out his own arm!
Sighing in defeat, and lacking anything better to do, Spider-Man slowly trudged towards the circle of icy stumps. As he drew nearer, he began to notice that he was not alone…
The Danse Macabre Codex
I'm Back Bitches (not really)
The explosion echoes through Malachite's ears. I lost concentration... Foolish of me. I'm not an apprentice. Why did I make such an amateur mistake?
Malachite seems to hear a stern, female voice buried in the sound of the explosion. “Connection established, Bearer positively identified as Malachite, designation TGWTG-Y3-SK. Acquisition complete; now initiating emergency planar shunt…” I was right! It has access to Hypertime! Once I learn how this damned technology works I can use it, discard it, and bring the world of magic this universe should be!
Malachite blinks into a white light never to be seen again. Foolish people of his universe will assume he perished in the explosion if they even noticed.
Malachite shivers as he sees the plane of ice and death. Hmm no civilization around. Peculiar place for this... machine to take me. Then again why should anyone trust these damned things?
Malachite thinks. I shouldn't use my hand on something so terrestrial but... it's this or death. And with my Hand removing the side-effects of magic...
On the hand where Malachite's Hand lays a small ember starts to rise from each finger. Suddenly the conjurer's vision turns to black as if he nearly lost awareness. Odd... I guess I haven't gotten used to using that much energy since Aion took my Hand. Or maybe even I started to believe the legends and folk tales spread about my gauntlet.
Malachite stays on the stump warming himself waiting for someone to come to him.
To Be Updated when I'm not Lazy
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has this to say about what to do if your ship is about to crash.
Scream. This won't help matters any, but you will feel compelled to do it at some point or another during your descent downwards and so it's best to get that sort of thing out of the way.
Have a drink. Again, this won't help you but it is a terribly relaxing thing to do and it's likely anyways that your ship is about to crash and you will die horribly. If you're planning to teleport out, then this will also help to cushion your system for a matter transferance beam.
Have another drink. Just to be sure.
And so on.
Ford, however, did not scream, although he would have taken a drink if he had one. Instead, he stood there as his ship flashed through space and time. It was rather like what the Heart of Gold might have conjured up had it been there, but it wasn't. Ford stared out the window, nervously clutching his towel. It was all that zarking disk's fault, wasn't it? He had been perfectly happy sitting there in that hold until it had decided to come out of nowhere. Not only that, but as soon as he had hopped aboard the ship, the bloody thing had spoken to him.
"Connection established," it said, sounding uncomfortably brisk and precise. Ford automatically began to dislike this thing. "Bearer positively identified as Ford Prefect [Ix, one who cannot identify what a Hrung is nor why it should choose to collapse on Betelgeuse Seven], designation DGSADMS-Forty-Two. Acquisition complete; now initiating emergency planar shunt..."
It was the principle of the thing, thought Ford as the ship hurtled onwards through the blue-smelling confines, the noise that sounded like the color of the tolling of a bell jangling in his ears. No disc, no matter how fancy it was, had the right to just up and whisk one's conveyance along like this. Ford looked out the window at the terrifying, howling burst of noise and colors. Somewhere out there, among the yelling disc and bizarre sounds and colors, if he could just see a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, he would feel just a little safer. But he couldn't, so he didn't.
He decided to black out for a while.
When he came to, he noticed that reality was back to the way that he normally percieved it. He sat, dazed and confused, in the cushioned escape pod, gazing up at the several notices that said "Have a Nice Day" in all the various Jatravartian dialects. It was bitterly cold outside; he could hear the wind howling ominously and the gusts of snowflakes from in here. "Zark," he said, to nobody in particular.
He said it again.
"Zark."
Extracting himself from what little remained of the craft, he took a good long look around, at the strange chair-like constructions not far away and the masked red man who also seemed to be confused. His brain decided that now would be a good time to pass out again, and so he did.
edited 24th Oct '11 9:13:54 AM by Locoman
Figure of Hourai
Evangeline was just about to head inside, Konoemon's tardiness having extended beyond the ten minute mark and the vampire child's patience, when the cross about her neck did something that even she, with her centuries upon centuries of experience, couldn't have predicted. It started to speak, the voice undeniably female but still ominously robotic. Rather like what she would have expected the proposed robot to sound like.
"Connection established. Bearer positively identified as Evangeline A. K. McDowell, designation MSN-ALPHA. Acquisition complete; now initiating emergency planar shunt..." intoned the jewellery, causing the blonde's eyes to widen as she processed the possible meanings of the words.
Planar shunt? This can't mean Mundus Magicus, that would be far too close... so there are other worlds? But... what force could possibly be behind this? Even I can't defeat Nagi's curse and all Mahora's protections... Evangeline thought, trying to determine exactly what was happening before the cross—though it was far more than that, she was sure—fully activated. Wise and knowledgeable as the Magus Nosferatu was, she was still too slow to come to any real conclusions before the nightmarish amalgamation of sensations and suffering consumed her small body...
Then everything went white.
The plane of ice didn't seem different from the blinding that had preceded it, superficially at least. Admittedly, it was far colder—but as an ice-specialised mage and a native of medieval Scotland, Evangeline was no stranger to the cold and disregarded it as she climbed to her feet. The worst that it could do was make her body numb, no vampire—regardless of how weakened they had become—was going to be defeated by something as simple as a lack of atmospheric heat.
I suppose that the sensible thing to do would be to try and remove this cross and hope that it sends me home, mused the vampire, But that would mean returning to an indefinite stay in purgatory. Even a featureless plain is better than powerlessness and infants.
Leaving Mahora, however, didn't seem to have removed the irritating binding of her ability to store mana. Of course, she could still wield it, but without a sizeable atmospheric magical presence she was nothing more than a ten year old with vast knowledge and implausible mastery of skills. I don't suppose that an endless plane of ice is at all magical.
Much to Evangeline's lack of surprise, there was a modest amount of magic in the air. Not enough for flight or the full measure of her regeneration, let alone the skills that had earned her innumerable monikers, but it was enough that she would have no difficulty putting uppity mages in their place. It wasn't much power to work with but her skill was surely enough compensation... though the amount that she could do with Sagitta Magica alone was somewhat lacking...
It was at this point that Evangeline finally decided to check her surroundings for something more interesting to head towards than featureless ice. Upon seeing the ring of stumps, the 'child' started to walk towards them, surprisingly unhurried despite the cold.
edited 24th Oct '11 10:17:05 AM by RainehDaze
Avatar Source
Breath of the Sun
"Pawn shop, here I come." Bender had a cigar in one hand and a beer in the other as he strolled out of the Planet Express building to pawn the gold statue. As he reached into his chest compartment to withdraw it, however, he found that it would not budge. It appeared to have bolted itself to the bottom of the compartment, and was now... glowing(?) strangely.
"BENDER, NO!" Shouted Farnsworth, running out of his lab. "I told you not to-"
"Connection Established." Speaks a voice, stern and female (and also eerily reminiscent of Bender, somehow). "Bearer positively identified as Bending Unit 22[Rodriguez, Bender, B. Sr.], designation FU-Three-Thousand. Acquisition complete; now initiating emergency planar shunt…"
And then, like all good scientific ideas, it exploded. Into a blindingly bright white light, at that, and Bender was gone. Farnsworth pauses at this development, rubbing his glasses in amazement. At that moment, the rest of the Planet Express crew, And Zoidberg, walked in. The old man cleared his throat and addressed them:
"Good news, everyone! Bender's been teleported to another dimension!"
"Stupid trophy." Mutters Bender, walking through the cold wasteland. As a machine, the place did not affect him, nor matter to him. Activating small wipers to clear the frost from his eyes, he drinks his beer, and then belches fire. Muttering once more, he sits down on a conveniently placed stump. "When I get back, I'm going to kill Zoidberg for this. And then Fry. Then Amy. Then the Professor. Then Calculon." The robot continued listing the names of the people he was going to kill to himself, occasionally taking a swig of beer or a puff of his cigar, though, to his chagrin, it was going out.
"Damn cigar." He muttered.
What is so amusing about this? Why do you take lives? How can you forget?
Connor heard the sound of distant sirens rapidly getting louder, and looked around frantically for a place to conceal his katana. To his shock, a stern female voice rang out from the vivinity of his chest;
Connection established. Bearer positively identified as The Highlander [Macleod, Connor], designation HTM-TCBO-One.
"What?!"
He fumbled with the brooch trying to remove it, but it would not budge from his jacket.
Acquisition complete; now initiating emergency planar shunt…”
At that moment, the thing on his chest seemed to explode into a bright white light. Burning energy coursed through his body, totally unlike that of any Quickening, before he lost consciousness, the last thing he remembered being consumed by the white light.
The Immortal awoke on the vast plain of ice, his sword still clutched in his gloved hand. With a grimace he sheathed it and looked around, noting the circle of stumps in the distance. Connor knew that the harsh conditions could not kill him, but that's not to say they couldn't hurt. As it was the only thing in sight, he pulled his coat tighter around himself and set off in the direction of the ring.
edited 24th Oct '11 11:54:24 AM by Vox
Satsuki ran off after the man, hoping to catch up to him before the sun rose, when suddenly...
"Connection established, Bearer positively identified as Yumizuka, Satsuki, designation TM-02-SRNE. Acquisition complete; now initiating emergency planar shunt…"
"...W-wait, did the glasses just sp-"
There was a brilliant flash of light, and once it cleared Satsuki was no longer in the streets of Misaki.
"Heh..." the man she'd bumped into earlier stepped out from the shadows. "I suppose it's about time you became a main heroine, Miss Yumizuka."
"-eak!?"
When Satsuki opened her eyes, she found herself in the middle of a frozen wasteland, near a circle of stumps where several people were gathering. She clung to herself for warmth, although it wasn't like it would do her any good. She'd always been cold, so very cold, ever since that day...
"H-hey! Um... Hello!" she timidly asked the people around her (Did the same thing happen to them? Waaah, why can't my life be normal anymore...) "Um... Wh-where are we? Um... If you, um, don't mind me asking."
Ven was about to put the Wayfinder back in his pocket, when it flashed and spoke with a heavily mechanical sounding synthesised voice.
"Connection established, Bearer positively identified as Ventus, designation KH-03-LOD. Acquisition complete; now initiating emergency planar shunt…"
What is it on...
He never got a chance to finish that train of thought, before a brilliant white flash swallowed him.
When the light faded, it was clear he wasn't where he was before. This place was frozen solid, for one thing. That, and there were a group of strange people he'd never seen before not too far away.
"Yup. That tasted purple."
Did you know this section has a character limit?
Catastrophic failure of Secondary Hydrogen Fuel Cell occurring in 1 second...
Object Sunglasses issued a statement. “Connection established, Bearer positively identified as Cyber Research Systems Model 101 Series 850 Infiltration-Combat Unit, designation TU-LAC-AT-Thirty-PJD. Acquisition complete; now initiating emergency planar shunt…” Voice used indicates female. Unit databanks report that sunglasses are unable to issue statements.
Energy surge detected. Vision compromised, color designated White is blocking normal and Thermal vision. Sensors compromised, surge of interference detected.
Catastrophic Failure of Secondary Hydrogen Fuel Cell occurring in 0.1 second....
———-
Sensors online. Vision uncompromised. Location unknown. Temperature is read as -7 degrees Celsius. Unit is not Terminated. Probability of unit survival: 0%. Statistical anomaly detected. Probability of T-X unit survival: 0.007%. Probability of unit being brought to current location instantaneously: 0%. Statistical Anomaly detected. Unit is at full operating capacity, Model 101 sheath restored. Probability of unit operating capacity and sheath restoration in time allowed: 0%. Statistical anomaly detected.
Commands: Priority: Protection of Subjects John Conner and Katherine Brewster. Unit unable to ensure survival of Subjects John Conner and Katherine Brewster from current location. Structures detected, Probability of Human manufacture: 79.8%. Begin movement towards structures. Issuing statement:
"I'll be back."
edited 24th Oct '11 11:58:51 AM by GeekCodeRed
They do have medals for almost, and they're called silver!
Dexter walks to his car and drives to the grocery store. Entering, he quickly makes his way to the dairy section. He picked\s out some eggs, and turns to go to the check out. That's strange. There doesn't appear to be anyone around. Unknown to him, a young boy is hiding from his parents just a row down, and has a very clear view of him. What that boy sees next will stick with him the rest of his life. A noise comes from the gloves in Dexter's pocket.
"Connection established, Bearer positively identified as Dexter Morgan, designation DEX-β-TV. Acquisition complete; now initiating emergency planar shunt…"
The boy watches Dexter as he is lifted off of the ground and begins to glow. Dexter spins slowly in place, his arms outstretched, and head to the sky, as the white gloves fly out of his pocket and put themselves on his hands. The gloves give off a bright glow and seem to transform into tendrils of energy. The tendrils swirl around Dexter's large frame, and begins to coalesce. Over his hands, the energy seems to form gauntlets of energy while sleeves appear over his arms, seemingly fusing with his shirt. Boots form around his shoes, and pants begin to coalesce as well. A hood hides his brown hair, and his blue eyes while a cloak forms around his body. As everything begins to take a solid form, details and colors become clear, from the leather sash, to the metal bracers on his arm, the pure white of his cloak to the red of the sash under the leather one. The young boy watches in fascination as Dexter is seemingly sucked into a pale green hole of the same energy as the tendrils that surrounded him before. All that remained behind was a 12 now smashed eggs, and a little boy. The next day when Dexter didn't show up to work, Deborah would call his house, and, after a hurried conversation with Sonja, figure out that Dexter had gone missing. Soon the entire department would know, and a missing person's case on him would be opened, but eventually get filed away, unsolved, and Deb would wonder what happened to him.
Dexter felt cold despite his new clothing. What just happened there? Where am I? How did I get here. were all questions that ran through his mind, but one question rose above them all, Is there anyone here for me to kill and relive the Dark Passenger? He looked about, and thought, All good questions, but questions for later. First, I need to figure out how I can get warm. With that thought, Dexter set out towards the only thing he could see distinguishable in the landscape, a circle of icy stumps. In the distance, he saw other people.
If anything in this is out of line (I did took some artistic liberties in it) please tell me.
There was little time.
The object hurled through the cosmos, zipping past stars, planets and other celestial bodies at speeds the human mind could scarcely imagine; in its wake worlds cracked and split open like overripe fruits, suns guttered and died, and moons broke free of their orbits to sail off into the void at complete random. The infinite depths of space, normally silent, were alive with the tumultuous cacophony of innumerable voices crying out in terror and pain as their very reality came crumbling down around them, and though their words and languages varied greatly there was only one question on the minds of these unfortunate wretches, one desperate plea which, where they were concerned, would forever go unanswered: why?
They would never know, for it had no answers to give; and at any rate, their torment would not last long. The object rocketed away from the epicentre of this destruction, fleeing the cataclysmic power of these universal death-throes with all haste; had it possessed any capacity for emotion, it might have felt sorrow at the fact that it had arrived too late to prevent the demise of this realm. The one it was destined for had met their end before the object could reach its would-be bearer, snuffed out by the horrid pandemonium as this universe’s contamination reached terminal stages. It had failed, its charge slain and its potential unrealized.
Yet all was not yet lost, for the device itself was still intact and could be put to good use elsewhere. New information and a new directive filled its memory banks, and as the object began to lee from the spreading wave of destruction it had reconfigured itself into a form more suitable to its newly-designated bearer. With the coordinates of its new destination set and its systems fully charged, the device activated its transport mechanisms and vanished into thin air, abandoning this doomed universe to its fate in favour of one that had not yet experienced to foul touch of this creeping malignancy.
There was little time…
New York City, another time and place…
It had been a relatively peaceful day in the Big Apple thus far. The onset of fall had been rather gentle this year, and while the weather was still understandably cold, it was not unpleasantly so; the many pedestrians and motorists wandering through the sundry streets of Manhattan managed to get by in little more than light sweaters without discomfort. Beyond the usual noise of several thousand cars clogging up the roadways, it had been relatively quiet as well, and many a New Yorker had been prepared to take advantage of this peace to enjoy that rarest of commodities—a truly peaceful, relaxing day without having to worry about some sort of major disaster for once.
One New Yorker in particular had been quite pleased to see that the day had turned out to be so peaceful. Peter Parker, better known as the Amazing Spider-Man, had spent much of the day swinging around on patrol, but apart from a single, easily-thwarted bank robbery there had not been so much as a hint of criminal or supervillain activity; and while such a dearth of crime was decidedly bizarre for New York, it was hardly unwelcome and he was not the sort to look a gift horse in the mouth. Satisfied that his particular services were unlikely to be needed this day, the web-slinging superhero had decided to call it in early and drop by his apartment for some rest and relaxation.
Naturally, such a thing was simply too good to last.
He was still well over ten blocks from his apartment when a sharp tingling suddenly flared up at the base of his skull, causing him to cry out in pain and nearly splatter himself across the face of a building; only a split-second reaction on his part prevented Spider-Man from becoming a rather grotesque piece of window art.
“Spider-senses…going berserk,” he muttered through clenched teeth, reaching up with one hand to clutch at his head in the vain hope that such a gesture would stop the drums pounding in his skull. “But where…why?”
The question had been rhetorical; as such, Peter was rather surprised when the answer literally appeared out of thin air. A sudden flash of light exploded into being right in front of his face, and the wall-crawler instinctively flipped backwards to put some distance between himself and the blinding radiance; if he was under attack, he was not about to make himself a sitting duck.
But no follow-up attack came, and as the painful throbbing of his spider-senses diminished the arachnid avenger realized that he was apparently not under assault. Calming down somewhat, but still wary, he crept down the building’s façade to get a better look at the source of that unexpected lightshow.
“What in the world?” he breathed, peering incredulously at the object before him. It was an ornate glove, a gauntlet made of a strange metal, and it floated in the air under its own power, bobbing gently in the wind as it did so. It revolved slowly in place like a weathervane, allowing him to see that the gauntlet lacked any sort of palm, and from the position of its thumb and fingers it was clear that the glove was meant to be worn on the left hand. A gem the size of a peach pit was inlaid on the back of the glove, its red-and-blue colouration a marked contrast to the dull silver which made up the rest of the gauntlet, and this crystal seemed to glow faintly with an eerie inner light.
Strangest of all, however, was the fact that it seemed like a perfect fit for his own hand; by holding his left hand out next to the hovering glove, it became apparent that whoever had made this gauntlet had done so to the exact specifications of Peter’s hand. Had this thing been created specifically for him?
“Well, Peter, you’ve officially stepped into the Twilight Zone now,” he muttered to himself, reaching out to grab the glove. It was hot at first, but the silver gauntlet rapidly grew cool to the touch, and he felt a bizarre tingle akin to a mild electric shock shoot up his arm as his fingers wrapped around the metal. He definitely couldn’t leave this thing floating around; he had no idea where it came from or what it could do, and while the tingling of his spider-senses had abated somewhat since the gauntlet first appeared, they had not stopped altogether—this gauntlet was dangerous in some way, of that he was certain.
There was only one person who could help him figure this out, and fortunately he happened to be in town. Tucking the glove into the crook of his arm, Spider-Man leapt off the face of the skyscraper and began swinging away…not towards his apartment, but rather in the direction of the Baxter Building.
Here’s hoping that Reed can provide some answers, the web-slinger thought. Either way, though, I get the feeling that this is going to be a long day…
He could not imagine just how right he was.
The Danse Macabre Codex