Worlds Roleplay

[ATTN: Open]

He was feeling oddly nostalgic; it couldn't have come at a worse time.

Trick had heard Las Vegas was a city of sin even before the bombs dropped, and it wasn't any less of one now. Only now the gang violence was more overt and the police did nothing to stop it - this of course was because the police were the gangs now. Las Vegas was the city of locked doors and 'mysterious' disappearances whenever some idiot voiced displeasure at the state of things - Thorne didn't care much for varied opinions on how he ran his new kingdom.

He'd found a ground-floor apartment that he'd thought was abandoned at first. When the owner came home (one young man, ragged, unarmed) he'd not known anything was wrong; it wasn't until he went to bed that the monster hiding in his closet came out and made sure the young man wouldn't be waking up. Anyone else might have felt conflicted about it, at least, but Trick didn't really care. The previous apartment owner's death had given him a convenient new identity.

The plan was to weasel his way in undercover for a few weeks, maybe even months. Learn security and their patterns, find where Thorne himself was hiding. He had plenty of time, no other plans or pressing commitments. Trick had adopted the previous resident's name, Stephen Hall, and had taken the man's clothes as well - with some modifications they fit fine.

His old tapes he'd stuffed into a strongbox and buried under the floorboards. His coat he kept - he hadn't worn anything like it before when he was in America, it would go unrecognized. His face was another story.

Trick shaved his face carefully and studied it. He'd have to bleach his hair for certain, and he'd prepared for that already. It had been a good six years he'd seen Thorne face to face, and he'd aged since then - but there really was no such thing as being too careful with the man. He'd obsessed over how he was going to do this before, spent hours meticulously planning even when he was a continent away. Failure was not an option now.

He looked down at his razor again, then back up at the mirror. Ugh. Maybe he should see what the bleach job would do before he did anything terribly drastic.

[Attn: Open]

Two suns were gazing upon Toivoa, beaming down as if it wanted to start a fire. The air began to fill with noise; the sound of a civilization coming to life. No, that was not quite right. It was too loud…almost as if the very planet was crying out. But one voice rose above the noise. One voice was crystal clear.

“It’s happening again. When will we ever learn? We grasp for greatness and ultimately destroy ourselves in the process.” Mysie’s quiet, saddened voice echoed.

Tristan looked around, but all he could see was the grey wilderness. “Mysie? Where are you?!” Nothing. There was nothing.

Suddenly, in the distance, he could see a big explosion. It continued to spread. The planet looked like it was fire. Everything was burning until it all faded into white nothing.

Tristan shot up from his slumber. He looked around for a second, scanning his surroundings. It was all a dream. The place around him was quiet, normal, and frankly, it was home. He rubbed his face. “Hmm…just a dream.” He got up and looked outside. It was dusk. “Perfect. There's still time.” He said with a smile.

Getting himself ready, he threw on a heavy coat and stepped out. Almost everyone would still be resting. He started walking down the rocky path until he found a decent spot away from the small community.

He sat down in the cold, brisk air and pulled out a small journal. He couldn't help but smile at it. “Hey Mys, happy birthday. Let’s see you’d be umm…14 now?” He laughed. “I would get a punch in the arm for that. Well…anyway, happy 21st birthday, Mys.” Leaning back, he decided to watch as the world became fully lit.

The S.S Freedom is the name chosen by Captain Ahm-iir Voh’t. The crew of this vessel is the last hope for a universe slowly falling victim to the merciless and emotionless alien conquerors, the M-Krel. Among their ranks are half a dozen skilled alien specialists and two humans. Between the humans, one was a decorated but surprisingly laid back soldier with a chip on her shoulder, referred to by the rest of the crew as Jazz. The other was Wraith, a cynical and embittered 19th Century Cowboy plucked from the past as the only survivor of the attack nearest to where the S.S Freedom arrived.

Wraith stood in an elevator with Jazz and an alien crewmate, Jaree-Xana. She was a tall alien woman with bluish grey skin, dark blue hair, and yellow eyes with black markings around them. “Are we sure dropping onto the planet with a volatile atmosphere is a good idea, bringing the living bomb with us?” Jazz asks.

“Wraith has earned our trust,” Xana retorts.

“I trust him implicitly. It’s the guys who are going to try and kill us that I’m worried about,” Jazz says. “Wraith, if they get lucky and bull’s-eye a single dampener…”

Wraith leans against the elevator wall with his hat tipped down over his eyes. “Ma’am, when was the last time you saw me get shot, period?” He says.

“Well, when you put it that way…” Jazz remarks sarcastically.

Xana stands ahead of the two humans, smiling at Wraith’s response but not turning to let either of them know it. The elevator stops and the three of them step out onto the bridge. They are greeted by a tall alien with humanoid features but blue-green scales and razor sharp teeth as well as glossy black eyes. “Captain Voh’t, we’ve found the intel on the last planet they took. The atmosphere leaves some…concerns regarding how Wraith will be able to go on the mission without endangering the entire planet, let alone the mission.”

“I suspect that the M-Krel will not have terra-formed the land by the time we get there. At least, they will not have finished. The atmosphere could prove sensitive,” the Captain says. “Wraith, go and see Engineer Eckles before the continuation of this mission.”

Wraith nods and heads off to see the Engineer that was able to give him his humanity back. There were few people in the universe Wraith was grateful for. Eckles was one of them. One was dead and out of the thirteen people helping run this ship, he could only say that he was glad to know four. Jazz was a good kid. She was headstrong but she had a heart of gold. Voh’t was a wise man. He knew how to weigh his options and inspire people in a way that even Jazz had to respect. She only wished she could be that kind of leader. Then there was Xana. Heaven help Wraith if he ever acted on the temptation pulling on his heart strings concerning that woman.

After his appointment with Eckles, Wraith leaves with a modification to his dampeners. Hopefully it would work and detect atmospheric anomalies to what they’re used to, amplifying the neutralizing effect on his powers. If not…well, Haemuhtt was better off reduced to ash than taken over by the M-Krel.

The ship was en-route shortly and Wraith sat in the crew quarters, staring out at the stars and listening to how quietly the ship ran. The silence didn’t last. He heard a sound. The door had opened and closed again. Standing there, on the other side of the room is Xana. “Ma’am,” Wraith says.

“Wraith, I…have something I would like to speak with you about…if you will indulge my weakness for speech, that is.”

“Shoot,” Wraith responds.

Xana stares ahead then looks down at the gun on the holster at her waist. “Why would I want to shoot you? Wraith, you are not feeling…we did promise we would get your wife back. You do not have to-“

“Easy, Xana,” Wraith says with half a laugh. “It’s a human figure of speech. Go on. What is it you want to say to me now that you couldn’t before?”

“Well…you will forgive me if, in the beginning, I was wary of you. Our mission had gone wrong, you were a complete unknown. I…well, I am ashamed to say this but…I advocated leaving you where you were at the time.”

Wraith glances back then turns away from the window and across the room as Xana, whose head is lowered in shame. “Is that right?”

“Yes. As I said, I am not proud of that fact, but there it is. My reasoning was that the rest of us were specialists. We were the best there was left at what we knew how to do. I suggested we go and find a documented specialist who could help us accomplish what we needed to do. Now you are one of our most invaluable crewmates and I just…I wish to apologize.” Then she holds her head up and looks Wraith in the eye. “But I have one other thing to say to you. There is a quality that you are better at than any of us and it is only because you are so good at it that the rest of us are alive. You are a specialist. Your specialty is survival. It’s what you do. You survived the attack on your town. You survived that blast that did…this to you. You’ve survived all this time with memories that I’m sure have haunted you for the entirety of this war. I truly admire you, Wraith. I owe you my life, in fact.”

There is a silence between the two as they stands there, staring at one another. Wraith picks up his hat and sets it atop his head before approaching her and looking her straight in the eye. “Ma’am, you are one of the bravest creatures I ever did have the pleasure of meetin’,” he says. “Good talk.”

Xana smiles as Wraith walks on past her. Her heart thumped at light speed. She was almost sure the man was going to be furious with her. But, then, Human culture was more relaxed than her race’s. They hadn’t spoken in a while. The first time they talked, Wraith tried hard not to hear her. But she is a hard woman to ignore. She sat there, venting to him about Plutonian politics while he sat there and took it in. He never gave her an answer. It was all above his head. But she was grateful that he put up with her rambling.

Later, Wraith stood in the cargo hold with Jazz. “Wraith, Jazz, we’re getting close to the drop zone. Get ready,” the ship’s pilot says over the intercom.

Voh’t stands on the bridge, looking out over the layout of the M-Krel attack site. “Eckles, this countermeasure,” Voh’t says, “You are sure it will work, yes?”

“I made it. Couldn’t afford to allow anyone else to try. The probability of failure would be too great. I am the safer bet,” Eckles responds from his lab. “Looking forward to seeing if the modification was a success.”

“I’m not an educated man, but I’m pretty sure that means no,” Wraith retorts.

[ATTN: Open]

A small team of men sat in a warehouse, standing or perched sitting on the edge of old crates. They were dressed for work, many of them with hands stained with dirt. Long pants and sleeveless shirts were common, and each man had a holster strapped about their waist with a pistol shoved inside. Some had other weapons - one had a crowbar, while another sported a tommy gun he was cleaning obsessively.

"How long this gonna take, Cecil?" one of them complained.

The man Cecil glared at him. He wore a sleeveless shirt with long jeans as well, but he wore an old vest and tie over the shirt. "Long as it has to. Cryin about it won't make the shipment come any quicker."

"What exactly is this shipment, anyway?" the man asked again, fishing in his pocket.

"We'll find out when we get it, Marty," Cecil snapped, fidgeting with his tie.

Marty shrugged, pulling out a half empty pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He looked to his companion to his right. "Hey, you, uh..." He snapped his fingers, trying to remember the name.

"Stephen," the blonde answered in a quiet voice. He wore jeans blackened from dust and heavy boots, a grey wifebeater, and leather gloves.

"Yeah, Steve - you got a light?"

Stephen reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette lighter and passing it over to Marty. He fumbled the pass, nearly dropping the lighter on the ground. "S-Sorry," he said. Marty laughed and shrugged, lighting up and taking a long drag.

Marty tapped his foot impatiently as he smoked, glancing around at their small team as they waited for this 'shipment' they were supposed to get. Word was something new was being given to them from the top - better guns, many of them hoped.

Eventually they could hear the rumble of a truck outside the warehouse, and the truck parked across the open doors to the warehouse. Several men came out, each of them dressed better than the squatters in the warehouse - button up shirts at least for the each of them. A man stepped out the passenger side of the truck, wearing a button up, vest, and tie that made Cecil look ridiculous (not that he didn't look that way anyway).

The well-dressed man raised a hand to them, and Marty dropped his cigarette and crushed it into the ground. "Finally," he said, as Cecil and the rest slowly stood up to greet them. Cecil had stiffened as the truck arrive, standing up perfectly straight and striding quickly towards them as the men unloaded crates from the bed of the truck.

The well-dressed man gave Cecil a cursory look as Cecil approached. "Sir," Cecil said, saluting eagerly. The well-dressed man looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

"At ease. Gift from the top." The well-dressed man gestured behind him as one of his men cracked a crate open. Guns lay inside, just like they had hoped, but these were unlike any they'd seen before. Cecil pulled out a pistol that was sleek, silver, and bizarrely shaped. "New design," the well-dressed man said. "Everyone gets one. Here."

He knelt down next to the crate, digging through it until he pulled out an odd red canister. "It attaches to the bottom. Give it a shot." He tossed the canister to Cecil, and Cecil fumbled to catch it. He attached the canister, pointed the gun at the far wall, and fired.

He'd been bracing for a kick, but it never came. A flash of light erupted from the end of the pistol and hit the wall, piercing through it out the other side. "The hell?"

"Like I said, new design," the well-dressed man said. "No need for bullets. The gun cools down and recharges with time, but if you need more shots faster you can eject the canister and attach a new one." He shoved the crate with the guns and the canisters towards them with his foot. "Help yourselves. One per person."

The boys attacked the crate, pulling out their new toys excitedly and looking them over. "That will be all," the well-dressed man said, and he snapped his fingers as his subordinates started to move to reload the truck.

Marty muttered a curse. "Where'd it go? I swear I - wait," he said, as they started to lift up the crate. "I didn't get one."

The well-dressed man stared him down. "You didn't?"

"No sir."

"You're not trying to steal from us, are you now?"

"Of course not sir!" he said quickly, suddenly nervous. The well-dressed man sighed. "Pat him down. Make sure he isn't hiding one. We have to move on to the next outpost," he said, checking his watch. "So make it quick."

[ATTN: Open]

He threw open the apartment door, slammed it shut behind him, and immediately reached down the front of his pants.

“Christ,” he muttered, pulling out the extra pistol he’d stolen from Marty and setting it on the kitchen counter. He’d been twitchy the entire rest of the day afraid the thing would go off in his pants. He set down the gun he’d taken himself immediately turned and left for the bedroom, pacing.

He knelt down next to his bed, pulling out his coat with all of his own equipment – his own gun and extra supplies. He dug through the pockets, searching but failing to find what he was looking for. He stood up, throwing the coat on as he paced through the apartment, tearing through Stephen Hall’s drawers with a vengeance.

“What kind of man doesn’t even keep a screwdriver in the house,” he muttered, finally storming back into the kitchen nook. The bizarre twin pistols stared back at him from the counter.

He didn’t like their sudden appearance one bit. There wasn’t really much time for scientific progress when everyone was so busy just surviving, and they weren’t any technology he’d seen before. Time to try and find a way inside.

Of course there was the distinct possibility they were keeping track of these new weapons somehow. If they were smart that’s what they’d be doing. And if he was lucky they wouldn’t have been paying close enough attention to notice he’d had two of the suckers on him for several hours. Priority one; search for and remove any tracking devices.

And he was going to do that somewhere other than his lovely new home.


He’d have loved to break into Marty’s place and do his work there, where the consequences of it could fall on him, but there were too many ways that could go wrong.

He had to settle for an apartment that really was abandoned this time – a few floors up and down the hall from him. He’d worn his coat there so he had everything and only brought with one of the pistols to play with. He still couldn’t find a screwdriver so he had to settle for his knives – still tucked securely into sheathes inside his boots. Like he’d ever leave home without them.

But he’d yet to find any way to open the damned things. There were no screws, at least not ones he recognized and that he could open. The seams were thin, barely visible, and the outside of the gun was sleek and featureless. If there was some tracker, it was probably inside it.

He scowled, turning the pistol over in his hands. Time was of the essence if the pistol’s absence was noted, so he didn’t have much time to screw around. He took one of his knives to the seams, trying to see if he could pry it apart. “Come on…” he muttered under his breath.

The pistol suddenly… groaned. It glowed faintly and made noises almost of irritation, and Trick muttered a curse under his breath. He put the pistol down, standing up and backing away from it quickly as the odd sounds only increased in frequency and the pistol glowed brighter.

He ducked out of the apartment and slammed the door behind him as he heard a small explosion. He swore. So much for figuring out what the hell they even were.

Best to get back to his own apartment before someone checked out the noise.

[Attn: Open]

The strong wind filtered through Tristan’s hair as he sat and watched his surroundings. He couldn’t help but feel that something would need to be done. The colony was only declining; who knew how long they had left. Incidents like Mysie were happening more and more. Letting out a sigh, he stood up and brushed off his clothes. “Sorry Mys. I’d stay longer but…you know how it is.”

Tristan started walking back to the colony. He was starting to form a plan in his head about how to save the colony, but it was something he needed to carefully address with the leaders. “But it could work…” he mumbled to himself.

“What could work?” Cadi, a young fair-haired woman asked as she joined him.

Tristan looked up startled, not realizing he had already made his way back to the village.

“You should see your face.” Cadi started laughing. “Geez, it must be something important if it caused you to lose yourself. That has got to be a first.”

“Well…” He paused for a moment. As much as he wanted to tell Cadi his plan, he knew he had to address it with the leaders of the village first. “It was actually. Very hush hush.” He said before continuing his walk.

“Hey!” Cadi chased after him and punched him in the shoulder. “Come on then, out with it. What’s going on in that small brain of yours?”

“Just a plan to get us in trouble. When I say us, I mean more you.” He said nonchalantly. “Now I’ll talk to you in a bit.”

“What?! Tristan, that’s not funny!” She called out after him.

Turning around, he faced her. She knew he was kidding; that’s probably why she looked so irritated at him. “I thought it was kind of funny. Look, I’ll meet you at the gate in a few. Then I’ll explain myself.” That would at least ease her curiosity for now. Cadi nodded before heading in the opposite direction.

Now all that was left was to discuss this with the leaders of the village, one being his mother. “Here goes nothing.” He took a deep breath as he made his way to the leaders’ meeting place.

[Attn: Open]

Wraith stands in the shuttle with three others. Among them are Captain Voh't, Jazz, Xana, and first officer, Marxis Rae, an alien from a race with reptilian and avian features such as scales, snouts, feathers here and there, and regenerative abilities. He and Wraith didn't exactly get along great. The two stood on opposite sides of the shuttle as the pilot took them down for a landing in thick fog. "This mist should keep us well hidden," Voh't says. "Jazz, you and Rae cover the back. Wraith, Xana, with me."

The party mobilizes. Rae and Xana didn't need breathers like the others. As they stepped down from the shuttle, they could feel the heavier gravity on their bones. Voh't was of a race that was used to intense gravity. The others...not so much. But they marched on. "Talk about a ghost town," Jazz says.

"I don't like it. The other attack sites were desolate and dead but never this empty."

"I am not picking up any life signs in the vicinity," Xana says. "Perhaps there were no survivors at this site."

"I happens," Rae says.

Wraith looks down and sees a few footprints. It was like everyone just got up and left. There were no signs of any struggle. It didn't even look like the M-Krel had been here. "You sure this is the right site?"

"It's the one that our Info Net information found records of survivors from," Voh't says. Then he stops and everyone pauses behind him. His race could sense abnormalities in the atmosphere. Something far off in the distance was moving. "Ready your weapons."

[Attn: Assailants]

"A barrier in the sky," Rae says. "M-Krel trap, you think?" He takes up his assault rifle, keeping on a swivel to shoot anything the moves.

"The atmosphere has adjusted. It's stabilized," Xana says, swiping through data readings in her Info Net."

The lights on Wraith's containment disc inlays suddenly cut off and Wraith swears in his mind as he hears the click of them suddenly stopping. Xana looks at him and he turns to Voh't. "Everyone, scatter!" Voh't shouts.

Wraith sees them first. As his own team scrambled to get away from him, he sees the figures in black moving in. Then the leak started. It began by first pouring out through the containment discs. Then his very flesh started letting out cracks of white hot energy. His team saw them and fired from behind cover. But that was doing nothing as the shots were deflected or avoided.

[Attn: Man]

"As much as I would like to plant you face down," Wraith says. White Hot energy starts bursting from his pours. Soon his very flesh starts to cast a glow, building up from within.

[Attn: Man]

Wraith doesn't say a word. Their cold eyes meet and Wraith walks in. As he looks around, he seems at ease. His inhibitors deactivate and his body converts back to it's flesh state. The view is...calming. But he didn't much care. He was going to shoot somebody when this was over with. Then he pauses. He can see something in the distance. He isn't sure what to make of it at first. But when he realizes it's making a beeline for him, he braces himself, holding a hand over one of his guns.

[ATTN: Open]

His little team had more than a few chances to test the new toys out in the field. All it did was make Trick anxious.

They had more than three times the destructive power of a normal gun. No one could just shrug off a hit from one of these ‘energy pistols’ – it tore through men like paper.

Moreover actions had already gotten more aggressive. Rumors were that the eastern boundary of the country was already being contested by Thorne, eager to expand his influence. Trick and the boys he was blending in with were just a home police force, lowest on the chain – he couldn’t begin to imagine what sorts of toys the bigshots were getting access to.

Moreover, he’d heard rumors that Thorne’s supplier planned to be in town again with a new shipment. Which meant more than likely they’d be meeting again in person sometime tonight.

There were only two places where Thorne would feel safe enough to make the deal. One was the government seat – the pretty face of regime. He’d never soil that with a weapons deal. No, this’d be taking place at the Pulse.

As an employee, he technically had free pass to the Pulse, the nightclub in the middle of town. The place was vast and run down, but the guys in charge of it had done their best with it – it was probably the nicest building in the city by now. At least they all had their priorities straight.

His free pass in the club ended at the elevator – the upper levels were off limits. It was a pity that was where he needed to go now.

Earlier, when he first got access to the club, he’d found a number of entrances in from the outside; a few vents, windows he could climb to, etc. If there was a deal going on, security would be higher. He expected snipers. He wasn’t in the least bit disappointed.

Trick let go of the man’s corpse, letting it drop on the ground as he coiled up his rope again. He kicked the man’s rifle away on the floor – it looked like the same type of design as the odd energy pistols. Not the sort of gun he’d want to get tagged with.

Trick put the rope away, checking his equipment again. He was in full gear now, jacket and everything – he’d even brought with the energy pistol along with his own gun, as much as he hated the thing. He’d wrapped a bandanna around the lower half of his face as well – he did still want to go undercover, if somehow he got spotted by someone and they lived.

That should be the last of the snipers. He’d combed the buildings around the club top to bottom. Trick took a breath before he turned away from the corpse and started up the stairs to the rooftops.

His entrance was from above, and so he stepped out on top of his building, staying low just in case. It was a few stories above the club and across the street from its back entrance. Several cars were parked out back, some of them larger moving trucks; probably this deal was happening right now.

He made his way across the roofs, staying out of sight of the street until he was on the nightclub roof. The door on the roof down into the club was locked – as expected. It only took but a few minutes to pick the lock and drop inside.

The hallway was empty, with only a few lights on. The beat of the music below nearly shook the floors, drowning out all other sound, and Trick adjusted his bandanna before he started down the hall cautiously.

He could barely start to hear voices as he walked over the sound of the club, and ahead of him he could see a doorless entrance to what looked like a large atrium with several entrances – the classier counterpart to the club downstairs. A large light was on in the center, but the edges of the atrium lay in shadow where Thorne’s guards stood. Perfect.

Trick pulled off his bandanna, stuffing it into his coat as he approached the open entrance from the side. He pressed against the wall, blending into the shadows as he slipped in and around the corner, grabbing the guard nearest the door in an instant and pulling him into a chokehold as he dragged the man back into the shadows.

Trick stood in the shadows, hands behind his back in the guard’s place.