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 Posted: Mon Jan 18, 2010 12:20 am
REGISTRATION Username:Katana Drifters
RL Name: Kyokenji Miyaki
Roleplay Name:Kusanagi
RL Age: 18
Branch: Marine
Sex: Male
Bio: Ps3
Anything important to consider: I like to blow other's brain if they betrayed me!!!
Roleplay Experience/Expertise: Newbie
Roleplay Sample: Ah....amm...well I can start in any tasks....anyone help me...attention I'm hit and taking heavy fire over here!
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Posted: Mon Jan 18, 2010 1:07 am
the shadows king13 REGISTRATION Branch: alpha Roleplay Sample: must I Alpha is not a branch, and it would be very helpful if you provided a sample.
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Posted: Mon Jan 18, 2010 1:27 am
lololol.
This post has nothing to contribute.
Please ignore it.
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Posted: Mon Jan 18, 2010 2:46 am
REGISTRATION Username: Mothanius RL Name: Taylor... Steven Taylor Roleplay Name: Mothanius RL Age: 21 Branch: Air Force (for realz too yo) Sex: Male Bio: Mothanius grew up never wanting to be in the military, but always wanted to fly fighters. When it came down to it, he made the hard choice to join just to accomplish his joy for the thrill. He burned through the pilot training courses, and graduated at the top of his class. From there, he was sent to his first base as a wingman of the star captain. Mothanius learned quickly that training school was nothing compared to the real thing, and found himself overshadowed quickly. He quickly become a favorite however, as he never broke the CoC in the air, and stuck with his captain all the way through. He and his captain were always in the air together, only occassionally flying with the other pilots. His jet, was the lucky 80013... or 0013... balls 13 whatever you may wanna name it. Anything important to consider: Nah Roleplay Experience/Expertise: Been roleplaying for too many years now... though I have just started again after a 2 year break. I hope my skills aren't too rusty. Roleplay Sample: Mothanius kept an eye on his MPCD, tracking the drone up ahead. His captain was about one hundred feet in front him, locked onto the same one. It was a live fire excersize, Red Flag, they called it. It was a big deal for the world, as almost every nation brought down what they had to blow things up. While bombers would be strafing and destroying targets, the fighters would be shooting down drones over the water. It was nothing but awesome. "I have a lock with my 9X," Moth called over to the captain. "How about you cap?" "Eh, my radar seems a little buggy right now," his captain responded. "Switching modes... ah there we go. I got him with a 120." "Awesome," Moth smiled under his 02 mask. "All else is clear on my end... just waitin on you cap." "Yeah yeah... locked... firing! Fox 1 Fox 1" Captain announced broadbase. The missile was jettisoned off of the undercarriage of his F-15, the vortex generators spinning to help stabalize the missile while its interworkings began to do its job. The rocket lit off and flew towards the drone at a speed of Mach 5.5, five and a half times faster than the speed of sound. The drone banked left to avoid the missile, however, the drone's capabilities were rather limited compared to a real fighter. The missile had no problems finding its mark and blowing the drone to smithereens. "That was a good kill!" Moth exclaimed in excitement. This was alot better than the normal excersizes they did. None of the "Oh I got you because I'm locked on" drills... not htis was a real missile that would have really killed anyone inside of that jet. "That was sweet," the captain said, a slight sigh in his voice. "Let's return to base." "Roger that," Moth replied. The two of them flew back together, breaking Mach 2 on their way to use up some fuel.
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Posted: Mon Jan 18, 2010 5:40 am
align=center]REGISTRATION
Username: ZombieApocalypseSurvivor
Roleplay Name: Joe Jones
RL Age: 18
Branch: Army
Sex: Male
Anything important to consider: Great writer, follows orders, great leader, good tactician/strategist, quick thinking on feet, motivated.
Roleplay Experience/Expertise: Two zombie RP's with active characters. Can keep a story going, descriptive when writing.
Roleplay Sample: Richie made light conversation with the soldiers. They apologized for the handcuffs, explaining that it was procedure for hostiles captured. Richie knew he didn't have a point to argue with the manm, so he didn't. He did, after all, shoot at them. The convoy was consisting of two humvees, the APC and the truck. They were moving slowly, almost a crawl. Every now and then Richie would glance out the back of the truck and see some forest camo BDU's. He knew Maryse was following them. He just hoped she didn't do anything irrational. After all, he didn't know if she knew the soldiers were friendlies or not. Suddenly, the APC, which was behind tha supply truck, started to swerve violently. through the slits in the front, so the driver could see, Richie saw commotion, then chaos. Two of the soldiers in the back were attacking the rest, biting at them and clawing at them. The soldier in the passenger seat leaned back with his pistol to shoot, but one of the soldiers grabbed his wrist and ripped it off.
"Jesus ******" One of the soldiers sitting across from Richie said.
"What the **** is going on back there?" one of the men shouted into the radio.
"Collins and Sterling...they're infected. They turned," There was a scream as four zombies attacked the driver, the APC swerving into a river the convoy was driving parallel to.
"Keep going! There's nothing we can do for them," a voice over the radio said, who came off as being the leader of the soldiers.
Richie stared at the APC as it shok violently in its unbalanced position, then got still. He hoped they were almost to GTA, he was tired of seeing nothing but death and destruction...
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Posted: Mon Jan 18, 2010 8:03 am
Username:thegreatavatar
Roleplay name:slick
RL age:14
Branch:don't know yet i'm good with guns and swords
gender:male
Bio:just saying i'm ready 2 fight
Anything important to consider : anything
Roleplay Experience/Expertise:guarding and fighting
Roleplay sample:buy weapons cool
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Posted: Mon Jan 18, 2010 9:08 am
REGISTRATION Username: Rook Rune RL Name: Not given Roleplay Name:Rick RL Age: 18 Branch: No idea. (I own multiple weapons. Sex: (Yes plz.) Male Bio: None...for now... Anything important to consider: I love my G-blade nobody can never make me take it off... EVER... unless I want too. Roleplay Experience/Expertise: Low,but willing to learn Roleplay Sample: Sighing to himself Rick looks over at a nearby clock "almost time to go." He says quietly to himself.
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Posted: Mon Jan 18, 2010 9:20 am
REGISTRATION Username: Sheriff Dustin RL Name: not sharing Roleplay Name: Adrian RL Age: not saying Branch: Air Force Sex: Male Bio: pudding Anything important to consider: I Hate Obama, I was a fan of Bush. I absolutely hate Obama. Roleplay Experience/Expertise: Since i joined gaia in 2006 (or was is 2005) With my original account. This is my newest main account. Roleplay Sample: NONE
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Posted: Mon Jan 18, 2010 6:01 pm
REGISTRATION Username: Apocalypse Soldier RL Name: Matt Carver Roleplay Name: Matt Carver RL Age: 15 Branch: Marines Sex: (Yes plz.) Male Bio: Not sure yet... Anything important to consider: Not sure yet either... Roleplay Experience/Expertise: Have joined multiple forums that have died out. All semi to mostly lit rps. One being military, the other my rpc was a military man. Roleplay Sample: Basic Training post, "We Need a Hero" forum topic posts. ((Marvel/OC Character rp. Really fun and lit.))
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Posted: Mon Jan 18, 2010 6:20 pm
Username: Gearfreak RL Name: Waitwhat? Roleplay Name: Joseph Greene RL Age: Waitwhat? Branch: Navy Sex: Male (and yes pls) Bio: waitwhat? (might put this in later if I feel bored) Anything important to consider: Not much in the way of modern military experience, I'll probably ******** up a lot. Roleplay Experience/Expertise: Several years roleplay experience, currently a member of the Terran Federation thread/guild/whatever. Roleplay Sample: I hate doing these... Lemme copy-pasta. (me no likey coming up with a quality RP situation out of the blue) I don't usually write such long posts so yeah... roleplay sample: Terran Federation (reintroducing my character of a timeskip) After getting through security, Gear headed straight for his shuttle. Now that he had left his house, he wanted to get to the Aurora as soon as possible. The Aurora was as much his home as his house here on Terra Nova. He stepped up the ramp and sat down in the passenger compartment. 4 marines marched up the ramp after him. He signaled the pilot, and the ramp hissed shut. The shuttlecraft took off, and was in the upper atmosphere in moments. As the shuttle flew, Gear thought about how far he had come from the day he enrolled in the navy. The navy had been no more than a mere refuge for him at the time, a way to make and save enough money to live off of while the navy provided a ship for him to live on. But now, the navy was much more than that. The navy was his life, and he loved it. The job of an admiral was often stressful and difficult, but he realized he wouldn't give it up for the world. He loved the sense of pride he got, and the sense of responsibility knowing all the innocent civilians depending on him to keep them safe, even if they didn't know it. Add on a considerable salary and pension, the best medical care you could get, and it was a dream job by any standards. He just hoped they might actually stay at peace for a while. It was going on 6 months of peace, surely it couldn't last forever. The shuttle gently glided to stop at the arranged meeting point. He was waiting anxiously for the Aurora. He checked his watch. 0750 hours. 10 more minutes.
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Posted: Tue Jan 19, 2010 7:42 am
REGISTRATION
Username: The Tasmanian
RL Name: N/A
Roleplay Name: Sam Jack Dunn
RL Age: 18 by this saturday.
Branch: Army
Sex: Male
Bio: Australian, aged 28.
Anything important to consider: Sam Dunn is a wounded veteran whom has retired from active duty until said wounds recover. He is currently serving as a Drill Instructor.
Roleplay Experience/Expertise:
2nd In Command - Alpha Draconis, USCMC [5 Combat operations]
CommTech - Omega Company, USCMC [1 Combat Operation]
Sniper - Acheron Company, USCMC [2 Combat Operations]
Armoured Corps Commander - UGMF [Re-organized entire structure]
ODST Sniper - Ward's Crusaders, ODST [2 Combat Operations]
Corporate Security CEO - Weyland-Yutani Corporation [2 Combat Operations]
Roleplay Sample:
As the bus trundled on towards its destination, it was all too easy for him to tune out the pathetic attempts at conversation made by the other recruits, to just block it all out. The voices seemed to pass over him like water, just because they were there it didn’t mean he needed to drink them in. He sat in his seat by the window, his heavy ALICE frame pack on the seat beside him, a barrier between him and the other people on the bus. He didn’t know their names. He didn’t want to know their names. It was easier when you didn’t care. It meant that their memory didn’t haunt you when they died – which they inevitably did. His head rested against the window, the vibrations of the ever-moving bus massaging his skull.
He was garbed in an old, worn desert camouflage uniform, the collars and shoulders complete with a veritable menagerie of unit patches and old combat decorations, each as faded and worn as the last. Some of the unit affiliations were notorious and well-known, such as the UGMF and the USCMC, others, such as Weyland-Yutani Corporation’s elite Containment Team were harder to make out. His wide-brimmed slouch hat was currently set over his face, disguising it from view. The left part of the brim was tilted up, pinned in place by a badge that would have been visible were it not pressed against the window.
His scarred and tanned arms were bare, as the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up. Those arms were folded over his chest, the scarred flesh there also visible, since the shirt was unbuttoned. Barely visible under the rolled up sleeves of his shirt, the ‘Australian Made’ logo was tattooed to his right arm, the green and gold ink that decorated his body made plain his country of origin. Poking up from underneath the hat was a large grass-blade of wheat, presumably the stem rested in between his lips. He was slouched way back in his seat, his knees resting at about shoulder level on the back of the seat in front of him.
Were it not for the fact that a pair of thin, black wires descended from under his hat and into the left pocket of his combat trousers, his seemingly catatonic state might have been put down to sleep. Instead, he was listening to some music. He found that it helped him to take his mind away from both present and past, thrusting him into a world where nothing existed but a tapestry of melody, beat and lyrics. Currently, the beat was slow, the melody mournful and the lyrics even more so. He was listening to ‘In the End’ by Linkin Park, and it was sad. It reminded him of the times he had failed those around him, of the mistake of caring for the soldiers that inevitably fell and died around him – trying to save him, or too late for him to save.
He reached down with a gloved hand, and pressed the ‘skip’ button, switching to another song. ‘Numb’. If it weren’t for the fact his eyes were closed, he would have glared down at the shiny black device in his pocket. Whenever he put the damn thing on shuffle, it always played these games with him. He decided to just give up and run with it, letting the lyrics tell the story of his life, and the pain that had gripped him for years flow through him, causing his teeth to grit, crushing the stem of the plant he’d been thoughtfully chewing on. His expression became mournful, and he was glad no-one could see it. He wasn’t going to show any weakness if he could help it.
He didn’t think about the basic training, or about what it held in store. He had been through so many training programs and regimes in the past the memories of them all seemed to blur together. He’d learned the lessons by heart, his body was already at its peak, and he didn’t have anything left that the harsh DI’s could break. His heart had already been broken, his soul withered to nothing. All that remained was his iron will, the dogged refusal to give up and die. It was all he had, and nothing in this world or any other was going to take it from him. If they tried, he would simply stab the individual in question.
As the bus ground to a halt, he let his hand switch off the MP3 player, grudgingly letting the strained melody of ‘Papercut’ fade into nothingness, the music replaced with the scrape of feet against metal as the rest of the recruits got up and began to file out of the bus, their packs in hand. He sat and waited for them to disembark, before finally rising to a standing position, his right hand wrapping around the carrying straps of his heavy patrol pack. Muscles bulged and veins became more prominent and he smoothly side-stepped into the bus’s aisle, his arm sweeping out and flipping the pack onto his back as he did so. The weight was almost comforting.
He reached up for the baggage-rack that rested above his head and withdrew a large duffel bag, which from the slight exhalation of breath was apparently quite heavy. His gear in hand, he walked to the front of the bus and stepped out into the daylight, the brim of his hat obscuring everything farther than a meter in front of him – fortunately, it also shaded his eyes from the harsh glare of daylight. He raised his right hand to the brim of his hat, and tilted it upwards slightly, revealing a large, burly Drill Instructor standing right in front of him. It barked out some orders to him, demanding that he give his name and some other details. The only reaction that the man got in return was a slightly raised eyebrow and a nod in the direction of the paperclip sitting on the nearby bench.
He had communicated the message wordlessly, but it was clear. ‘Look it up yourself.’ The file they had on him, no doubt contained within that paperclip or another like it, contained all the relevant information. It would have told the DI that his name was Sam Dunn, that he was 28 years old. It would have told him that the man was a survivor of more battles than most retired veterans could boast, and that he was 5’11” tall and weighed in at 73 kilograms. Perhaps most importantly, it would have told the Drill Instructor that Sam Dunn was mute – he had not spoken since he had appeared on the Minoka border about a month ago, half-starved and clutching a pair of dog-tags in a white-knuckled deathgrip.
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Posted: Sun Jan 24, 2010 6:21 am
PRIMARY INFORMATION Username: GrayFox436 SubGroup: (Armed Regular Forces) Roleplay Name: Damion Wolf Age: 28 Bio: Born into a rich, powerful family, Damion began his life in the lap of luxury. Instead of becoming complacant and lazy, however, he sought challenges and adversity wherever he could. Regularly he played sports and did high altitude mountain climbing, even managing to get his chopper pilot's lisence before he got his driver's lisence. When he was old enough he signed up for the Coast Guard as a rescue chopper pilot. His family connections sent him on a short road to that position. On one mission, while riding co-pilot, his chopper suffered a critical failure and fell from the sky, crashing into the ocean. He suffered major injuries and had to undergo extensive surgury and rehabillitation. His friend, who was with him in the crash, died. Part of his injuries consisted of damage to his inner ear, something that would prevent him from ever becoming a full pilot. At the time it was thought that this damage was perminant, however it has healed since then. Discouraged but not broken by this event, he joined the Army and soon enrolled to join the elite 75th Ranger Regiment. Because of the crash Damion has a large, mean looking scar over the right side of his face. It does nothing to dampen his charm, though. Were it not for the scar then he would be very handsome. Physically fit, tough as nails and posessing a moral fortitude that would gag a saint, Damion is uncompromising in his job and ruthless in how he carrys out orders. He also just happens to be a womanizing lecher and at worst a sociopath. SECONDARY INFORMATION Team: Wherever Needed Role: Rifleman / Command Position Primary Weapon: Mission Sensative. Favored weapon is a SCAR-H with underbarrel 40mm grenade launcher with a red dot Reflex site. Secondary Weapon: Custom modified M26 LSS, modified to be semi-automatic (right thigh) with a Mk. 23 SOCOM in a back holster (left-handed draw with the slightly more powerful ammunition that it was designed to fire). Armor: Mission Sensative. Usually some standard CHRISAT style vest with ballistic inserts. Accessories: Mission Sensative. At least one personal long-bladded dagger, a combat knife and a boot knife. Other Information: Has an expired civilian chopper lisence. Still remembers how to fly. Rank: Desired Master Sergeant Roleplay Sample: GrayFox436 - Posted: Sun Sep 20, 2009 6:33 pm Damion, in his most wonderful of timing, entered the rave club just as Izetta was beginning her decent. Unfortunantly for both, he was at the door with a crowd of ravers between himself and the damsel in distress. He didn't even know she was falling and would likely miss it through the crowd.
The tall, well built Trueborn walked through the crowd. Those gathered before him parted in his wake, either because they saw him coming or because he was a six-foot two inch tall, two hundred ten pound man with augmented muscles nothing but contempt for those around him. Dressed in his coal gray romani suit, his scarred but handsome features gave an air of authority and power. When one would look closer, they would see he was wearing heavy combat boots and black, fingerless gloves. This would warp his image somewhat, along with the fact that one eye was blue/gray and the other was dull yellow.
Yes, Damion was a farely large, athletic man. The way he held himself, his chin thrust upward just a bit and that incouragable half grin on the unscarred left side of his face, made him appear arrogant beyond reproach. The cold, calculating look in his natural left eye suggested he was not one to trifle with.
As the paty raged on, he would aproach the bar. GrayFox436 - Posted: Sun Sep 20, 2009 9:08 pm The noise went right past Damion. Enhanced hearing or no, the music was debilitatingly loud. It was all his implants could do to keep the sounds from damaging what medical science had failed to reconstruct. But his state of mind was intact - well, it was un-altered.
Bits of metal shavings from the explosion peppered the crowd. Just a bit of it landed on his suit. Damion noticed the burnt metal and frowned, wondering how it got there and who he would have to punch to get an apology for the burn mark on his nice clothing. As he glanced around, the Trueborn could find nobody smoking anything that would produce hot, smoldering pieces of metal.
What in the name of the Father, he wondered.
Something wasn't sitting right with him. As a man living on borrowed time since birth, he was acutely awair of when somebody was targeting him. Many developed that sense, although feeling when you are being targeted and pinpointing the source were two different things. But as he looked around, he did see something fall into the crowd.
Falling... from the ceiling?
His eyes darted upward just as the timer counted down to zero. GrayFox436 - Posted: Sun Sep 20, 2009 11:20 pm And Damion saw a hole in the ceiling. What's more, he saw a creature of some manner perched just above that hole. Smoke began spreading, filling up the room; he assumed from whatever it was that decended from the hole.
The smoke was an obvious method of covering one's activity. Unless their target was tagged through infrared or electronic means, whoever it was that had thrown the cannister would have a b***h of a time tracking him. But if their target was a static object then the smoke would be perfect. Things like safes didn't run.
Damion stood still as he took in his surroundings. If the fellow in the ceiling wanted to come in, then his point of landing would be obvious; there were only so many directions one could go when they gave themselves up to gravity. There were few enterances, however, and he would need one of them to secure his person. Glancing toward the front door, he saw that it was now open with a whisp of smoke rising from a hole clear through it.
Ozone, smoke and... blood. The smell of death wafted into the air. One never forgot that scent; fear, s**t and the heavy copper scent of blood. People were dying in here. Whoever it was that made their entry was indiscriminant.
Reaching into his pocket, Damion pulled what looked like a pair of dark tinted glasses. He put them on and looked up at the person waiting outside of the hole in the ceiling. His timing was such that he caught the man just as he fell into the chaos.
"Tag," Damion whispered. The DDV (Digital Display Visor) froze the image of whoever it was who just jumped in and sent it via wi-fi to a Soft safe house that had a link to the database in the city. The operators there would begin studying the image immediatly and adding it to the profile matching softwere available to them. Along with that, they would look over the image for any weapons or distinguishing markings.
"Image recieved", came a voice in Damion's ear. "You okay, boss?"
"Put a team on stand-by. I'm going to try and exfil quietly. I might not be their target."
"Roger. Team being prepped. ETA ten minutes. Hold out until then."
Bodies in panic, Damion thought. Thermal would be best for defeating the smoke cannister. That's how he did it, anyway. All around him he saw warm bodies, made hotter by the drugs, dancing and ambient tempriture. Where those civilians realized what was going on, panic kicked in, driving their heart rate higher still. Every now and then a body would be highlighted as the DDV's profile matching softwere caught something tangible.
Looks like a team in the front door and the one who came in from above. Panic is spreading but it is not reached its peak yet. Let me change that.
Damion descretly shoved his way over to a fire alarm by the bar and pulled the tag. At once an alarm sounded. Then he turned and drew one of his three micro grenades. Thumbing the safety cap off, he armed it and tossed it into the crowd. It exploded with a piercing bang. Meant more for distraction than anything else, it cut through the alarm and the music, killing one person and injuring four others.
Now the room was in a full panic. Using this panic, Damion began descretely making his way toward the front door, hoping to work himself in behind the entry team. The smoke was spreading nicely, fallowing the flow of air toward the door but dissapating as it went.
If you are after me, then try and catch me, he thought. GrayFox436 - Posted: Mon Sep 21, 2009 12:44 pm Well, the panic had set in comfortably now. Damion continued to scan his surroundings as he made his way toward the door, trying to keep from being caught unawairs. As he went, he called upon his guardian Angel to watch over him. Few people would ever associate that wonderful, beautiful creature with such an abrasive personality as he. Even as he looked around and let the DDV do its thing, he images began filtering through his mind of the mob from various angles.
He was nearing the door, although there were still people between him and it. As he got closer, he noticed an object flying over the crowd. It was lost as it rebounded off of the door. His questions were answered shortly there after as it erupted in a sudden, blinding flash. The crowd and his DDV both acted to dull the effects - his reconstructed inner ear dulled the sound just like it had been doing with the music.
Bystanders fell away from the flash bomb, dizzied and blinded. This might make it easier for him to get to the door as he was unaffected by it and the ones who were were no longer in his way.
If they're close enough to throw it then they're close enough to catch a bullet, he thought. Whatever they were after, it was looking less and less like asset recovery. What organization would raid a place just to murder ravers?
It was then that Damion noticed the red gleem from deeper in the room. Somebody was illuminating him with a red-dot laser. He founds the source and let the visor do the rest. It matched the person's profile with the one who fell in from above. From his posture and the way he was holding the laser, it was clear that he was not armed.
No guns, he thought. Swords and eye pieces. Who do these guys think they are?
For a brief moment he feared that his past was catching up to him. Could it be a DEST team coming all the way from Kurita space to finish him off? And if so, what the Hell did he do to piss them off? Death Commandoes used guns, damn it, so it couldn't be House Liao. At least now he knew that they were after him.
Around that time Damion noticed others moving with a purpose other than panic. His Angel tasted the emotions of those gathered and transferred them to him, allowing him to gauge the room. Panic was the overriding emotion, along with confusion. However, there was a chosie few who felt anger along with confusion. Of course, nobody panics when the plan goes according to plan. There were five or six people who seemed calm.
One is probably the owner, he thought. Either he planned this or he is having one of is arrogant spells. He doubted it was his planning, however. No need to kill off the client base, even if the Rave was a front for less legal affairs. The thugs seem to be taking to arms now.
It was at that moment that he noticed one of the calm ones coming toward him, moving through the crowd just out of his vision. Angel had spotted him although Damion only caught a brief glance of the operative before he milted back into the mob. There were two thugs near by, one with a pump action shotgun and the other with a very large handgun.
He had no doubt that the club would have tagged him as a person of "interest" after his visits. Surely the owner knew of his ties to Soft. Hopefully the sword-wielding ninja-types would be more distracting.
Damion pulled the Mk.23 from his holster hidden in his jacket and mounted the silencer. He acted with precision and discretion to mask his actions. Holding the weapon slightly behind his thigh, he began walking toward the two thugs (who were currently trying to work their way through the panic-stricken crowd) on a course that would have him walk past them on the right. As he did, Damion swiftly aimed the hand gun from the hip and pumped two rounds of heavy .45 +P ammunition into them, dropping both to the floor.
As they fell, Damion relieved them of the shotgun, keeping his pistol ready in case either of them survived. He would be able to tell at a glance due to his DDV, his Angel and is own occular implant. They were both dead, so he holstered the Mk.23 and checked to make sure the shotgun was loaded, then turned to face the direction of his persuer.
Being one of the few to remain calm in the situation, Damion held the shotgun at waist level and did not aim it. The barrel was pointing at a shallow angle toward the floor but he would be ready when he saw his persuer coming out of the mass of people.
The element of surprise in this little "operation" had been lost for them. Now it would be who spotted the other first. There was a very good bet that the attackers knew of his appropreation since they had a spotter about but Damion was still hopeful that he could walk away from here without firing another shot. GrayFox436 - Posted: Mon Sep 21, 2009 6:30 pm The mass of people trying to get past where Damion stood was dense. This was especially true since he was neary the most popular area of the bar at the moment; the front door and one of few obvious exits. His back might as well have been against a wall for he people around him and even though he had a little spot that was not quiet as packed as it could be, there was not a tremendous amount of room. The bodies around his feet and the gun in his hands did more to keep people at arms length than anything else.
More than the DDV, his eyes and his own intuition, he had Angel. All of those things together would make him difficult to aproch even with smoke and people everywhere. As the operative came closer he would also make make it more likely that he would be spotted.
Even with these advantages, things happened very fast. When one of the Ravers was shoved toward him, Damion neatly side-stepped the stricken man. It was clear this was not an intentional action on the bistander's part and only to be expected in the heat of such a moment. However, he knew that one of the calm entities was very close - almost upon him, in fact.
When the operative struck out and pressed the knife to Damion's throat, the former Clanner would imediatly lift his left hand from the shotgun to grab his attacker's wrist. He placed his thumb into the base of the attacker's palm so that the tip of that didget was pressing into the meat between the man's index finger and thum. His own index finger would complete connect on the same piece of meat from the other side, creating a very painful preassure point. The rest of his fingers would close around the articulate part of the man's wrist.
Damion would begin to pull the knife away from his throat and apply steady and great amounts of pressure on the hand he had captured until he felt the tip of the wakizashi on his back. This elected a grin from his face, one that the operative could not see.
One thing that they might not know about depending on how thorough they did their homework was of Damion's augmentations. Due to injuries sustained very early in his life, he had much of his muscle structure replaced or augmented with strengthened myomer fibers. This made him a very strong and rugged individual, even if it came with its own disadvantages. From the preassure he put on the operative's wrist without visual signs of straing it was clear he could crush the man's hand in an instant.
It seemed, however, that these people wanted to take him alive if not in one piece. This was interesting.
"If you wanted an autograph," he mused, "You could have asked." GrayFox436 - Posted: Thu Sep 24, 2009 10:44 am The background plans of the group attacking him were unkown to Damion. Angel kept him updated on the intentions of those around him and his DDV did its best to sort through what was left of the crowd and pick out the hostiles. For now, the thugs guarding the place were highlighted in yellow while the operatives were red. The reason for the color coding was that the thugs were a possible threat but the operatives were an imminant threat.
Damion was going to make his move against the one who caught him soon, anyway. He wasn't afraid to take a cut or two, even from a skilled swordsman. However, when he felt the preassure from the wakizashi vanish he sprang into action.
Pulling the operative's hand to his left, Damion would hyper extend the apendage and foil his strike. However, this would still likely pull the blade into his side as it was still between the two of them. Willing to take that kind of wound - and trusting his myomer-strengthened muscles to hold up against it, as they had when put against bullets in the past - he thrust his right elbow be behind the operative and placed the flat of his forearm across the man's back.
From there he squeased, crushing the man's left hand, stepped his right foot in front of the operative's own feet and rotated his body to the left to unbalance him and fallow him to the ground, pinning him in place.
"That guy's got a gun", came a voice in his ear. The operative who disarmed one of the thugs and picked up the MAC-10 began flashing as the operator back at Soft's HQ highlighted him.
Having a team did matter, a lot. While Damion was the only man in the vicinity he was being fed data and supported by his subordinates. And even though the DDV was a masterpiece of modern technology it did not have the processing power or the same intuition of a Human to active tag all threats in real-time. After all, the DDV was only meant to give an agent a Heads-Up Display. It had to be fed information either from a personal computer or via HQ.
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