Page 1 of 2 12 LastLast
Results 1 to 20 of 27

Thread: Watch The World Burn

  1. #1
    Blackhawk
    Guest

    Closed Roleplay [X-Men] Watch The World Burn

    Steve Rogers High School

    It was 2230, and the sky above Los Santos was a murky, inky black. No one in their right mind should have been out and about at this ungodly hour, but in the High School parking lot, a crowd had begun to gather.

    A nondescript blue-grey van, unmarked aside from the dents and rust, crunched it's way over an abandoned soda can as it drew alongside the three similar vehicles that were already there and waiting. It disgorged it's contents: two men who weren't particularly burly or intimidating, but moved with the kind of swagger that suggested they certainly thought of themselves that way. A few nods of recognition were exchanged, but no one spoke out above the ambient murmur of hushed conversations in the crowd. The sound of a van's side door being heaved open cut through the night, followed by a thud and the grinding groan of a wooden box being dumped out and dragged across the lot. It came to a halt, and a figure used it to step up above the crowd.

    Behind the cover of a billboard that proudly exclaimed Go Invaders!, Blackhawk lifted a bulky set of binoculars to his eyes, and flipped the switch to turn on the night vision.

    "We all know why we're here," the speaker's voice hissed in Blackhawk's ear, relayed from the transmitter he'd planted on the flagpole. "We're here in the shadow of this school because it represents everything we hate: the lie that mutants deserve to be treated like ordinary people. The state of California, in it's infinite wisdom, has decided that it is perfectly safe for our children to be taught in the same place as these freaks and abominations. And in the rest of the city, it's only getting worse."

    The ambience of the crowd grew louder with grunts and mutterings of agreement that the transmitter couldn't quite pick up.

    "We can't trust the government. They think registration is the way to fix this problem is registration. I ask you: does putting a health warning on cigarettes stop them from giving you cancer? Do driving licences and gun registration stop people from dying in shootings and car accidents?"

    "No!" the speaker continued, agreeing with the sentiments of the crowd. "We need more than a token gesture to keep our lives and our children safe. So if we can't trust the government, and if the Los Angeles Police Department is riddled with mutants of it's own? I say we take matters into our own hands."

    Blackhawk didn't need surveillance gear to hear the crowd cheering. The situation made the muscles in his jaw bunch beneath his mask, teeth clenched grimly. Such sentiments were not unheard of: mutant crimes were in the increase, peaceful demonstrations were becoming decidedly less peaceful, and overreactive authorities were making everything worse. You couldn't go anywhere or hear anything without mutants cropping up sooner or later; it was easy to understand how people could be growing tired of that.

    But this? This was a few torches and pitchforks away from a lynch mob. Desperate times called for desperate measures, but were things in Los Angeles really that bad.

    "I have good news, friends," the ringleader continued, holding open his arms like a preacher addressing his flock. "I have friends in high places, and they have provided me with exactly the tool we have been looking for. I have a way to get us inside Treadstone Tower. I have a way to get us into the lab where Doctor Thomas Harriman takes anyone who walks in off the street, and helps them hone their skills; helps turn them into weapons. We need to send a message to these people that their actions will not be tolerated. We need to burn down his gun store."

    The crowd whooped; another van door groaned open, and Blackhawk trained his binoculars on the contents. Inside he saw barrels; wires; home made explosives and incendiaries. They were crude, but if they'd been made right they would be effective, especially if you set them off somewhere volatile and full of secondary explosion risks, like a parking garage or a science lab.

    "We know where we are going," the ringleader shouted, voice a little too gleeful to be appropriate. "Our drivers each know the routes they will be taking to help us avoid suspicion. We will meet at our destination, and then we will send a message that they will be unable to ignore!"

    The crowd drowned out anything else the preacher might have said, but Blackhawk had heard all he needed to. In swift but silent strides he retreated to the shadows, speeding through the buildings and across the football field to the gate he'd broken open; though and out onto the street, down the alley, and to the dumpster beside which he'd secreted his motorcycle. Tossing the tarpaulin aside, his attention turned to his utility belt, and to the padded and reinforced pouch where he'd stowed his latest burner. A few quick key presses and the bluetooth headset was ringing in his ears. He stowed the phone, shuffled the bike clear of the crates and containers he'd used for cover, and swung his leg over the saddle.

    "Hello. Los Angeles Police Department switchboard. How may I direct your call?"

    "I'm after Detective John Jackson," he said, trying his utmost not to sound like a vigilante on a motorcycle. "Extension 2814."

  2. #2
    Joe Maitland
    Guest
    Treadstone Tower

    Boots propped up on the desk, Joe blinked his tired eyes and frowned at the security monitors, hoping for something remotely interesting to happen. Apparently his duplicates had a pretty shrewd idea of what was going on in the security office: on the feed from the East Gate, Joe glanced up from his newspaper, took one glance at his wristwatch, and aimed a rude gesture at the camera behind him. Joe shoot his head and sighed at himself. Wow, he mused, reaching for his half-depleted coffee. Doctor Harriman was right: I really am a bit of a dick sometimes.

    His expression morphed into a wince as the lukewarm coffee splashed against his taste buds. That didn't stop him from draining the cardboard cup in one go. He swivelled in his chair, casually tossing the empty Starbucks towards the waste paper basket. It missed, bouncing off the wall behind; a duplicate dove from within Joe's body, hitting the carpet tiles just in time for his outstretched arm to flick the cup back up and send it backflipping into the bin.

    The new duplicate glanced back at his source; climbing to his feet, they shared a silent fist-bump of mutual appreciation for their respective coolness, before the new duplicate felt the urge to brush down the front of his security uniform. "Refill?" he asked, after a brief moment of thought.

    The first Joe nodded in appreciation, turning back to the security monitors. "Refill," he agreed.

    The new duplicate hummed quietly to himself as he swung open the security office door, and wandered casually down the corridor towards Treadstone Tower's on-site coffee house, swiping his security pass at the appropriate doors at he reached them. For a moment, he contemplated the meaning of his life: technically speaking, he'd been created purely to stop trash falling on the floor, so by embarking on a noble quest for coffee he was already exceeding his purpose. That, he decided, was something to feel pretty good about, all things considered. He might even grab some food while he was at it, so the Joe in the security office wouldn't go hungry after they re-assimilated.

    Of course, that at least partially depended on the other Joes. Their situation was a strange one: they were both a theoretically infinite number of employees for Treadstone Industries, and yet also only one. That conundrum had given the accounting and HR departments a particular headache, especially when it came to working out how much they should be paid. While there were other security staff at Treadstone Industries, most of them were Joes; but since he was not a finite, specific number of people, and because he had a habit of duplicating himself as and when needed for patrols, errands, or simply when he was bored, it was practically impossible for them to work out if he should be paid as if he were one man, ten men, or a hundred.

    Worse was the fact that for the duration of their existence, the Joes lived, breathed, and most importantly ate like normal people. That was a particular problem for Joe from a financial perspective: feeding dozens of mouths on a regular basis was not inexpensive. The agreement that they and Treadstone had reached meant that on paper, Joe was the Head of Security, which had a fairly respectable salary all on it's own; and then some of the money that Treadstone was saving by employing him rather than hordes of other guards was funnelled into a 'canteen fund', to keep the Joes fed and caffeinated. Great in theory, but it ended up as a first-come, first-served basis: if too many Joes wound up thirsty or peckish on any given day, that pool of lunch money could very quickly run dry.

    Ordinarily Joe would eat before he split off into duplicates to cut down on that sort of problem, but today? Well, he'd kind of had other things on his mind.

    The duplicate was so engrossed in his musings that he barely noticed the strange sound and flash of light from behind him. He stopped, a puzzled frown forming on his features as he glanced behind him, seeing nothing but an empty corridor. He shook his head, prepared to shrug it off as tiredness, coffee cravings, or his imagination running away with him.

    An instant later he felt his neck snap, the bald head and murderous eyes of the man responsible burned into his dying mind.

  3. #3
    The guard in the security office had been the first to die, of course; then the one in the corridor, the two in the lobby by the elevator, the one at the east gate, and the five in the underground parking garage passing the time playing two-on-two basketball instead of paying attention. On the one hand, it was a shame to kill any mutant, and particularly mutants with such an interesting and potentially useful power; on the other hand, there were plenty more where they came from.

    That more duplicates lurked in the building did give him pause, but according to his information this Joe Maitland merely made copies of himself, and had no telepathic link to his clones. Barring some unfortunate coincidence or serendipity, no one would notice that the security guards were missing from their posts until it was far too late. Even so, Hurucan had still gone to the effort to clear up after himself: a dark corner of the utility basement had become an impromptu morgue for his unwitting victims.

    In a blink of an eye and a flash of static, Hurucan found himself back outside, standing before the east gate. The barrier that prevented vehicles and pedestrians alike from making their way unauthorised into the Treadstone compound was simple but effective, assuming that you did not have an ability that allowed you to bypass them with total ease. Those due to arrive at the Tower most certainly did not have such powers, and so accommodations had to be made.

    From his pocket, Hurucan tugged one of the security passes he'd liberated from a dead guard, draping the lanyard in clear view on the gate itself.

    Another pocket yielded a cell phone; the number dialled was answered instantly.

    "It's done," Hurucan said simply. The voice on the other end sought to draw him into conversation; Hurucan refused to let them succeed. "I hope I don't need to remind you," he interrupted, "How important it is that my involvement is kept a secret. You may be wise enough to realise that some evils are necessary, but your compatriots may not see it that way. For your own sake, they must not know."

    The mere mortal spoke more; Hurucan didn't bother to listen. His grip tightened around the phone, the device sparking and singeing as his electrokinesis wiped and fried it's contents. He stared down at the charred husk in his fingers, and let out a small laugh. "And they refer to these as 'burners'. How appropriate."

    Without another thought, Hurucan tossed the phone into the undergrowth, and burst out of existence with a flash of electric and a whiff of ozone.

  4. #4
    Emma Temple
    Guest
    Dr Harriman's Lab

    Emma's eyes narrowed as a figure stepped into the doorway of her lobby. She considered it her lobby for two reasons: first of all, it was where here desk was, where she spent most of her time when she wasn't directly assisting Tom in the lab, and where she felt entirely comfortable and justified in giving evils to anyone who behaved inappropriately within it's walls. The second reason was that the alternative was calling it the 'lab lobby', and that sounded particularly stupid, almost like it should be some kind of alien creature on children's television.

    "You're not supposed to be here," she accused, having enough forethought to discard her ballpoint pen before folding her arms, thus avoiding a repeat of the inky pink cardigan fiasco.

    The figure shot her a quizzical look.

    "You," Emma insisted in reply, "Are supposed to be in the security office. I know that, because the original Joe, the real Joe, is so over-careful and picky that he can't possibly cope with being anywhere other than the nerve center of his little security operation. As far as he's concerned, it's the most important thing he could possibly be doing at any given moment, and absolutely anything else can be handled by one of his little copies."

  5. #5
    Joe Maitland
    Guest
    "Point A," the Joe countered, propping himself up casually against the door frame, "We're in charge of security. There's nowhere in this building that we're not supposed to be: we're supposed to be everywhere."

    He frowned a little.

    "And Point B, what makes you think I'm the 'original' -" His fingers mimed the inverted commas. "- Joe anyway? How do you know I'm not a duplicate that he created for the sole purpose of coming up here to annoy you?"

  6. #6
    Emma Temple
    Guest
    "I'm psychic, remember?"

    Emma stuck her chin out defiantly, a motion that made her hair gently waft. Her defensive posture didn't lessen in the least, and she felt herself bristling at his arrogant claim that he could be in here without her wanting him to be. Didn't he realise that this was her lobby?

    Okay, so maybe he didn't realise that, because it wasn't something that she exactly went around saying to everyone. If she did, everyone would probably think she was weird, or crazy. Or weird and crazy. If they didn't think that already. But still.

    She felt herself becoming less imposing the more distracted she got. She compensated by scowling extra hard.

    "I always know."

  7. #7
    Joe Maitland
    Guest
    "Yeah."

    Something softened in Joe's expression.

    "You always do, don't you?"

    His eyes dropped away, and there was a little hint of a sheepish smile that he tried very hard to keep under control. With a nudge of his elbow he propelled himself back to standing, crossing the lobby in a few casual strides to prop himself up on the raised, curvy, and stupidly fancy desk that Treadstone's internal designers had thought was a really good idea in a room like this, but that - if he was honest - reminded Joe more of the inside of a sauna than a place of science.

    A sudden twinge of dread washed over him, wondering if maybe Emma had been responsible for that part of the design process, and might have just overheard that stream of thoughts.

    "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you if you were busy." The awkwardness tugging away at the back of his mind steadfastly refused to go away. "It's just that, well -" It took a phenomenal amount of self control to force his eyes to look at hers, rather than focusing intently on his risk. "- I decided that maybe there's something I think is more important than being a picky, over-careful control freak."

  8. #8
    Emma Temple
    Guest
    Emma felt her ears and cheekbones turning decidedly pink, and a bashful school girl smile was adamant about forcing it's way onto her features, but in hall honesty she didn't particularly care.

    "Nice recovery," she admitted, letting her posture relax, swinging herself a little from side to side on her swivel chair.

    A faint look of concern twitched at her eyebrows. "It's not going to be a problem though, is it?" she asked, a hint of nerves in her voice. "I mean, you're not going to get in trouble, are you? Am I distracting you from doing something important, or, or -"

  9. #9
    Joe Maitland
    Guest
    "Hey," he insisted, reaching across the desk to place a hand gently on her shoulder, forcing her to look at him rather than the absolutely everything else that her eyes kept darting to. "There's still a Joe downstairs. In fact, there are still Joes everywhere. And okay, so maybe they're just copies of me, but they don't just share my good looks, dreamy eyes, and winning charm: they're just as capable of handing stuff as I am."

    He looked her straight in the eyes. "I am one hundred percent sure that everything is absolutely fine."

    He offered the most gently reassuring smile he could muster. "So how about you ease off on the adorable frowning -" He brushed a crooked finger across her brow. "- go back to the even more adorable smiling, and we go see if Starbucks has any more of that cheesecake you were eyeballing at lunch. Deal?"

  10. #10
    Emma Temple
    Guest
    "Fine," Emma surrendered, trying hard to make her smile seem much more reluctant than it actually was.

    She took a moment to tidy her desk, retrieving the lid for her discarded pen and returning it to the secret stash she kept hidden in one of the drawers. It wasn't that she minded Doctor Harriman borrowing her pens per se; it was more that he had the subconscious habit of chewing pen lids while he was thinking, and while that was perfectly fine it wasn't something that Emma particularly wanted to touch or look at. Ever.

    Satisfied, she stood, but hesitated before reaching for her purse, ultimately deciding to leave it where it was. "But if we're having cheesecake," she insisted, stepping past Joe and heading for the door, knowing full well that he'd be right behind, "You're paying for it. That way the calories belong to you, and I don't have to worry about them."

  11. #11
    Marcus Godfrey
    Guest
    Ms Ericsson's Office

    "You know," Marcus said off-hand, sipping from his tumbler of impressively good-quality whiskey and admiring the various photographs of Dahlia and noteworthy celebrities that were dotted across her walls. "We have to stop meeting like this."

    He turned, gesturing to the secluded and private surroundings of her office suite. "Don't get me wrong, I love what you've done with the place, but you spend so much time up here at the top of your tower; it feels more like I'm being granted an audience with some fantasy princess than with an old friend." His tone was light and casual enough, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes as he wondered what it might be that Dahlia was trying to hide herself from.

    He shrugged, swirling the glass a little to steer the ice cubes away before he took his next sip. "Let me take you out next week. I have a fundraiser for a sport in the community charity; I can get us seats at that new French restaurant all the critics have been raving about; hell, we can pretend that we're average every day folk and go see a movie - I think the little cinema a few blocks from me is still showing that Pixar movie with the house and the balloons."

    "I don't mind," he said, with a sigh that was more worried than anything else. "It'd just be nice to see you somewhere that isn't work-related for a change."

  12. #12
    Dahlia Ericsson
    Guest
    "A fantasy princess? Well...that's the nicest thing I've heard said about me this week..."

    She proffered a soft smile, while slender fingers plucked a glass to match his from the shelf before her. Two ice cubes soon found themselves floating in several fingers of amber ambrosia. There was something to be said for whiskey that was older than her and fantastically expensive...it went down smooth.

    Maybe a bit too smooth, as of late, but that was a thought to contemplate another night.

    "I've...been busy..." the words sounded patently false, and too often repeated, but they came out before she could stop them. She continued in spite of it. "...this Los Angeles venture and the attempts to break further into the Asian markets is sapping more of my time than I thought it would..."

    Dahlia reached out to touch his shoulder, fingers lingering as she took another sip. Glancing up, she swallowed and then echoed his sigh. "Sorry...sometimes I forget to turn off CEO-mode." A small smile slid back onto her features as her shoulders relaxed and the rest of her posture slowly followed. The tension lingered around her eyes, their blue dark enough to match her silken dress. "I don't think I've left the office at a decent hour since I moved to LA...it'll be amazing to get away for a little while."

  13. #13
    Marcus Godfrey
    Guest
    Marcus offered a warm smile, part victory and part gratitude. "Good, I'll have my secretary book all the necessaries." A flicker of mischief snuck into his expression. "It's a good thing, too: I was running out of polite excuses to keep Mrs Hennesley from the Department of Education at bay. She's a little -" He winced. "- too fond of me."

    He almost grimaced, hiding it behind another sip from his glass. "And a little bit too 'hands on'."

    He turned away, casting his attention out through the window towards the nocturnal cityscape. Los Angeles looked beautiful from up here, tiny pinpricks of light from automobiles trundling up and down the illuminated web of streets. It was a stark contrast to how the city looked up close, especially these days: one step into the wrong neighbourhood, and people didn't really give a damn whether you had mutant genes or not. People liked to pretend it was all about humanity feeling threatened by the emergence of a dangerous new subspecies; but it was all just an excuse to fall back on the same old abhorrent patterns of behaviour than the human race had embraced since the dawn of time. Get too close to stamping out one particular form of racism, sexism, or prejudice, and humanity would just shift it's attention to something new.

    His brow tugged into a frown, distracted by something several stories below. "Looks like you're not the only one working late," he commentated, gesturing vaguely towards the van pulling up to the loading dock. "Seems you've got a delivery."

  14. #14
    Dahlia Ericsson
    Guest
    A faint laugh escaped her lips, flickering out over the rim of her glass before she took another sip.

    "Oh dear...a reason for me to be jealous, perhaps?" Dahlia arched a brow, her expression as plain and neutral as she could make it. It didn't last long. Marcus was one of the very few people in the world outside of family she could be herself with. A smile, warm and true this time, slipped across her features and warmed her gaze.

    "Maybe something with outdoor seating? LA does look amazing at night..." her voice halted as he spoke up, cerulean eyes drawn to the window he was gazing out of.

    "...that's...not entirely unusual..."

    A murmur followed by a few steps, taking her slender form to his side. Dahlia peered down at the loading dock, and the van carefully backing into place as they all did. "But that is a bit odd...we're not expecting anything tonight. I was signing off on the manifests earlier before Kat left for the day."

    Taking a long sip as she stepped away from the window, she set the glass down on a neat coaster atop her desk. The phone lifted to her ear as a slender finger touched the speed dial set to the security station downstairs. Switching over to the speaker, she set the receiver down and waited.

    A slender brow arched as it rang, its tone chirping merrily through the air in spite of the pause it gave her. With Joe's singular ability, the repetitious sound brought concern to her gaze as she lifted her gaze to meet Marcus'.
    Last edited by Dahlia Ericsson; Oct 3rd, 2013 at 03:45:35 PM. Reason: ...correcting two cases of daft writer syndrome...

  15. #15
    Emma Temple
    Guest
    "- and so the Paddy says to Seamus: From th' fact 'dat y've not got a fishbowl, I can --"

    Emma's brow furrowed deeply as she stopped in her tracks, only just realising that she'd left Joe in her tracks ten meters behind. Ordinarily she'd feel bad at her lapse in observational skills, but frankly at this point she was more incensed by the fact that obviously Joe had not been paying enough attention to her hilarious series of Irish jokes and the fantastic impressions that went along with them. She drew in a frustrated breath through her nose, adjusted her frown into a scowl, and stormed off in his direction.

    She saw the lift doors open into the adjoining corridor about half a second before Joe grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her out of view.

  16. #16
    Joe Maitland
    Guest
    Joe kept one arm firmly on Emma's shoulder to keep her still; the other quickly covered her mouth to muffle any squeaks of surprise - or excitement, maybe; he didn't know her well enough to be sure if she was into that sort of thing or not - and remained there for a few seconds until he was reasonably sure she'd caught on to the situation.

    Carefully, he peered around the corner of the wall they'd taken cover behind; a remarkably ordinary-looking man with an AK-47 stepped out of the elevator and wandered nonchalantly in their direction, more attention paid to the floor and the air molecules floating in front of his face than to actually looking for people that might be around. No doubt they believed that this floor would be deserted; and to be honest, if Emma hadn't been working late, it probably would have been.

    More concerning was the pair of similarly ordinary folk carrying an unmarked blue plastic barrel around another corner, back in the direction that Emma and Joe were supposed to be going. It was concerning not because barrels were inherently dangerous; but more because of the suspicious bundles of wires and things that Joe didn't know the name of that were sticking out in various places. Joe had learned a long time ago that if he didn't know the name of something, odds were he was better off avoiding it as best he could.

    "Emma," he said; not a harsh whisper but a soft mutter. "I need you to -"

  17. #17
    Emma Temple
    Guest
    In one fluid motion, Emma slipped herself effortlessly from Joe's grip, and snatched the pistol from the velcro hip holster he always wore.

    Her motion continued, almost ballet in it's grace, carefully placed steps to carefully calculated points on the floor; carefully controlled turns; two carefully timed shots. A bullet tore through one of her target's knees; the other struck him in the shoulder, knocking him off balance enough for the AK-47 to tumble from his hands and clatter to the floor.

    She was behind cover by the time the fourth man, concealed in the lift, had begun to open fire with his own rifle. She bashed the back of her head against the cladding in frustration; leaving her purse upstairs had been a mistake; this would have been so much easier if she'd had her equipment with her.

    Her gaze shifted to Joe, who was busy staring at her with a look of utter confusion. For a split second she felt a pang of guilt for being so intentionally misleading, but screwed it up into a tight ball and shoved it into the depths of her mind. Now wasn't the time.

    "Joe," she instructed, all the sweet and innocence gone from her voice. "I need one of you to come over here."

    She wasn't sure what to call that expression, but it looked neither polite nor compliant. With a clenched jaw, her eyebrows waggled to convey her urgency. Joe rolled his eyes, and a split second later a duplicate leapt out of him; the fourth intruder took the bait, moving out of cover to unload the rest of his magazine; Emma waited until she heart the click of an empty gun and then stepped from cover, silently thanking the flash of good sense that had inspired her to wear flats rather than heels this morning, and charged down the corridor. A single gymnastic leap brought her foot squarely into contact with the intruder's nose; the force of the impact sent his head crashing into the wall behind him with a moist thump.

    A groan of pain escaped from the first man she'd floored; she administered a general anaesthetic with a swift kick to the head.

  18. #18
    Joe Maitland
    Guest
    Joe had always thought the slack-jawed look of dumbfounded surprise that cartoons so regularly depicted was a ridiculous exaggeration, but apparently watching a petite Englishwoman in a cardigan and a floral dress render two armed gunmen unconscious in less time than it took him to sneeze was enough to cause him to replicate it in real life.

    "What."

    That was about all he could muster right of the bat, his head swimming and reeling, flitting between the crumpled form of yet another dead duplicate and the two unconscious whoever-they-weres.

    "Where the hell did you learn to do that?"

  19. #19
    Emma Temple
    Guest
    "Sandhurst," she replied simply, as if that explained everything. It didn't of course - far from it - but it would have to do for now.

    She surveyed her surroundings; the two immediate threats were neutralised, but the other two with what appeared to be a crude but effective home made bomb would have heard the gunfire and either run away, if they were smart; or run towards it if they were stupidly loyal to the amateurs they'd enlisted to protect them.

    She turned to Joe; the look of confusion and distrust on his features was painful to see.

    "I need two of your duplicates to grab those rifles and come with me; two more to load these two -" She nudged the gunman currently bleeding from the knees. "- into the lift, and get them outside. Call the police, ambulances, fire brigade; we're going to need all of them before the night is out."

    He frowned, contemplating their situation.

    "Send some of yourself down to the security office: if they were able to waltz in here unimpeded, I don't think there's much hope for the Joe you left down there. You're going to need to do a full sweep of the building, evacuate everyone you can and get them as far away from the building as possible. There's no way of knowing the kind of yield that bomb has without Doctor Harriman here to crunch the numbers, but there wouldn't be much point sneaking a bomb - or bombs - into a building this big unless you were sure it was going to do some damage."

    "I," she finished, "Am going to find those other two, and see what's going on."

  20. #20
    Joe Maitland
    Guest
    Mouth suddenly dry, Joe swallowed until he managed to muster his voice again, head swimming between the orders, the shooting, and the apparent fact that Emma was some sort of ninja or spy or something.

    "Who are you?"

    It seemed like a reasonable enough question to ask and expect to be answered, if she wanted to have her barked orders obeyed by the one person who was apparently the sum total of her army.

Page 1 of 2 12 LastLast

Bookmarks

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •