Post by Taminah Visari on Feb 1, 2013 21:10:45 GMT -5
The delivery man, Andrew from his employee nametag, spoke to Eli and Asimov, seeing that they seemed determined to do something about a stolen food delivery.
“I... I used to be in a gang, till I got a clean job with the Food Corps. I heard stories about scientists selling their super soldier augmentations. We had a friend, a rich kid, go and try it- next time I saw him he had these wings on his back, and he was flying. And crazy.” Andrew explained, before pausing, trying to think of something that might help them.
“They’re called the Dark Wings... bunch of bored rich kids, or mercenaries who need an edge, who want something to make them stand out. They’re new, but they’re carving out territory on the ground like any other gang, taking tribute or wiping out rivals... except they can’t be attacked, considering where they live.” He looked out a window and up, indicating the general idea that flying mercenaries lived really high in the city.
“That’s all most people know, really. You cross one, you cross them all. They pluck you up, and drop you onto one of the pointy pieces of architecture in the city. If you want to know more, you’d need to ask the gangs at war with them.” Andrew let out a tired sigh.
“Look... The Food Shipment, it’s pretty normal to test new recruits in hits on mundane stuff. Gangs get their food by taking shipments- it’s not really a big deal. But they took one of us, for some reason we can’t figure out. If you could find out what happened to Morty, that’d be good, so we can tell his parents...” He looked at his partner.
“Look, I’m gonna take my partner home alright? Don’t get yourselves killed. The Wings have plenty of hardware... and are a bunch of sadists.”
Last Edit: Feb 1, 2013 23:17:40 GMT -5 by Taminah Visari
Post by Eli Crohill on Feb 1, 2013 22:23:03 GMT -5
"I have a feeling they'll have a bit more trouble picking me up once I actually start looking for them, birds can be shot down, so can men. As for crossing them, that's simple, just hide your identity with a mask and cloak, they don't know who to be cross at. And getting to them. Well I think I can figure something out. Someone in this city's gotta make and sell flying machines. Good luck in getting home," He stood up and gathered his cloak, pistol, and ammo, then looked at Asimov. "I suggest we work together, since you seem pretty smart. You can handle the problem solving and I can handle the killing. Meet me outside of here in an hour, and I'll be ready to go." Without waiting for a response, he walked out of the bar. He would take safe routes he knew back to his home, so he wouldn't be attacked.
((I assume I don't have to PM you, since I was in the lead up to this.))
Last Edit: Feb 1, 2013 22:51:28 GMT -5 by Eli Crohill
"You might think you've won, but like a cornered animal, I don't give up!"
Post by Taminah Visari on Feb 2, 2013 1:50:19 GMT -5
Zaun
The massive urban sprawl of Zaun made its seasons unforgiving. When it was hot, it was stiflingly hot; when it was winter, it was unbearably cold. As dusk approached, Zaunite factories slow in their production, as many people struggle to get by with crude heaters within their socialized housing apartments. The air was fogged up and shrouded, toxic air suspended in a cold, thick state.
The people on the streets fared only slightly better, huddled up around the can or barrel fires that lit the endless labyrinthine streets of the city’s nightscape. They scrounge whatever fuel they could, the only wood coming from the smashed crates of imported goods, or the waste paper of news. Stores remained open but boarded up, selling their wares to sparse streets littered with the cold and hungry. Heavily bundled zaunite citizens get by on red pepper gruel, almost a delicacy to the very hungry.
And above it all, a sheltered roost of the Dark Wings, looked down from their luxurious abodes in the spacious crevices of Zaun’s massive architecture. Dozens of storeys up, none could reach them, while they descended to prey upon the city with impunity.
At this hour, the only activity deep within the under city of Zaun is that of the hexbike races, six distinguishable by their fast moving headlights. Such races were often the hotbed of gangs, as they met to negotiate, trade, demand, and at times, fight amongst each other, in accusation of cheating in an already lawless contest of deadly speed. There were many criminals and gangs in Zaun, but the most significant ones attend events like these.
And, above these criminals, in the vents, there lurked a hidden shadow that kept on eye on these events.
It had been almost an hour. Eli had gotten himself ready, dawning his armor, putting a good, thick cloak over it and scarf to cover his face. He dawned his hood, ready to face the cold, and the Dark Wings. He walked through the streets, hammer on back, sword on belt, pistols on ribs, and finally, metal claws retracted into his gauntlets. He arrived just outside the reserve and waited for the other guy. Hopefully he could be trusted, if not, well nothing a hammer blow to the head couldn't solve. He would give an hour and ten minutes at most, if the guy didn't show up by then, Eli would set off on his own.
"You might think you've won, but like a cornered animal, I don't give up!"
Post by Taminah Visari on Feb 2, 2013 11:08:18 GMT -5
The silent roads outside the Reserve came to life with the roar of hexbike engines, a group of a dozen or so racers defying death and reason for a chance at reputation and territory rights. Their passing was a deafening thunder of engines pushed to maximum performance, coupled with a mighty wind as they headed for their finish line.
Post by Eli Crohill on Feb 2, 2013 12:18:49 GMT -5
Eli brushed Asimov's hand away when he was pat on the shoulder. "Yes, but I wouldn't call you a friend yet. You have to prove yourself first. For now we're just allies, that may or may not change." He began walking, following the sound of the bikes. Hopefully their destination was close, he had a feeling the Dark Wings would be there. He put his hands in his cloak, giving him the appearance he was hunched over from the cold. The reality was that he was walking with his hands on his pistols, ready to pull them out from under the cloak at a moment's notice.
"You might think you've won, but like a cornered animal, I don't give up!"
Leather boots hitting the uneven, worn, bricks could be heard as Rudmed navigated his way around Zaun. His saber and revolver softly clicking with every step. The inquisitor was not attempting to be stealthy for he had no reason to be at this point. However, he was disturbed by what he had heard shortly after entering Zaun. It seems winged beings were terrorizing, stealing, and murdering individuals. These beings were sinning and as the grandmaster of the Final Truth he could not let such sins go unpunished. He would execute every single one of them if he got the chance.
Rudmed stuck out in the Zaun as he was dressed in leather armor covered by some steel plating. His saber was rather ornate, dictating a rather noble background. However, his eyes were obscured by a hat that covered his eyes. It would send a message that if anyone was to be observed, it would be his prey. The look also made him seem less approachable to the average civilian, but to men of nerve they might find him at least approachable. He watched motorbikes pass by as he stepped out of the alley, one barely missed him. The rider gave the inquisitor a rude gesture before turning his attention back to the road.
Rudmed saw two individuals following the bikes and began to approach them. One of them looked to be an engineer, while the other was leaning forward and covering himself in the cloak. He called out to them, "Excuse me you two I am hear in search of the winged beasts terrorizing Zaun. Do you happen to have any idea where they may be found?" He asked the two, who he assumed were simple locals. Little did he know they might become allies that shared the same goals.
Post by Taminah Visari on Feb 2, 2013 21:47:32 GMT -5
The scene of the undercity’s race finish line was at the infamous club, Botulax. It was named after its owner, a chemist turned brewer who served up very strong drinks themed after primary and secondary colors- of which the club is known for.
The facade of Botulax was lit up by hexlights and the silhouettes of dancers, not to mention the loud music that emanated from it. The deep bass could be felt several yards away, like a deep, primal feeling on the chest. Bikers arrived one by one, as gangs celebrated the victors and dealt with the losers. Botulax was neutral ground, where fighting was strictly forbidden, and any offenders would be riddled with needles, chems, bullets, bolts and spells. The bikers were rowdy, but in relatively good behaviour.
In the parapets above, a shadowy figure slinked back and forth, wide eyed at the lights and sounds of the club, then back to a hiding place in the overhead maintenance levels. Given all the sights of zaun, it would take someone of exceptional perception and intent to even detect this one.
Above the quick scampering figure, four dark winged, armoured figures descended and surrounded the watcher. The Dark Wing’s low level enforcers were the rich offspring of zaun’s elite, who had since broken away from the tedium of a controlled life.
“Hehey, kiddo. What’s up? You found that snitch Morty yet?” The tallest of the group, his hair fixed like a rooster’s crown, said, hovering a moment before landing and balancing on the railing.
“Um...no... but nothing... really... just the gangs doing races...” Taminah responded, knowing she wasn’t going anywhere.
“Such a good girl. Mama was right when she said you were dependable.” A female ganger said, arms crossed, one leg up and her entire persona just cocky.
“She did? Wow, thanks!” The girl said, to be told that she was a good dependable girl meaning so much to her.
They laughed among each other a bit, mostly at the girl’s naivety. “So, what you got for us, Bat kid?”
“Um...” The younger girl winced slightly at the moniker. She eyed her fellows and felt a tinge of envy at their feathery wings, derived from avian stock... while she had leathery bat wings, which she wrapped around herself and wore as a dress. They were all grinning, but they weren't really happy- they were greedy, feeding off the weak, be it their lives or their labors.
Taminah opened a grate and pulled out a sack of coins and jewellery, the four avian Dark Wings splitting up the spoils among them. She honestly wondered why they couldn't do it themselves, but... she was lonely. At least, she was nice to the people she robbed from, apologizing after sending them sprawling on the pavement.
“Oho, this is gonna make Mama happy. You did a good job, kid.” They made such commentary, knowing that the girl was most easily paid in praises and affection.
“So... you want to hang out then?” Taminah asked. It was clear that she wanted something else, that she had little need for materials wants. They simply laughed, but decided to entertain the poor thing.
“Um... we’re kinda busy, Bat Kid, but don’t worry. We’re your friends, and we’ll hang out later, alright?”
“Alright...” She said, her head drooping. They were always busy, but Taminah deigned to trust them on more time. The one with the rooster crown came over and embraced Taminah, in an effort to reinforce their will on the girl. Then they hand her a smaller pouch... filled with syringes.
“Later, Bat Kid.” The Wings flew off, laughing and making snide remarks once out of their little thief’s hearing.
“Can you believe that kid! She’d probably clean Warwick’s litterbox if you told her to!” The other three laughed, leaving the lonely little girl alone once more in her watch station. The saddest part had to be, Taminah heard them talk about her. She went back inside the store room she had since converted into a 'nest', and went back to watching the gangs below.
Post by Eli Crohill on Feb 2, 2013 23:36:16 GMT -5
As Eli walked, they were addressed by a man wearing leather armor and a hat which covered his face. He eyed the stranger briefly, based on his question, it seemed they shared a common goal. "We're actually looking for those 'creatures' ourselves. They're technically human, they've been modified to have wings but that's not important. We know they live high up, above where anyone without the ability to fly can reach them. We think they tend to attack the other gangs, so we're following those cycles, I have a feeling they might attack them at the finish line of their race. Feel free to join us, if we work together it increases our chances of getting the cowards." Without waiting for a response, he continued onward.
Last Edit: Feb 3, 2013 0:16:29 GMT -5 by Eli Crohill
"You might think you've won, but like a cornered animal, I don't give up!"
Post by Taminah Visari on Feb 3, 2013 9:47:34 GMT -5
As the trio grew closer, the music grew louder and the club’s signs brighter. Botulax awaited them, and within were a great many number of zaunites, criminals and not, their dancing and passion heating up the building as much as the heating system did, escaping the sorrow of the city’s winter.
Meanwhile, in a dark place, Morty slowly awoke. He opened his eyes in a sudden realization that he was still alive, and thankfully so- but he quickly moved about and sniffled his environment, his little yordle paws crawling about. He found himself in a place he couldn’t quite identify, but judging from the music he was near a club... It seemed to be some kind of abandoned utility room, repurposed as a dwelling; one of countless thousands in the city.
He was still wearing his engineering clothes, and saw there was a loaf of bread at the end table. His head ached and his vision was still blurry, and he struggled to compose himself. A jolt of realization makes him freeze in place- the shipment!
“Sigh... so much for trying to get a clean job.” He slowly lowered himself from the unusually high bed, his bushy tail jutting from his pants. A sound alerted him to caution, and he quickly hid under the bed’s frame.
Rudmed nodded following the two, and it seemed his instinct was right. They seemed to know the area better than he did. He heard the music and knew they were getting closer to a club. Why they were heading this way he did not know, but trusted his companions judgement. Speaking of which he had yet to introduce himself, though the less they knew about him and the better off they were. However he could at least give them a name, "Right, well if we're gonna be working together you two can call me Rudmed." He said to the other two. It wasn't a proper introduction, but atleast they could call his name rather then just yelling 'duck man in leather armor!'
Anyways he had better ask why they were following the bikers to this club, where undoubtedly there were a fewer sinners that Rudmed would have to ignore, "Why are we following these bikers? Are they in league with our quarry?" It was evident that Rudmed had never spent much time in Zaun. He knew that it had gangs and that they would dispute a few things, but he did not know all the specific details. Which he hoped to change with one of his many crusades...of course there maybe nothing left of Zaun after that.
Post by Eli Crohill on Feb 3, 2013 15:27:48 GMT -5
Eli continued walking, listening to the others as they spoke. He somewhat disliked not knowing his companions, but he would have to make do. The newcomer wasn't from Zaun, hopefully he could prove useful in a fight or have some other skills to make up for his lack of knowledge of the city. He realized that he had yet to introduce himself. "Well, hopefully we can work well together, Rudmet. My name is Eli. We're following these bikers because they are part of the many gangs in Zaun, those we are hunting are members of one of these gangs, and regularly attack the others. I think this place is supposed to be neutral territory, so we shouldn't have to worry about being attacked. We can ask the members of these gangs about the Dark Wings, since they probably know them most about them. Besides that, given what I've heard about the Dark Wings, they probably don't care much for the rules, and may decide to attack some of members of the other gangs when they're not expecting violence."
"You might think you've won, but like a cornered animal, I don't give up!"
Post by Taminah Visari on Feb 3, 2013 21:17:46 GMT -5
A pair of muscle-augmented bouncers guards the entry to Botulax. They vigorously turn away vagrants and those who don’t look like they could afford a drink. They do however, let in tough mercenary types just fine.
The interior of the club was bathed in a dusky, viridian light, the flashing hexlights and loud music almost offensive to the senses. The dance floor in the center was packed with people, while the tables and bar were attended to by gangs and mercenaries, conveniently segregated by their affiliations. You had street gangs, Noxian mercenaries, cloaked and hooded types with exotic weapons, pit gladiators, and more, for those brave enough to approach them.
The serving girls all wearing red skin suits, studded leather skirts and gas masks- partly for fashion and partly for having to work at a place like Botulax for consecutive days. Food at bars like these were alcohol and drug spiked gruels, though real food was also available. The dancers wore the same thing, undulating with the music in the catwalks above, tubes of colourful liquids pumping everywhere, at times emitting from the pipes in a colored mist.
In the level above, tinted VIP lounges accommodated more prestigious individuals and leaders of gangs, cutting deals with one hand and backstabbing with the other.
The bar was tended by the man himself, Botulax, and he was a strange man indeed, wearing a fitting black leather robe, his face masked, eyes goggled and his mouth fixed into a disturbing grin, lips crimson like blood and teeth yellowed from indulging in one's own brew for too long. He served his concoctions to patrons, most settling on the strength of his primary and secondary colored drinks- a few brave souls attempt to make a tertiary color drink, and they are promptly carted away by guards.
Last Edit: Feb 3, 2013 21:22:56 GMT -5 by Taminah Visari
Post by Eli Crohill on Feb 3, 2013 22:15:50 GMT -5
Eli took his hands out from under his cloak, but kept everything on, since it was probably best to mask his identity, that and it was probably a good idea to have at least something to help filter the air in here, even if it was just a piece of cloth. He decided to start with the bikers they had seen earlier. Locating them in the club, he walked up to them. He decided to be blunt with them. "I'm looking for information on the Dark Wings, which of the gangs is having the most trouble with them?"
"You might think you've won, but like a cornered animal, I don't give up!"
Post by Taminah Visari on Feb 3, 2013 22:25:13 GMT -5
The bikers simply look at Eli, sneering and laughing at him. His approach was most unwelcome, and few here were in a talking mood, without having to bring up the attention of the Wings. "Get lost."
They return to their stories of during the race, obviously here to have drinks and flirt with the server girls, not talk about the Wings. To get answers, one had to know how to loosen tongues.
Last Edit: Feb 3, 2013 22:28:36 GMT -5 by Taminah Visari
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