Roleplay

(this is NOT to be posted in unless you have been accepted in the OOC thread)

In the mid-20th century, on the twelfth hour of the first day of October of 1989, 43 women around the world gave birth. This was unusual only in the fact that none of these woman had been pregnant when the day first began.

Seven of these children were adopted by eccentric billionaire Sir Reginald Hargreeves, and, upon displaying their powerful abilities, were made by him into a crime fighting team. These seven grew famous, but as time grew on they were split apart and vanished from the world without warning.

Six days later, a select few of those fourty three remaining magically gifted individuals received cryptic letters from an even more cryptic person detailing that they come to a certain place at a certain time to meet.

Almost immediately after the letters reached their targets, devastation reigned on the world. Almost total destruction of all life as everyone knew it. The only survivors were those who had received the letters. Those who had been born on that fateful day twenty seven years ago.

with the world being destroyed and nowhere else to turn, there is no choice but to follow the cryptic letters, for perhaps they shall have answers.


The letter all of the people received reads as such
Dear, person of interest

You are one of the eighty four who were born under interesting circumstances.. and as such, one of the ones gifted with abilities beyond the scope of what a normal human can do.

In a week, something will happen that will change the world. And if you are lost, confused, or looking for answers, you must meet up at the place where the most famous of you once lived. Sir Reginald Hargreaves' old home and the home of those who were like you.

Good luck,

-E


Ps as far as everyone is concerned, the event in question was some kind of apocalyptic meteor shower.

@AbyssRanger @Boborc @SketchyRawr @Avanari (Okay everyone, please sub to this thread, and we will be waiting until everyone posts once to continue the rp for the initial post. For those of you wondering, Genysis will show up, in a later post)

Reading the letter had been.. interesting to say the least, and Nimala wasn't sure what to make of it. She'd thought about it a thousand times. Thought about not going to see what it meant, not going to follow the cryptic words in the letter. Oh it was tempting.. so tempting to not want to follow any of the craziness. But after seeing the sky quite literally fall and smash her hospital to smithereens.. she really had nothing else better to do.. and nowhere to go.

There was no other choice but to follow the strange thing. But she wasn't going to go in unprepared. That meant a weapon. Which for her at the moment was a hunk of twisted metal. It didn't look like much, and for most people it would be all but useless. But using her powers, Nimala could throw it around and at least.. stun someone maybe. She wasn't really a fighter so she wasn't ready for this kind of thing. All of the crappy survival shows she'd watched religiously said a weapon was important.. and they were all she had to go by now that everything was destroyed.

Everyone who could read the paper knew where Sir Reginald Hargreaves had lived. It was on the front page of the news almost constantly as his seven superpowered children became famous in their own right. Not to mention, his recent death and obituary on the front page of nearly every newspaper a few months before the world had ended.

Fumbling absently with the hunk of metal, she glanced down at her clothes. Hardly something that she would usually wear, some tattered jeans she'd salvaged along with a ratty t-shirt with a faded logo. It was better than her scrubs, which would never have lasted even a moment out in the wilderness. They were basically glorified pajamas and she was glad she'd thought to grab what she could.

Turning down a few more streets, Nimala stopped as she came to view the mansion which had once housed the famous seven. Unlike everything around it, which had been smashed to bits, it was pristine. Not even a hint of the white astroid chunks which had destroyed almost everything.

It was as if it had been protected from the disaster entirely, with a metal fence which ran the entire length of the building.

Yet in town, everything had been rubble.

Feeling a sense of foreboding, Nimala didn't want to go inside just yet, her fingers closing around the hunk of metal she'd picked up.

Walking down the road, hands on the pocket located on the side of his hoodie, Luciel looked around the city. It was heavily destroyed. Rocks, rubbers, glass shards, anything really, was scattered around every corner.

He sighed at the current situation. Why did it happened so sudden? He was just heading out for a walk and the next thing is world destruction and everyone being a corpse laying on the ground, except him. He grabbed the letter out and re-read it again. "Eighty-four......so it means that there's eighty-three people left that's same as me? I wonder did they also survived......" He mumbled to himself as his grips tightened on the paper, almost breaking it by simply just putting too much force on it.

He glances around once more, gagging at the foul smell emitting from almost everywhere, honestly. What a way to end the world and torture him with the smell just because he was alive. Hell, he didn't even know the world was going to end so suddenly, if he were to though, he'd bring a gas mask no question asked.

After a torturously long time, he seemed to reach the destination. Or atleast, close to. The place that Sir Reginald Hargreaves used to live was just as common as air, almost everybody know where it is, even those who does not touch newspaper or the social media, they'll still hear it from somebody else mentioning about it. He stared at it for a brief moment before spotting a figure......and not just any figure, but a humanoid one. He flinched for a moment before grabbing a small stone, eyeing the figure as he moved. He was unsure whether it is a friend or foe, so better safe than sorry.

His steps were slow and silent, but a step on a glass totally ruined it and gave off his presence. A 'creck' emitted from the broken glass he stepped on. He glance down quickly and glared at it before mumbled a curse word and quickly running to somewhere nearby, hoping whoever that was haven't spot him yet, if it was even a human in the first place.

Derek had originally been unsure of what to think of the letter. Inviting him to some weird place after the end of the world seemed a bit...odd, to say the least. But as the day came and passed, and he emerged to find himself the only one in his town alive, he warmed up to the idea. He had been unable to help his friends and family. But maybe these people— the last people?— would accept his help.

The town around the mansion was destroyed. The amount of rubble made it look like it had once been populous, but now not even a single wall stood. Chunks of rocks and who-knows-what covered the ground. The piles of rubble stacked higher than he was and blocked the road in many sections. Because of all this, it took him much longer to reach the mansion than he would have hoped for.

He found he was not the first to reach the house (somehow still pristine despite all this). A woman stood in front of the gate, holding some sort of makeshift weapon. He hardly even registered that as relief flooded through him. “Hello?” He called out as he approached. “Oh my gosh, I’m so glad someone else survived. I was worried I might be the only one left.”

(Remnant's telepathic speech will be in italicized bold while Jeremy's will not be in bold.)

Do you honestly believe that there could be others humans like yourself out there? Without factoring in the devastation caused by the apocalyptic event, the chances are still highly unlikely. From my point of view, you're an anomaly.

Even if it is unlikely, I don't think we can take the chance of ignoring this. Besides, it's not as though I could remain in this bunker forever.

The limitations of being an organic life form.

The benefits being that I have arms and legs.

There was a slight 'hhmff' noise in response which caused the man to smirk while his eyes scanned over the letter for what seemed to be the hundredth time since he entered the bunker. At first he'd merely written it off as a prank. Sure, it was a bit alarming given his abilities, but he'd been careful as to make sure no one could find out about it. And that stuff about the world ending? It seemed like utter foolishness. Office life was so very dull, even for the average humans who worked there. They seemed to resolve this by occasionally playing simple pranks. Much to his annoyance. But the end of the world had happened, just like the letter had said. So maybe other parts of it were true as well? Eighty-four others like himself was an astonishing amount. While you might have expected him to feel happy about that possibility, that couldn't be further from the truth. If anything, Jeremy felt threatened. Threatened that others might be more powerful than himself and possibly interfere with his plans. There was no use worrying about something if you were going to do something about it. So, that's exactly why he left the safety of the bunker.

---

A few days later and their destination was growing close. The residence described was famous, of course. So, Jeremy had little trouble finding his way there. But it was the actual trip there that turned out to be a big pain in the neck. His clothing has been dirtied in places, as one would expect in the condition everything was in, and formal shoes were not the sort you would want to do any amount of extended walking in. Luckily enough, his particular gift had allowed him to eventually piece together a simple, motorized vehicle that was an odd combination of motor scooter and jeep. It certainly saved hm a considerable amount of time. The difficult part was finding food and water that hadn't gone bad. Which, of course, received another comment from Remnant about the flaws of biotic organisms. Luckily, some salvaged bottles of water and canned food saw to it that he didn't perish before meeting his destination.

Parking his vehicle a few blocks away from the residence, to make sure his presence wasn't announced to any others who had arrived before him, Jeremy stopped for a moment as Remnant spoke up.

I still do not understand why you insisted on this meeting.

Call it threat assessment and management.

Then are you considering using that?

If it proves necessary.

The firearm at his side felt heavier at its mention. Should these people appear as though they would get in his way or would pose a potential threat, he was willing to quickly remove them from the equation altogether. Although, he couldn't help but hope that these people would turn out to be useful pawns, if nothing else. Of course, there was the chance that these people could turn out to have more...offensively oriented abilities than him. If that happened, he would have to hope a simple bullet would do the trick. If not, well things could get complicated.

Finally, the gates to the residence came into sight as well as the figures of a man and a woman. One of whom appeared to be armed. Well, at least he brought a weapon with him. Okay, he had to go into 'friendly mode' to try and win these people over.

I for one think you should just pick them off from here. It would be significantly more efficient.

Ignoring that, Jeremy approached the pair with a believable smile on his face. "Hello there, from the coincidences it would take for two others to just so happen to be here by chance, I assume you both received a letter too?"

Nimala clenched her hands tighter around the lump of metal she had found as she heard a creaking noise nearby. Nerves tightened around her as he wondered, who or what might be making that noise. Sucking in a breath she flickered her eyes to that general spot.

Not going to shout or yell out loud, she would just.. prepare herself and hope that they didn't come toward her or something. Unless the noise had just been in her mind.

Eyes widening slowly, Nimala flinched as someone approached her. His voice loud, and impressive... he seemed.. well relatively friendly all things considered.

"Ah." She shuddered. "Holy.. you scared the crap out of me." well he must have been the one to make that creaking noise.. right? Well that was at least her initial thought.

Before she could say or think more, a second person joined them, smiling.

A smile crossed her own face, but she kept her hands wrapped around the hunk of metal. "Hello." She greeted, and then her stomach twisted. If he mentioned the letter, that meant he was superpowered too. Not sure what kind of powers he had... but he was. They all were. And this simple fact made Nimala more worried than she probably should be. "Um.." She flicked her eyes to the untouched mansion before them. "I'm Nimala by the way." her voice grew soft and muted. "Anyone else.. getting.. weird vibes about that place?" She gestured to the untouched building before them.

[center][u][b]Fritz Corduroy Allan - City Streets - Pings: [/b][/u][/center] A lone man crawls out from under the rubble of a fallen structure, dried blood coating his right temple. The ground underfoot, if not completely engulfed in flames, is dried to the point well past bone dry. His hair is dusty and graying at the roots, most prominent at his temples. His jeans are tattered at the cuffs, singed at the knees and more than a little dusty. His shirt is a simple off-white button up, yellowed and wrinkled from the hours, even perhaps days, under the rubble, not to mention what could have happened before the apocalypse. A voice sounds out somewhere a ways away, however he's simply too dazed to accordingly react, but perhaps it would be smart to approach at a later time. In his left hand is a tattered old radio, running on a half-spent battery. It has a cord attached, however it wouldn't be too smart to trust the electrical sockets anymore. The grids are unmanned now, so it would be easy to set another house alight or to simply destroy the device. If it should be tuned in on, the signal is scratchy, playing prerecorded forties through fifties music. He's far too wary to turn it on, wanting the one pound thing for special occasions. Though he was still dazed after being crushed under his own home, Fritz felt something crinkle in the pocket of his jacket. He fished it out, as if to that throw it out. The kind of paper it was made of made him stop that thought. It was old and yellowed, the edges singed a little. The ink seems to come from a ball-pen, ink blackish blue if held in what little sunlight pierce the ashen clouds. [quote][size=1][i]Dear, person of interest You are one of the eighty four who were born under interesting circumstances, and as such, one of the ones gifted with abilities beyond the scope of what a normal human can do. In a week, something will happen that will change the world. And if you are lost, confused, or looking for answers, you must meet up at the place where the most famous of you once lived. Sir Reginald Hargreaves' old home and the home of those who were like you. Good luck, -E[/i][/size][/quote] He gave the letter a once-over, deciding that if he has nowhere to be, why not follow the words of a sketchy stranger who most [i]definitely [/i]wasn't dead? Tattered old shoes crunch over the ruins of his old home, setting off to what was once the middle of a bustling city. A lighter is clutched in his left hand, one of the three on his person that weren't dead. He wasn't too keen on using it, however it is best to be ready for any conflict that arises. The skin from elbow to fingertip on both arms faded from soft pinkish skin to a thick, black keritinous set of scales, fingers tipped with thick, sort claws. They are sharp as all can be, but still passable as human from a great distance.

Derek turned to greet the new man and immediately his eyes widened. Was that a gun? Why did he have a gun? His stomach flipped and he took a few steps away from the man. Was he he only one who didn’t bring a weapon? “Uh, hi.” He kept his eyes locked on the gun. Why did he have a gun? The woman spoke up, seemingly not intimidated by the man. He inched closer to her, hoping she might be able to defend him— or at least buy him time— if it came to a fight. He twisted his fingers around anxiously.

“My name is Derek Love. I, uh, did get a letter. And honestly, I’m getting weird vibes from everything in this situation.” He shot a pointed look at the man with the gun. He hadn’t received any visions about being shot, but that really wasn’t an indication of anything. He really hoped, though, that he would at least get some warning if he was going to die soon. “Maybe we should just...go in?” He said nervously. “It’s not like things can get any worse.”

On the back of the paper, when he flipped it over, was a crudely drawn map. It began where he had been stuck under and ended, supposedly, at the house he was supposed to go to. He's relatively near it, but there's a chain-link fence between the slums, where he lived, and the suburbs and richer, where the moderately well off to the filthy rich lived within the city. Fire crackles around him quietly, popping and leaping into the air. He coughed into the crook of his arm, dark scales warm against his cheek. The smoke inhalation was not kind on his lungs, however the fires seem to be dispersing tiny bit by bit as he follows the crude map. people must have escaped before, or perhaps civilians had tried a chance at crawling under the fence.

The chain link fence is at an arms length now, the bottom of it tattered, the metal peeled upward. A corpse lies under the fence, holding the chain-link up. He felt sorry for the soul who tried, but it's best to not cry over long rotten milk. The stench was terrible, though he payed it no mind. The metal scratched at his back through his tattered jacket, shucking it off as to make it through easier. Anything in the pockets in his jacket was moved to his jeans pockets or his shirt pocket. The fabric is thick, his breath catching in his throat every once in a while as he wrestled his way out from under the peeled fence. The radio is dragged with him through, placed carefully between his knees.

He wasn't sure what he was looking at other than rubble and a group of people, not registering a house if it were there at all. He didn't yet approach, instead waiting for any indication of non-hostility. He may be an absolute rat lookin' wretch of a man, jaw scruffy with an ill maintained beard and a worse case resting bltch face, but he sure is glad to encounter any survivors at all. His voice is scruffy from inhaling all of that smoke, lightheaded just a tiny bit. It's somewhat deep, ending on a barely higher tone at the end of his sentences.

"The gang's all here, isn't it?"

Ah yes, the perfect, yet absolutely stupid way to introduce oneself. Fritz payed no attention to the gun in the hand of a stranger, nor to the odd quips made by the others. His exterior presented more as a calm, almost absent kind of greeting, reminiscent of a memory that never happened. He gestured, scaled hand motioning in a rough circle, all lighters and matches stuffed into his deep jean pockets.

Lilly sighed. She was getting rather bored of sitting around. She couldn't find any sorts of games or anything to entertain herself with, what with the end of the world and everything. She doesn't have any sorts of powers having to do with her human form, but she still has surprisingly good strength in her arms, and she had just been trying to throw rubble as far as she could. She took out the note that she had skimmed maybe once before the apocalypse but was now considering. She hated the idea of there still being human life, but she was so BORED. She hopped up off of the piece of a house roof she had been sitting on and headed over to the mansion in a stealthy manner, wanting to assess the situation before she stepped out into the open. Most of the other humanoids were holding weapons, but she figured she had claws or jaws or venom, depending on what she needed. Finally deciding she wasn't very threatened by them, she stepped out and walked up to the small group that had gathered.