Cerberus
Unblooded
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Posts: 46
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Post by Cerberus on Sept 16, 2009 20:12:05 GMT -5
Right then, I'm new to this particular RPG board and I apologize for any traditions, rules, taboos, etc that I violate. I read the rules and browsed a few of the other RPG's. If I should know something, patch something up, please let me know and I'll do what I can.
At any rate, this is a re-adoption of an RPG on another forum that was originally designed by a very good mate of mine known as The Blood Reaper. Original credit goes to him. ***
"This is a text-based battle game between members. You aren't issued weapons with a set amount of damage and you aren't all thrown onto the same field at once. See, everything that happens in this game is based on how you write it. For example, in a gun vs. Sword fight, the sword guy might end up doing much more damage than the gun guy, simply because he wrote it better, was more clever, creative. Note that while good writing is a key part in this, the whole point behind this is that the better you can write out your actions, the better myself and the referees can understand what you've done, and thus, we'll be better able to get the correct effects in play at turn end. So, this is a fight game based primarily on writing. Interested? Here's the rules.
1. You are allowed one avatar- You can play as anything. You can play as you, you can play as godzilla, you could even play as optimus prime for all I care. However, don't think that Optimus vs. Curt would give Optimus the upper hand. See, I'll find some way to balance it, like declaring Optimus' armoring ineffective. Things do not follow 'real world' here. Think of it like a more imaginative Super Smash Brothers. Just because someone emptied a magazine into you doesn't mean you're dead. Depending on the situation you'll simply take all of 2, 3 damage. Out of a 100 health. As you play and progress, or get acheivement points, you can 'purchase' new skills, upgrade your weapons, upgrade your stats, stuff like that for your avatar.
(This rule has been loosened. You can have more than one avatar, but unless the determination is made otherwise, you can only have one in game. Summons do not count as avatars. Just dont go and make fifty characters.)
2. I am the referee. My word is law. Feel free to contest it, if you don't think I'm being fair. However, do not ignore me. Why and what happens?
Well, it's because I keep track of how much damage is done, how much life is left, stuff like that. Also, I am God. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me. You can make assumptions but don't regress into tantrum mode should the assumption prove false. If the Ref's (AKA Proctor's) comments/demands/notifications/etc are ignored:
(1. You'll get a warning. (2. I'll hit your character's weakspot for MASSIVE damage (20 damage. If your health is below twenty, then I will give your opponent two extra moves.) (3. You will be ejected from that round in particular. (4. You will be ejected from the game altogether.
Play by the rules and we won't have any issues. I'll do my best to work with you guys if there's an issue.
3. Okay, so how do you play? Well, first you type the turn number at the top of your post in bold. Then, write a small story of what you're doing to your opponent. Then, you write, in bold, a short summary of your actions at the end of your post. Then, you wait. I will post a summary of whether your actions succeeded or not and how much damage was dealt at the end of each turn. A turn is made up of both players making a single move. So, for example, Johnny would attack in one post, then Conor would counter-attack in one post, they'd wait, and then I'd post the turn summary. You cannot continue playing your round until I've posted a turn summary. You are only allowed one move per turn unless I say otherwise. Moves can be used for anything- Hiding, Running away, Attacking, preparing a trap, using a special move, anything. However, a move does not mean an entire novel. A move has reasonable limits. It is a general action. For example, one move will allow you to perform a particular action or attack. It does not mean you can attack with weapon A, break his leg, blow down the building, and throw him off a cliff all in one turn.
Some short tips: -Please don't write for your opponent's character too much. You control your own. -Please try to write about one paragraph at least. Essay style posts are fine but be aware that people might not bother reading, although as a Proctor my duty is to do so.
Also, one short note: In order to keep things moving, if your opponent doesn't do anything within approximately 24 hours after you start the turn, then upon your request the turn shall end and the next one will begin.
Here's an example:
Curt-100
Curt ran at Johnny, opening his mouth wide and collecting a bright ball of light. All around, the scenery lit up as Curt bellowed "IMMA CHARGIN' MAH LAZOR"
Action- Special move: Lazor (Part 1) -----------------------------------
4. Irrelevant References that shall go flying over our heads.
5. Character Abilities:
-Special Moves: You're all granted one special move to start with, and can purchase two more for a maximum of three. This move can be anything. It can be a meme, a summoning, a simply downright badass move, something that grants you a temporary status effect (like being more resistant to damage)- it can be just about anything, as long as you clear it by me first. All special moves have levels. They all start out at level one. When you win a round or achieve an.. Well, achievement, you get a purchase point. With a purchase point, you can gain a new Special move, or you can upgrade a current one (which can do stuff like remove the need to charge it, increase the damage, etc.) up to Level 3. Each purchase point you spend on a special move brings it up by one level. Also, you can only have 3 different special moves.
-Abilities: You start out with two abilities at level one. Abilities are just general capabilities for your character that always remain active. While they aren't as powerful as special moves, they are always active in the background. I'll tell you if the ability sounds too much like a special move or is too powerful so don't worry. For example, you might choose to give you character a gunslinger ability (increasing their proficiency with firearms) and a karate ability. Or maybe you want super-strength and the ability to walk through walls? You could even get abilities that give you a chance of getting an extra move every now and then, or allow you a better chance of dodging an attack! Just list them, and I'll say whether or not they're good, and then I'll work with you to define the parameters of those abilities. Think about it. You're bounded only by the limits of your imagination. It could be a teleport ability, an ability that heals you faster, reduces damage. Abilities can be upgraded to level 4. For example, without Gunslinger a person has general use of firearms. They can't pull a Revolver Ocelot and ricochet a bullet, or hit a target at a 1000 meters with a handgun. At level 4 however, you can make Neo from the Matrix look like an infant trying out an 8 gauge.
As for upgrading/purchasing new abilities, you can own up to five different abilities at once. Each ability costs only one purchase point, and if you decide you don't like an ability that you did earlier, you can go ahead and sell it for a half of a purchase point. All abilities can be upgraded, but the level cap is set at level 4. Each upgrade costs approximately one purchase point. Again, I'll work with you to define exactly what each upgrade grants.
-Weapons: You are allowed up to three weapons of any kind from the very beginning. You cannot carry more weapons than three, but you can change them at any time outside of battle. However, I am very aggresive about my balancing, so don't be surprised if your gattling gun doesn't handle quite like you wanted it to. In fact, you'd do better to get something slightly more reasonable that a tank turret. While you cannot run out of ammo for your weapons, these are perhaps the weaker bits of your character. However, they do play their role, so don't forget them completely. Also, I don't really care what you use as a weapon. You could use nunchucks made from a cactus for all I care. Remember, it all rests in your ability to write about it. Again, for the record, this is crazy Smash Bro style combat. If you get a Davy Crockett and nuke your opponent that won't automatically knock him out of the round.
Upgrading your weapons: Like all other parts of your character, weapons can be upgraded with just one purchase point. This level cap sits at 3 upgrades, and, as always, I'll work with you to define the specifics of these upgrades. Usually a weapon upgrade means more damage, accuracy, some sort of modified capability, etc.
A special note about weapons: Weapons can easily be combined into your abilities or special moves to increase their effectiveness. For example, a sniper rifle becomes more effective with a 'bullseye' (or whatever you like to call it.) ability.
6. Purchase points/ Achievements:
At the start, you have zero purchase points. You can earn purchase points, which allow you to upgrade your character in all of the ways mentioned above, by winning fights, or by completing achievements. Purchase points can be used at any time, even during fights, to upgrade your character. An achievement occurs when you meet a certain condition during battle. I'll have specific achievements for different rounds, and I'll also have a main achievement list set up. Meeting one achievement grants 1 purchase point
7- Arenas/Rounds. When two characters/players have been selected to fight each other the game will begin when the Proctor posts the Arena. Each Arena is specific to those players and exists solely for mayhem and destruction. Arenas can change over time. An example is you may begin on a high speed bullet train that crashes and you find yourself in an abandonded city. Something like that.
Arenas all have different areas. Each 'area' is essentially one square mile. It requires one move to traverse a mile. An example of an Arena would be thus:
Settings: You are both in a tavern in the wilderness. One mile to the east, there is a beach. One mile to the west, there is a waterfall. Two miles to the north, there is an abandoned military base. Three miles to the south, there's an abandoned mine. Four miles to the south, there's a mountain. The tavern is at the center, and your arena is five miles wide in all directions. Feel free to spend a move searching around an area if you'd like to find some environmental advantages. Also, you're not restricted to just what I've allowed you. Get creative.
All arenas/rounds have a list of achievements to be performed on that Map.
The following achievements are all around default and exist in all rounds/arenas.
The list is as follows: - Attack using your environment five times. (think along the lines of explosive barrels, knocking a building down onto your opponent, something of that sort.) - Be the first person to attack. - Win a fight - Win with 25 health or more left. - Win with 50 health or more left. (Highly unlikely) - Set and execute a trap. - Use all three parts of your character at once. (Note: This means you must find a way to combine all three traits into one action. It does not mean you can use each individual trait individually three times in one move.) - Use one special move ten times. (Doesn't need to be in the same round) - Use only your weapons throughout the entire battle. (No using your abilities or special moves) - Use only your abilities throughout the entire battle - Use only your environment to attack throughout the entire battle - Do something deemed by the proctor to be undeniably, certifiably amazing @_@ - Survive for 5 CONSECUTIVE turns with 10 health or less - Go completely unscathed for the first 10 turns of the battle (ends with the start of turn 11) - Go a whole match without using any special moves - Go a whole match without using any weaponry - Go a whole match without using any abilities - Deal over 300 damage to your opponent, without regard to whether or not you won. Can be claimed before the end of the fight. (Remember, if players are creative they can heal.) - Take 351 damage to yourself through the course of the fight before dying. (can be claimed before the fight ends) - Never stay in one area longer than two turns through the course of a match - Never leave the starting area through the course of a match. - Force a proctor intervention (See: Orthrus launching a successful nuclear strike on the map) -----------------------------
It looks complex but its simple. You both have one hundred health, you have your characters, and you get one move per turn. You both use that move, turn ends, I post a summary detailing the results, new turn begins.
If you have any more questions, just ask. Please use the following stats in building your character. (Don't worry, by the way, I'll have Orthrus ref for me if I play someone. He's played the original Brawl as well and is experienced with how it works.)
Anyway.
Name: Cerberus. Sex: Male Species: ....Appears to be human physically, but does not share in the typical attributes found amongst humanity. AKA: Demon from hell. Literally. Age: Incomprehensible Paradox... Physical description: Tall and imposing figure. Almost seven feet tall and a rather large bugger. If you run straight into him you'll probably take more damage then if you were to charge into a brick wall. Wears a dark brown thin leather dust coat over his shoulders which in turn reaches down to his calves. Apparently he watched too many Westerns as a child because he looks like an old fashioned Gunslinger. Beneath the coat is a dark, old-fashioned cloth shirt with a deep crimson colored patch of cloth used as a loose scarf. Dark pants, and rugged leather boots that are high as the shins, spurs included, yet strangely silent. A Western fashioned wide-brimmed hat is worn low on the head. Long, un-kept black hair, pale gray eyes. Two gun belts, one around the waist, one diagonal over the torso, contain two different types of ammunition, shining .45 brass shells on the waist belt, and black shotgun shells on the torso belt. Also quite pale. As in, ludicrously not a pint of blood to be found in the veins, pale. Usually appears to be rather amused as a result of a humor that's rather incomprehensible, and generally can be seen enjoying a cigar with a generous helping of whiskey. As for his mental state... Well, Orthrus can testify that he's a f***ing psychopath.
Weapons: Dual Colt Walker .44 Single Action revolvers. (Level One) A breech action over/under 8 gauge shotgun. (Level One) A Masume Long Sword, almost as long as he is tall. Think Sephiroth's lil' toy. (Level One.) Devil's Tail: A 15 foot long chain whip. Well, more of a razor whip considering the fact that every link has a razored spine that's sharpened to an invisible edge. Is used and behaves like a whip and is carried wrapped around the left forearm, the arm being protected by a leather gauntlet hidden beneath the coat. (Level One.) See the Pack Horse ability below to explain the fourth weapon.
Abilities: -Slow Motion Reflexes: The player has extraordinary reflexes which allow him to see various actions in what appears to his brain as literally slow motion. Increases reaction time and chances of countering/negating an attack. Grants one extra move for the turn allowing two moves for that turn. Recharge rate of 10 turns. Does not stack up. (Level One.) -Pack Horse: Allows one extra weapon per level, expanding the arsenal beyond the limit of 3 weapons. Each weapon begins at level one of course. (Level One.)
Special Move: Wolves of Eterne. Summons a pack of 10 lesser demons from Pit Number 03. They manifest as large wolf like figures, appearing dark, and insubstantial. Although they appear to be made of little more then floating smoke, they are quite solid and each weighs in at roughly 30 pounds. When summoned they remain in game until exterminated. At level one they have a total of 10 health, and the pack takes damage collectively. They are leashed to Cerberus and cannot move one 'area' away from him. Where he goes, they go. Like the players, the summon has one move to use as well at every turn. Cerberus has one move, the Wolves have one move. At level one they are simply a large demonic wolf pack, have one move per turn, and obey Cerb's will.
Final Notice: The main rules post was originally written by The Blood Reaper and the credit is his. Various adjustments and edits were made to format Brawl Version 2.0 for the Predator forums. Enjoy.
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Cerberus
Unblooded
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Posts: 46
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Post by Cerberus on Sept 17, 2009 0:08:00 GMT -5
Right, this is a copy/paste from a battle between me and Orth, just the first few turns. First off before you have a heart attack you are NOT required to have posts nearly this long. Even a paragraph is fine, on occasion no story at all is fine (but it means your actions are uncertain.) Orth and I just tend to get into it a bit much. But hopefully you'll get the idea (and enjoy the read.) Blue is the proctor updating the turns, Red is Cerb, green is Orth. It's simple. You get one action. That action is in your move summary. "Blow up the dam." How you DO that action is defined by your story. But you only get one action per summary, so for the most part you can't do two things. IT depends on how you word it, see? So for example, "I shot at Orth. Then I ran through the door into the next building." That's two actions. BUT if you word it properly... "I ran through the door while shooting back at Orth." That's one action. See? You'll get the hang of it. Oh, and one last thing. Two last things.. Regarding chronology it's generally first poster=first action. Actions can be countered sometimes. That doesn't mean you can magically vanish before the enemy fired, but it means that if the enemy is bringing a sword down on you you might be able to block it with your own. Again, depends on story and Proctor's call. Two: Does contain some language, blood, violence, etc. Nothing too serious, but still there. And FINALLY forgive all typos/bad writing. This is over a year/two years old. ^_^ The Blood Reaper/TBR/Curt :
Alright then. For your 'sleep state', you'll regain +1 health per use, be able to effectively shoot your sniper rifle up to two moves away, and your pistol up to one move away. Damage will also be increased by +2 during 'sleep state'. Since 'sleep state' induces only status effects, it will come into effect on the turn after you use it.
Cerb's fight with Colman is officially on the backburner for the time being. Cerberus will carry over all the techniques, abilities, and weapons he has already earned from previous battles, completed or not. Here we go!
Orthrus Vs. Cerberus!
Location: You are in an empty jumbo jet aircraft, flying on an advanced auto-pilot over the Alaskan Aleutian islands during the dead of winter. Should the jet become damaged or destroyed during the fight, it will not mean the end of the battle. I will determine the effects and damage dealt, as well as where you will land. Since you are inside an aircraft, there will be no moving to a different area, though you will be able to leave the aircraft at any time. Once you leave, you will NOT be able to return to the inside of the craft, though you may choose to hang out on the exterior for a bit.
Bonus objectives: - Destroy the airplane with your opponent -but not you- inside. - Destroy the airplane. - Send out a distress signal - Find, take, and use the one parachute (requires a move spent searching) (does not have to be used onboard the aircraft)Cerberus:
The plane was virtually silent save for the expected sounds of the engines and minor turbulence. Everything was still. The operation was on autopilot, and no sign of life was on board, save for two potential heavily armed psychopaths somewhere on the plane... And there is a surprisingly large amount of places to hide on a jumbo jet. Near the far back of the last cabin, coach, was a blue curtain, separating the flight attendants area from the passenger cabins. The curtain was draw. Behind it were a few small doors, stainless steel snack area, chairs, privy, and just to the right was a very small empty room. There was no door to close it off. The floor was the traditional soft, blue carpet. One window was set into the wall, casting a gloomy, gray morning shine into the room. The silence continued, the stillness and lifelessness of the plane complete. ... Suddenly, with a heavy thwump and a woosh of air, a ceiling panel slammed onto the floor. Instantly the room was filled with a cloud of gray dust, the particles swirling eerily in the light. Crouched in the center of the room, two booted feet arched directly on top of the fallen ceiling panel, was a hunched over figure. A gray trench coat was draped over his shoulders. Gleaming shells in the loops of a gunbelt crisscrossed his waist and torso, the brown leather of the belt and golden gleam of the brass stood out against the black shirt worn beneath the coat. A leather holster was strapped to his upper right thigh, though empty. It's contents were in his right hand, the heavy revolver ominously shining in the gray gloom. A large rifle was slung over his back, the wooden stock and jet black metal seemingly dull in comparison. A steel handle could be seen over his shoulder although whatever it was attached to was hidden beneath the coat. His head was tilted down, long, unkept dark hair spilling down, obscuring his face. The window behind him resulted in a shadowed figure of a canine cast on the wall for a brief second, and then with the blink of an eye it was the shadow of a seemingly normal human figure. In that one instant the empty plain, devoid of life, was filled with the presence of a monster, a devil. And that shine of light hidden behind the curtain of hair and shadow, were the eyes of a psychopath. *** I straightened and stood tall, long strands of hair dangling in front of my eyes. The swirling dust was quickly settling down, the revolver once more spinning and whistling in one gloved hand. With a flourish I deposited the machine into it's holster and raised both hands to the edges of my coat. I gently lifted it slightly, and then snapped it down, sending the collected dust flying off. I straightened my collar, shaking my head, sending more dust flying off. I cracked my neck to the right, a satisfying crackle greeting my ears. "Ahhh...." Another game.... Another battle... I grinned. Oh, yeeesss.... I bent down and snatched a black Western style hat from the floor, shook it off, and with a flourish donned it on my head, tilting the brim down slightly over my features. Adrenaline poured through my veins. I was giddy with excitement... The last dog had been no fun. Insulting, bastardizing...Spoiled my fun once too many times, didn't he? Why, yes he did... Yes, he, diiidd.... A solid fight though, that I'll give him. But why spoil this happiness, this fun... It hasn't even begun yet, has it now? No. "He he." I chuckled slightly and swept my coat back, reaching for the silver flask. Nothing like quality scotch to start off a party. And while I generally preferred more old fashioned establishments, before the human race became so damned boring and mediatized, but on a flying steel machine over 30,000 feet in the atmosphere.. Well, there was going to be one hell of a party up here, and if history was anything to go bye, it's life probability hit the negative range the instant I opened my eyes. Now then, I'm on another arena, and was stuffed inside a bloody crawlspace with another man (or perhaps a women... Perhaps an it?) on board. Hopefully this one would be as fun as the last... A shine of teeth was seen beneath my lips. I whispered slightly. "Now then mastah (see rule #2,) let's see what you have for me this time..."
And I stepped out into the plane. --- Move summary: Search the plane, particularly for a parachute. Orthrus: The whine of heavy turbine engines accompanied the steady vibrations beneath me. The noise was literally deafening- if passengers would have complained to me that day I might have slapped them upside the head. Blue skies passed outside windows, but I couldn't see any of it. My current location was dimly lit, cramped, claustrophobic, and potentially dangerous. I was lying flat on my stomach, dust caking itself into my clothes, with only a meter of space above me, lit solely by the Surefire flashlights that could be found on every airplane. The flashlight was held in my left hand, a potentially innocent thing, but my right hand was working on something much more conspicuous. Namely- fiddling with the primary feed loop that snaked directly into one of the two turbine engines. Heavy hydraulic cables were strung taut over my head, one of them painfully pressing into my shoulder, the price of wedging myself under it as I made my way to my goal. Yeah....I was crawling through an airplane wing, while it was still running. And people thought terrorism was simple, just walk onto a plane, wave a gun into the air and yell for Allah. Hah! Behind me stretched a torn apart engine compartment, a hell of a mass of electronic and hydraulic cables (God knows how many kilos I'd crawled under), a jagged hole in the thin aluminum skin of the fuselage, Dragunov's legacy, and a torn open effluent tank (Don't ask).
My gloved hands carefully worked at the feed system, protected from the heat of the metal they were currently setting up for destruction. In a way, this heat was keeping me alive. At this altitude, the exterior temperature was over negative thirty Celsius. My body was protected by a pitch black Cossack Greatcoat, a woolen Shinel, though it's previous glory was now tarnished in layers of brownish gray dust. The Coat stretched down from my neck to my ankles, clasped over my torso with two straps. The Holster strapped over my left hip was completely obscured, and were it not for the second law of thermo-dynamics, the Greatcoat, leather gloves, and high quality boots, I'd already have hypothermia.
With exquisite delicacy, I slowly turned around a connecting valve with a small wrench borrowed from a mechanic kit. The wrench would be returned quiet soon, not that it's life expectancy would last another few hours.The valve connected a thick hydraulic cable into the Plane (Generic term for flaps and so forth) box, compressed fluid flowing in and out to maneuver slats, flaps, and toss off the general pigeon. A few seconds later a compressed spray of purple hydraulic fluid burst out from around the valve casing. I immediately stopped unscrewing it, and very slowly turned it the other way, just far enough for the flow to cease.
My work with the hydraulics was finished, and it took me only a single turn to come face to face with the Engine. Flakes of metal and dust dropped from the roof as the heavy engine fuel ignited. I was less than a meter away from the ongoing reaction, only a piece of metal separating me from the pumping cylinders and spinning turbine. Where the hell was a flask of vodka when I needed one? Oh yeah, back on the bloody surface. What kind of airliner was this anyway? Didn't they have any idea how stressful flight could get? You don't expect a man to crawl through severals meters of machinery fully capable of killing him and not get frightened. I needed some alcohol for my nerves and champagne just didn't cut it.
The engine case was firmly secured via several bolted pylons, in addition to welding and riveting. I pulled up the package I'd been dragging this whole way. Clutched in my hand was a relatively large metal cylinder, a thin metal rod taped to it's side. Cyrillic lettering was stamped on yellow paint over the bottom, -4, as well as the standard serial number and so forth. The Cylinder was a Russian OZM-4 bounding land mine. The metal rod taped to it's side was a standard MUV trip wire fuze. Typical of Russian construction, it was quiet simple, though effective. The MUV looked like a small antenna more than anything, but two holes were drilled through it, one over the other. Two pins with circular ends were currently lodged in both of these holes, resembling a grenade pin more than anything.
I pulled myself forward to the engine (not a little bit apprehensively) and wedged the mine between two pylons, right next to the engine. The top of the cylinder had two holes, one of which was threaded. Moving awkwardly due to my position, I screwed the MUV fuze into the threaded OZM fuze well, checking to make sure it was absolutely secure. With the fuze tightly in place, as well as the cylinder, I unwound the roll of thin wire I'd dropped into a Coat pocket. Dragging myself over to the hydraulic line I'd loosened, I carefully wrapped the wire right behind the valve, tying it off with two knots. I pulled the wire up to tighten it, and very carefully slipped it through the lower pin in the fuze. I took me over a minute to tie the wire to the pin, because on one hand I had to keep it as taut as possible, but at the same time I didn't want to pull out the pin just yet. If I pulled out he pin now, the mine would not explode, but it would be annoying as hell for me to have to put it back in, untie the wire, and then retie it. A little after a minute in a half I pulled back and examined my handiwork. The land mine was wedged between the engine and a pylon, a trip wire fuzed into it and tied to a loosened hydraulic cable. A perfect set up as far as I was concerned. My last action before leaving the wing (to my relief) was to take hold of the upper safety pin and yank it out of the MUV. There was nothing more than a piece of metal less than the size of my little finger holding back the mine from detonating. With a long, weary sigh, I turned back and started crawling back through the wing, picking up the discarded SVD on the way. At the far end I looked at the effluent tank... and groaned.
I'd just rigged the Starboard engine for detonation, but this wasn't my first work of the day. One of the Port engines was identically rigged, and yet a third land mine was currently enjoying itself directly on top of the Jets fuel tank. What I'd done was set up a mechanical time bomb for the plane to completely shred itself. Before actually setting up the mines, I'd started out with a little trip to the cock pit (Courtesy of another effluent tank. Delightful little design flaw) and adjusted the autopilot directions. It wasn't too difficult, after spending half an hour reviewing the Pilot manual and munching on pretzels. The result was that the plane was no longer heading for a permanent destination, but was to fly to my designated location and then turn around, heading back into the direction where it'd come from. This point would be hit in about twenty minutes, which this time was courtesy of a pencil and napkin. I'd also adjusted the autopilot to lower the plane to an altitude of 3,500 Meters, low enough for me to leave the plane without risking decompression sickness (At 10,000 meters, I'd have had to pre-beath oxygen for an hour and then breath it all the way down.)
The moment the plane would turn around, the motion of the flaps would send a back flow of fluid pressure through the hydraulic lines. While normally this was perfectly all right, there was little less than a single thread along the valve line holding the cable taut. Once the plane turned, the pressure would blow the line straight out of it's housing, and this line was attached to a taut tripe wire. The MUV was designed in a similar fashion to a mechanical pen. Above the two pins was a striker rod with a wound up spring around it. The only thing holding that spring and striker up were the two pins, a safety pin and a trigger pin. I'd removed the safety pin myself, which left only the trigger pin separating the striker from the explosive below it. When the trip wire was pulled, it would yank the trigger pin out with it, which would plunge the striker straight into a small amount of primary explosive, which in turn would trigger a charge of secondary explosive. That charge would blow the mine half a meter into the air, where it would explode, riddling the fuel cables, hydraulics, and engine with shrapnel. If I was lucky, the fuel in the lines would ignite, but even if it didn't, the fuel tank was going bye bye without a doubt. Jet fuel was hard to ignite, it wouldn't burn even if I'd dropped a match into it. But something like this set up was akin to pouring gasoline over a kitten and throwing it into Hell.
Twenty minutes until the two engines and fuel tank blew to Hell. That gave me twenty minutes to find a parachute and get off of here, hopefully before whoever else on this plane found me. Hell, the only reason we probably hadn't met was because I'd avoided the main fuselage at all costs. I'd navigated the plane by means of several maintenance access tunnels, wing space, and lavatories (Damn tanks.)
I started to make my way back to the body of the plane. From there I'd have to find the rear cargo hold, which would almost certainly hold a few parachutes. I just hoped I wouldn't run into Comrade Passenger just yet.
-------------------------- Rigged plane engines and fuel tank to blow in twenty minutesCurt: Cerberus Vs. Orthrus- Turn 1 summary Cerberus- 100% Orthrus- 100%
The airplane detonates in three turns (turn 4). turn 2 starts now.
Also, a quick note, it's actually night, and Orthrus is still in the wing.
Curt picked up the microphone piece, connected to the main black box of the radio by a smooth, coiled wire, and stared at the many LCD monitors that filled his field of vision. Two of them were direct feeds from the contestant's brains, allowing his to see exactly what they see, as well as hear anything they hear. He couldn't help but appreciate the capacity of nanomachines. Two more monitors were filled with the contestant's vital signs, including blood oxygen saturation, blood pressure, pulse rate, respiratory rate, remaining blood volume, pain levels, stress levels, CO2 blood saturation, blood sugar level, core body temperature, ECGs, and even an EKG display. All thanks to the wonders of nanomachines. Everything else that was displayed was via live low-level surveilance satellite feeds as well as pre-placed cameras and an advanced system of electromagnetic transmissions, allowing me to hijack any electronics with a lense for a live feed. If all else failed, I could rely on several devoted GPS satellites, the built-in nanos, and an experimental electromagnetic "sonar" pulse, which could display selected targets in true color at any angle I need.
I depressed the transmission button on the microphone, directly piping my voice into their brains via nanomachines. "Good, so you're all awake. Cerberus, you've become quite the walking armory these days, haven't you? Well, don't let it go to your head. This brother of yours has proven himself to be quite clever. I expect a hell of a fight from both of you. Happy hunting."Cerberus: I walked slowly down the empty cabin, my booted feet perfectly silent save for the slightest clink of the silver spurs. New boots since my fight with Tidus and I hadn't taken the time to remove them. Besides, even though it gave away my position I rather liked the sound. And there was quite a range of stylish actions to be performed and in the end there was nothing quite as cinematic as a slow dramatic footfall with the cling of spurs behind them as the opponents approach for a showdown... Ah, a denizen of Hell I might have been, but even demons bow to the glory of Clint Eastwood. Other then my slow but steady pace forward, no part on my body moved, saved for the constant spin of the revolver in my left hand and my eyes, hidden in the shadow of the hat. My eyeballs casually moved up and down each side of the cabin, examining the ceiling, the floor, the seats, the luggage cabinets, virtually everything withn range, thinking of ways to use them, effectively and/or just for the sake of entertainment. I slowed my pace even further as I approached the blue curtain which separated the cabin and the small area behind it, beyond which was yet another cabin. At the same time I snapped the revolver to a still, pointing the barrel up and keeping my finger ready on the trigger. I walked slowly, deliberately, and stopped right beside the curtain, side stepping slightly to the left. Silence... My ears strained to hear anything beyond the rumble of the engines (was that a clanging I just heard?) and came up with nothing except for a very faint incessant beeping. That'd be just my luck, we hadn't even started this party and the plane would be crashing. With that I shrugged, and yanked the curtain aside, the revolver leaving my head's side and snapping forward and side to side in a blur. Empty. Nothing to be see in the stretching cabin beyond either. Uhg.. If I have to search this entire bloody plane then I'm going to lose respect for this fellow before I even have a chance for a first impression. But then again, my first impressions usually occur by a man's actions before a duel actually begins. I began to step forward but stopped with one foot in the air, sforze,I slowly set my foot back down, and paused. Two still seconds passed, and in the next instant the handle behind my skull vanished and the sword it was attached to was slammed directly into the center of the privy door, leaving only a foot of mirror polished steel shining. Instantly I wrenched it back out and slammed a booted foot into the door and at the same time snapped the revolver forward, cocking the hammer before my arm finished stretching forward... And freezing in disappointment. I sighed and turned back to the corridor, resuming my slow pace. I returned both the long sword and the revolver to their respective holsters and continued on to the pilot's cabin. The normally locked steel door was just slightly ajar, resulting in another dramatic burst in with gun moment which also ended in disappointment groan. There was nothing inside, except for an open manual tossed on one of the seats and a spilled bag of pretzels underfoot. I paused slightly and frowned... Seems like my hidden comrade had been busy. I lifted the manual and glanced at the page before tossing it aside. Something about effluent tanks and wing connections or other... Hell, if he's sitting in the shit tank then power to him. I'm not following him in there. Nope. Nuh-uh. I turned and slammed the heavy steel door shut and slid the multiple deadbolts home. I didn't want any unwanted surprised before I finished my orientation, and since I didn't know the man on board ( assuming he actually was, this was too quiet for my tastes) could be a yellowgut dog who wouldn't hesitate to shoot me in the back. I removed my hat and tossed it onto the co-pilot's seat, sliding into the pilot's seat with a relaxed sigh myself. All right then... Altitude was set for only 3,500 hundred meters... Far too low, standard cruising altitude was supposed to be set for roughly 30,000 feet... It didn't make sense. I leaned over slightly and took a glance at the autopilot and blinked. It was set to turn around within roughly twenty minutes and go back the way we came. Which also didn't make any sense, for an arena I would figure a straight cruise was to be expected at a lethal altitude, not down here... I clicked my tongue slightly and glanced back at the manual and pretzels, still ignoring the continuing soft beep of the alarm. Hmm.. I turned back to the panels and slid open a slightly hidden compartment revealing a liquid plasma screen and a keyboard and began to type away furiously, calling up a flight recorder log. Outdated planes had these blackboxes as they're called stowed in the plane for information retrieval in the event of a crash but modern ones also had state of the art computer equipment. Modern age fellows, damn near everything is computerized these days. Even your cars, believe it or not. DENIED Hm... I kept typing. DENIED I frowned and typed faster.
DENIED A guttural growl echoed around the cabin and I glared at the panel.
FUCK OFF! DENIED! I gasped and stared. Did this thing just seriously tell me to fuck off? What kind of bloody government computer tells someone to f-... "Oh we'll just see about this you Microsoft bastard." I leaned back, rose one foot, and slammed the boot into the computer. There was a clicking sound and the screen rippled. I leaned back and glared, tapping my fingers on the armrest. The screen flashed static for a second and then buzzed back. DENIED flickered on the screen. I tilted my head down and growled at the thing. It flicked once again and vanished into static and then returned. ACCESS GRANTED I tilted my head to the right and smiled just slightly. "That's right, run back to your Bill Gates." I went back to typing furiously and a few seconds later the log flashed up on the screen, showing everything from departure time to destination and any and all changes in the system. Apparently after take off the plane did exactly as expected, it climbed to a 30,000 feet altitude and leveled, after which it was expected to fly straight with no destination in mind. Apparently it was set to fly in a straight line until it's fuel ran out or it's passengers decided to take it down all the quicker. And then what caught my eye was the change in the autopilot program. Although the plane had flown with no change for the last six hours roughly, there was a sudden change in Otto (I had immediately dubbed the autopilot Otto. Otto, Ottomatic? Get it? No? ....Yeaaah, never mind.) Apparently he had been disabled for a bit and then the plane was manually brought down to our current altitude, after which Otto was reset and programmed to continue it's course for the next twenty minutes after which it was set for a sudden turnaround... And unless there was a pilot here who decided to commit suicide, blow the emergency door, jump out, somehow reseal and repressurize the cabin and leave everything in pristine order, (Somehow I rather doubt that happened,) that someone must still be on board... Somewhere. Hm... And then the next entry in the log... I blinked for a moment, trying to make sense of it. And then broke out into a grin that could have shattered the Devil's mirror itself. The grin stretched, and then broke into cold guttural laughter. "So that's what the bugger's been up to.... My, my. Clever bastard, I'll give ya that." On the screen in white lettering were three sentences just staring at me. MainAH-23-Por.Win.-Accessed 7-23-05-16[Tu-20-5-08] MainAH-23-Por.Win.-Accessed 7-28-54-02[Tu-20-5-08] MainAH-33 Str.Win.-Accessed 7-39-34-35[Tu-20-5-08] Ahahaha. I pulled up a console and furiously typed for roughly thirty seconds and then shoved the panel back into it's slot.
I whirled, snatched the hat from the chair, and shoved the deadbolts back, and froze in mid dramatic exit. I slowly turned my head and stared at the stack of CD’s on one of the shelves. After a moment I shrugged and began to flip through them. Occasionally I would smile slightly in remembrance or cringe in pain, occasionally snapping a disk in half and tossing it back on the shelf. After awhile the stack dwindled until one gray disc was remaining. “Random Mix” was scrawled in sloppy letters on it. I shrugged and turned back to the computer panel. The hell with it, if it’s good, it’s good, if not, oh well. I slotted the disc into a drive and after some quick typing set the PA system to broadcast. And I turned and resumed my dramatic quick exit and began to move down the cabin aisle at a brisk pace. Behind me Otto was displaying his new instructions. The plane would fly straight with no change in course. However, within the next sixty seconds the plane would perform a ridiculously steep tilt upwards for roughly three seconds after which it would tilt straight back down for another three and level back out, continuing it's forward course. And in those sixty seconds my little friend was about to have one hell of a surprise. For one, the hatches were disabled remotely. Operation of the hatch would be impossible unless he literally forced it using physical force but I was counting on that chance that he wouldn't have nearly enough time. After all, he had entered the wing but the log showed no exit. Whatever it was he'd been doing in there was probably still in progress but in the end it made no difference. His plans were finished. I quickly moved down the hall and slid to the side of the emergency exit door located just a bit forward of the left wing. I grabbed on to a seat and braced myself tight and then froze as the first guitar riffs reached my ears. A slow, wide grin spread on my lips. Ozzy Osbourne, a pure metal God, and the opening strings for “I don’t wanna Stop.” So fitting. At this altitude it shouldn't be a major problem but suction would still occur. I reached forward with my other hand and grabbed the door handle and tilted it slightly, revealing a glass watch face on my wrist. And then I froze, the plane once more perfectly still, my eyes frozen on the ticking second hand, the blaring music a few seconds away from going into it’s riff. Tick... Tick... Tick... Tick... And with no warning I yanked down the handle. Nothing happened for a split second except for the BING-BONG of the seatbelt sign. And then the entire door exploded outwards, vanishing into the gray sky. In perfect cue with the tune. A huge rush of win occurred, tugging at my clothes and hair (my hat tossed behind my head and only held on by the string looped around my neck). Loose items wished past my skull and emptied out of the cabin. My elbow strained as I gripped the plastic bar and then my free hand suddenly snaked out and snatched a small object which was about to be sucked out. A small bottle of first class brandy... I looked guilty left and right and slowly tucked it away beneath my trench coat with a grin. A few seconds later and the heavy rush of air ceased, leaving a heavy roar of wind and of the engines. I let go of my brace and slid forward, standing in front of the opening. I cracked my neck to the left and slowly pulled out the Masume longsword, it's ridiculously long blade seemingly glowing with anticipation. I stood there for one second. Two... Three.. And jumped out of the door, instantly whisked away from the sightline, leaving behind nothing but Ozzy saying “ I don’t know what I’m doing, all I know is that I don’t wanna stop.” ***** Move Summary: Jump out of the plane (?!) after reprogramming and sabatoging and hereby disabling manual hatch access (trapping Orth inside the wing with no future changes to Otto being possible)
Editory note: Adjust all gray morning light/sky detail to a night sky, in accordance with our Master's (see Rule #2) time policy. Orthrus: With Dragunov's legacy slung over my back, I dragged myself over the support ribbing at the base of the wing, wrapped my hand around the bottom of the wing access hatch, and pushed it upward. Only nothing happened. I stared at the hatch for a couple seconds, and then tried to push it up once more. After five seconds of swearing and death threats, I turned away from the maintenance hatch and crawled away from the big, dull, smug, fucking red label that read "Locked". Short, and to the point......bitch.
And it wasn't a normal lock either. These things could be unlocked from the inside manually, unless there was some emergency which would compromise the fuselage, in which case a pilot would lock it remotely. Since I couldn't unlock it from here, and since no Big Boomers had gone off, then Comrade Passenger had also started munching on pretzels. Bastard. But those Capitalist produced Pretzels and pilot manual weren't a "Airplane Mechanic for Dummies" book (I preferred manuals) Just because the hatch was locked didn't mean I couldn't leave the plane. Hell, I could have left the wing then and there; the puzzle was doing it without hitting a very sudden stop at the end.
Barely two meters to the side of the access hatch was a series of thick black cables bundled together via metal rings. These were all the cables leading into the wing, deemed the A-60 series of cable runs. Different models had different designations, such as A-61, 62, and so forth, but in general, all cables leading into wings were in the -60s range. The cable bundle passed into the fuselage via a Junction box, which was set into the wall in a relatively large rectangular metal sheet. A maintenance access. These were important cables after all, and to service them there had to be a crawlspace for mechanics to reach them. Such access hatches didn't even need special tools to open up. Unless you counted a flick of my wrist as a tool.
My body kept the hatch open as I wormed my way inside it, and then automatically flipped shut behind me. The bundle of cables snaked over my head, and I dragged myself forward with my right hand along the cables, my left holding the Surefire flashlight. It ran only a couple meters into the fuselage, at which point the A-60 run turned into the interior of the fuselage, while another access hatch was squared into the floor. That hatch opened up into a small equivalent of a mechanics room, which was really just the area where flight attendants spent their time, with Coffee machines and food supplies for passengers lying around like so much garbage.
Someone else might have dropped straight in with Ki-Yis and hollywood one liners, but I was never for Machoism, and I already knew where Comrade Passenger was. In order to completely lock out the wing access hatch like that, he'd have to had remotely done it from the Cockpit. I was in the Starboard wing, which put the cockpit to my right. I couldn't maneuver with a rifle in these quarters, even if it had been a Carbine, which left me with the Makarov. I was staring right at the access hatch below me, and with a barely perceptible click, I turned off the Surefire and stowed it in my Greatcoat. Faint illumination shone through the hatch below me, and I reached through the overlapping folds of my Greatcoat with my right hand, easily found a practiced grip on the Makarov, and pulled it from it's holster, my hand automatically thumbing off the safety in mid-draw.
I took one deep breath, gripped the hatch handle with my left hand, and went to work. I pulled up the handle, twisted it to the side, and the hatch fell open under its own weight. I instantly followed after it...partially. I swung out of the hatch from chest up, most of my body remaining inside the hatch as an anchor. I hung upside down from the open ceiling for a few seconds, Makarov in two hand grip and pointed right at a blue curtain. Empty. Not that I'd expected Comrade Passenger to be right in here. No, he'd be somewhere in the forward section. I pulled myself back up into the crawlspace, thumbed the safety again, and slipped the pistol between my teeth, holding onto the slide with my canines for a few brief seconds. Leaning forward again, I gripped the edges of the hatch directly before me with both hands and slid forward, tumbling out of the hatch in a somersault and catching myself on the edge. I hung for a second, and let go, dropping with catlike silence to the floor. The Makarov immediately left me teeth and returned to my hand, safety off and ready for action. Before setting out however, I took one brief moment to turn up the collar of my coat, slap down the dust, and straighten it out. Hey, if you wanted excuses for vanity, than black was a good color for intimidation.
Carefully, I leaned around the curtain, looking both, left and right like some kid about to cross the street. Both sides were clear, and I stepped out into the aisle, holding the Makarov at the ready in two hand grip. I was currently near the mid section, and Comrade Passenger should have been in the forward area, unless he moved faster than the Devil. But something wasn't right. It was a little too loud in here, much too cold. A high pitched whistling sound whined over the sound of the turbines, one that hadn't been there previously.
I must have looked like either a psychopath or a Red Mafiya hitman; the pitch black coat flapped around my legs, my entire body obscured by it. When Ruskies attack aye?
Moving slowly and quietly, I made my way across the middle cabin, swerving around the separating wall with a quick turn and glancing sweep, checking the area to be clear. I kept walking in the forward section now, the Cockpit up ahead. I constantly made minuscule glances to the left and right rows, checking between seats while keeping my main gaze focused forward. At the same time I cautiously checked the luggage bins, and ceiling, anything that might have made a hiding spot. The whistling was much louder here, and for the first time I felt something that sent a chill up my spine. Wind.... My slow walk turned into a brisk jog, and seconds later I was right at the cockpit, staring out into black sky as wind whipped by me. "Son of a bleeding, impregnated, masochistic bitch..."
Entered fuselage lounge via A-60 cable run tunnel. Made way to cockpit door and found where Cerberus took a leap of faith.turn 2 summary
As Orthrus enters the fuselage, Cerberus' adjustments trigger Orthrus' mines prematurely, causing the loss of both wings at the 1/4 length mark. Also, Orth recieves a superficial, but bleeding, laceration across his left cheek due to the fuel tank mine exploding. Cerberus has escaped the aircraft. The jet will soon begin to experience severe deviations in heading, as well as assume brick physics.
Cerb- 100 Orth- 100
Turn 3 begins now
Curt grinned wildly when he saw Cerb suddenly appear out of the side of the plane on his live satellite feed. He'd known it was Cerb anyway, thanks to the perspective feed, but it was still fun to watch.
He depressed the microphone switch and said "As Orthrus enters the fuselage, Cerberus' adjustments trigger Orthrus' mines prematurely, causing the loss of both wings at the 1/4 length mark. Also, Orth recieves a superficial, but bleeding, laceration across his left cheek due to the fuel tank mine exploding. Cerberus has escaped the aircraft. The jet will soon begin to experience severe deviations in heading, as well as assume brick physics. You'd better hurry, Orth."
Then, as the plane started to smoke and dive, Curt sat the microphone down and watched intently. This was going to be good. Aerodynamic Surgery-Turn 3 ---- My entire body was instantly chilled, the coat draped around my shoulders blown off and vanished into the skyline. I payed no mind to the chill nor the extraordinary strength of the wind trying to shove me backwards. In the end gravity would overcome any wind, no matter how determined, and so I plummeted past the plane exterior, the broad expanse of the wing edge coming at me ridiculously fast. My heightened reflexes are virtually the only thing which allowed my mental comprehension to be able to perform this trick. Every bit of my focus was on this action. The plane wing was already beginning to tilt upwards at a slight angle and becoming steeper rapidly. My body plummeted in what seemed like five seconds to my mind but in reality was barely even one. The side of the plane was skimming barely half a foot to my left, windows whipping past my skull in a blur, and yet I could make out each and every individual window. Quite literally, everything appeared to be in slow motion. Although at these high speeds slow motion wasn't exactly slow. The base of the wing where it was attached to the plane was rapidly approaching. A bare two seconds more and I would literally be smashed by the thick steel. I closed my eyes and gripped the blades handle, forcing my mind to slow the world. Or more literally, to go into super drive. Let's have us some fun... I opened my eyes. The world was now in truly slow motion. The wing creeping towards me. Five feet away. I exhaled, literally being able to see the crystals formed by my breath in in the freezing night sky. I lifted the blade over my head. The wing creeped towards my mid-section. I closed my eyes once more. Blinked. And opened them. Instantly the world rushed back in and the plane wing wing all but teleported and closed off the five feet of distance. Any normal human would be a bloody mist. But I wasn't there for the wing to meet me. At the exact instant I had snapped my foot straight forward, slamming it straight into the steel edge of the wing at the angle. The curved steel result in my foot and ankle skidding forward rather then being snapped and shattered into a million bone fragments. In essence I literally kicked off of the blunted surface of the plane edge and propelled my body upwards into a gymnastic flip. My body twisted backwards and upside down in mid air. The wing edge began to pass by barely a foot beneath my skull... And I slammed the steel blade straight down through the white wing in a blaze of sparks. The shock reverberated through my entire arm but I didn't even notice it. At the same time I never noticed the dull explosion nor the sudden myriad of jagged holes near the end of the wing. My attention was solely focused on this move. The plane wing was already tilted at an upwards angle, diagonally about to fly away from beneath me. I was still upside down in the air, my body perfectly straight. The sword was impaled into the steel, the handle jutting out beneath me. Time was creeping past was more. My hand let go of the handle, the fingers slowly edging away from it. My body passed an inch, the wing carrying the handle of the sword back another inch away from me. And then I snapped my fingers forward, and shoved against the blade handle briskly. Using just my fingertips against that blade handle I shoved my body into a forward somersault, right myself, was now crouched in mid-air, facing forward and down the plane, my feet just half a foot about the plane and rapidly moving to meet with it. I stretched my hand down, grabbed the blade, and wrenched it out of the steel, moving it in an arch directly over my head. And at the same time my booted feet slammed directly onto the metal wing, the Masume longsword also being slammed at diagonal angle straight into the wing right next to me. The plane wing was now tilted upwards at a steep angle and as a result, I was sliding down the wing at a rapidly increasing speed, gripping the Masume long sword which in turn, was slicing through the wing like a scalpel through paper. People don't tend to realize this, but planes are bloody huge and it took a substantial while for my body to slide down the wing and slice through it. I was sliding down the plane wing with a blazing trail of sparks bringing up the rear. Otto was continuing with his programming and the wing was already beginning to level out and begin it's downward nosedive. By the time I was halfway across the wing the plane was level but the sheer momentum built by the downwards slide carried my body at the suicidal speed forward, still tearing straight through the wing. The plane began to tilt downwards and hence I began to be sliding upwards. My form began to quickly slow as basic friction and physics worked against me. Damn Newton... The man never failed to ruin my fun, but I wasn't finished yet. Only a quarter of the distance left. The wind steel tore back at my body. The wing was starting to tilt upwards from my perspective. Fifteen percent... Ten... I was rapidly slowing to a crawl. Just five.. And then the wing was completely point at a downard angle and my ride finally ceased. Right at the edge of the wing. The sword blade finally froze, impaled literally at the final edge of the wing. Any further and it would have torn out, sending itself and me into a free fall and leaving the plane behind. As it was, I was a split second from reversing my direction and sliding back down the wing. But, in my usual defiement of reality and Newtonian laws, I refused to let gravity get the best of me. I rose one foot and slammed it down into the angled steel and flipped upwards, pivoting in a delicate balance on the sword hilt. My forward momentum had caused the blade to tear forward slightly and now it was literally impaled in the actual edge of the plane. If the plane had been perfectly level the sword would be sticking out horizontally from the wing side. As it was at the downward angle, I was literally balancing vertically on top of the blade, delicately hanging. And then I slowly tilted to the side, gathered speed, and was suddenly on the underside of the wing, sliding back towards the front of the plane, the blade ripping another line through the wing with surgical precision. The insane rush continued down, the wind whipping at my body, and I was grinning and laughing like the pure psychopath I was, my laughter whipped away by the wind, but I'll be damned if this wasn't what I was looking for. Finally, I'd found what it was I wanted, what I needed, all I had left... The plane began to level itself out and by the time it was once more finally and permanently level I was at the final edge of the wing underside and tore straight out of the steel and into the sky. Without pause I simultaneously sheathed the Masume blade and twisted to the side, slamming my booted feet once more into the metal of the plane, only this time directly on the side of the plane. Without pause I ran down the side of the plane and upwards, using the sheer momentum built from the slide to propel me. I never heard the heavy clangs made by the boots on the steel. Four sprinting steps forward and up and I raised one boot up and slammed it straight down onto the steel, catapulting myself up and to the side in a backwards flip. In the next instant the plane rushed past me in a blur off gray and blue paint. At the last instant I crouched into a ball and the tail section of the plane passed by directly a foot over the orb that was my body. And then the plane was gone and I was free falling and grinning like a maniac. Ahead of me the severed wing was spinning in the air and rapidly falling ahead of me. Hopefully worth my still anonymous opponent within it. *** I stretched my body out into an arrow and plummeted straight downwards, quickly moving down to the dark and falling amputated wing. The air drag caused the wing to fall slower then my own body and so I rapidly began to catch up with it. After a while I noticed some sort of flapping dark cloth and started, the wind still whipping past me. And then I grinned and snatched the still falling trenchcoat out of the air and draped it over myself in a smooth flourish. I resumed the dive, this time with a flapping and billowing coat. After a few seconds I was beginning to fall past the wing edge which was at a slightly diagonal angle but otherwise relatively stable. In a flash the Masume was in my hand and slammed into the wing once more. I held onto the handle, spun up beneath it, and winded up standing tall on it, one foot on the hilt, one on the blade. I leaned casually against the cold wing and relaxed, grinning. And I stood there, falling at over 135 miles an hour, casually waiting for the fall to finish up. And I reached for the bottle of brandy I had filched and had myself a drink while I was at it. All in a night's work....
Move Summary: ... Perform aerodynamic surgery.Use purchase point to upgrade SVD ammunition. Upgrade from standard 7.62 x 54R FMJ ammunition to specific SVD sniper load. 7N1 Steel Tipped Sniper Load. The 7N1 was the original Sniper load developed in Russia for the SVD. It consists of a steel rod in the center, a hollow air pocket in the nose, and a lead base. The result is rearward center of weight and increased accuracy. The distribution of weight causes the round to tumble in flesh, causing much damage, and the tip and ballistics cause increased armor piercing performance.
7N1 Cartridge: Enhanced accuracy, damage, and AP capabilities.
------------------------- I was leaning out of the open door, holding on to a vertical strut, when the first of the shocks came. The plane's attitude shifted up to an astounding angle, almost twenty degrees. The plane felt like it was vertical at that angle. The only thing that saved me from falling out was sheer survival reflex. Unfortunately, such reflexes rarely maintained any dignity, and this case was no exception. I merely let my feet fall out from under me, landing hard on my rear like a kid that had fallen over backwards. One more second and I'd have tilted straight out into the night sky. As it was, the plane's attitude caused me to roll down, coming to rest up against the nearest seat less than half a meter away from the door. Even as my mind realized the plane was shifting, the beginnings of a scream were forming in my mind, the harsh, growling yell of sheer frustration at an excellent plan going wrong, "NO-!"
The yell was cut off moments later by a shuddering, terrible screech of rending metal as the two bounding mines detonated in each wing. The engine punctured and the reaction inside it exploded, the casing that had held the pressure now ruptured. The turbine rotor shattered, and then fragmented, it's momentum spinning a hail of shrapnel through the engine cowling as it burst into bright flame. I fell back onto my back and my eyes focused into the cockpit. Alarms were blaring, and a cool female recording was broadcasting "Stall....Stall....Stall...Stall." The plane was going to nose over any moment. But I was focused on a much quieter alarm, one that was almost irrelevant considering the current situation.
When a plane had engine problems, whether a rotor burst or the engine completely fell off, there was a series of redundant systems built in. Among these was an automatic program in the plane's computer systems. When something happened to the engine, that computer started to worry about the fuel lines, just in case the engine damaged or ruptured a hose. The computer gave the pilot a 10 second warning, in which time the pilot could cancel this warning if he knew nothing was wrong with the fuel lines. But if no response came after ten seconds, the computer would automatically shut down the primary fuel lines and open up auxiliary ones. Normally, this would be perfectly fine, but in this case, there was a tiny little guest stabbed straight into the auxiliary line, a memento from my visit to the fuel tank. Specifically, a screwdriver, cut very shallowly into the line, just enough to keep it in there, but with so little support that it'd fall out with the slightest amount of pressure. In less than ten seconds now, fuel would go along that line, and the pressure would blow the screw driver straight out, and trailing along that screwdriver was a thin little wire.... The screwdriver would fall, the trigger pin on a bounding mine would go with it, and that fuel tank was going bye bye.
For barely a second I considered running into the cockpit and canceling the alarm, but then realized that I'd never have enough time. The plane was going down besides. In that brief instant, I shut my eyes, forcefully clearing all thoughts from my head. Two seconds..... My heart slowed. My breathing shortened to small, extremely shall breaths, rapidly inhaling and exhaling that minuscule amount. My eyes opened, and they weren't dilated from epinephrine- they were contracted.
I rolled over once to the side, crouched, and leaped forward, the square rectangle of black sky instantly growing to an entire world.
No thoughts went through my head, just information. My brain instantly processed it, came up with an action, and followed it through. For a brief moment the wind flattened me out, and then I forced my arms and legs together, leaned forward, and fell head first at an angle. Second later I heard the sharp thump of an explosion as the mine tore apart the fuel tank. I couldn't tell whether the tank itself ignited, but it didn't matter anyway. If I'd stayed on board I might be nothing but a red pulp now. My eyes squinted against the wind, seeing only with difficulty, but I could still make out the wing spiraling down below, a steady shower of burning turbine fragments flying up to meet me. And there, illuminated by the fiery glow, was a figure. Without even two seconds of consideration I pushed my body into a somersault, flipped over once, slid my hand along the sling of the SVD, pulled it off my back, straighted out again so I was falling completely vertical, aimed down, and froze. My sights trembled under the wind, and then the iron circle passed right over the figure below me, and I slowly- ever so slowly, pulled back on the trigger. Jerking would have thrown the aim off, but the mechanism slowly moved back under my will, and then the rifle bucked in my hands, a flash of light bursting from the muzzle as the supersonic bullet tore through the night air and haze of fuel droplets spiraling up into me.
The weapon cycled instantly, throwing a steel shell out to the side as gas pushed back the piston in the operation, which in turn cycled the mechanism. The action pushed back, flung out the shell, and then slammed forward under the force of it's spring, pushing the second round into the chamber. I fired again, flying vertically upside down through the night as shells arced away from me and a burning plane nosedived right above, shedding piece of metal and streams of transparent fuel. I struggling not to laugh as the rifle bucked in my hands again and again. --------------
Leaped out of plane and nosedived after Cerberus, opening fire with the SVD under influence of Sleep StateCurt chuckled, if not a little menacingly, as he watched the battle suddenly erupt-- in mid air, nonetheless. It was all so amazingly timed. Even as the plane seemed to erupt into a series of violent explosions, these two siblings were engaging in what could easily be the fight of the century. On a spare monitor, he had a playback loop running from Orthrus' feed. At normal speed, that shot looked nearly impossible to have made, even for himself, but he supposed that that was why he wasn't doing this with normal people. As he watched the monitors, he noted a small hit in Cerb's vitals, but nothing he didn't recover from nearly instantly.
Curt thought about hitting the mic, but he didn't dare interrupt when it was getting so good. Still, he couldn't help but mutter under his breath. "You'd better get to it, Cerb. Looks like he's putting you on the defensive." Turn 3 end Cerberus- 94 + 1 = 95 Orthrus- 100
Turn 4 starts nowI lifted the bottle to my lips and right when I was about to take a sip when there was a sudden metal clang and a large hole appeared in the steel right next to my skull. I frowned and looked up to see what looked like a wrapped up bear with a rifle roughly fifty meters above me and closing fast. I scowled and tilted my head slightly to the left. So this was the kind of man I was too fight. A bloody yellowgut dog who all but shoots his opponent in the back, attempts to blow him up without even so much as a greeting? I hissed. Bloody typical. A sudden woosh of air was heard and I instantly snapped my skull to the left. The large caliber bullet sailed past and out into the sky below. A .762... Huh, was he using the same rifle as I? My thoughts were instantly cut off by a barrage of shots, the gunshots barely discernible over the heavy rush of air. Instantly I began to dance. I twisted once to the left and kicked off from the blade hilt, spinning over to the side of the wing and in turn kicked off that at just the right moment, sailing back to the blade, leaving another round to hit nothing but air. In that brief jump I had fallen just a bit down and snaked upwards, grabbing the hilt of the sword and spinning on it like a gymnast on a bar. In mid spin I wrenched the blade outwards and continued the spin, slammed my foot back into the wing, and slammed the blade back into the wing five feet from where it was just a second ago. Without pause I jumped down, grabbed the blade, wrenched it out once more, and shoved myself off the wing with my palm, spinning in mid-air. For a split second everything slowed to a crawl. I swung the Masume long sword forward and sliced a small hunk of steel tipped lead in half... Without pause I stretched my leg back and tapped the wing just so. And launched myself into another spin in mid-air, swinging the blade towards two more rounds, only this time with the blunt end. The blade met the round and slammed it downwards, sending it spinning harmlessly into the metal hull of the wing. Without pause in the spin I flipped the blade around with a flick of the wrist and sent the last bullet flying head of heels straight back towards the cowardly bastards figure. And with that the sword was once more slammed back into the wing and I was resting my weight against the wing, watching the figure rapidly close the distance between us, my sensitive ears catching the heavy click of an empty chamber. I ignored the sensation of warm fluid trickling down my body from two small intrusions. The pain was nothing but a mere stinging compared to what I've been through. I reached for the brandy bottle... And in the next second I snapped my arm outwards and grabbed the falling bastard by the throat in mid-air. Without pause I swung my arm and slammed the body straight into the steel hulk of the wing causing his entire body to vibrate with the jar. I squeezed hard and tilted my head, examining the face. I scowled. "Disgusting..." I leaned close. "G'night. Normally I'd love to introduce myself to you but seeing as how you've done nothing but be a pathetic yellowgutted rut since the very beginning, you'll have to excuse me. On the other hand, would you like a drink?" And with that I brought my other arm up and smashed the half-full brandy bottle into the side of his head. The bottle exploded into a myriad of small shards and slivers of glass and splashes his face with the amber liquid. Still without pause I wrenched him away from the side of the wing and brought him outwards, leaving him dangling in the air. I snapped my arm downwards, bringing him just beneath my waist, and snapped my entire leg straight up into the air. And brought it smashing down directly on his gut. With a heavy thwud his body rocket down many meters beneath me and the wing. ---- Move Summary: Slam Orthrus down beneath the wing and myself.Wind ripped past my clothes, rippling the black coat against my body. I was horizontally flat in the air, slightly maximizing drag, but I couldn't maintain a proper X position and slow my descent while I was face up in the air. As I fell, I faced up at the wing and the figure above me, and in a brief flicker of firelight, I saw that smug, fucking, grin. The bastard called me a coward? After he jumped out without a word and left me to cook in a cylindrical shrapnel grinder? Bloody posing hypocrite.
My left arm tore open the straps of my coat, letting it flutter about me like a black shroud, maximizing drag as much as possible. Seconds later my right hand found the small lever just behind the SVD magazine and compressed it. My other hand pulled out the empty mag and flung it away, it's black body quickly vanishing into the dark sky. Moments later I'd loaded in a fresh magazine, pulled back the slide, and aimed upwards at that overconfident bastard's face. I grinned, my lips pulling back to reveal white canines, and then I lowered my aim subtly, moving lower. My current position shielded the rifle from the wind, and my own body acted as support. I held it steady, slowly pulled back with my finger, and the bullet tore from the barrel, arcing it's way along my sight line straight toward Comrade Passenger's kneecap. I was barely a few meters away from him, and now had an even better position for firing than previously. I just need to blow that bastard off the wing and get him down here.
Barely a second after firing, I flipped over, letting the SVD hang by it's sling, and spread my limbs in a skydiving X, absolutely maximizing drag as the air caught under my coat, ballooning it out like a flying squirrel's membrane. ****
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