| Flight From Death; The Monoc men and women say farewell to their home. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jul 3 2012, 10:25 PM (578 Views) | |
| Gleam | Jul 7 2012, 06:38 AM Post #21 |
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Isley shoots apart the paw pinning Jagd, but it doesn't do him much good, as a moment later claws spear up through the grill and launch him to his feet forcefully, the body armor saving his life rather thoroughly. He spins and nicks another paw coming for him with the axe. He uses his free hand to grace Epsilon with a middle finger. Isley chokes mid-shot and her forehead thumps down on the oil barrel she's using as cover, snickering. The lapse in support fire costs Jagd a swipe, and he gets launched a dozen feet sideways. He stays on his toes somehow and lands safely. "I got 'im now, get with it." Isley says, refocusing, and picks off anything that starts to form near Jagd's blind side. |
Class. Dig it up, dust it off, hang that shit crooked on an ear. My halo's a land mine rind, amigo.
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| LornMind | Jul 7 2012, 06:44 AM Post #22 |
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Bigger Than A Breadbox
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Epsilon runs reaches behind his back and begins to expertly tap several points on his reactors. The bar begins to slowly drain and the familiar sound of hissing heated air begins to escape from the vents on the reactors. He pulls up his FN and reloads it, then begins to squeeze off shots at the paws with Isley. Grinning madly, he calls back to Jagd, "I love you too man!" [XXXXXX----] 60% ΔU |
| When it comes to writing, I'm a zip gun in a prison; one-shot, one-trick, and I'm all you've got. | |
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| Gleam | Jul 9 2012, 12:51 PM Post #23 |
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Jagd holds his own for four more seconds, a whirling dervish of steel in the middle of a thunderhead, before the Cheshire tires of the game. The entire beast, some eleven tons of muscle and bone, materializes directly above him, attempting to crush him with sheer weight. The Monoc commander responds by throwing himself flat next to a hydraulic jack meant for use with the Brigand, which shudders under the impact but holds. Isley pelts its face wiith more fire, but has to duck as it smacks a stack of tires across the room at her. Then a roar starts up, and the Cheshire howls and throws itself upwards as Jagd rams a circular saw up into its belly and turns it on. |
Class. Dig it up, dust it off, hang that shit crooked on an ear. My halo's a land mine rind, amigo.
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| LornMind | Jul 10 2012, 09:08 PM Post #24 |
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Bigger Than A Breadbox
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Epsilon, despite the fear that spiked in his gut at the Chesire's actions, roars with laughter at Jagd's saw antics and continues to spray fire at the the creature's face. "We just hafta hold out for a little while longer guys," he shouts over the din, "And then after that you better put on some plastic sheeting because the results won't be pretty." He grins. "Hear that Jagd? I hope you weren't wearing your Sunday best!" He considers Jagd's current condition: circular saw, gore spraying everywhere, etc., and adds halfheartedly, "Nevermind." [XXXX------] 40% ΔU |
| When it comes to writing, I'm a zip gun in a prison; one-shot, one-trick, and I'm all you've got. | |
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| Gleam | Jul 10 2012, 09:27 PM Post #25 |
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The Cheshire discorporates again in midair and Jagd tries to roll aside, but stiffens. A row of teeth punch straight up through the floor, and through him. Three spikes of bone run up through his chest with haphazard placing, and a fourth through his right thigh. Jagd grabs the one in his thigh with his left hand, and catches the upper jaw coming down with the saw in the other hand. It recoils, and he takes the chance to saw right through the fang in his leg, snapping it off. The rest flinch and withdraw along with a squeal from the Cheshire. He coughs wetly, and whips out a sawed-off pump shotgun. Isley breaks cover and runs straight at Jagd, fending off a pair of vicious paw swipes with more pinpoint fire, before her gun clicks on empty and she hurls it at the next manifested limb without pausing. She has a wicked throwing arm - it punches halfway through, the steel poking out the back of the paw before it dissipates. The garage doors bang open and Ashley Dunmainn scrambles out of it, panting, and drops her load on the floor. It's a tool hijacked from Jagd's personal armory, where he keeps all the toys too dangerous for general use: the M132 Flamethrower Jagd brought against Baur, properly restored and repaired. She kicks out the support leg into the grated floor with a bang and steadies her aim on the seething tar-mist around her sister and Jagd. "FUCK OFF, HAIRBALL!" Ashley screams, and sends a seventy-foot stream of flaming napalm into the mist. It catches fire. The Cheshire howls and rampages towards Ashley, a slicing tornado of claws, flame, and screaming throats. Ashley doesn't pause. She jettisons another burst of napalm right into the abomination's roiling mass. Isley uses the distraction to drag Jagd to cover, who is too busy flipping rounds out of his shotgun and replacing them with very conspicuous F-marked shells. Edited by Gleam, Jul 10 2012, 09:28 PM.
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Class. Dig it up, dust it off, hang that shit crooked on an ear. My halo's a land mine rind, amigo.
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| LornMind | Jul 10 2012, 09:41 PM Post #26 |
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Bigger Than A Breadbox
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Epsilon scrambles to help Isley pull Jagd to safety and clutches his head with one hand. Numerous puncture wounds. Wet coughing. Lung punctured. Require immediate aid. Cat still being a fucking nuisance. Cooled off enough yet?" [XX--------] 20% ΔU "Jagd? Jagd, stay with me buddy, not that it isn't hard for you to do," he needles. With a reassuring grin, he adds, "Listen up, I'll cool off as I run up to the thing. You keep it distracted with your shotty and..." He glances back at Ashley spraying the beast with fire. "Well, more distracted anyway." He looks over to Isley. "Listen, tell your sister to stop firing when I start running up to the thing-I don't fancy becoming barbeque today." He hands her a nanite-stim and adds, "Uncap, pull up Jagd's shirt, one in the middle port, depress button, toss stim." He pulls out a second stim and sticks it into a port on Jagd's neck. A soft hiss escapes and he pulls the tube free and tosses it away. "You ready for the grand finale Jagd?" he asks, turning to face the cat. He clenches and unclenches his hands. |
| When it comes to writing, I'm a zip gun in a prison; one-shot, one-trick, and I'm all you've got. | |
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| Gleam | Jul 10 2012, 09:56 PM Post #27 |
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Isley takes the other shot without waiting and simply rips Jagd's shirt in half, tosses it away, and jams the stim in. "You need to stop screwing around with big cats." she advises Jagd, her hand squeezed tight on his shoulder, knuckles white. "You're not a good enough mouse for this kind of game." Jagd coughs once more, wet, and blinks up at the two of them. Then he whistles. A similar noise emanates from the puncture in his chest. "Stereo whistling!" he cheers, finishes loading, and points his shotgun up at the Cheshire. "Experience worthwhile now." The shotgun belches a line of sparkling fire and phosphorous, impossibly bright, and crosses in front of the beast like a shooting star. It flinches back from the brightness momentarily, which gives Jagd time to line up his next shot and put one straight through the flaming center match. The trailing phosphorus only aggravated the inferno, which sent it into flails of agony. Isley shouts something, two harsh syllables, and Ashley dives back through the entrance she had come through - she had only brought the one canister of ammo and it had gone quick, anyways. Edited by Gleam, Jul 10 2012, 11:37 PM.
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Class. Dig it up, dust it off, hang that shit crooked on an ear. My halo's a land mine rind, amigo.
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| LornMind | Jul 10 2012, 11:36 PM Post #28 |
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Bigger Than A Breadbox
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[----------] 0% ΔU Epsilon glanced at his wrist and grinned. "HEY YOU LITTLE SHIT!" he shouts, pointing at the cat, "KISS MY ASS!" He sprints directly at the cat, aware of the fire smoking about and jumps directly for the creature's face. He holds up his hands and lets out a loud yell before plunging them forcefully into it's eyes. His reactors light up like christmas trees and begin to produce steam and a high-pitched shriek. He tears his hands out of its eye sockets and jumps gracelessly away from it, landing heavily on his back and scrambling towards Jagd and Isley. "HOLD ONTO YOUR DICKS!" he whoops gleefully. Behind him, the cat rumbles. |
| When it comes to writing, I'm a zip gun in a prison; one-shot, one-trick, and I'm all you've got. | |
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| Gleam | Jul 10 2012, 11:53 PM Post #29 |
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The Cheshire screeches. Then the mist chain-detonates, hurling Epsilon across the room. Flaming and still occasionally crackling, the beast screams once more and flings itself up and through the ceiling. Even in retreat it continues to detonate, trailing away like a string of fireworks. Jagd coughs again, and gives Epsilon a thumbs up. He hauls himself to his feet and glances at the abandoned flamethrower. "Alas." he sighs. "Toys stolen too frequently." Isley huffs a breath and jogs towards the hallway where her sister is just starting to peek out. |
Class. Dig it up, dust it off, hang that shit crooked on an ear. My halo's a land mine rind, amigo.
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| LornMind | Jul 11 2012, 12:16 AM Post #30 |
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Bigger Than A Breadbox
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Epsilon dusts himself off and stretches. That landing left a bruise on his back, he was sure of it. "Alright, so that cat is exploding and enjoying the wonderful sensation of its molecules violently destabilizing, Jagd is full of puncture holes but otherwise okay thanks to nanomachines, and the twins are are shaken, bumped, soot-faced but otherwise okay," he recounts at top speed. "All said, things went well." He stops in the middle of the room and glances around at everyone. "Right? Everyone okay? Still got your legs and arms and shit? Jagd you don't have to answer, one of those arms aren't yours, I know." |
| When it comes to writing, I'm a zip gun in a prison; one-shot, one-trick, and I'm all you've got. | |
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6:55 AM Jul 13