Corey stumbled as he stepped out of the dropship, his entire body shaking.
The drop had been an absolute nightmare. From where he was seated, the view of the incidents that befall other ships was plain for him to see, so vivid that it was as if he could hear the screams of those inside as the ship tore itself apart. His fellow passengers were less affected by the view, the majority doing nothing more than letting out gasps of shock. Like some of the others, his ship was lucky, managing to avoid anything more serious than extreme turbulence, the panels of steel lining the flying coffin doing nothing more than threatening to come loose.
Corey was suddenly brought back to the present by a sudden, hard coughing fit. The surrounding area was filled with a cacophony of people coughing, their bodies shocked to be breathing such oxygen rich air. Eventually, his body adjusted, leaving his lungs aching. Around him, medical personnel attempted to assist with the breathing of others suffering the same injury. They were all civilians, people who didn't receive the same preparations and warnings that the Invictus's personnel had had. "Hey, You there, kid wit the overalls." One of the Paramilitary Soldiers called out, walking towards Corey. "Sorry, but you need to clear the ships. Just head that way, where everyone else is." Corey paused before nodding a little too eagerly and walking the way he'd pointed. There was already a fairly large crowd gathered, simply standing around, excitedly babbling about what they could see.
Corey stood at the back of the crowd, his only bag hanging off his shoulder, it's weight now apparent to the electrician. A small family bustled past him, all smiles and wide eyes, their voices too high and chipper for the young mans ears. With almost too many apologies and assurances that no, he wasn't trying to claim the best spot for himself, Corey headed towards the farthest edge of the grouping, Paramilitary soldiers marking the boundary of the area. 'Just like a corral.' He thought to himself, trying to keep from irritating his neighbours.
Corey had wasted no time in getting to the hangars. As soon as the speakers had crackled into silence, he'd clambered out of his steel coffin, grabbing his bag of small tools and clothes from the hatch beneath him. Around him it was chaos. Some had been too busy panicking to hear the captains orders, and had simply sprung forth from their respective area and flung themselves towards the nearest doorway. Others clambered through their possesions, tossing clothes and memorabilia into the air as they tried to find what it was they wanted to keep the most. A group of security guards stood at the door to the hangar, waving and pushing anyone through that happened to get too close, their faces hidden by heavy helmets.
Corey pushed off the closet, navigating the throngs of people, aimed directly at the door. It wasn't long until he was being ushered down the hall, guided by the seldom security personnel and a pulsing line of orange emergency lights. Eventually he caught up to another group, heading into the spacious hangar. At random, men in white suits with air propelled jetpacks bobbed in and out, plucking the random stranger out of the crowd and placing them at one of the strange ships. Further along, he could see one of the flyers animatedly talking with one of the officers, before they separated, the man in white waving down his cohorts to explain some plan to them. Suddenly, Corey was grabbed by the cuff of his pants leg and pulled upwards and out of the throng of people. Craning his neck, he saw a young lady piloting herself with one hand, the other grasped firmly on his pants. She caught his eye and looked down, smiling quickly before focusing on the task at hand. With relative ease, she passed Corey off to a man standing at the entrance to a ship, who promptly directed the young man to an empty seat.
Without a word, he sat, glancing quickly at the people around him. The rich, the poor, the working man and the drifter all sat together. It was evident that there wasn't any clear form of seating arrangement, displeasing those who deemed themselves too good to sit with the 'common folk'. Corey said nothing, retreating into his mind.
The chatter around him died almost immediately. The food hall was deathly silent for several seconds, as everyone digested the new information. Suddenly, a sob broke the silence, followed by a wail. It was as if a gun had been fired, as people scrambled for the doors. Those closest would have been trampled if gravity were a thing, but were instead harmlessly bounced to the ground or ceiling as a mass of people rushed the doors. Corey scrambled to the top of the pile, getting out of the way as fast as possible. Closer to the door, security personnel were trying to calm the tide, to almost no avail. The sound was deafening, a cacophony of screaming and panic. More security personnel filtered in from unseen side doors, reinforcing their comrades at the main doorway to the hall. With the extra support, order was seemingly restored.
As per the usual evacuation protocols, women, children and the elderly were allowed to leave first, a couple of officers following closely behind to keep any of those following from injury them in the mad dash to the safe areas. Security shutters had already descended, covering the windows in steel to help prevent unwanted panic. Eventually Corey was allowed to leave, following the rest of the crowd towards the inner areas of the ship. The chatter had died down to hushed whispers, permeated by the occasional sob or wail of distress. Corey's hands trembled. Like most people, he'd had his fair share of injuries and brushes with death, but the thought of dying in space, away from Earth, his family, his friends, shook him to his core.
He was directed to his sleeping area, the closet from before. Around him, others were climbing in, strapping themselves down and donning protection from whiplash. As per instructed, he stowed his luggage under the closet, in the steel box beneath, before climbing in and strapping himself down. The closets walls muffled almost every sound from outside, leaving the only noise his slightly erratic breathing. As per instructions, he simply waited.
After waiting for who knows how long, Corey was assigned a room. Calling it a room was being generous. Calling it a broom closet with straps was a better description of it. Several lines of them filled the room, resembling more of a locker room than a sleeping area. After tossing his bags in, tying them down and making sure nothing hazardous could float out, he headed towards the food hall, hand over handing his way along the empty rails. As one of the last to be assigned a closet, he was one of the last left in the halls, making air traffic thinner than normal. After several minutes of navigating the sterile halls, dodging the occasional passer-by, he arrived at the lunch room.
Taking his time to adjust, Corey adjusted his stance to something less likely to take someones eye out. Slowly, he shuffled along the walls, looking for a spot to sit. Out of the corner of his eye, Corey spotted what he was looking for, or more who he was looking for: Labourers. With barely a touch, he changed direction, navigating the rows of consoles. Grabbing the closest one possible, he shot a worried grin at his fellow workers, before activating the contraption. "Greetings Eaters!" the feminine voice chimed, all too cheery, "What will it be today?" Corey paused for a minute. "Cherry Ripe Thickshake?" He asked, remembering his favourite childhood drink. The lines of men next to him smirked at this request, having each asked for whatever their choice alcohol was.
Tentatively, the Sparkie grabbed the nozzle, sucking in the smallest amount possible of the substance within. After realising that it wouldn't make him sick, he continued drinking, pausing every so often to participate in the conversation around him.
Corey vomited. Hard. Nothing but bile came up, burning the back of his throat and filling his nose with the worst stench. Not that far away from him, other people were performing the same stasis wake up routine. Wake up, float out, open mouth, vomit, repeat until you can finally stand. The young man glared at the steel basin he held onto with it's vacuum sucking he spat out of his mouth, limbs shivering as they woke themselves slowly. With a grunt of exertion, he pushed himself away, spinning slightly. Slowly, he remembered what he was told before he went under: As soon as you are able, get your belongings from the nearby lockers and get dressed, you'll be given your room and area soon after. Corey pushed off the basin with his feet in the general direction of the locker across from his tube, wiping the sickeningly sticky goo of the stasis chamber from his brow.
The lockers were simple. Punch in your 4 digit code, door unlocks, get stuff out. All along his row people were struggling with that concept. By sheer chance, he'd ended up with the 'upper crust', people who were used to number pads and voice activation, not simple twist locks. He slipped into his clothes, a t-shirt, denim coveralls and his old jacket, before grabbing his bags. With no problem at all, he grabbed his usually heavy bags and slung them over his shoulders. From what he could remember, you had to wait until your name was called before you got your room number and area. With a sigh, the sparkie changed direction, and floated towards a nearby 'waiting area' of sorts, various straps floating in the air attached to the ground. After attaching the straps to himself the sparkie tied his bags to himself before allowing them to float close behind him, out of his way.
With nothing else to do, he left his mind to wander, staring blankly in front of himself.
Name: Corey Rader Occupation: Electrician (Sparkie) Bio: Corey was born in the flat plains of Denmark, Western Australia on October, 2160. While originally hailing from the small town of Denmark, His family ended up moving away from the farming lifestyle, to Rockingham, just outside Perth. His father managed to find work away at the old mine sites as security, preventing trespassers. He was raised by his mother for most of his life, something his father believes made him weak and timid. He ended up leaving school 2 years early, unable to cope with the lofty goals his parents set out for him. Like many teens in his situation, he was forced to apply for an apprenticeship, putting the phrase "I will do ANYTHING." in bold on the resume he left at the apprentice centre.
Two weeks later, he got a message asking if he was interested in a job as an electrician. Not one to miss an opportunity when it presents itself, the kid jumped at the chance. After spending 2 long, hard years crawling through ceilings, digging holes and carrying boxes for his boss, he was eventually deemed "skilled" enough to be taught. A year and a half later, he was considered skilled enough to be let go, and was shoved off into the wide open world of Manual Labor.
After spending 4 months drifting from job to job, Corey heard about the Olympus recruitment drive, and applied almost instantly. His luggage consists primarily of his basic electricians tools and some clothes.
I can't like Samuel Jackson, That one Captain America guy, or Mark Rufalo.
They're just too...Bluh.
And Sam Jackson swearing every 10 minutes isn't funny at all, why do people act like he's some kinda god for it.
(Uuuh, It seems I've been forgotten. I was standing right outside the double doors of the casino, and I even alerted the guards to the fact I was standing there.)
Also, on that note: Having a strength of 2 means you'd have a character that is unable to actually fight, with knife OR gun. I'd be surprised if he could raise a pistol, let alone fire one. But live and learn.
Clyde slung his rifle into his arms, pulling back the round ejector and checking his bullet count. A full clip. With a sigh, he stepped up to the hotel, ignoring the still slick bloodstain that spattered the old door. Off to the side he spotted an old intercom, it's case dented and worn from years of use. Of course, Clyde had never seen one before. With a quizzical look, he pushed the engage button, sparking the other end to life. Somewhere in the building, a guard jumped as his intercom let out a loud burst of static.
"Hello?" Clyde asked, still trying to work out how the small box worked. The guard ignored him, scrambling to flag down a friend. In hurried, hushed tones he instructed his colleague to get the new boss. Clyde let go of the button, giving up on his quest to discover what the strange box did. Meanwhile, the guard scrambled up stairs to where he'd been told the boss should be. He came to a halt outside the hotel door, and with greater bravery than he thought he had, he knocked loudly. "Si-Ma-...Boss, there's some guy downstairs at the doors, I think he's looking for you!" The guard called, ad-libbing to what his friend had told him. He was really supposed to let her know they were about to have a new target for shooting practice. A very realistic one.
Not looking to kill Clyde off, just give this RP a breath of air.
Hey, I would definitely play on the server! ( I would be wolverine!! )
I don't think it's for a server buddy.
Anyway, yeah, I'd be interested if it was OC only or something similar. I've got a bunch of cool characters I've been meaning to try in a superhero RP.
Russ finished re-organizing his bookshelf, before freezing, hand still suspended in the air. Something was missing. Russ's mind raced as he checked his pocket, throwing phone, keys, coins and other knick-knacks he carried on his person. His fears were confirmed when he failed to find his wallet. With a start he dashed for the door, scrambling to grab his keys and a hat as he went. He needed to get that wallet back, there was no time to waste.
The young man dashed through town, retracing his steps, ducking around people, under arms, through conversations and even over people if the case required it. Eventually he reached the first place he'd gone to that day: The Cafe. Exhausted, Russ walked up to the counter. "Has, Has anyone...Handed in a wallet today?" He gasped out between breaths, doubled over.
0
The drop had been an absolute nightmare. From where he was seated, the view of the incidents that befall other ships was plain for him to see, so vivid that it was as if he could hear the screams of those inside as the ship tore itself apart. His fellow passengers were less affected by the view, the majority doing nothing more than letting out gasps of shock. Like some of the others, his ship was lucky, managing to avoid anything more serious than extreme turbulence, the panels of steel lining the flying coffin doing nothing more than threatening to come loose.
Corey was suddenly brought back to the present by a sudden, hard coughing fit. The surrounding area was filled with a cacophony of people coughing, their bodies shocked to be breathing such oxygen rich air. Eventually, his body adjusted, leaving his lungs aching. Around him, medical personnel attempted to assist with the breathing of others suffering the same injury. They were all civilians, people who didn't receive the same preparations and warnings that the Invictus's personnel had had. "Hey, You there, kid wit the overalls." One of the Paramilitary Soldiers called out, walking towards Corey. "Sorry, but you need to clear the ships. Just head that way, where everyone else is." Corey paused before nodding a little too eagerly and walking the way he'd pointed. There was already a fairly large crowd gathered, simply standing around, excitedly babbling about what they could see.
Corey stood at the back of the crowd, his only bag hanging off his shoulder, it's weight now apparent to the electrician. A small family bustled past him, all smiles and wide eyes, their voices too high and chipper for the young mans ears. With almost too many apologies and assurances that no, he wasn't trying to claim the best spot for himself, Corey headed towards the farthest edge of the grouping, Paramilitary soldiers marking the boundary of the area. 'Just like a corral.' He thought to himself, trying to keep from irritating his neighbours.
0
Corey pushed off the closet, navigating the throngs of people, aimed directly at the door. It wasn't long until he was being ushered down the hall, guided by the seldom security personnel and a pulsing line of orange emergency lights. Eventually he caught up to another group, heading into the spacious hangar. At random, men in white suits with air propelled jetpacks bobbed in and out, plucking the random stranger out of the crowd and placing them at one of the strange ships. Further along, he could see one of the flyers animatedly talking with one of the officers, before they separated, the man in white waving down his cohorts to explain some plan to them. Suddenly, Corey was grabbed by the cuff of his pants leg and pulled upwards and out of the throng of people. Craning his neck, he saw a young lady piloting herself with one hand, the other grasped firmly on his pants. She caught his eye and looked down, smiling quickly before focusing on the task at hand. With relative ease, she passed Corey off to a man standing at the entrance to a ship, who promptly directed the young man to an empty seat.
Without a word, he sat, glancing quickly at the people around him. The rich, the poor, the working man and the drifter all sat together. It was evident that there wasn't any clear form of seating arrangement, displeasing those who deemed themselves too good to sit with the 'common folk'. Corey said nothing, retreating into his mind.
0
As per the usual evacuation protocols, women, children and the elderly were allowed to leave first, a couple of officers following closely behind to keep any of those following from injury them in the mad dash to the safe areas. Security shutters had already descended, covering the windows in steel to help prevent unwanted panic. Eventually Corey was allowed to leave, following the rest of the crowd towards the inner areas of the ship. The chatter had died down to hushed whispers, permeated by the occasional sob or wail of distress. Corey's hands trembled. Like most people, he'd had his fair share of injuries and brushes with death, but the thought of dying in space, away from Earth, his family, his friends, shook him to his core.
He was directed to his sleeping area, the closet from before. Around him, others were climbing in, strapping themselves down and donning protection from whiplash. As per instructed, he stowed his luggage under the closet, in the steel box beneath, before climbing in and strapping himself down. The closets walls muffled almost every sound from outside, leaving the only noise his slightly erratic breathing. As per instructions, he simply waited.
0
After waiting for who knows how long, Corey was assigned a room. Calling it a room was being generous. Calling it a broom closet with straps was a better description of it. Several lines of them filled the room, resembling more of a locker room than a sleeping area. After tossing his bags in, tying them down and making sure nothing hazardous could float out, he headed towards the food hall, hand over handing his way along the empty rails. As one of the last to be assigned a closet, he was one of the last left in the halls, making air traffic thinner than normal. After several minutes of navigating the sterile halls, dodging the occasional passer-by, he arrived at the lunch room.
Taking his time to adjust, Corey adjusted his stance to something less likely to take someones eye out. Slowly, he shuffled along the walls, looking for a spot to sit. Out of the corner of his eye, Corey spotted what he was looking for, or more who he was looking for: Labourers. With barely a touch, he changed direction, navigating the rows of consoles. Grabbing the closest one possible, he shot a worried grin at his fellow workers, before activating the contraption. "Greetings Eaters!" the feminine voice chimed, all too cheery, "What will it be today?" Corey paused for a minute. "Cherry Ripe Thickshake?" He asked, remembering his favourite childhood drink. The lines of men next to him smirked at this request, having each asked for whatever their choice alcohol was.
Tentatively, the Sparkie grabbed the nozzle, sucking in the smallest amount possible of the substance within. After realising that it wouldn't make him sick, he continued drinking, pausing every so often to participate in the conversation around him.
0
0
Corey vomited. Hard. Nothing but bile came up, burning the back of his throat and filling his nose with the worst stench. Not that far away from him, other people were performing the same stasis wake up routine. Wake up, float out, open mouth, vomit, repeat until you can finally stand. The young man glared at the steel basin he held onto with it's vacuum sucking he spat out of his mouth, limbs shivering as they woke themselves slowly. With a grunt of exertion, he pushed himself away, spinning slightly. Slowly, he remembered what he was told before he went under: As soon as you are able, get your belongings from the nearby lockers and get dressed, you'll be given your room and area soon after. Corey pushed off the basin with his feet in the general direction of the locker across from his tube, wiping the sickeningly sticky goo of the stasis chamber from his brow.
The lockers were simple. Punch in your 4 digit code, door unlocks, get stuff out. All along his row people were struggling with that concept. By sheer chance, he'd ended up with the 'upper crust', people who were used to number pads and voice activation, not simple twist locks. He slipped into his clothes, a t-shirt, denim coveralls and his old jacket, before grabbing his bags. With no problem at all, he grabbed his usually heavy bags and slung them over his shoulders. From what he could remember, you had to wait until your name was called before you got your room number and area. With a sigh, the sparkie changed direction, and floated towards a nearby 'waiting area' of sorts, various straps floating in the air attached to the ground. After attaching the straps to himself the sparkie tied his bags to himself before allowing them to float close behind him, out of his way.
With nothing else to do, he left his mind to wander, staring blankly in front of himself.
0
0
0
Name: Corey Rader
Occupation: Electrician (Sparkie)
Bio: Corey was born in the flat plains of Denmark, Western Australia on October, 2160. While originally hailing from the small town of Denmark, His family ended up moving away from the farming lifestyle, to Rockingham, just outside Perth. His father managed to find work away at the old mine sites as security, preventing trespassers. He was raised by his mother for most of his life, something his father believes made him weak and timid. He ended up leaving school 2 years early, unable to cope with the lofty goals his parents set out for him. Like many teens in his situation, he was forced to apply for an apprenticeship, putting the phrase "I will do ANYTHING." in bold on the resume he left at the apprentice centre.
Two weeks later, he got a message asking if he was interested in a job as an electrician. Not one to miss an opportunity when it presents itself, the kid jumped at the chance. After spending 2 long, hard years crawling through ceilings, digging holes and carrying boxes for his boss, he was eventually deemed "skilled" enough to be taught. A year and a half later, he was considered skilled enough to be let go, and was shoved off into the wide open world of Manual Labor.
After spending 4 months drifting from job to job, Corey heard about the Olympus recruitment drive, and applied almost instantly. His luggage consists primarily of his basic electricians tools and some clothes.
0
0
They're just too...Bluh.
And Sam Jackson swearing every 10 minutes isn't funny at all, why do people act like he's some kinda god for it.
0
0
"Hello?" Clyde asked, still trying to work out how the small box worked. The guard ignored him, scrambling to flag down a friend. In hurried, hushed tones he instructed his colleague to get the new boss. Clyde let go of the button, giving up on his quest to discover what the strange box did. Meanwhile, the guard scrambled up stairs to where he'd been told the boss should be. He came to a halt outside the hotel door, and with greater bravery than he thought he had, he knocked loudly. "Si-Ma-...Boss, there's some guy downstairs at the doors, I think he's looking for you!" The guard called, ad-libbing to what his friend had told him. He was really supposed to let her know they were about to have a new target for shooting practice. A very realistic one.
0
I don't think it's for a server buddy.
Anyway, yeah, I'd be interested if it was OC only or something similar. I've got a bunch of cool characters I've been meaning to try in a superhero RP.
0
The young man dashed through town, retracing his steps, ducking around people, under arms, through conversations and even over people if the case required it. Eventually he reached the first place he'd gone to that day: The Cafe. Exhausted, Russ walked up to the counter. "Has, Has anyone...Handed in a wallet today?" He gasped out between breaths, doubled over.