Urban Vindicators (Freestyle...I think.)

[Ash The Wanderer]

(Ok, this idea's been kicking around my head for a while. While I don't think I can make a story out of it, I thought it might make a fun RPG. I notice a lot of those RP's seem to take place in sword and sorcery esque environments. Well maybe not, but in any case, I thought I'd try something a bit more urban and gritty)

Back Story

Time: The Year 2067. The Future Ain't What It Used To Be...

The world is not a fun place to be. Conflicts all over the world finally resulted in World War III in the early 21st Century. A fortunate pact, signed by the countries that fought beforehand, forbid the use of nuclear weapons, as in the end, no one would win a nuclear war. Surprisingly, this pact was obeyed, and well enforced to keep madmen with dreams of MAD (Mutually Assured Destruction) away from the button. But without the sheer power of atom bombs, the war was long, decades long, and had another cost no one had forseen...

The world's resources have all been extinguished. Coal and oil supplies have finally run out. Years apon years to putting every effort into war has royally messed up the economy now that it is over. People have fled to the last source of power available: nuclear reactors. Huge areas of America and other countries become abandoned ghost town and empty wastelands as people flee towards their supposed only hope for surviving. With armies and police virtually gone due to the need for soldiers, and virtually all guns and explosives used and destroyed on far away battlefields, criminals are simply left to die. Instead, most have congregated in the lost cities, the strongest setting up their own empires and ruling with iron fists.

But their is light at the end of the tunnel...

Dr. Jennifer Twilly, a prodigy and genius among geniuses, has finally discovered one of science fiction's holy grails: cold fusion. With this at their hands, humankind can rise from the ashes and rebuild, and look to a future, in the stars and maybe further.

But some don't want it that way...

Perhaps the President should have sent a better escort, or one of the few remaining planes, but he did not. Dr. Twilly tried to make the trek to Washington herself. She failed. She has been taken.

His name is Faust. He desires society to die, and for it to die with him ruling, at least, a small part of it. And he has hundreds apon hundreds of lost bloodthirsty souls who all believe the same thing...

Twilly must be saved. For the future.

Who are you? A wide-eyed innocent who wants the save the world? A battle-hardened veteran of war, who knows no other skills but killing? A mercenary, who cares not for people or the future but the money it could bring? A mutant, changed in humanity's errors and shunned for it, seeking brotherhood or failing that, oblivion? A heartbroken one, who has lost something dear and with a fierce desire for a scapegoat to unleash your rage apon?

Your story does not matter. Your mission does. Find Twilly. and destroy Faust, and all his minions. Become the URBAN VINDICATORS.

---

(Guess I'll start)

Once it had been a doll. Now it was a lifeless piece of cold dirty plastic. What had become of the girl who had once used this as her plaything? Did she live on, somewhere? Or was she worm food, rotting to feed the forms of life that lived on regardless of what humans did.

Noel Collins wondered about these sort of things a lot more then he used to.

Nothing was of as it seemed.

He tossed the empty head away and took another look at the broken, graffiti-painted buildings in the street before him. Once it had been a boardwalk. Now it was just...

"Well, wha 'ave we 'here?"

Noel arched an eyebrow. It certainly hadn't taken long. Even on the very outskirts of their territory, Noel had been sure he would find them. Lost. Feral. Barely even men any more.

Then again, the same could be said of him.

(The truck, jackknifing and the tanker splitting and...)

"Nice jakat! Never seen a whit' 'un. I'll just be taking it..."

Noel's arm itched. Then it began to burn. The punk wielding the rusty shiv coming up behind him ceased to be his main concern, as the alien feeling came alive in him again.

"You deaf? I said..."

Noel turned, and the punk had a moment of confusion. Human hair didn't look like that. So perfectly white...

"I would suggest you run..." Noel said. The burning in his arm increased, and he gripped it, trying to hold back. Hold IT back.

(Almost a mist, hurting so much, a thousand molten needles...should be dead...worse off then dead...this way...)

"Wha'? Do you know..."

Too late. Noel's arm took on a life of it's own and jerked forward.

All the punk saw was what looked like a white glowing lasso shoot out of Noel's arm. Then the end of the energy tendril slashed through his face, and he knew nothing more, even as the energy coiled around his skull, crushing it like an egg.

Noel cringed, even as the tendril hurled the body up and brought it down on the ground. Bones snapped. It raised the body up and brought it down again, and then finally hurled it into a old storefront.

Anger sprung up in Noel's heart, even as the tendril, snapped and wrapped around him like snake, the end floating in front of him, as if it was asking his approval.

"Why do you have to kill?"

It moved slightly, as if to say "It's what I was made to do."

Noel snorted and looked down the street again. Well, it didn't matter. He'd use this mutation he had been cursed with when that damn nerve toxin drenched him, use it to battle through the hordes of hell and save this doctor. And then maybe she could save him. Before this damn blood-craving energy he could now project from himself devoured him from within. Or worse...

His boots were the only sound as he began to walk. but he was sure he wasn't alone. There would surely be others...

No matter. They only had one thing to fear.

They had better not get in his way.

(Uh, how was that?)

[Kyton]

OOC: I do hope this one is still alive! ... well... here goes nothing!

IC:

Hawkings had wandered the dust that was a city for hours. After the war he was all that was left from a once feared platoon. The sidekicks were supposed to be a support unit to the large mobile weapon platforms that once roamed the battlefields, but had since become a unit of themselves. Their incredable maneuverability and devestating shoulder-mounted rpg's proved essential time and again. Now there were very few left, maybe a dozen in the americas.

The sunset light glinted off his highly polished armor as a boot crunched into a small pile of rubble. Hawks bent over to see what he had stepped on casually, and a white skull stared back from a blown out helmet. His foot had sunk through the eviscerated and near petrified chest. Whoever it was, he had been brought down by a flamethrower. A nasty way to die.

A rotor whirred slightly as the suits helmet turned to the side, his dark visor reading a heat signature weaving slowly through a mass of upturned old cars. He leapt, and the hollow thwoosh of a burst from his jetpack sounded. The sudden force catapaulted him high into the air and onto a half-collapsed roof of a three story building. There he landed with a dull crunch and settled low. His shoulder cannon swiveled from its place along his back, locking into it's firing position and auto-feeding a grenade. A targeting crosshair appeared on his heads up, the range counted out to whatever the hairs fell on. His ammo count was low, and he really didn't want to use more if he didn't have to. But the red and orange blob of a man was behind a car still. He couldn't tell if it would be friend or foe. The other was waiting, no doubt because of the sound from his jetpack.