Monolith: The Eclipsing World [Roleplay Thread]

[Samson Option 9652]

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jfZLwmtu_nM

 

The symposium filled rapidly and you came shoulder to shoulder with others who also clamored for seating and comfortable positions. The man in the center stood stoicly with his hands folded behind his back, a tawny chalkboard contrasting the prim and proper appearance of the teacher who stood before the class. He glowered momentarily as the last of the students took their seats sluggishly and finally began.

 

 

"Welcome to Fall of Nations, we will pick up where we left off. We spoke before today about the relations of Russia, China, and the States deteriorating. The States' belligerence in their bicameral Congress led to veiled bills being passed that applied heavy-handed sanctions with hopes that the Russian ruble would tank. This ambition pressed Russi and China to confirm an aggressive stance against the States. With the European Union's unstable euro paralyzing any attempt to provide a balancing act to Russian aggression in the Ukrainian theatre, Russia saw to its own expansion into Eastern Europe.

 

For all the bluff that the Islamic World somehow intended to flex any nuclear muscle, we see in the Middle Eastern theatre the Samson Option used by Israel due to U.N. and European countries' insistance on Palestinian sovereignty. The Samson Option, first threatened against Nixon of the States during the Yom Kippur War, became a doctrine of 'destiny's bond'. If Israel could not be preserved, she would ultimately take the world with her. Israel activated the Samson Option against Iran and Syria in which Russia responded with nuclear arms of her own against Tel Aviv. Europe became involved when ICBMs struck Rome, Vienna, and Paris primarily due to their respective forthrightness on the Palestine question.

 

The United States, surprised at the hits against European allies, became gridlocked with a belligerent Russia and China. Land invasions on the Californian coast in the winter of 2035 began hostilities between the three superpowers. The States adopted a Fabian strategy due in part because the States saw no point holding a drought-ridden West Coast and in fact drew a demilitarized zone through Nevada and Arizona and the Rocky Mountains. This DMZ served as a theoretical minefield in which, if Russia and China pushed their territorial gains, drew nuclear strike responses from the East Coast and Midwest."

 

 

You heard the yelp before you felt the sensation, a girl dressed like a flapper stumbled and looked at you with annoyance. Or perhaps it was a man dressed in a well-worn tuxedo glaring at you with agitation. Regardless, you spilled your punch in your trance of memory. The gaiety of the ballroom did look nearly comical, especially for you who saw through it. Why the Roaring Twenties? One could come to the conclusion that the Roaring Twenties represented the pinnacle of distraction and hedonism. Verily, the horror of history repeating itself always made you feel uneasy. With the Roaring Twenties came the hang-over of human morality that those later described as World War II.

 

 

You caught your partner winking at you while stepping timidly for the center, the ritual of dance awaited you! Step. Step. Twirl. Step. The music, old-fashioned, rickety, but still wailing those lovely lines took you and your partner back. A temporary distraction from what lies outside the walls, there bore no windows in this ballroom to veil from all the gaiety what truly existed. The finger cymbals clicking together drove the main chorus of the song as you faced your partner, be they male or female, and you all drove yourselves into a dancing fervor with enough shakes to break the dust of the outside world from off your shoulders. One had to do what they must to brighten a sepia-toned day for in a few hours, you expected to leave the ballroom and walk along the wide streets and corridors of your Monolith.

 

New York City you referred to it as, though some witty ones would call it Memphis or Dallas depending on where the Monolith trudged. Whirring along on wheels like a World War 2-era armored tank; New York City demanded the attention of her inhabitants for fuel and repair. Every inhabitant upon this city stacked upon an industrial monstrosity fitted within a systematic process to scout, scavenge, and gather. The land that these Monoliths traveled along could not be trusted, hence these machines were constructed to navigate across them.

 

You were enjoying yourself, surely you were. Alas, all pleasures are ineffable as you soon realized when the alarms blared.

 

You caught yourself upon one of the formal tables set, shaking the draped cloth as you caught yourself and the centerpiece vase rocked onto its side and crashing onto the table with a muted sound. You make your way for one of the side exits, a company of you picked the wisest choice instead of trying to flood through the main exit. As you pass through the doorway, you find the bright glare of splicing bullets ricocheting and splitting in halves across the wrought iron skeletons of towers and Gothic buildings neatly planned along your platform. Some of these bullets strayed from rebound and caught into the necks, shoulders, and bodies of the main mass of people rushing out of the ballroom. Like a stampede of bison over a cliff with Apaches on their tail, many of the mass fell and brought others down with them.

 

A carriage pulled up on the opposite side of your group, an industrious man in a white shirt and black overalls stepped out quickly.

 

"Got'damn those lot, don't waste your time crying tears for the daft. Thank whatever you believe in that you chose the smarter exit, we'll let the faerie of eugenics take care the rest!", the man exclaimed curtly as he began tossing gauss rifles into each hand within your camaraderie. He patted each of you on the shoulders and spoke the word 'Escape' before entering his carriage and driving off. You take cover and observe that the bullets are being fired from zeppelin-like ships, slow but hovering around and getting decent views of the platforms of the multi-tiered Monolith.

 

 

Out-of-Character

 

1. This is an open-ended story, you all work together to move the story along. You see the picture above, let your creative juices flow. I'll dictate the technology, but this is Steampunk-oriented rather than Star Wars-esque. The gauss rifle is your basic rifle and is in fact fed by the uranium-tinged soil of some locations in this story. I will be making a map after I get back from work.

2. There is no such thing as power-gaming in that I honestly do not intend any of you to die unless by each other's hands or through a strictly logical situation. Early on, do not worry about 'dying' unless you are really looking to commit suicide or something lol.

3. Be patient with me ;) I hope the initial read really piques your interest. You'll be encountering some varied situations!

4. Characters

1. Halli Red [Everman111]
2. Robert Jackson [Revanchist/PiercingDarkness]
3. Sam [hugothechamp]
4. Evelyn White [Mezua]
5. Alexander Rooksbee [MatrixNeo]
6. Marco Notus [X01/Questions]
7. Ben DeMont [sneakyclownz]
8. Edward Vlaanderen [Hellfiazz]
9. Len Bowie [WolfThePict]
10. Norris Cole [Kralek]
11. Nat Kearney [Cowwsgomoo]
12. Emil Brandt [Lykos]
13. Zak Ikkala [White Wolf]
14. Lucy Everstein [dirtyhary]
15. Gerald Watts [oblivionsbane]
16. Brigham Nevick [steelMarshall]
17. John Rokenfell [bickando]

5. Add me on Skype @ ptolemaioi_hamza or Gaius Khan to get into the Skype Chat!

 

[hellfiazz 879]

Edward winces at the combined shocks of the harsh transition from inside to outside, the rifle being thrown at his abdomen, which he barely catches, and the sharp whizz and pang of bullets flying. He immediately darts to cover behind a ventilation duct that more than likely led to the bowels of the vast machine.

Edward fires off a few shots from his rifle at a zeppelin, trying to aim at the bridge to cause damage but mostly to provide cover fire for the other party-goers.

[Kralek 519]

Norris Cole rushed out the door, one of the last ones to exit the building, as the carriage pulled up along the dank road just outside. His suave, gelled, and comb backed dark Brown hair sat upon his head, black and white tuxedo snugged around his body, and a small bow clipped around his neck.

 

He stared down at the Gauss Rifle as it was flung across into his arms and laid plainly across his chest. He looked up again and a loud boom went off nearby and shook the ground around him, spurring Norris’ body as he flinched. He looked to the people around him and then saw the flashes and heard the explosions of war not too far off and quickly dodged behind a nearby dumpster for cover.

 

His voice shrills out towards the other members of the group, a raspy, yet smooth, new York accent emanates from his throat “Get to cover, before yeh heads are blown off!”

[dirtryhary 26]

 

Lucy Everstein was by no means a model women, and her job  as an engineer on deck two of New York City proved it. The decks primary focus was manufacturing weapons, and maintaing the scrubbers providing safe air for the city. Typically wearing googles to keep her eyes safe from sparks, a revealing undershirt with a leather jacket on top, and striped pants, Lucy cared little for her style. Bright red hair kept close cropped besides a pony tail in the back along with piercings and a tattoo gave her a striking appearance. If not beautiful (oil stains never helped) Lucy would be considered on the better side of the looks spectrum. Her life on the monolith had been one of loneliness, her being shy, and her family dead. Life on the lower decks of the city was hard, but it suited her well. 

 

Not one to attend balls, certainly like this, it had been her one exception. Just my luck she thought as the hall erupted in chaos. The only reason she had come was for all the food and drink, life as an engineer was not a cozy one. She saw all the people running like so many cattle towards the main exit, the zeppelins making short work of them. A side exit should lead out of here and be relatively discreet she thought, and seeing a group of other like minds threading through smaller exits confirmed her thoughts. Wearing her typical style of clothes (these ones thankfully oil free) she had gone for the semi-formal look. Not hampered by formal attire, she was one of the first to slip past the crowd running towards their deaths.

 

The most peculiar thing of that day was the man coming out of the carriage and speaking to them all. Lucy recoiled from his touch, glaring at him. Backing up, she stole quick glances at the rest of the people who fled with her. Not a band of warriors to be sure... When a rifle was tossed her way, she grabbed it, racked the slide to check for ammo, and deftly span it to point away from her. I helped make these damn things, I should know how to fire them. Taking cover, she let loose a few rounds at a Zeppelin that noticed the smaller group and was heading their way. Planning a route of escape, Lucy hunkered down and snapped off the occasional shot.

[TheWyrdWolf 1532]

 

A dull thud reverberating through his chest confirmed to Zak that he was still alive after immediately hitting the deck when the bullets started flying. Risking a quick glance over the small wall he had taken cover behind to the floating Zeppelins not far away put questions in his mind as he reached for the Guass Rifle he had dropped.

 

Who were these people attacking? Who was that strange man that thrust a rifle into his arms? Why was this happening to him? And..

 

Was he going to make it out of here alive..?

 

The only thing he knew that rang true for a fact was he had no idea how to work this weapon.. he was a Doctor not a fighter for petes sake!

 

Taking the thing in his hands he gave it a quick glance over, fear wreaking havoc with his mind during the intense firefight. He pulled the trigger. Click. Click. Click. Nothing. What was he doing wrong?

 

With a worried look on his face he looked around trying to see if anyone else was having the same issue as him.

[Lykos 276]

Emil Brandt

 

   Emil was used to the thick, overbearing air that would threaten his survival over a night's sleep, clogged with coal, dust, and traces of radiation. He was used to the dangers that living and working on the lowest levels of the Monolith. No matter how many plates of lead were built between the lowest level and the ground, radiation was still a problem. So he did as he was told, kept taking his medications, worked in his sealed suit, and made sure his gas mask's filters were in good supply. Such was the life at the lowest level of the monolith.

 

   But today was different. Today, he wouldn't have to worry about pleasing the overseers. Today, he wouldn't have to worry about dying in his sleep to an enemy he couldn't see. Today, he had snuck out of work duty and up to the upper levels. He spent half a year's wages renting a tuxedo and cleaning himself up, making himself look half-presentable. Whether or not today was going to be the last he'd see of the upper levels, he'd enjoy every second. So he danced. So he drank. Enjoyed the fine food and company... But fate, it seemed, had another idea.

 

   It was so sudden. One second he was dancing with a beauty from the fourth level, the next he was standing wide-eyed as people were barreling into each other trying to get out of the ballroom, earning only a fate as a stain on the fine carpet.

 

 Emil shook himself out of the trance he was in and sprinted out of the room, through a side exit, following another lucky group of people. He arrived just as a carriage was departing, the men and women around him now armed with gauss rifles. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls an old knife from its sheath, falling in with the group, taking cover on a corner of the brick building, looking up into the skies.

 

 

   The beast in the sky continuously shot off bursts of lead, the impact of the rounds landing close-by creating a cloud of snapping sounds around the group.

 

Emil looks around to the others in his newfound group, breathing hard, gripping his knife tightly.

 

"We can't stay in the streets, they'll light us up!"

[MatrixNeo585 10]

Alexander Rooksbee

 

Alexander a scavenger for the mobile city, having worked for a very long time finding supplies to sustain the city as it moves place to place picking up either scraps or full items and going home with money in his pocket.  On multiple occasions has he had to leave men laid out of the ground in a pool of blood as they've threatened his life or that of his comrades.  Having heard of the upcoming dance he saved up his money for a fine tux and tie, leading up to where he is now standing still in the middle of the dance floor at the sound of the alarm with his dance partner ducking down as a volley of shots strike the glass of the dance hall, sliding behind some cover as he watches his partner's body fall back as shots strike her body sending her to the floor in a pool of blood.  Watching as the herd of people running through the main entrance like chicken's without their head he would slide out the side looking up into the sky at the zeppelins overhead spraying down upon the city, watching as a gauss rifle skirts at his feet then looking at the other survivors that have joined him nodding to each of them before taking the rifle in his hand and taking cover opening fire on the assailants starting to pull back with the group.

 

[CowsGoMoo 267]

Nat smiled, holding a small glass of alcohol tightly in her hands. It was a tense little smile, with the sides of her lips twisting upwards to form a grimace. Her dancing partner, Matt, was at ease, staring off towards the center of the ballroom at the dancers a loose grin on his face. They were friends, generally speaking. They talked occasionally, but only when she happened to bump into him while going through her daily tasks, or when he happened by the saloon she worked at. He had pressured her to come with her to the party, and having nothing else to do that day, she agreed to go. She had began to regret that decision. She wasn’t too big on parties--they were crowded, usually stuffy, and loud enough to be migraine inducing--but, she couldn’t deny that they were enjoyable. It was an easy way to take her mind off of things, and some socialization was always healthy, she supposed. It was pretty much crowded, stuffy, and loud in any other part of the walking metal box she was stuck in anyways, so she guessed it didn’t really matter. At the very least there was free food and drink here, and she was definitely going to take advantage of that.
“Hey Nat!”, Matt called over the noise, jerking his head towards the food area, “Wanna grab so-”

 

~*~*~

She wasn't quite sure what happened, but she was on the ground. She glanced around in panic, gripping onto the table she was behind. The sound of gunshots rang through the air. She twitched as the vase on the table next to her shattered, sending shards of glass scattering across the ground next to her. She was frozen in place, her body rigid in fear. Matt was already gone, having probably ran off already--and she had no idea which direction the exit was. She cursed, and began to make her way through the tables, pushing her way through the throngs of people trying to reach safety. She caught a quick glimpse of what appeared to be the side-doors of the ballroom during her scramble for safety, noting the others who were also heading in the same direction. She kicked off her high heels, already regretting her choice of formal attire. Keeping low, she began to sprint towards the others. She hoped that the tables would at least give her some sort of cover against the bullets that still slammed through the building. She reached the exit just in time for a gauss rifle to be thrown straight into her hands. She blinked, staring down at the weapon for quite a moment, before simply letting out a small, “Oh.”

 

"We can't stay in the streets, they'll light us up!"
 

Right. Bullets. Probable death. Should probably find something to hide behind, she thought to herself. She scrambled for cover, gasping for air still, “Aaah, fuuuuck”, she groaned, noticing a large zeppelin heading over towards their direction. She fumbled around with her weapon in her panic. She had a little experience with guns--she had kept a small handgun in her shop, and because of that, had learned how to use most of the basic weapons at a very… well, basic level. She gulped. There might be a chance they could take down the zeppelin with their rifles, but .. wouldn’t that just be a waste of ammo? How many shots would they have to take at it in order for it to finally go down? Finding someplace more solid to take cover in would be a much better alternative. She looked around, searching for the other survivors, hoping for any other cues for further action.

[bickando 3967]

John Rokenfell had been dancing with a particularly charming young heiress of a small factory when the alarms blared. She, of course, had run off towards the main entrance, but he looked to the side and strode over to one of the pretty empty side exits. He was an up and coming manager of a metal refitting factory in the lower levels, and came from an old family. He was originally set to join the scavengers, but a change in status had landed him in the middle section.

 

He wore a black trench coat with a relatively high collar, a white undershirt, and khakis for the party, a pocketwatch his only luxury. His combed brown hair began to shift in the wind as he stepped out and found a gauss rifle in his hands and a gentleman he'd never met patting him on the shoulder. He should probably have stayed at the factory today, to be fair. Looking over and seeing the few others that had also come this way, he sighs. He hadn't used a gun for years, and barely remembered where each part was, but he saw this attack as an opportunity, but at the same time quite the predicament. Beginning to jog towards the center of New York City, where there might presumably be the docking center. Glancing behind him, he shouts,

 

"Stop drawing the attention of the zeppelins and follow me, our best chance is to get away from the sides of the city!"

[Lykos 276]

-Emil Brandt-

 

   "Middle of the city'll have more cover, but once we're there we need to go down a tier or two! Barricade ourselves into a building or something, figure out what's going o-"

 

  Emil looks up to the Zeppelins before slamming himself back into cover, just as a salvo of rounds smashes into the side of the building above them, deafening Emil for a moment and forcing him down. He quickly scrambles to his feet, dust and bits of brick raining down on him. A piece of shrapnel had ricocheted around and struck the side of his head, albeit only slightly, forming a cut above his right brow, the wound producing a small stream of blood that would probably close up on its own in time.

   

   His sub-par rental tux was now covered in brick dust, and he found himself sprinting across the street. Before he knew what he was doing, he had dived into cover in front of the building opposite the group, towards the inner part of the city's tier. He was out of the Zeppelin's sightline, but that wouldn't help much if they decided to shoot some HE down on the street.

 

 Taking a moment to observe his immediate surroundings, he the building he was now next to was a library, and that it had a dark alleyway next to it, but getting to it was in the sightline of the zeppelin's guns.

[SteelMarshall 190]

 

The scrubbers and air purifiers struggled without pause to purify the air of the harmful chemicals that rose from the lower levels on a wave of ash and smog. Men and machine alike strained to keep the dangerous byproducts of the engines that powered the trundling city out of the lungs of its denizens. They were mostly successful.... mostly. Smoke still wreathed the nomadic metropolis like a dark shawl, though it was relatively harmless. It was a much better alternative to the lingering and deadly radiation that seethed down below, on The Surface, as it was called; yet the billowing refuse of the massive factories often made the view rather drab. It did not help that a storm seemed to be gathering upon the horizon. On days like these, it was quite apparent as to why many of New York's architects had chosen against windows in their buildings. The dreary reality of the outside world did not fit their picture, their grand design for the upper levels; one of gaiety and frivolousness. Those two qualities were certainly in abundance in a particular structure, studded with intricate stonework and and fancy doors. A great party was being held there, absurd in its extravagance and carelessness, yet equally standard in comparison to the amount of social events thrown by the upper echelon of New York. It truly put the original roaring twenties to shame.

 

Footsteps fell muted on the cobblestone road outside of the large hall, the soft pattering of a light shower beginning to dampen and fill the cracks between the broad street. The shoes were black and polished, and belonged to a pale man clad in an equally black coat. A bodyguard stood outside of the grand mahogany doors, hired to ensure that the wrong sort didn't mingle with the socialites. Not that his job was even really necessary; there were no formal invitations, no guest list to check. The party was open to anyone who came well dressed and didn't have any outstanding trouble with the law. The stranger only satisfied the former requirement... yet arrangements had been made expressly for him, and he simply nodded as the doorman stepped aside, opening the great entrance with a satisfying creak.

 

The atmosphere contrasted sharply with the stormy weather outside. The temperature was pleasant; enough so that the man decided to search for a coat hanger almost as soon as he walked in. An attendant was immediately at his side, and the man raised an eyebrow slightly as his overcoat was whisked away, off and into the sea of people. The atmosphere was infectious; warm and, though crowded, not excessively loud or hot. People in all sorts of finery moved gracefully about the circles of other party-goers. Glasses clinked over the general commotion, as those on the outer edges of the large marble floor talked to each other; gossip, flirting, and laughter forming into a harmonious jumble of human voices.

 

The pale man found himself at the bar, a lavish assortment of bottles on the wall behind. Gin, whisky, and more outlandish beverages cluttered the shelves, while an impressive array of aged wine and bubbling champagnes could be seen rushed about on silver platters as the staff moved smoothly through the well-dressed masses. The bartender, a red-faced and friendly looking man, leaned against the glass counter and spoke. "What can I do ya for, mister?" He asked, his voice throaty and hearty. The stranger paused, as if a bit surprised at the encounter, before he tapped on the tabletop twice. The bartender smiled and nodded, before he went to fetch a large-bellied flask of bourbon. It was surprising, really, how openly and freely the alcohol went about. True to form, and the adage that history repeats itself, New York had seen a ban on liquors and other strong alcoholic beverages. The already infamous 'Second Prohibition' had been enacted to ensure that spirits would not affect the abilities of The Under, the mechanics district that oversees the maintenance and movement of the city. It was enforced harshly yet infrequently, and many already treated it with an almost lazy disregard. The only thing it had accomplished thus far was to heighten the image of those who partook in the banned liquids' consumption... as well as reinstate the booze-smuggling trade, and all the vices that had come with it.

 

The bartender returned with a fine polished glass and the full bottle of bourbon. His customer slid some money across the table, and the barkeep's eyes twinkled as he uncorked the wide vessel. Amber liquid cascaded and shone as it reflected the lights from the several chandeliers that hung overhead. The stranger took the glass with a nod, and the bartender gave him a once-over as he re-plugged the neck of the bottle with its crystal stopper.

 

The man was pale, and strikingly bald despite the fact that he looked no older than 35; several drops of rainwater still glittered on his smooth skull. The lack of hair was often a telltale sign of exposure to radiation, though the fact that his eyebrows still remained would suggest that any dosages had not been too severe. His face, though angular and thin, might have been considered handsome by some, were it not for an ugly scar that tugged at his upper lip. Another cut, now white with age, ran across his long and hawkish nose. His clothing was slightly unusual as well; he was not garbed in the common tux that many wore to such occasions. He instead wore a normal suit, its black jacket unbuttoned to reveal an immaculately white shirt. A tie of deep red complimented the contrasting values nicely. Pressed black pants, held up by a thin belt with a square buckle, ran down to his narrow and formal shoes. The outfit was simple, yet very well-made, and was not the sort of thing you would commonly see in a renter's shop. The bartender insinuated that his customer was wealthy enough to pay for such clothing, and so guessed that he was somewhere in the upper-middle class financially. The style of his attire, while less common due to the reemergence of tuxedos and older-era formal-wear, was not necessarily outdated; just out of style. This could have meant that the stranger was simply a bit behind the times; yet the bartender had a flair for the dramatic in him, and he enjoyed his job, a large part of which consisted of jumping to conclusions and conjuring outlandish stories for those he served. This led him to decide that the man was instead new to the city, and unaccustomed to the fashion and lifestyle of New York's populace.

 

The portly barkeep's thoughts were abruptly cut short as the man shot him a glance, which he attempted to hastily avoid by cleaning one of the serving glasses with a rag. The stranger turned away, and looked back out over the center of the large floor. It was there that many of the party-goers had begun to dance to an upbeat and old-fashioned tune. Trumpets blared and drums reverberated as the small band belted out a quick and fun ditty. Dresses fluttered and twirled as the women matched step with the men, laughter and cheers of encouragement rising as more of the hall's guests were swept up in dance. The man downed the rest of his bourbon, steeling himself with some liquid courage before he strode out onto the floor. He was, after all, here to enjoy himself. 

 

 

What an alien concept that was, he thought, as he made his way through the crowd that had begun to ring the dancers. Yes, that was what he needed, to just let go. Yet it felt almost impossible, to just... let down his guard. But he had earned this, he told himself. His employer had invited him, an extra reward to compliment the healthy sums of cash that came after every successful job. The man he worked for resided within the highest levels of the rich and privileged, surrounded by a web of important contacts and powerful people. He even had a suite on the highest levels, where the sun shone over clear-blue pools and leafy terraces. He was not stingy with his wealth, either; those in his employ often reaped the benefits gladly. This usually distinguished them from those who made their living through more honest means; it didn't take a genius to figure out that someone who had the wealth to live comfortably while seemingly unemployed was probably involved in... other ventures.

 

The pale man sighed, as if to calm his nerves. Yes, he definitely needed this. He was consumed by his work. That was, in fact, the reason he was here. "Come on, I insist!" The memory of his boss's voice echoed in his head. "Yeah, I insist! Y'know, ya like a boiler with no steam valves. Got nowhere for all that pressure t'go. I've never seen ya relax, y'know that? Loosen up, eh?" An invitation from that man was not to be ignored, and so he now found himself here. But to tell the truth, he was relieved for a chance to... well, feel like a normal human being. Even if he was only acting the part.

 

The song came to an end, a brief pause that was to be quickly overtaken by another lively ditty. The crowds began to shift, as if they had one mind, and the bald man realized with a jolt of nervousness that this seemed to be a partner's dance. He steeled himself; this was his night, and damn everything else! He stepped into the large throng of gentlemen, who faced a line of their female companions. The voice of the band leader rang out, deep and stirring, and the dance began! Amid the chaos, the man found himself face to face with a woman in a long strapless dress. Her lips lacked the deep red gloss that many of the rich ladies had applied for the occasion, and she lacked the elbow-length gloves and silken caps that were all the rage among the wealthy few. Yet her dress was beautiful, and her hair cascaded in glossy ripples as it framed her pleasant face. Her eyes shone, and her smile was the final encouragement that the man needed to step forward. A few of the 'hired protection' at the ball chuckled to themselves and pointed at the man, a rare smile pulling on his often unyielding features.

 

He was enjoying himself immensely... almost too much. The night had been going too well; perfect, almost, and his fortune was never so pleasant. He should have known, in retrospect, that something was bound to happen. That 'something' was the blaring of an alarm horn, so loud and abrupt that it caused many of the party-goers to jump in fright and surprise, their expensive drinks emptying onto the floor with a tinkle of breaking glass. The ear-ringing barrage that followed was a half second behind the projectiles it heralded, and the blasts that punctured the air were accompanied by the shriek of heavy fire and the screams of its victims. The man staggered back as a round whistled past his head to punch into a table, sending a shower of splintered wood and tablecloth into the air. It took several long moments for his mind to register, before his instinct kicked into high gear. He vaulted over a debris-strewn table towards the first exit he saw. The once pleasant crowd had become a panicked horde, which now surged to find any way out they could. It was more luck than decision that found the man pushing and shoving to the side exit, his partner long gone, the faces of merriment replaced by visages wide-eyed and drained of color. The man stumbled out into the open street, his overcoat forgotten as his eyes drank in the chaos that was unfolding. Massive zeppelins hung like angry wasps in the darkened sky, their flanks flashing as they rained fire down upon the moving metropolis.

 

 

A rain of metal slugs assaulted the steps of the main entrance. The grand mahogany door was ground to sawdust, and red mist was flung up from the hellish barrage as the large munitions tore into those unfortunate enough to have taken the front door out. Cries of pain and fear filled the air, barely discernible over the wailing sirens. The man turned to see a large carriage screech to a halt, but a few meters from where he stood. A man in overalls leapt from the vehicle, his sleeves rolled to his elbow. The pale man's eyes narrowed, and he ducked his head as the man glanced over him. His hand reached slowly for something hidden in his suit jacket. There was plenty of competition in New York's underworld, other factions that fought viciously for turf and resources even in the midst of such a crisis. It may have seemed irrational, but with the swift and unexpected turn of events nothing was outside the realm of possibility. 

 

The pale man's eyes widened as he saw something tossed to him, and his hands came up instinctively to catch the long item. It was a gauss rifle, he realized with surprise, and he looked up in time to see the odd man and his companions throw guns to several other party guests before they barreled off in their carriage. The crack of ricocheting bullets jolted him from his befuddlement, and the bald man bent low and hurried for cover. He found himself checking the lever on the firearm behind a low stone wall, which was encircled about a small courtyard that bordered the road. His eyes flicked about him as the sound of returned fire reverberated across the street. 

 

A man hunkered behind a nearby dumpster let out a raspy warning to find cover. A woman with fiery red hair seemed to be taking potshots at the approaching gunships. A man with a drawn knife had his back against the wall of a building across the street, and another person he recognized from the party was crouched behind the same wall he was. The nervous party guest seemed to be fiddling frantically with his weapon, and several loud clicks seemed to echo from the rifle. The bald man went to grab his new ally's firearm from him, yet a round glanced off the wall and showered him with mortar and pulverized brick. He flinched back into cover, and kept his head low while the others returned fire.

 

He knew that wasting ammo would be futile; from this range, a damaging hit on any of the gunships with the small-arms they possessed would be a damn miracle. No, best to save the uranium slugs. This seemed like a lightning attack from one of the infamous raider fleets that traversed the skies, and if the bald man's intuition served him correctly, they would be dropping boarding parties soon. Then he would need every bullet he could muster. A shout interrupted his thoughts; a man in a trench coat yelled for the motley group to retreat from the immediate vicinity. The bald man didn't have any better ideas, and the wall he was huddled against was beginning to weaken under the hellish barrage. He slapped the back of the man who was having trouble with his rifle, and pointed to the now jogging figure who had shouted. He then made eye contact with the man who held the knife, a small streak of red now cutting through the dust on his face, and beckoned him with swift movements. The others seemed preoccupied with returning fire on the approaching zeppelins, though the bald man motioned frantically to any who saw him. He would then begin moving along the side of the street, keeping low and behind cover as much as possible.

[High Prophetess Mezua~ ♥ ツ 144]

 

Light chattering and laughter floated through the air and into the ears of a woman who sat in a plush red chair. In her hand she gently held a glass of dark red wine. From a distance the wine would appear to be of the generic cheap kind, however upon taking a sip, one would find it was wine that was aged from before the war. It one of of the more expensive wines, and Evelyn was very much enjoying the taste. She raised her bare slender arm up, carrying the wine glass, to her mouth, and took a gentle sip as she surveyed the room.

 

People were dancing. People were coming. People were going. There was happiness in the air, something rarely found on this monolith. A ball like this was a good way to lift the spirits of the people. However, Evelyn secretly wished they had limited who came in and joined the party. She thought it to be pathetic that lower levels could enter this party clearly meant for the higher levels. She sighed and stirred her wine around in the glass, then watched it settle down to the gentle waves and vibrations created by the moving New York.

The lady raised her other arm, covered with a fine black silk that covered her hand and had small, shining jewels on the end, to brush her white, silky hair back behind her neck. On her head she wore a black top hat, complete with matching goggles for those moments when the lower levels failed to clear the air for the higher levels. Her burgundy colored dress with small vertical stripes started at her neck and was attached by two gold pins and went down into a leotard type style. The fabric was strong but gentle, as it clung to her skin and showed her curves off in a non-revealing, yet sexy way. On top of the dress she wore a black, leather corset, that support her breasts up into nice shapes. One half of the corset covered and cupped the left side, but the other half was a strap that went up and around her shoulder, turning into the left side of the corset. This leather strap also happened to be wrapped around her arms, holding the lovely silken garment in place. At the bottom of the corset was another gold piece, attached to two leather stripes on the sides that hung over and down her hips. They connected in the back of the dress, to her favorite outfit piece. Covering her lower half and attached to a black belt and the leather stripes was a dress cap that covered her back side. The fine cape trailed all the way down to her ankles, but remained opened and exposed in her front side. Her legs were mostly bare, save for her leather knee-high leather boots brandishing thin 6 inch heels that was freshly polished, complete with silver gears and golden pins, and her stripped black and red socks that went halfway up her leg, then stopped. Her whole outfit was modest, yet alluring. She found it to be bland, however, as she had decided to wear one of her least best outfits in order to not draw attention to the fact that she resided on one of the higher levels.

 

She closed her eyelids and listened to the low hum of the monolith, along with the chattering of the people and the laughter. Occasionally someone would trip, causing a yelp in the crowd. She opened her eyes again and watched the scene in front of her, whilst taking a sip of the aged wine. Her light blue eyes trailed over the bar, a man catching her gaze. He seemed different, yet poise, much like her. She watched him with a curiosity as he left the bar and disappeared into the crowd. Evelyn was pondering if she should stand up and join the crowd, when the yelling started. She blinked and looked up, the music that was dancing in the background of her thoughts suddenly stopped, and replaced with the sound of screams and bullets. She set the wine down and hastily stood up, looking around. In order to not get trampled or have her dress ruined, she began to follow the main flow of the crowd with a air of grace, even in the moment of panic.

 

A man who was unseen before, stepped around the plush chair and followed her. He arrived beside her and grabbed her arm with his gloved hand. "My lady..." He muttered, and guided her through the crowd, making sure that no one attempted to do anything. Of course, no one would attempt anything on this lovely dame, as they were all too panicked by the sound and the sights of the bullets grazing and barreling through the crowd. 

 

Evelyn found herself walking outside, her arm firmly grasped by her guardian. She then realized that he had let go. Concerned, she looked around for him and found no trace, just a mingle of many faces she had never seen before. Alone and surrounded by the lower class, she frowned and began walking, when she was stopped by a man in a carriage. He seemed to be yelling something and, before she knew it, she was holding a gun!

 

A gun!

 

The woman paled at the foreign object in her hands and was about to throw it down when someone tugged the back of her dress and pulled her into safety behind a building. Whoever it was that had pulled her into safety had run off. She watched with horror as the place she was previously standing just second ago suddenly had bullets flying through the space. Prim and proper as she was, she held the gun away from her evasively, yet curious about the contraption. Upper class was never meant to use such atrocities! She turned it over and over, this way and that, trying to understand how it worked, oblivious to her surroundings, even as a Zeppelin drew closer.   She heard shouts, and screams, and lots of gunfire. Bullets were strown all over the area, people were huddled together, some were shooting these same rifles as she held into the air. 

 

A voice rang into the air, shouting over the crowd. It told them to leave the vicinity and take cover. She stood from her crouch and frowns, noticing that the bottom of her prized cape was covered in dust from the dirty street. She crouched and held the gun close to her chest, pointed upwards and away from anyone. She might have had no idea how to use it, but she wasn't daft. The lady inched her way along, finding it extremely uncomfortable to crouch and follow in a crowd in a tight, (quite lovely and very expensive homemade) dress, while wearing heels! 

[MatrixNeo585 10]

   The alarms continue to blare on speakers as Alex sits behind hard cover conserving his ammo as the speaker above him is hit with a stray bullet, sparks raining down on him lifting a hand over his head to protect from the sparks.

 

   Bounding for the inner city as he ducks his head down a few times as bullets ricochet off the walls around him, running past one of the small company noticing him struggle with his rifle, taking the man's arm and dragging him along with him, "Keep your head low!" yelling over the ring of bullets as he tucks the man under his arm continuing to bound down the street, grunting in pain as a shot grazes his leg finally sliding behind a good bit of cover standing next to a man who was with the first company.  Following his gaze into the dark alley as he also looks at the street before him that we can call no-mans land.

 

 Placing a hand on the man's shoulder "Before we try anything risky wait for the rest of group!"  noticing the man's wound just above his brow, tearing a piece of cloth from his sleeve as he wipes the man's brow, "Nasty shot, heh."  Standing back up against the wall watching as the shadow's of Zeppelins roll down the street as the sounds of people's screams and explosion ring through out the city.

[Samson Option 9652]

 

“In every age it has been the tyrant, the oppressor and the exploiter who has wrapped himself in the cloak of patriotism, or religion, or both to deceive and overawe the People."

- Eugene V. Debs

 

The nearest zeppelin rocked with the received shots from the gauss rifles below and carreened to one of the wrought iron towers. The gauss rifle shots tore into the modest synthetic fiber of the balloons and flared the gaseous innards alight. The zeppelins ended their strafing maneuvers and began to retreat from above the top-most tier of the Monolith. Soldiers marched the streets in greater number and ordered the people in the streets to take to the nearest buildings and demanded calm as some bent down to gather the dead on the streets.

A man wearing a leather jacket leaned over a railing nearby, peering at the tier below. A soldier marched up with a grimace and budged the man's shoulder to where they faced one another. After a short verbal exchange, the soldier cuffed him in the chin and began to choke the man. The struggle lasted a mere few minutes before the soldier vaulted the man off the ground and tossed him over the railing. Among your ranks, a familiar man cried out in astonishment. He walked brusquely out from your crowd and approached the soldier.

"What is the meaning of this! What tyranny is this!", the man shouted.

The sound of rifles below, seemingly from the tier below, drew the soldier's furtive glance before approaching the man authoratively. With an intimidating draw of his hand, the soldier pulled out a pistol and aimed it at the familiar man.

[Rig 17581]

Robert clutches his rifle tight to himself.. in hiding.