Roland
Elite Warrior
Posts: 95
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Post by Roland on Nov 11, 2009 5:04:57 GMT -6
Roland brought the bike to a halt, setting the kickstand and killing the engine as he stepped away from it. Yet again, he found himself admiring the seemingly simple design. The bike had been a 'gift' from the MetalHeads, a small gang that had specialized in custom-built vehicles. When the New Empire had acquired the gang, Roland had paid a visit to their shop, and had immediately taken a liking to the dirtbike, and when they left, he rode it back to the DWP.
In the week and a half since, he'd rarely been seen without it, and he found that the bike's lightweight frame, coupled with its off-road intent, was very well-suited to the ruined urban landscape he found himself in. While the city's Ring neighborhoods were mostly intact, when one began to head into the Inner City, they could truly see the impact of the years of war and neglect. Fallen and ruined buildings were an increasingly common sight the further inward you went, and it was these mountains and hills of crumbling concrete and bent steel that made Roland value the bike.
Roland gave his head a fierce shake, bringing his mind back into the present. He'd made his way here to see how fast and how far the Grid had grown since the meeting, and as he looked up, he was pleased by what he saw.
When they'd first begun expanding, they'd found a network of underground cable already in place, presumably from before the destruction of the Grid. However, great damage had been done to the system, and every few blocks, they'd needed to dig up the underground cables to replace destroyed or damaged sections.
On the downside, they didn't have the equipment to place more underground cable, or the knowledge needed to do so. On the positive side, however, the reference books he'd found in the underground warehouse detailed how to install above-ground power lines, and a discussion with Scrap led to the conclusion that aboveground lines could be used to bridge the gaps in the subterranean system.
They had done precisely that. Now, for nearly 2 miles from the DWP out to the edges of their acquired territory, newly-placed aboveground lines stood among the ruins of civilization, one every 3-4 blocks, standing out as signs of progress amid the rubble. He walked up to a nearby pole, stopping as he heard a telltale hum in the air. He smiled.
When he glanced down at his feet, however, his smile faded. His shadow was directly beneath him. It was noon. He had somewhere he was supposed to be at noon, and it most certainly wasn't here. He ran back to the bike, opening one of a pair of 'saddlebags' he'd added to the bike in the past week, pulling out a walkie-talkie.
"Darian, this is Roland. How late am I?"
Darian groaned as the walkie-talkie he'd been glaring at for the past five minutes crackled to life. "You were supposed to be up here with me 15 minutes ago, Roland. Where the hell are you?"
Roland rolled his eyes. He still hadn't made his move to push Darian out of power, and moments like this made him question why. He sighed. "Doesn't matter. I'll be back in 10 minutes. The boys probably expect me late by now anyway."
Darian's shoulders slumped, the light from the balcony casting his shadow on the wall. In the back of his mind, Darian thought the shadow looked like an old man. "You'll be here in 5, or I start without you."
"And what makes you think that would work, Darian?" Roland replied, his tone superior. He smirked. "I made the deal with all of these people, not having me there could be seen as a sign of poor organization. Most of these folks were real close with Eddie Crown once, as I recall. You know how he would've shown them to handle things, just as well as I do."
Roland swung a leg over the bike, thumbing the ignition as he raised the kickstand. "You'll wait 11 minutes to make up for the time we've wasted talking, Darian. And you'll do it because you know I'm right."
Switching the walkie-talkie off, Roland dropped it in the saddlebag he'd pulled it out of, and started the bike. With a wide grin, he held the brakes as he spun the back tire, kicking up a cloud of concrete dust before speeding off towards the DWP.
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Roland
Elite Warrior
Posts: 95
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Post by Roland on Nov 12, 2009 2:00:14 GMT -6
15 minutes later, Roland's bike jumped over a crushed car, using the flattened hood as a ramp. The landing was bouncy, and a bit rough, but the jump itself had served a purpose: As he pulled to a stop and began to walk the bike towards the building's lobby, every eye in the crowd was on him. The sea of bodies parted before him and closed behind him as he approached the building, and all around him were silent. He allowed himself a slight smile as he left the crowd, parking the bike by the stairwell before heading up.
Darian strode in from the balcony as he saw the black-and-silver dirtbike soar into view, his face a mask of frustration as he waited for his de facto second-in-command. The title officially belonged to Markus, an ex-soldier he'd served with in the War. However, after the success at the meeting, Roland's name had spread quickly through the ranks, and his influence was getting harder and harder to ignore.
His thoughts were interrupted by their subject walking into the room, a grin on his face that Darian thought looked smug. "Joy. The emcee has arrived. Let's get this over with, Roland. I'm not comfortable with so many enemies on my doorstep, and I'm sure you've got some all-important reason to get out of here. Win-win if we do this quickly."
Roland raised one eyebrow at Darian's statement, even as he walked past the older man to stand at the sliding door onto the balcony of the corner office. "I'd almost think you were beginning to doubt my sincerity, Darian. We're after the same things, remember. And they're not enemies. Not anymore. Starting today, they're ou...your men." Cracking his neck, Roland gave his jacket a few straightening tugs, making sure his bandana was clearly on display around his right bicep. Satisfied, he opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony.
Below him stood roughly 700 people (708, Scrap would later report); among those 700 stood the entirety of the New Empire, some 200 men, positioned around the perimeter and seeded throughout. The remaining 508, however, were a ragtag group at best, supposedly the entire membership of the 13 gangs the New Empire had acquired after the meeting at the Hall.
His eyes scanned the crowd, noting the way they'd stuck to their own colors as they'd arrived. He placed his hands on the railing of the balcony, taking just a moment to decide what he'd say. With a crowd this size, he might have worried about their ability to hear him, but their silence was absolute, and the wind was still. He would have no trouble being heard this day.
"Brothers and sisters, welcome to the New Empire! Allow me to begin with good news for you all: your long days of uncertainty are over! No longer shall you sleep in fear of betrayal, nor shall your colors be hidden on public streets out of necessity for self-preservation. No longer will you spend your waking moments searching for a purpose in this shattered City, only to find your hope crumbling like the concrete ruins that surround you. No, from this day forth, your purpose shall be known. Your skills and talents shall be valued, and your voices shall be heard."
Roland began to pace the length of the balcony, his gaze never leaving the crowd below.
"Once, this City stood proud, a monument to the greatness of mankind. Now, like all of you, this City has been broken, brought down by the weight of the world going to Hell around it. Where once, your pride and patriotism was unshakable, now it has nearly been shattered.
That is why the New Empire is here. With your help, we grow stronger every day. We claim more of these urban ruins, salvaging the wonders of the past and clearing the rubble for greatness yet to come. With you, and with those who will come after you, we will grow, until none can stand between us and our goal, our prize: a new City, rising from the ashes of the old, and a new nation built by our hands. That is your purpose, as it is mine."
Roland stopped his pacing, looking closely at those closest to the balcony, making eye contact whenever possible.
"Before we can move forward, however, we must let go of the past. The colors you wear mean something to you, I know. But if we are to succeed, we must be unified. Weak is the army that flies many flags, pledges allegiance to many men and agendas. No, if we are to succeed, you must not only relinquish your colors, but your belief in them. Only one color can bring you up from the hole this world left you in."
As the words left his mouth, the New Empire men surrounding the crowd began to stir with impatience. "What happens next will not be easy, and for that I apologize. But through it all, you must remember two very important things: First, that we, the New Empire, are in control. You are either with us, or against us, and we must put that choice to the test. Second, remember: your colors and allegiances brought you to this end; our beliefs, our agenda, our colors, are here to offer you a way out."
Roland smirked, glancing up at the sun before returning his gaze to the nervously shuffling crowd below.
"You have one hour, with 3 conditions: No one dies, everyone stays conscious, and when you come before Darian, the leader of the New Empire, you will all wear our colors, and you will do so with pride."
Roland turned back towards the building, taking a step before half-turning back to the crowd raising his voice once more. "Let the Coronation begin!"
As the nervous shuffling quickly turned into screams of panic and pain, Roland walked quickly back into the office building, closing the door behind him to shut out the worst of the noise. He still wore his grin, even as he saw the look of anger and disgust on Darian's face.
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Roland
Elite Warrior
Posts: 95
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Post by Roland on Nov 13, 2009 1:58:19 GMT -6
Darian gave Roland a moment of silence before flying into a rage, his arms flailing as he screamed at the younger man. "What the hell do you think you're doing!? The New Empire doesn't do these things, Roland! We're more than just some street gang!"
Roland shook his head, his smile never fading as he spoke quietly to the old man. "Your New Empire is changing, Darian. If it is to survive and succeed, it must change. When I met you, this was just some street gang. Without me, you'd still be living in that cramped mansion, recruiting from bars and roughing up the occasional pedestrian for pocket change."
As his voice rose in volume, Roland's smile only widened, sending a shiver of fear down Darian's spine as the older man took a step back.
"See, Darian, the military background you prize so much means NOTHING to those people. All that matters in any gang is respect, and this is the only way to guarantee it for you. However unstable the Deathhounds might be, their methods have one advantage over your old ones. In the aftermath of a good brawl, those involved come away from the experience with bruises and cuts, yes, but they also carry respect for the one who was strong enough, and skilled enough, to give them.”
Even as Darian continued to back away towards the door, Roland pressed on, closing the distance between the two in a few large steps, shoving the old soldier up against the wall with one arm pressing against his chest.
“YOU brought this on YOURSELF, Darian. YOU wanted this, remember? MY ideas, MY beliefs, the change I would bring to the New Empire? YOU invited all of it the moment your men brought me back to the mansion. Like it or not, this is YOUR doing, and I’m not going away anytime soon. Now quit bitching about my ability to deliver what I promised, and leave me the fuck alone!"
His grin still present, his nostrils flared and his eyes wide, Roland gave Darian a good shake before letting him go and storming out of the room.
Darian could only stare wide-eyed as the young man dropped him and walked out of the office. He’d fought in the War, he’d seen men die gruesome deaths, and killed more men than he cared to count. It took a lot scare him nowadays.
But this? Roland’s ability to fly from inspirational speaker to terrifying madman? The fact that, through all of Roland's tirade, the young man's smile had not only remained, but widened? As he slid down the wall into a sitting position, Darian found himself thankful for the dark cloth of the pants he wore – they helped to hide the warm, dark stain he felt creeping down the inside of his right leg.
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Roland
Elite Warrior
Posts: 95
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Post by Roland on Dec 22, 2009 14:14:59 GMT -6
For a moment, the brawling crowd parted, just long enough to let a lone, silver-clad figure pass through. A few unfortunate souls didn't hear the dirtbike's angry growl approaching in time to allow it passage, and were rewarded by a string of curses hurled in their direction.
One particularly unlucky young man, thrown to the ground by the fighting around him, had only the briefest glimpse of a rapidly-approaching black tire before the metal beast, and its rider, ran him over without the slightest pause. Roland barely noticed the crunch under his tires, his mind still raging about Darian, and rejoicing over the old soldier's subsequent humiliation.
Now, he knew, he needed to blow off some steam, and few things accomplished that task better (in this war-torn world, at least) than a high-speed, intentionally reckless bike ride through (and in many cases, over) the fallen, crumbling wreckage of the City.
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Post by gideon on Dec 22, 2009 15:59:08 GMT -6
Nate watched the impromptu rally, his breath caught in his throat. Angela'd gotten word through some of her gang sources that something big was going down. He'd been hesitant to believe it, especially when the word came out that the New Empire was behind the recent quiet in the Inner City.
Darian Gray and his gang had always been a bit of a joke to the CPD, intensely organized, but lacking the ambition needed to be a real threat. The Deathhounds had always been considered a bigger threat, but for precisely the opposite reason: boundless ambition with almost no organization to speak of.
Then, of course, there was Echo...but that was a story for another day. A sudden chorus of shouts brought his attention back to the present, and he could only watch as the crowd below turned on itself and fists and blood started to fly. Ritual in-fighting was a tactic the Deathhounds were based upon almost entirely, and Nate was incredibly surprised to see the New Empire employing it in their induction.
The scary part, though, was that he could already feel it working. The emotions flowing off the crowd below his vantage point were shifting constantly, but beneath it all, he could already sense a twisted sort of foundation beginning to grow, one of admiration and respect. There was one thing, however, that frightened him far more than the bloodbath unfolding before his eyes.
The man who'd spoken to the crowd, the one who'd made his showy entrance on a dirtbike to grab everyone's attention, and given the speech that started the violence below, had been in the bar that night. The night he'd sensed that bone-chilling hatred, the night the place's barkeeper had been beaten within an inch of his life. Not only had the young man been there, but as he'd spoken to the crowd, the emotions flowing through the speaker were far too familiar to be anyone else.
He'd found the source of the hatred from that night. He'd found it, and found it at the reins of the New Empire, complementing organization with mad ambition. If Angela's sources were right, 13 gangs had disappeared almost overnight the week before last, and he could no longer doubt that Darian Gray's once-laughable street gang was behind it, and was becoming something far more fearsome.
Reaching for his radio, Nate called back to Angela and the few officers they'd managed to drag along. He was getting out of the Inner City, and he had no plans of returning anytime soon.
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Post by scrap on Dec 23, 2009 2:17:04 GMT -6
Scrap's head twitched to the side, and before the tick had finished, his vast computing power was networking further with the surveillance equipment Roland and the others had installed along the Grid. This was coupled with a sense of annoyance as he realized he was becoming even more bound to the consoles around him.
With a thought, Scrap sent a loud tone over Roland's radio, hopefully loud enough to catch the young man's attention over the noise of the bike's engine. The off-worlder would certainly be interested in knowing just who was snooping around their territory.
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Roland
Elite Warrior
Posts: 95
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Post by Roland on Dec 23, 2009 2:50:30 GMT -6
If he hadn't been in midair at the time, Roland wouldn't have heard the loud tone emitting from his saddlebag. As it happened, however, he'd just jumped off a piece of a fallen wall, and the sound of gravel crunching under his tires wasn't there to cover the tone from his walkie-talkie.
The bike landed with a bounce, and Roland brought it to a stop as soon as the thing had steadied. Cutting the engine, he reached into the saddlebag, pulling out the radio. "Roland here. What is it?"
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Post by scrap on Dec 23, 2009 3:10:21 GMT -6
Scrap watched the officers run through the broken streets, observed how they constantly watched their surroundings, checking every corner, every alleyway they passed. He noted the tactic, its strengths and weaknessess, left himself a reminder to talk to Roland about it later.
"City Police. They were watching the...induction ceremony. As soon as you stopped speaking, they started heading back to the Ring."
Scrap used his own computing power to enhance the grainy image taken from the cameras. "And on an interesting note, Roland, they're being led by one of your 'Couriers'. He was in the bar the night the New Empire picked us up. They're about 6 blocks to the west of your position, headed west-northwest."
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Roland
Elite Warrior
Posts: 95
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Post by Roland on Dec 25, 2009 20:31:15 GMT -6
Roland listened with annoyance as Scrap informed him the police had been watching the rally. He didn't fear the loosely-organized police force, not after weeks of hearing nothing but jokes at their expense. Rather, he found the fact that they'd had the people to spare for a basic reconnaisence mission to be slightly impressive. His annoyance was directed not at the police, but at the robot that had interrupted his much-needed joyride.
At least until Scrap mentioned the Courier. That night in the bar, there had been two Couriers sitting in a corner booth. Just when the night had turned interesting, however, they'd disappeared. He'd been too busy to take the time to try and find them, but now it seemed that at least one of them had spared him the trouble. Not only were they in his territory, but they were moving on foot. That gave him a definite advantage.
"Alright," he said speaking into the walkie after a long pause, "I'll tail them. Watch me as far as the Grid allows, signal me once I come within 2 blocks of their position. From there, I'll follow on foot. Roland out."
Dropping the walkie back into the saddlebag, Roland kick-started the bike and began his pursuit. His anger towards Darian was now forgotten, replaced by the thrill of the hunt.
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Post by gideon on Dec 26, 2009 21:09:35 GMT -6
Nate found himself slightly out of breath as he and Angela wound their way out of the rubble and onto one of the few clear streets in the inner city. There were a few like this one, scattered throughout the urban mess that constituted the interior of the City, but this one led almost directly out to the Ring.
The CPD had fought tooth-and-nail to hold onto this road since the end of the War, intending it to be the start of the Urban Reclamation Project that would have rebuilt the Inner City. However, when Oledian and Reyone currency lost their value and were replaced by Coin, the economic confusion alone doomed the endeavor. Now, the CPD maintained the road as best they could for Gangland Reconnaissance missions like this one. Nate found himself immensely grateful for that fact.
As Nate, Angela, and their small escort (3 officers, armed with pistols and whatever ammo they'd had on their person; times were tough indeed) began making their way back to the Ring, the empath also found himself greatly relieved. It seemed they'd managed to make their way out without being followed or detected, a worry that had been nagging him since they'd left the New Empire's rally.
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Post by scrap on Dec 26, 2009 21:49:49 GMT -6
Scrap made a noise that could have been mistaken for a scoff at Roland's orders, then focused his attention on observing the small band of intruders. Once they'd reached a clear street, they began headed due west. Cross-referencing the area with a map of the City he'd scanned after becoming fused to the console, figuring out their destination was child's play.
Once Roland came within the requested distance from the intruders, Scrap sent another tone, not nearly as loud as the first, but loud enough for someone to hear it if they'd been listening for it.
"They've changed course, heading due west towards Ring Section #17. You should know that, once you pass their current location, you'll be outside of my visual surveillance range, and at the limits of our radio capabilities. You'll be on your own, Roland."
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Roland
Elite Warrior
Posts: 95
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Post by Roland on Dec 26, 2009 22:38:15 GMT -6
Once he'd reached the cleared street, Roland had run the bike slowly, barely faster than a fast jogging pace. However, he doubted he was in any danger of losing track of his prey, especially once he'd found the road. Scrap's signal and subsequent message only confirmed his feeling.
"Thanks for the warning. Maintain radio silence until I say otherwise. Roland out."
Parking the bike behind a large pile of rubble on the sidewalk, Roland broke into a light run, knowing he was gaining ground on his target. As soon as the figures came into sight, he took to darting form one pile to the next, his mind focused on nothing but the chase, staying hidden as he grew closer to the group.
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Post by gideon on Dec 26, 2009 23:22:39 GMT -6
Nate's relief faded as they came nearer and nearer to the Ring, replaced by some feeling he couldn't quite place. It was subtle, slowly growing stronger the closer they came to home but its effects were undeniable. He could feel his mind focusing, becoming more alert. His heartbeat sped up, until it was pounding with adrenaline, yet his breathing remained calm, controlled.
It took a moment to forcibly distract himself from what he could only describe as a thrill, but he finally realized the feeling he was experiencing was not his own. Of course, that left a disturbing question: Who was feeling this...thrill, close enough for him to be so taken by it? Forcing his emotions under control, Nate thought to use some of it to his advantage, scrutinizing his surroundings and the people in them.
Little more than a cursory glance was needed to eliminate Angela and the officers. They were quiet, and his heightened awareness made quick work out of sensing their emotions: apathy from the officers, and a curious sense of excitement coming from Angela...excitement coupled with a vague sense of affection. Brushing it aside for the moment, Nate looked around the area, scanning the road both ahead and behind them.
A glimpse of silver was all he needed. No gang in the city had ever taken silver as their color. Echo, if you could call it a gang, chose a slate-grey, but it was by no means silver. The glimpse was of a fabric, being blown by a light breeze before being tugged back behind some rubble. Nate had only ever seen one man clad in silvery fabric this close to the Inner City, a man whose terrifying emotional state made this kind of pursuit easy to believe.
As he thought of the hate-filled young man pursuing them, however, Nate suddenly fully understood the emotion he had felt. It was a thrill, alright. The thrill of a hunter stalking its prey, focused on nothing but the helpless meal before it.
With a sudden rush that had everything to do with fear, Nate realized that the only prey in this scenario was himself, and began to run.
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Roland
Elite Warrior
Posts: 95
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Post by Roland on Dec 27, 2009 1:38:58 GMT -6
Roland almost had to admire the tenacity and awareness of his prey. One moment, he was ducking behind another pile of rubble, closing the gap between them with every movement. A sudden breeze caught his coat, blowing the silvery material off to the side of the pile, where it was hastily retrieved and forced back to his side.
When he looked up again, however, the man was running, nearly sprinting away. Roland grinned for just a moment before swinging himself over the rubble in front of him with his hands, breaking into a sprint the moment his feet touched ground. His heart was pounding in his chest as the element of surprise was lost, and the hunter began his pursuit in earnest.
The prey had left his friends behind, however, and the small group seemed dumbfounded as they stared after their comrade, and even more so as Roland ran past them. His hand shot out to one of the men's hips, snagging a pistol as he ran past. The man barely noticed as he fell, tripped by a swinging leg he never saw coming.
His grin returning, Roland let out a breathless laugh as he saw the distance between himself and his prey begin to shrink. However much he admired the man's tenacity, he knew it was a waste; this hunt would be over almost as soon as it had begun, he was sure.
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Post by gideon on Jan 7, 2010 23:39:36 GMT -6
Glancing over his shoulder just once, Nate saw a glint of metal in the young monster's hand that could only mean one thing: gun. Rounding the corner, however, he knew he could make it; Old Sara's place was only half a block away, and so long as his pursuer didn't pull that trigger, he was confident he'd make it to the relative safety of the house.
At times like these, he wished his ability to influence others could work at a distance. In order for his ability to work now, however, he'd need to get close enough to the young man to touch him, something he doubted he'd be able to pull off without being shot during the attempt.
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