Daikatana

A world where crisis precipitates change.

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Posted by A_Clown, 3 months, 2 weeks ago. Permalink

SHOOTING IN PORTLAND EXPO CENTER

BREAKING NEWS INTERRUPTS ALL BROADCASTS IN THE AREA


"WE ARE RECIEVING LIVE INFORMATION OF A SHOOTER IN THE PORTLAND EXPO CENTER, WE DO NOT HAVE A NUMBER ON AMOUNT OF DECEASED OR INJURED, PLEASE CONTACT YOUR LOVED ONES IF THEY WERE IN THE AREA."

*A Helicopter camera shows a view of the expo center, surrounded by police cars*

 

*silence is heard on air*

 

"WE HAVE RECIEVED A NEW DEVELOPMENT, THE PERPETRATOR EXITED THROUGH THE FIRE ESCAPE AND GOT INTO AN UNMARKED VAN, BEFORE PULLING OFF INTO NOTHINGNESS. WE HAVE RECIEVED VIDEO FOOTAGE"

 

*A replay shows the shooter entering a white van, and the van disappearing as soon as it moves forward, leaving no trace*

 

"WE BELIEVE THIS WAS WORK OF A NEW WORKFORCE THAT HAS BEEN DUBBED 'CONTRACTORS' THAT HAS BEEN RUMORED ABOUT"

"WE WILL UPDATE YOU FURTHER ONCE MORE INFORMATION HAS BEEN RELEASED TO THE PUBLIC."

 

*The tv tunes back to whatever channel was on beforehand, as if nothing happened*

Posted by fourlokoDUI, 3 months, 3 weeks ago. Permalink

News Footage Collection - Demon-Summoning in Virginia

The following footage is taken from a news-report off an unknown channel - the full video is out there, but this specific upload is only a small segment. There are no-known dates for the following footage.

 

 

The bottom-left of the screen shows the Reporter's name - Kenneth Morgan. The front shows the reporter in-front of the aforementioned home - a ranch-style house, with similar homes adjacent. The living room notably has busted, blackened windows; and the front door has been blown outwards, sitting on the lawn, charred and singed. The area is coated with police officers, police tape, and chalk-outlines.

 

"Well, we're here at the scene of the incident - a small, rural house. A rural home where on a cold Friday afternoon, there had been reports by neighbors of a bright, blinding light emanating from the living room for several hours."

 

The footage pans to scenes of the living room, where a circle with illegible iconography drawn in chalk still sits, juxtaposed with the entire room being charred and singed beyond comprehension. Nothing is left unscathed. It looks like a fire had localized in the middle of it all - where the chalk circle resides.

 

 

The camera then cuts back to Kenneth Morgan, the time of day has changed - the location has not, still set on the front lawn of the house. The scene has been cleaned up of police tape and people. This report is, blatantly, taking place at a different time.

 

"After a probe by the Federal Bureau of Investigation, authorities have pinpointed this horrific event as belonging to a group called 'Dreamweb', an occult collective that appears to exist on the internet through supernatural means. An official report by authorities state that having attempted to probe the websites recovered from the man's browser history have yielded no results - there 'are' no websites, every attempt has seemingly been redirected through unknown, likely supernatural obfuscation-"

 

 

The footage jumps time once again. The area is still the same, but the house that once was, has been bulldozed.

 

"And this here is the house that, on a cold Friday afternoon, where one 'Liam Fairbanks', had opened a portal to hell."

 

 

The footage jumps time for one, final occurrence. Kenneth Morgan stands in-front of a grocery-store with much of the same visage - blackened broken windows covered in ash.

 

"And it was due to the incident in that quiet home that caused Congress to establish the Department of Supernatural Predication, and to help curb these incidents in the future - with the primary goal of assisting relevant authorities in the investigation of such supernaturally criminal acts."

Latest Journals

3 months, 3 weeks ago: Korvus Vesper wrote a Downtime Journal for Crepitus

Audio Log #12-2.5 “Emergence”

The clack of a new cassette tape being slotted in is heard, and the familiar click of it recording rings out once more.

 

”Audio Log Number 12-2.5”

”The wound that I had acquired from the last contract has healed over thankfully. I’m still relieved it nothing more than a stab wound to my leg, and didn’t injure anything vital.”

 

There’s a sigh, and the repeated clicking of a pen is heard.

 

”The entity that appeared the first time I finished my contract with came to me again in my slumber. This time, I felt as I was able to see them more clearly, but still blurred from my mind. They guided me to think more deeply on my morphology, and alluded to how I may manifest my next advancement. Awaken again, the mask was already on me, and it felt as it was imbued more of the fumes that I was first accustomed towards. Getting up, I walked towards my experimentation theater, though not in as well condition as in its glory days. With dried blood stains lightly dotting the place, and broken equipment scattered around. It would still work for minor experiments at the very least.”

 

The clicking stops, and a deep breath is heard, muffled by a mask.

 

”I thought to myself that if contracts like last where going to be deadly as they could’ve been, I would need a better way to defend myself. Glancing around the room, an old, broken down bone saw caught my eye. I picked it up, feeling how light and easy it was to wield, yet knowing how strong it could be. And at that moment, an idea came to me. Concentrating on its form, I morphed another ooze limb, made of the same black tar that I associate with my works. This time, instead of imprinting my hand, the saw was used instead, and it molded into a large, sharp mimic of it. Its shape was almost an exact match to the broke one, but it was fully repaired, clean, smooth. I felt the edge of it, and it was sharp, no, sharper then the saw ever was. Yet the rest of the arm was still malleable, not to the extent of the first form, but similar.”

 

The noise of ooze and tar dripping is heard once more.

 

”It’s fascinating, and deadly. I’ll have to practice using it on some cadavers, or on whatever subject Meliodus has lined up for me. With every one of those contracts completed, I feel more and more closer to fully evolving my science, and making my cure. Perhaps the next time the entity returns, I will try more, larger morphs.”

”End Log.”

 

The recorders click echo’s one last time for the day, and a slice of a blade rings out, with what seems to be books falling down. The tape is labeled “Audio Log #12-2.5”, with it seeming scratched.

 3 months, 3 weeks ago: Velric wrote a Downtime Journal for Crepitus

My Arival to Rikers Island

A week has passed since the contract, those fucking bastards- they LEFT ME THERE!! Korvus, Ambrose, and that tall fucker.. they didn't come back for me, but I'm not gonna snitch, they must've had a reason. Anyways since then I've been staring at concrete bricks and eating shit. Just last night I had a DREAM I saw a god, he offered me a gift- a gift that would let me be an even better thief than I am. The god wouldn't stop laughing at my failures and challenged me to achieve my goals from this cell, I accepted his offer- he didn't want anything in return but to watch my misfortunes and victories.

Oh I so miss my 5 hour energy grape shots every morning, I'd do anything to get that flavor upon my tongue and that energy once again. The closest I've been able to get to that flavor and boost is the toilet wine Tommy has been brewing in his cell toilet.

 3 months, 4 weeks ago: Korvus Vesper wrote a Downtime Journal for Detroit Deals

Audio Log #12-1.5, Manifeststion

The familiar click of a recorder is heard, and the hum starts to fill the quiet room.

 

”Audio Log Number 12-1.5.”

 

”I was not expecting the manifestation to be so sudden, or so clear. But, life is full of surprises. As ashamed as I am to admit it, nightmares sometimes haunt my mind, the faces of those I’ve worked on burned into my eyes for as long as I can remember. Kian…”

 

There is a huff, with hints of regret in it. The faces morphed into nightmares, plague’s his mind.

 

”But soon, these nightmares will leave me, and all my work, and sacrifices will not be in vain. And it starts, with the dream. An entity, showed me a way, the part I was missing this entire time. When I awoke, my black mask that I carry with me was on me, black fumes smoking out from its filters. It smelled of nothing inside the mask, but taking it off, was a smell of smoke, and almost tar. For most, this would be off putting or even repulsive, but for me, it was welcoming.”

Deep breathing is heard, muffled from what sounds to be the mask.

 

“Oh so welcoming… As I breath, I feel a substance form from my back, and watched in awe as a large arm made from a black ooze was formed, mimicking the hand movements of the side it was on. It could be moved like a normal arm as well, however having it mirror a hand makes it easier to focus with.”

 

There is a goopy, dripping sounds that is made clear as he speaks, drops of liquids dripping on the floor.

 

“Like the entity said, this is only a part of the cure, a fraction of my power that I can manifest. Doing these contracts, seems to be the best way to advance it. Once I’ve done enough, I will finally be able to finish my cute, and my life’s work will come to fruition.”

 

He chuckles as the sounds of the ooze stop, and he picks up the recorder.

 

“I’ll give you what you always wished for Josephina. I’ll make sure your efforts will be used to their fullest potential Kian. I will prove them all, wrong.”

 

”End Log.”

 

With the click of the recorder, the wiring noise that it made came to a close, and a radio in the room continued its song, a well deserved break to the bleak environment. The tape is labeled 12-1.5.
3 months, 4 weeks ago: Iosef Yaropolk wrote a Downtime Journal for Crepitus

Recovering

Man.... who knew recovering from a stab wound would be so hard... all I did was eat, sleep, rest, and repeat. I got nothing done, and my cravings only got stronger and stronger. laying around all day did nothing to help them. every time I saw somebody come past my house it got worse and worse... until one day I couldn't resist it anymore. somebody walked past my house while I was on the front porch... and I invited them... and stabbed them to death. god the feeling of blood felt so good after so long... I guess it doesn't take as long as I thought to heal stab wounds. For the next few days after I made sure to catch up on my quotas of stabbings.

 

after recovery i made sure to work out my fighting skills, as they may have decayed while I was recovering because I wasn't fighting as much

 3 months, 4 weeks ago: Iosef Yaropolk wrote a Downtime Journal for Detroit Deals

The strange lighter

After the mission I appeared back in my bed. After waking up and checking my dresser for my smokes and lighter I saw something strange. instead of my normal zippo lighter I found a zippo lighter that is black with gold trim. I went to pick it up and it turned into a fucking RIFLE, while strange, its no stranger then talking corpses and undead so I didn't freak out terribly. I took this new rifle to the range, and after shooting for a good while I realized that it doesn't run out of ammo. o turn the rifle back into a lighter and put it in my pocket, contempt for the day.

 

 

I wake up like any other day, getting ready to go out for the day before remembering that my jacket is now RAGS. I sigh a little bit before heading out to the shops. on my way to the shops I run into Ivor, my arms dealer. Ivor asks me if I'm interested in a new product, so for the sake of professionalism I take him up on my offer. What he shows me is a brand new black leather jacket that is armor plated. after asking him how much it is I proceeded to purchase it. 

later that day I head out at about 4ish AM, as I got the itch. I find a bit of an isolated house for my target. after forcing my way in it turns out my target was not asleep and charges me with a kitchen knife, thankfully the new jacket I bought doesn't even get damaged from the stab. I turn around and proceed to knock my target out in one hit before stabbing him in the stomach multiple times... ah the lovely smell of death in the air. 

 

after finding my new lighter, rifle combo thing, I made sure to train, and train, and train. I did endurance training, I ran, and I trained until I couldn't anymore.

 3 months, 4 weeks ago: Simon Cannon wrote a Downtime Journal for Detroit Deals

Life is still terrible.

Well, after staying up all night cutting a fucking jacket into tiny, tiny pieces with a sharpened screwdriver, I got it all flushed down the toilet, and carefully washed the blood off of my outfit in the sink - carefully.

 

So, me and my cellmate - Tobias Ivor - are up all night. The old guy, some ultra-American with one of those Hogan-stashes, some self-conscious bald shithead, some big-nosed fuck who got in a stand-off with the cops over evading taxes, is freaking out over this, not raising his voice, just saying "WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT THE FUCK MAN? WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO DID YOU GET OUT?" And when I flashed the locked cellphone he shut the fuck up.

 

So we're both tired, and I've still got this injury that I'm not going to be able to like, fucking live with and shit, because I both don't want to die of gangrene and I lost sensation in my hand. So I'm just waiting around for the entire day feeling like shit and waiting halfway through yard-time to ask for a guard and say some freak jumped up and stabbed me.

 

Wonder if I can send a note to that doctor and find a way to thank him. Then again, he seems too stupid to figure out simple instructions.

 3 months, 4 weeks ago: Simon Cannon wrote a Downtime Journal for Mushroom Hunt

Beats dying, I guess.

SKILLS GAINED:

Thievery 0 to 3

 

Plea deal. I got a plea deal to avoid getting my head cut off.

So much for the expedience of the justice system.

A. Fucking. Plea-deal.

Do you think I can afford a good lawyer on my salary? Because I sure can't!

Miss the bonuses, though. I got dental coverage.

Technically, I still do, but..

 

Everything is rough, everybody sucks. Everybody thinks they're 'hot-shit'. Pfah! Dumb-fucks!

I'll tell you what I see. You know what I see? A bunch of losers with a spare few assholes preforming hits for some dipshit who acted out of line.

 

What'm I doing? Well, shit. I ain't got any contacts outside of this joint barring me' dad, but I'm a damn-fine pickpocket.

 

Someone needs cutlery from the kitchen?

I'm already gone.

Somebody needs a battery?

Looks like one of the guards left a flashlight somewhere.

Can you get these keys to Larry without anybody noticing?

Buddy, I gave him those a week ago.

Did you repent before the eyes of the lord?

Buddy, I 'AM' him.

 

I keep getting screwed over by these circumstances, though. Can't shower directly under the faucet-head, or my lungs get filled with water. God, I can hear those fucking demon-horses screaming and whinny-ing down the drain, trying to DROWN me. Even in prison those fucking Kelpies are after me.

 

They got me off suicide-watch initially when I transferred over here, probably assumed it was because of the sentencing, and I avoided kicking the bucket by taking a shower - avoided drowning in my own cell by using my spare socks as washcloths if I gotta' wash my hands.

I'm going to drown in this fucking place before-long.

 

Wait, shit. I've got a tattoo now too. It's an Evil Eye.

Doesn't look half-bad, too... Especially since a coke-head murderer inked it for me.

 4 months ago: Jackie ("J") Thorne wrote a Downtime Journal for Crepitus

#006 - Prison Business

As soon as I arrived back, I immediately turned to Fat Larry. Gave him my civilian clothes, and my new bone knife. Told him I'm preparing to get us out, and to just take it as proof, or at worst collateral.

I also felt my power grow. Much faster than last time, didn't have to wait a bit. I can feel electricity in the walls. I know where devices are. My mind is too slow to process right now, though it definitely is getting faster. I don't have anywhere to try it, but I know if I could get some computer or phone or something I could offload all of the difficult parts onto that, and sort through the data better.

It probably won't be that long until I can to escape. Hell if I wanted to just get myself out, I could probably do it now. But I told Larry I'd get him out, and he's pretty useful. I also rather like Vivian, and I know there's another one in here, from my first contract. I haven't seen him in a while, hope he didn't get himself killed on another mission, he could maybe be useful if he's on the way out.

 4 months ago: Roko Basil Isque wrote a Downtime Journal for Broken Arrow Goedendag

Working the FUCK out.

On the plane ride back to San Jose I came to this revelation - If what Jackie was saying was true, then I needed to start working out or something. This new cybernetic body may be impressive, but if I don't know how to use it then I'm just gonna become a pin cushion in one of these "contracts" I'm assigned to.

 

SO I've decided to start going to the gym again, getting my cardio up and getting myself one of those hippy dippy instructors to help with breathing techniques and shit. I have to get into at least decent physical shape if I'm to survive all of this shit. 

 

 

Also - When I got home to my Manor, I came across this dumbass radio. It has a thousand-and-one fucking radio channels and it can't tune off of 216. If what Jackie said is true, then this probably has to do with all of... that as well.

 

Fucking ugly, though.

 4 months ago: Roko Basil Isque wrote a Downtime Journal for Broken Arrow Goedendag

Finding out what the FUCK is going on.

So I did some research into that long hair guy in the prison jumpsuit. Turns out his name is Jackie Thorne and he was arrested for a WHOOOOLE bunch of shit. Shooting at people and some serious Grand Theft Auto - Guy is a real piece of work. Offbrand Daredevil Asshole or something. But anywho I figured out that he was actually put into Ely State Prison which works out A-1 fucking hunky dory since I'm at Clarita's in Las Vegas. And so I decided to make an appointment with Mr. Thorne.

 

When I arrived from the Las Vegas cab to this dump I tell you somebody MUST have shit their pants. That waiting room smelled like a skunk wrapped in roadkill, it was disgusting. After the fat fuck police officer let me through to the visitation area, I saw the Jackie dude hunched up next to one of those movie telephone prisoner talkie thingies. He was stuck behind that foggy glass and he honestly looked like shit, but I was glad that he decided to talk to me. I went on up to the cable telephone and cleared my throat into it before we began to speak.

 

However, before I even got the chance to talk he held up a finger and did some freaky lightshow shit with his eyes and hands - I think it might have been something to do with the cameras or something? After that short move I began to ask what was up with, well, everything. I'm not gonna lie a lot of the shit still didn't make any sense but here's what I grasped. There's these harbingers that select people as contractors - that's me - and they assign them missions like mercenaries in order to gain "gifts". What that constitutes is entirely up to the person; their greatest wants and desires. I suppose that makes sense for me then, all of this shit that happened to my body.

 

After I got everything explained to me I assume he had to go do whatever is people do in prison, but I appreciate him nonetheless. Perhaps I'll look into paying his bail - that is if that psycho has one for some reason. He seems helpful.

 

Time to book a flight back home, but in the meantime I spend another night at Clarita's. Fuck.

 

 

 4 months ago: Roko Basil Isque wrote a Downtime Journal for Broken Arrow Goedendag

What the FUCK.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.


I wake up in Clarita's studio apartment and I look at my hands and shit and I don't know how to say this but I'm fucking METAL and shit. My skin is COLD and I'm just... I don't KNOW I don't know It's like... It's fucking CRAZY.

 

Clarita screamed when she saw me - not out of fear or disgust but just sheer shock. My face is all... it's more. My body it's... it's also more - I don't know how other to explain it that this is almost my dream? I feel one step closer to a goal which I have been chasing for so long and I genuinely have no clue how it's happened - after all the money I've spent and the time I've poured into my projects I just POOF, wake up with a cyber-body? Also- I now have THIS. It's a log that I just... it's in me?

This Buddhist shit is insane.

 

I still have no clue what's going on. I need to figure out myself, but more importantly what... how this is all happening. Nothing makes sense. Those prisoner guys, they may be the answer - I remember their faces and their names, they're like some insane serial killers or some shit. I haven't seen anything on the news about them regarding all of the gas station shit so... maybe I can look into visitation with them?

I have to figure this shit out.

Latest Completed Contracts

6 Contracts have been run in this Playgroup
3 months, 3 weeks ago: fourlokoDUI ran Crepitus
Ringer Victory - An NPC ringer Played by A_Clown

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Earth, Age of Change

Illuminated Earth is a twisted reflection of the modern world where the advent of smartphones and the internet confirmed the existence of the supernatural instead of disproving it. Here, witch hunts have merit. Billionaires and Senators employ paranormal advisors and bodyguards, and everyone knows. Charlatans become pop culture icons, and each revelation inspires a new cult. The world is changing. The secret societies that pull humanity's strings scramble to adapt.

Now's a good time to move up.

Full Setting Description

They named that time The Illumination, and it was by the flash of a camera phone.

 

The year was 2004. Until that point the Earth was as we had always known her. We filled her cruel vastness with legends, superstitions, and rumors. Warlocks, monsters, and gods lurked on the edge of the collective consciousness, always a possibility but never more. We lacked evidence. That evidence came as humanity filled its pockets with technology equipped to capture and transmit.

 

An iPhone found on High School senior Nate Klienman’s mangled corpse held a video of his girlfriend’s bone-snapping transformation into a monstrous wolf creature. A Brazilian widow documented a series of conversations with the misty figure of her late husband. A Chinese fishing boat caught a mermaid in a net and put it on display in the Beijing aquarium.

 

Each week brought a new revelation that we were not alone. Superstitions reversed their slow death overnight. Salem held their first witch trial in a century. The jury rendered a verdict of “guilty on all charges” and sentenced Maxibelle Horux to death. A week after her lethal injection, half the jury died from a tainted batch of flu vaccine. A fearful, populist movement arose to rid humanity of the creatures lurking in its ranks. Suspects are forcibly subjected to bizarre tests of their humanity, and the results are often open to interpretation. A mob’s justice is swift.

 

Yet the paranormal is not merely relegated to a persecuted class. Where some see monsters, some see sentience, and others see opportunity. If a vampire can sustain themselves on cloned blood and work the graveyard shift, why not legalize and tax? Politicians and Aristocrats employ odd-looking individuals as "advisors" or "protection." Entertainment magazines publish revelations every week about which celebrities shed their human skins at home. Charlatans of all stripes, from palmistry mediums to televangelists, have flourished despite the risks. The treatment of the paranormal varies from place to place, person to person.

 

Long have cabals, cults, and secret societies thrived in the shadows. Their roots run deeply through humanity’s oldest systems of power. Machinations are challenged, and sleeping dangers awaken. The world is changing, forcing long-dormant powers into desperate action. And it is in the midst of this great period of change that The Powers That Be have once again turned their attention to the blue marble. For the first time in two hundred years, Harbingers approach worthy individuals with an offer they won't refuse.

The Games have returned, and a new generation of Contractors are being forged.

World Events

Posted by A_Clown, 3 months, 2 weeks ago. Permalink

SHOOTING IN PORTLAND EXPO CENTER

BREAKING NEWS INTERRUPTS ALL BROADCASTS IN THE AREA


"WE ARE RECIEVING LIVE INFORMATION OF A SHOOTER IN THE PORTLAND EXPO CENTER, WE DO NOT HAVE A NUMBER ON AMOUNT OF DECEASED OR INJURED, PLEASE CONTACT YOUR LOVED ONES IF THEY WERE IN THE AREA."

*A Helicopter camera shows a view of the expo center, surrounded by police cars*

 

*silence is heard on air*

 

"WE HAVE RECIEVED A NEW DEVELOPMENT, THE PERPETRATOR EXITED THROUGH THE FIRE ESCAPE AND GOT INTO AN UNMARKED VAN, BEFORE PULLING OFF INTO NOTHINGNESS. WE HAVE RECIEVED VIDEO FOOTAGE"

 

*A replay shows the shooter entering a white van, and the van disappearing as soon as it moves forward, leaving no trace*

 

"WE BELIEVE THIS WAS WORK OF A NEW WORKFORCE THAT HAS BEEN DUBBED 'CONTRACTORS' THAT HAS BEEN RUMORED ABOUT"

"WE WILL UPDATE YOU FURTHER ONCE MORE INFORMATION HAS BEEN RELEASED TO THE PUBLIC."

 

*The tv tunes back to whatever channel was on beforehand, as if nothing happened*

Posted by fourlokoDUI, 3 months, 3 weeks ago. Permalink

News Footage Collection - Demon-Summoning in Virginia

The following footage is taken from a news-report off an unknown channel - the full video is out there, but this specific upload is only a small segment. There are no-known dates for the following footage.

 

 

The bottom-left of the screen shows the Reporter's name - Kenneth Morgan. The front shows the reporter in-front of the aforementioned home - a ranch-style house, with similar homes adjacent. The living room notably has busted, blackened windows; and the front door has been blown outwards, sitting on the lawn, charred and singed. The area is coated with police officers, police tape, and chalk-outlines.

 

"Well, we're here at the scene of the incident - a small, rural house. A rural home where on a cold Friday afternoon, there had been reports by neighbors of a bright, blinding light emanating from the living room for several hours."

 

The footage pans to scenes of the living room, where a circle with illegible iconography drawn in chalk still sits, juxtaposed with the entire room being charred and singed beyond comprehension. Nothing is left unscathed. It looks like a fire had localized in the middle of it all - where the chalk circle resides.

 

 

The camera then cuts back to Kenneth Morgan, the time of day has changed - the location has not, still set on the front lawn of the house. The scene has been cleaned up of police tape and people. This report is, blatantly, taking place at a different time.

 

"After a probe by the Federal Bureau of Investigation, authorities have pinpointed this horrific event as belonging to a group called 'Dreamweb', an occult collective that appears to exist on the internet through supernatural means. An official report by authorities state that having attempted to probe the websites recovered from the man's browser history have yielded no results - there 'are' no websites, every attempt has seemingly been redirected through unknown, likely supernatural obfuscation-"

 

 

The footage jumps time once again. The area is still the same, but the house that once was, has been bulldozed.

 

"And this here is the house that, on a cold Friday afternoon, where one 'Liam Fairbanks', had opened a portal to hell."

 

 

The footage jumps time for one, final occurrence. Kenneth Morgan stands in-front of a grocery-store with much of the same visage - blackened broken windows covered in ash.

 

"And it was due to the incident in that quiet home that caused Congress to establish the Department of Supernatural Predication, and to help curb these incidents in the future - with the primary goal of assisting relevant authorities in the investigation of such supernaturally criminal acts."

Posted by Squalhardt, 3 months, 4 weeks ago. Permalink

Detroit Gang Wars

A Detroit news channel comes on tv. Sitting on screen is a lady, a reporter facing the audience. The headline reads "Gang Wars in Detroit". The reporter sits up straighter and starts talking to the camera.

"Last night, in an abandoned warehouse in a scarcely populated section of the city, police suspect a gang deal was taking place. Police have found 6 corpses, 5 have been identified as part of a local gang. The lone individual is not currently revealed to have been affiliated with anyone." 

Her tone of voice sounds like she is sad, but the haste at which she speaks about it gives off the feeling that she isn't affected much.

"Police were called onto the scene after a mother going on a her daily run called 911, saying she's found multiple bodies. Police have restricted entry into the warehouse, but citizens have flown drones near the windows and have refused to provide images, reporting corpses mutilated horribly. Forum users are speculating that something super natural may have been involved, and the police may be keeping it under wraps. No other information has been provided."

"On the other hand, Wayne County Police are telling news stations that the situation is a drug deal that spiraled out of control. They claim that another another gang must have taken the Cicada's by surprise, shot them and left without paying. One fell in the process, leaving the odd corpse."

The tv shuts off.

Posted by fourlokoDUI, 3 months, 4 weeks ago. Permalink

Tragedy at The Mirror Garden.

The News Channel on the television is suddenly interrupted. While the male and female reporter were talking about politics relating to the state, the male reporter - Stephen - placed a hand on his ear-piece, and interrupted the news-cast.

He begins to speak. The logo for WNBC-4 New York rotates into place.

"We have breaking news. As some viewers may remember, a week ago we had discussed an event at the night-club known as 'The Mirror Garden', where partygoers and staff had witnessed people becoming pale and passing out, wherein ambulances had arrived to take such partygoers to the hospital. We bring you tonight our man on the spot, Patrick Brennan, to further discuss this incident with an expanded story - Patrick?"

 

The camera switches to the scene outside of the eponymous nightclub, where a clean-cut news-reporter with a microphone is standing in-front of the camera.

"Well, Stephen."

He pauses.

"It turns out some-... Harrowing stuff occurred here last week. What started as poisonings ended up as brutal murders. Police after learning of a tortured body in one of the stalls had swarmed the building, not too long after Paramedics began filtering in to usher in those who - at first glance - appeared to have been suffering from overintoxication of some type of narcotic, biopsies and other studies had revealed an unknown substance within their bodies - the same among all patrons affected by such an ailment. Investigation is, apparently, still on-going"

"In addition, learning that there was yet another mutilated body within the club's back-rooms was also another cause for concern - even more-so when it was revealed the footage for the night had been tampered with by an unknown party."

 

The camera pans around the scene. The club is still cordoned off as authorities investigate. Some of the men and women present are in professional attire.

 

"Authorities say that the only lead they currently have is an unknown man of Balkan or Slavic descent being dropped off by a man and a woman in tuxedos at a local hospital. After being questioned by one of the leading doctors of the facility, the duo ran back to their car - a stolen Nissan Sentra - and drove off. Soon after this, the man with the stab wound was nowhere to be found."

 

The camera fades back to the original news-crew. Stephen once again begins to speak.

"Harrowing story, folks... Now, with that update out of the way, what IS the deal with airplane food, and why does it taste so bad?"

Posted by fourlokoDUI, 4 months ago. Permalink

BREAKING NEWS! The extended story of the supernatural I-15 shootout.

"The city of Las Vegas was glued to their TV's last week as a news story unfolded where a supernatural maniac driving a stolen S.W.A.T. Truck had gone on a rampage! KNTV-13's Brayden Pierce brings you the full story. Brayden?"

 

The camera switches to a Gas-Station off the I-15 in Nevada, on the outskirts of Las-Vegas. The scene, even a week later, is still slathered with police tape. A clean-cut man in a suit, who looks like he just stepped out of an air-conditioned car, begins to speak.

 

"Hi, Stacie. As you can see, the chaos from last week is still in full-effect. Criminal Investigators are still struggling to piece-together what all went wrong. The body-count is staggering, and eye-witness testimonies are somewhat lacking, as it appears that there have been, almost, no survivors."

 

The camera cuts to a middle-aged officer with a thick moustache, with the name "Sebastian Dean".

 

"This is just... Wrong. I don't get it, we don't get it - the morticians don't get it. The detectives don't really know what's happening, there's an abandoned truck towards Vegas that was all.. Beat up, and we figured out it belonged to the old man who was dead in the back-room, but right next to that truck my Deputy got-.. Got killed. Miles and miles before that, we took down the freak that did this, and when the Coroners loaded him up for transport-... They look in the bag, and he's gone. We lost so many good men that day, and we don't even know what happened."

 

The camera switches to shots of the scene. Casings, white-chalk, and now-dried bloodstains still litter the area with Police Investigators idly arguing in the background. Brayden resumes talking.

 

"It gets more puzzling than that. Besides the S.W.A.T. Truck full of bodies mutilated beyond recognition, the empty bomb-suit coated in runes and bullet-holes, an unknown gang of slavic men, the "Sunset Devils" who robbed the Excalibur Hotel & Casino, and the unidentified man with a bullet in his head in the beer-cave, nobody, truly knows what went on. Innumerable bodies have bullets in them, but there's no bullet-casings that match the caliber, to be found at the scene."

 

The camera switches back to Brayden.

 

"The LVPD would humbly like to ask the public about any information about what went down off the I-15. Though they are hard at work, this is an unprecedented incident. If anybody who was driving down the I-15 at this time could supply information about anything they saw, please contact-"

 

You turn off the television. That's enough of a spew of violence for today.

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