Made Men: Book 1 The Demolition of Man

[Ðari]

Made Men

Prologue

​

And there we were, six of us that stood in a line as Tim walked down along the strip of men. If you count me standing at the front as Tim was running down the the group, that made seven. At the time I didn't think anything of it, I didn't question for a second that, we were there in the middle of an airfield. Searching for our sixth man, this timid and frightened individual in front of us just seemed to cower. Passing promptly down the group of us, he turned putting the gun to this unknown's face and quickly asked him a question.

"Before you die. Tell me one thing you wish you could've accomplished in your life, but you failed to do it."

Exasperated for words, they were muffled beneath the cylinder shaped barrel lodged down this man's mouth. As he mumbled, this only proceeded to anger Tim. I was just staring at him with intrigue, he continued by saying "Come on dude last chance, or do you really want to die? Well?" Pleading with Tim, he began to clasp his hands and beg for mercy as he chortled on the barrel of the gun. Whisking it out of his mouth, he hit the terrified man across the head. He quickly flailed away, as this was the misconception if he was truly "one of them".

With a hasty retreat, the other made men simply instructed to watch. If he could dodge the bullet, escape death, then he made his choice to live by his own instincts taking over versus a selfish desire to be in control. Unfortunate for him, "I never miss." Tim said, in a swift motion of adrenaline. As he raised the barrel of barret, a bolt fired, the barrel going a fair distance before ejecting and pushing out the very tip of the armor piercing bullet. Within seconds, the stranger dropped in the middle of the airfield. I watched as Tim proceeded to remove a notepad from his back pocket and scratched off a number.

​

Tim paced back towards us, as I looked at him pacing with now that remained, five men, plus himself. Making six men. An example for The Crying Man, as he has done this only but one time for each of the others.

"You know, this is rare I actually show all of you something like this but do you see that airplane?" Tim said, then looking at me standing behind him. "Right now about 400 passengers are on board, including women and children. They're tired, hungry, and afraid. So they're trying to flee the country in hopes the other superpowers will be more welcoming and bountiful. However there is just one sad reality that they overlooked. The world died six months ago, resources have thinned significantly, and if you cower to resolve your life issues. Well..."

In his other pocket he held a remote trigger. Several pounds of plastic, line along the gears and complete undercarriage of the plane. Tim's heinous sense of euthanizing people to no end, utterly moved me. I watched, as he stood there, waiting as the plane had taken ascension to its peak altitude. "Who knows. Maybe GOD is up there, waiting to greet them, because he feels bad that he couldn't do anything to save them."

The plane exploded, the aftermath of the debris falling from the sky. He began laughing hysterically, "HOLY SHIT! HAHAHAHA! YOU SEE THIS GENTLEMAN?! AHAHAHAHAHAAAA!" like a hyena, Tim's laughter carried no regrets, no fear, and no conscience. Maybe it was his frontal lobe's lack of activity to even comprehend the magnitude of his actions, but we killed people as an act of mercy.

"Anyway. Broken Man, Jacob. I want you to take our Crying Man, Blanco here to execute a target. Remember the rule, if he turns into a chicken shit pussy, put a bullet in his head. There won't be any rule breaking on my watch."

I watched as Tim wrote a note for Jacob and Blanco. Giving specific information of where they should be, at what time, and what should be utilized to make this an effective initiation kill for The Crying Man.

Initiation Assignment
-Location: Chicago Illinois, Chicago Harbor Lighthouse
-Target: A boat of refugees incoming from Thailand on a small fishing about, approx. 40+ recipients
-Objective Statement: Simply to eliminate 38 of the targets, all of which are disposed of by The Crying Man. Forewarning, The Vagabond and Renegade are believed to be stowing away. Likely they are the first to escape, let them.
Men: The Broken Man & The Crying Man

-sincerely,
The Laughing Man XD

​

As Tim lit a Cigarette, he blew the smoke in my face. I took the barret that he'd equipped on his back from him and slung the strap over my shoulder. Eyes, suddenly falling on the man he'd shot down in cold blood. The airfield was illuminated with the mere smell of jet fuel, burning metal, and gasoline. As he flagged the other men to follow they would explore new york for the citizens that barricaded themselves inside of the rebuilt World Trade Center. At this point, Tim was prioritizing that himself, the smiling man, the humming man, and the frowning man just clear out the entire building, as all the others around it were empty.

"The rest of you, lets put these good people to peace. The JFK airport in Queens has officially been put to rest. Lets get back into the city." As Tim began to walk off, he tossed the frowning man his detonator. "Do it."

The Frowning Man gave a simple nod, clicking the second detonator, and the remainder of the explosives planted on the other planes and buildings went up in a blaze of fire. "Mission effin' accomplished boys. To New York City!!!" Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, Tim chucked it into the ashes and debris, falling apart as we headed for our cars. I don't know about you, but this is one chaotic rock that has gone to hell, I don't know how much more of this I can take! Oh well, at least Tim left the other two men with the working train station and running terminals to make their trip a little faster.

End Prologue
​

 

[Sean]

Pop!

The white cap, which kept a tight seal of the orange bottle, flew off at a single flick of the thumb. Triangular pills spilled out onto a cold, leather glove seemingly worn out from previous months of roaming the Midwest. The cap was firmly placed back onto the container and swiftly placed back into the man's pocket. Regardless of the two pill warning printed in all caps on the container, a total of five made their way onto his palm. A tilt of the head and they were off. Hitting the back of the man's throat and ingested as if he had prior experience with the drug. The the coral-haired man pulled his cap on tighter and dipped the bottom of his chin into the opening of his scarf. Weather off the coast was always a chiller as well as dense fog obstructing the view even a few meters from the edges of the boat. If it were not for the constant swoosh of the waves, the trip would have been quite stilled.

Crimson eyes danced around the man's lap as if they were tracing a pattern. He tore his eyes from the position and sat with his chin up observing every soul who sat before them. Every man woman and child sat lifeless under the impression that they were not 100% set on what they would do if they made it to the coastline. Drastic times calls for drastic measures, and in this day and age, it was definitely one of those times. A child resembling the age of around three or so continuously tugged at her mother's sleeve.

"Mama? How much longer 'till we're walking?"

You could not trust even your closest relative to have your back seeing as the world has turned to hell as of late.

"Hm? Just a little while longer dear. Here take a nap before we get there."

Her voice seemed sincere, but you could tell: she was scared shitless. Everyone there was. With a group out there taking out people by the thousands you could not bet your life on the simple task of taking a boat to safety. Placing a cigarette between his lips, the man patted around himself for a lighter, checking the outside of his coat, then the inside and finally around his pants pockets. Unfortunately he came up empty. Rather than returning the tobacco stick back into the cartridge, he let it sit there as he looked off into the distance. Still nothing bug fog. It was troublesome to be honest. Once again those crimson eyes spread a quick surveillance around the area and met with the toddler before. She was supposed to be sleeping right?

Dallis returned the gaze and wouldn't break it unless she did first. Not ever with a smile, his stone cold face peered straight into the girl's soul using her brown eyes as a portal. In the same moment, her mother shielded her eyes from the gaze and pulled her child closer to her chest as if to say 'go to sleep now'. His expression never changed save for a long yawn that broke the silence in the air. In the nearby distance the lighthouse could be faintly made out. Its radiant light circulating again and again to give signal that land is nearby. A sigh of relief escaped past Dallis's lips. Maybe they were in the clear after all.

 

[Orion]

An odd but symmetrical pattern was being completed around One World Trade Centre. Bundles of pipes, gears, and other mechanical items smashed to the ground, immediately followed by a rain of shattered glass that would have cut to ribbons anyone it landed upon. The pattern currently consisted of seven such masses of debris on the ground, and all but one of them corresponded roughly to a corner of the building.

One hundred stories up the chamfered spire, the Escapist and the Calm heaved thir final bundle of metal at the window. A tremendous crash of glass shattering and gusts of wind rushing in sounded for the moment it took them to drop below his own floor. With a hand on the frame of what used to be a floor-to-ceiling window, Erik looked down at their handiwork.

A little over nine seconds later, that chunk of debris joined the other seven on the ground, and the configuration was complete. A little more than a second after impact, he heard the cacophany of pipes hitting the ground, followed immediately by the delicate tinkling of a thousand shards of glass on asphalt.

None of that was wholly intentional, though. Erik and Alexander were setting up their nest, on the top-most floor of One World Trade Center. The top two floors - 103 and 104 - were filled with various consoles and machines that they had stripped for their metal sheets, which were now used to half cover up the new holes they had made on the 100-102 observation deck. The windows at the end of each face of the building had been shattered, which enabled them a wrap-around sniping position.

Alexander was by far a more competent sniper, but Erik had the steadiest hands and the best eye for detail of any of the Elusivists. Mostly those steady hands and watchful eyes were trained upon lock-picks and tiny knots, but he assumed the principle could be extended to further ranges.

Whether or not what he saw through the scope was even real came up occasionally. The rifle he had acquired was SWAT-issue - a Remington Model 700P - pilfered from a cop armory and not with much ammo, but still useful for spotting and acting as a deterrent to any who saw it.

He marvelled at the Manhattan cityscape, and the vantage point his position afforded. He could see straight up and down West St, and keep an eye on anything proceeding in or out of the city along the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges. The tallest building in all of Manhattan, he was also afford the ability to spot every rooftop in Tribeca, Battery Park City, the Civic Center and the Financial District.

They had other things in the process of being set up: ultra-long ropes on spools that could be thrown out the windows. Once grabbed onto, the person's weight - combined with the occasional outward kick against the wall, would allow them to rappel down the side of 1WTC.

A little more advanced, and relying on 1WTC's own internal back up power sources and generators, was the remodeling of a single elevator system: While the counterweight was left in place, the actual compartment was cut loose and allowed to fall to its doom. Those various wires and cables, now freed up, were attached to a swing stage, somewhat resembling a high-rise window-cleaner's moving scaffold.

Provided there was someone at the top to work the console at the elevator doors, the swing stage gave them their own means to quickly get between the ground and the top floors. When taking the stairs could last half an hour, the improvised elevator was a welcome convenience.

Erik smiled ever so slightly more every hour, happy in the thought that he was building something resembling a home.

 

[SwagStarIV]

So i get to play the role of death for 38 victims... Great birthday present right? Even better, its near the water, which wreaks of debris and junk. No clean air for me. *Sniff* Blanco had gained a crude stomach ache. It was comprised of despair, immorality, disgust, and hatred for... Well... Himself. He would have to cross the lines of sane and humane which, in some shape or form, he had chosen to leave in tact. Now they would twisted like a slinky and cut into sheds. Let alone, he has this zombie cold man metaphorically cuffed to his neck. Blanco began to pant inside of his plush mask. The only thing that it was good for... Disguising his feelings so that he could portray the same Zombie stare of his father.

Blanco was losing control of his mind. Chicago? Blanco exclaimed, "Well... Let's begin!" Blanco had to pause so that his pacing breaths could not be detected through his disguise. He continued towards the nearest spool of wire. Knowing that the scent of fear would be the dawn of his demise... *Sniff* No... Blanco had the will necessary for such an occaision. Maybe... Why Chicago? Did they know of his past? Who cares. I have been several places around the states... That might just be paranoia. Noooo... Thats not me hehehe. Shut up! No one asked you. Blanco had to show whatever false sense of bravery he could. He grabbed the wire and wrapped it around his golden gauntlet.

The wire was connected to a rod that spanned throughout the whole tower. On every level and on every rod, there was a wheel that contained enough rope to lure you down to the ground level. Though this tech had not been installed in the higher levels Blanco had guessed it was something that they were installing for an exit from the building. Finished or not... He was going to finish this mission, and for now... The only thing in his way was the height of the building and... *Sniff* The jet they would need to take to their location. This could aid him in his fear of heights. Sooo... You gonna jump? Well... HURRY UP! You didn't come here to fail! Yes... I am here to succeed. *Sniff* I am here to fly! Blanco backed up a little and ran towards the window. Blanco jumped through the window.

Upon free falling the wire tugged him back towards the windows. Blanco continued to run down the side of the building whilst safely connected to the wheel. Every few steps he would jump and fall further. Upon reaching the lower side of the tower, the spool began to click. It was nearing its end. Was this to be expected? Am i going to die so easily! No... No! NOOO!!! Crying already huh? Pathetic... *Sniff* Shut up... Upon his final jump, relatively leaving about 7 feet of space from the ground, The wire jerked back, refusing to wind any more. I can do this! *Sniff* Blanco released the wire, causing him to sporadically spiral as he fell the rest of the way. As he landed, in a stiff demeanor and losing his balance, he stumbled along as the propulsion of the spin had made him dizzy. This did not help with the bubbly feeling the drop added to his stomach ache.

As he stabilized himself, he felt something filling his throat. He raised his mask over his nose, and threw up the remains of his lunch he had left from a similar occasion occurring before he arrived at the tower. Now his stomach also felt empty. What a great birthday... I wonder if they know that as well... Blanco needed to get to Chicago as soon as possible, so he could hurry and finish this nightmare of a Birthday. Well... I bet this will be fun... Hopefully there's no hassles and those Elusivist won't cause to much problems. Even so... I must be prepared for the worst! Hopefully... Once all this is done. Maybe I can get that thing father left. Hopefully those dirty scum haven't taken it from the lighthouse yet! OoOoOoOoOoHHHHH!!! So your going for the board huh? Who said you could have that? Its not yours!!!! Who cares anymore... Finders keepers! Shut up! You don't need it child! Leave it where it is! No... It's mine!

 

[megatron532]

Jacob and the Crying Man walked along the Bronx-Whitestone Bridge in silence. He was slightly curious as to what the new guy was thinking; what could be going through his mind as he prepared to kill 38 people? It made him think of his first kill. He had been twenty years old at the time, tasked with killing a dozen people holed up in an abandoned precinct. He had found them sleeping on the cots in the jail cells. He had found some plastic explosives in the armory and set it up underneath their cots and along the doorways to the cells. Before he killed them he woke them and asked them to reflect on those they had wronged in their lives and to think of this as their punishment for those wrongdoings. And then he blew them to hell.
There had been no hesitation for him and he hoped that this man in a mask would not hesitate either. He would have no qualms about killing this man walking beside him, but he certainly didn't want this guy giving him a hard time about either outcome. Jacob found a car parked on the sidewalk just as they reached the other side of the bridge, he had parked it there some years ago as well as others across the country. He entered the drivers seat and reached for they keys beneath the seat, "Alright, get in, this is our ride" he says to the Crying Man.

 

[Piercing Light]

A shallow pool of light brown coffee rested in a porcelain mug, gently swirled about by a pair of slender hands. The beverage was brought to Larissa's mouth, the coffee was warm, lightly sweetened yet still retained it's naturally bitter aftertaste. This wasn't precisely the best time to be enjoying a caffeinated drink, however she had recently come across a coffee machine with fresh beans ready to be ground. It was chilly today, her vertical white striped sweater and black jeans weren't as warming as she had expected, so she saw the coffee as a blessing. She hummed quietly to herself as people passed her by on the street. From this spot on a steel bench she had seen a large variety of individuals pass by. They all looked different, though they all shared the same emotions. Fear, anguish, frustration. Not too long ago many had seen the wreckage of a plane full of people come crashing to the down, and not long after the entire airport was lit up like a battlefield... A one sided battlefield. This was not an isolated incident, catastrophes had been happening more and more often these days. Terrorist attacks some called them, Larissa didn't see it that way. There was no reason to drive terror into these people, their lives were already painful enough. It all seemed rather personal, like a twisted sense of righteous euthanasia. She wanted to meet the people responsible, what could possibly be going through their deprived minds? She was curious to know.

A loud thud alerted her senses, causing her to look out to the street in front of her. A large rectangular box was laying on the ground, a small group of people were gathered around it. They were arguing over it, pushing and threatening each other. Larissa watched, steadily drinking her coffee. The argument began to heat up, until finally one man pulled out a pistol. The other group began to back off, though a few still looked desperate. Larissa set her cup down, then standing to her feet. She wasn't in the mood to see a murder today. She made her presence known to the group around the box, the man with the gun pointed it towards her. It was a 9mm, fairly weathered. She paid it no mind after a short glance, instead looking at the box. She calmly pulled on the curled hair over her right shoulder. "All this over a fridge?" She asked as if she were disappointed.

"We need that fridge dammit! Any food we catch just rots without the things needed to preserve it. And you all know how rare meat is!" Larissa looked to the man who spoke, regardless of the fact that he was on the receiving end of the barrel of a gun.

"Oh? That sounds like a good reason, rebuttal Mr. Trigger Happy?" She turned to the gun totting man. He simply scoffed.

"My reason is the same, we need it just as bad so why should w-." The man let out a grunt as Larissa stepped into him. Pointing a gun directly at someone's head was always a bad idea, one moment of distraction could cost you dearly. He was promptly elbowed in the gut, his hand sprained, twisted and his body flung to the ground.

"If you are the same, then there is no reason for you to fight. Either work together or you will find yourself living a very short life." Larissa spoke as she examined his gun. As she thought it was in rough shape, it looked as if it had never been cleaned. She walked off, no longer interested in the fallout of the two groups. She hoped the coffee was still warm.

 

[Hazen Gregory]

It seemed like for the longest time my mind had been virtually blank but then that changed. Now I was thinking about the last three men I killed. It really sucked sometimes dealing with the emotions that I swore up and down didn't exist when people died. There had been so much blood the last time that I'd needed to go to the spa for a week by that beach in Thailand. I remember it perfectly. I suppose there is no use dwelling on that type of shit though. I looked around for something else to place my thoughts around and got nothing. Sure there were a lot of people around me but they were all just nameless faces, people that would be ghosts to me soon. Rather I would be a ghost to them, it was always the same. This time I'd really gotten into it though I'm not even really sure how I'd ended up on this little boat to begin with.

Often times I seriously don't know who to talk to or what to do with myself. There were just so many people everywhere at any given time that I'd rather sit and stare than move at all.

Figures...

We were getting closer to land now, in fact we were extremely close which meant in the near future I could get on with my next arc of survival. It was because of this that I was doing exactly that, surviving. And doing good at it too I might add. I looked up and pretty much came completely out of my thoughts and into another mindset. There was a woman not too far away from me.

Her. She. That woman. It didn't really matter what I thought of her as but she was amazingly gorgeous, more so in fact than I first realized. I lost my train of thought for half a second and then had yet another realization. This one was even better than the last one. I turned out that the woman's brother/possible significant other was even more beautiful than she was. Even better he was staring right at me.

Here was when I thought about what the hell I was really doing sitting around all of these people like an idiot when I knew damn well I needed to remove myself from the area soon much more smoothly. Yea right. As if I was going to just jump off the boat or something, that sure didn't make much sense. "Damn, that guy is hot, Too bad I'll probably never see him again. Ever." I had to wink at the man with his curly locks and non-American looking face.

All the fog did little to bother me, I was well placed among the people on this little boat and once we reached land I'd be a ghost just like always. The only thing left to do was pay attention as usual and get on with what I had already prepared for. "Meh, I need to quit," I pulled a cigarette pack out of my back pocket and took a cig out before returning the pack back to my pocket with a low grunt. They were Newport 100s to be specific...my preferred nicotine supplier of choice. I lit one and took a long drag. It was too long according to my lungs because I started coughing immediately after. "diddly." I took another pull and stared at the water.

"This is just annoying."

 

[Kazem]

Stoekl sat there, his right arm flowing smoothly, left to right and left again. He didn't quite count what floor he was on, but he had a very advantageous view of the city, so he stuck with some number between eighty and ninety. It would just take a walk to the stairs to figure it out, but he was too content in the corner he was in to care. The piece of cloth was still clean, though he didn't know how long it would be until the red was too much to just flick off the sword. The oil that was with the kit he had obtained with the sword was only slightly used, due to the sword being decoration for quite some time and the abundance of other containers the previous owner had access to. A sheet of rice paper sat there with him in the corner, a small and light red stain being all of the evidence of its use.

The terrible noises of glass and metal finally stopped, and there were no more blurs flying past the windows, falling to their new home at the bottom of the tower. The oil was done being applied to the blade, and the cleaning supplies were put back away in the small back pack he'd found on his way to the tower, allowing his old makeshift one to be retired into cloth, too cut up to once again be a shirt. Part of it was covering Stoekl's wrist and the webbing of his left thumb. A bad sheathing led up to a wince, sigh and that cleaning, and then gave way to this break he was currently enjoying. Luckily his reflexes stopped the hand from being too badly cut, but the webbing was not spared.

Nicholas considered going down to the metal mess and picking out anything that could be slightly useful, but figured all of that would be taken by those on the bottom floors by the time he got down. The old jacket's sleeves he wore covered his hands, hiding the weakness from any of those looking for it, and providing the sense of being closed off to others he liked. The sleeves were stretched, ragged and starting to seriously get dirty, but it was better than nothing in this world. Taking his pack onto his shoulders, standing up, and sliding the sword into the tightly wrapped cloth around his waist marked his decision to do something. A loop done with the remaining portion of the shirt, somewhat tying the sheathe to the belt, was all that was left before Nicholas walked towards the stairway.

The walk up the stairs offered a tiny bit of needed exercise and a view of the newly renovated floors 100-104. From what he could tell, the floors were made into a sort of lookout, perhaps a nice spot for anyone who happened to have a nice rifle. The wind blew freely without any of the windows on the last two floors, and the thin jacket was appreciated for the help with staying that much warmer. Though it wasn't as much as a nice sight that it would've been back when the world wasn't ruined, the view beyond the open holes still deserved a lingering lasting a moment or two, absorbing the buildings that once shined and were filled with people doing their jobs, living in luxury, not killing others or fearing death on a daily basis. A whistle, slightly louder steps, and a slightly curious "Hey" gave warning to those up here, the practice being preformed since a decent fellow did the same to Stoekl a few weeks ago.

Unfortunately that same fellow was visited by another fellow who wasn't so considerate and not willing to stab people in the back for any food or supplies. But the kind fellow died with a smile at the escape from this dreaded lifestyle. Stoekl somewhat envied him.

Nicholas gave a glance at those up here, and decided to admire the areas around them, keeping some sort of indicator of their location visible like a hand or a shadow. "You two have been pretty busy up here. Hopefully you checked before you sent those piles crashing down, but I suppose any onlookers got a nice warning to stay inside or away." A small smile was made at the slightly humorous comment. "If there's anything else you guys are working on, I'd be glad to help. But I'll warn you now, I'm not too good with much construction." He decided the two were kind enough not to simply shoot him up or toss him down the building, considering as they did work together and haven't killed Nicholas yet, and lifted up his left hand to show them the bandage.

Don't make me regret trusting you, I like to having a person or two I can trust my back with, and prefer not to clean my blade again so soon. That is, if I'm not dead the next time I try to use it.

 

[SwagStarIV]

A car? It's been a while since i have seen a functioning one. Blanco opened the back seat door and lay down on his back. Blanco was holding his stomach, due to the aching pain he had just received from from his fall. The intensity of the pain was slowly fading, but he could tell that the sickly feeling still remain from the idea of the blood he would spill. His mind began to waver on the topic of his success. Can I even do something like this? I couldn't even man up and find the man who killed my mom. Now im going to be the suspect of mass murder... I surely have come a long way. You haven't came from shiit. Maybe on another plane of existence, somewhere off in the distant lands of void and space, you can act as some rising hero, but here on this planet you're just a coward with a mask. Just like any normal robber. A pest being controlled by society with no sight of self-preservation. Whoever takes the time to ask you in the first place! Well now getting feisty are we? Pest... InSECT... INGRATE!!! Who the fUUCK asked you!?!? Huh!?! Go back to darkness of my brain! Where you remain... And should always stay! Come on kid. You can't get through a single day of this life without me. Don't fool yourself.

Screw that guy... He isn't HERE!!! *Sigh* He isn here. He isnt... Here... He... *Sniff* Father... As the lost apparition ravaged Blanco's mind, Blanco couldn't help but think about their final moment. As his mind wandered he fell asleep. *Flashback* "Father!!!! Come on! You have to get out!" "Shut up! Sometimes a man has to do what he has to do. It can't be helped son..." "But... Look at you. Your barely standing... *Sniff*" "You wanna know why son?" "Fa-" Blanco gets kicked in the chest. From the power behind the kick and the surging energy flowing through his dad, he was surprised that his chest didn't cave. "Its because you were still under the GOD DAMN RUBBLE!!! A MAN MUST BE A MAN WHEN IT COMES DOWN TO IT!!!! HE MUST ALWAYS TAKE CARE OF HIS RESPONSIBILITIES!!!! NO MATTER WHAT THE COST! YOU GUYS HAD TO ESCAPE! SO I WILL HOLD THIS UNTIL YOU DID!!!!" "Father..." "SIMPLE FACTS! WILL AND DESIRE! CAUSE AND EFFECT! LIFE AND DEATH!" Blanco's father looked downt with a smile on his face, then tears came to his eyes. He stated in a low and less raging voice, "And all that other good stuff I wont be able to tell you about... Take care... Son." "NoooOOOOOOO!" While Blanco screamed in rage his body surged with energy. The building fell upon his father and he tried to charge to his dad. It seemed as if time had slowed down. He watched as each piece of rubble fell on his fathers aching bones. He tried so hard just to reach him, but he couldn't get any closer. Then he realized something was clutched onto his arms. It was halting him from moving any farther. When he looked at the hands holding him back, he saw his mother with a strong face, full of tears. Her grip was relentless and she stood her ground with no struggle. His father wasn't the only one who had a rush of energy. His mothers stood strong as a statue. The only thing on her mind was not losing the only two men she could love in this world. When time resumed itself back to its seemingly natural flow, Blanco stood in a hole. His feet had been moving. His mom's clothes where dirty and tethered from him trying to reach his father. Blanco then fell to the ground and began weeping uncontrollably, while his mother knelt down and smiled at him with tears flowing ever so gently down her face. *Back to normal time*
Blanco awoke an earnestly asked Broken man,"So how long until we get there?"

 

[OmniChaos]

'Twas no white knight fantasy here. Nay, no group of heroes rising from the ashes to save the people from their miserable lives and usher them into a future that was even a shimmer of the past. Time had moved on and all the white knights had long since been snuffed from the dying chunk of rock, their heads planted on pikes as a sign of the futility of heroism. All that remained were demons and those unlucky bastards that survived the apocalypse; not even God remained, turning has back on the evil that has overtaken his world (Aye, Mr. Itsy Bitsy doesn't care about ya, does he? Nay, he just sits content as a happy, happy, happy clam.).

But a world without a god just wouldn't do, would it? Nay, not even if it was a world with its clock ticking down to its end. Since God turned his back on these miserable, pathetic, little fools, why not give them some new gods to fear and coward before? Aye, let the people fear them, let the people beg mercy from them, and when the people do, then they can give the people the peace they seek: death.

Glenn sat quietly in the passenger seat, a blunt hanging limply from his bottom lip. He slowly rolled his head backward onto the headrest and lazily blew a puff of smoke up to the ceiling of the car. "'And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him,'" the Smiling Man quoted, his smile curling into a grin. "'And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.'" He tittered softly. "What a fun job."

The Smiling Man turned his attention toward his left--to Tim, who was driving the car to the One World Trade Center, the next site he planned to 'put to rest'. Glenn was not intimidated by Tim nor was he put off by the things the man did--in fact, he quite enjoyed his company. Tim could always put a smile on Glenn's face--metaphorically speaking, as he was always smiling--and everything he did tickled the twisted reaches of Glenn's mind. Playing with psycos always made the game better, and one such as the Laughing Man would be sure to keep things interesting.

"So, the One World Trade Center... Aye, quite a formable stronghold to coward inside. A nice panopticon for the city, being able to see our approach from all angles. Aye, quite formable indeed." The Smiling Man tittered once more and sat his blunt into a small groove on the dashboard. He stretched his arms and moaned pleasurably as bones popped. "So, what's your plan, Chuckles? They'll see our approach before we arrive, so we won't be sneaking in. And we very well can't just run in, guns a' blazin, can we? Nay, we--well, we can, but a lot could manage to escape in the process.

"We could have had a little reenactment, but you successfully grounded the last of the nearby planes." He paused and his smile curled open wider, his pearly teeth shimmering. "Or mayhap we can. Aye, we could set fire to the lower levels and watch the people squirm. Watch them choke and panic, and if they try to somehow escape, we can take them out one by one."

The Smiling Man sighed, followed by a soft titter. "Or whatever you fancy. You know I really don't give a damn either way, long as I get to have my fun."

 

[Professor Ven]

Even as the Smiling Man tittered, the giant grip of Ezekiel Orom came to rest on the thinner man's shoulder from the other seat in the back of the car; the other held the Goliath's stovepipe sable hat. His ballistic shield sat against his legs as Ezekiel was somewhat cramped in the car due to his size - the Victorian-tailored grotesque's cane laid near his side, lying between himself and the Smiling Man.

"Smile all you want, but for every smile, there is always a reason." The Humming Man's pancake-sized palm patted the Smiling Man's shoulder, tapping it lightly. "Just as every note brings another purpose to the Great Music, so should ours blaze ever so brightly in this segment of the piece." He spoke only with a sort of mentoring air - the Made Men had never known him to be barbaric outside of combat, or any sort of violent activity. The Humming Man knew well his place in the scheme of things, and enjoyed his snug niche.

"Given Chuckles' turns, I'm sure those we liberate from life will be most entertaining to watch. Nevertheless, dear Beamer, relish your gift of freeing those bound to flesh." The Humming Man's hand grasped his cane, and he reveled in its warmth.

"Hopefully the World Trade Center will be big enough for the bunch of us. I don't like having to share."

 

[Orion]

Erik was pushed right up against the steel sheet that functioned as cover by the open window. Wind buffeted him by the opening, but he held his grip as steady as he was able. He squatted with his back arched over, staring through the scope of his rifle that was perched steeply, trained on something at street level.

Through his little aperture, Erik could see a group of civilians gathering around a fridge. Initially talking cordially, then squabbling. Punches were thrown and people were pushed around. Then a gun was pulled and that seemed to be the end of that. Cautious, panicked or both, the crowd began to disperse, until a newcomer entered. Long-legged and white-haired, she was striking even from Erik's vantage point.

He knew the piercing presence that hovered around people like Larissa, those who stay unafraid even as their world came to and end, those without the slightest twitch in their muscles or wavering in their gaze. He could only imagine the impression she was making down on the street, walking right at the gunman until the barrel rested against her head.

For an instant, Erik felt like his world shifted a few degrees off-kilter.

In one eye he was looking down on Larissa, but in the other he was staring right down the barrel of the handgun, his eye resting on the tip of the bullet. Some rational part of his brain knew that he wasn't really in the handgun, four hundred metres down, but that part wasn't at the forefront any longer. Something pushed it back, and he found half of himself to be a chunk of metal, wrapped in a brass shell and with a little bit of explosives in his rear end. And that half of him wanted oh so dearly to fulfill its function.

Erik stopped breathing. His grip tightened painfully around the handle in an instant. His limbs - from fingers to shoulders - locked up as time seemed to slow, and the gusting wind felt like it died down to a gentle breeze. At the same time, down on the street level, in the bullet-half of his mind, it felt that something like his legs were winding up, tensing like coiled springs, preparing to be released. He envisioned what would happen when the pin struck him from behind, and the fantastic, hot pressure built up as he rocketed out and started crushing, splitting, cracking, pulverising his way through his victim.

He rebelled in the pre-emptive exstacy of beautifully, bombastically forcing his way, first through skin, then bone, grey matter, white, and blood vessels throughout. Then all that again but in reverse as he crossed the half-way threshold of Larissa's cranium. Finally he would blow out the back of her head, a dark silver chunk splashed with blood, soaring out of a perfect spray of red mist mixed with more solid debris, lodging himself in a wall.

At the top of 1WTC, the crosshair of the scope leveled out at the top of Larissa's head, then hung still. At this angle and distance, bullet drop would account for only a few centimetres by the time he hit his target. That rational part of his brain, that was screaming for all it was worth but was virtually silent to the rest of him, told him surely Alexander would have noticed his current state, would have traced his line of sight.

Realised what he was looking at, and what his frozen posture indicated. Would have raised his rifle to point at Erik's head, or a knife to his throat, telling him to stop. Something. Anything. Stop Erik killing one of the few people who wouldn't be terrified of what he was, who wouldn't kill him given the first chance, who might - just maybe - fight alongside him to survive the Made Men.

Reason - with a captial R - burst through, re-asserted itself. Violence - big V - wasn't happy to go, but knew he had no control over what the gunman on the ground would do, and he wanted that shot. Just one, just a single cylinder of hyper-lethal metal shredding through the air before tearing into its target. Reason did what it could in Erik's hyper-sensitive state, noticed the far-off rumble of a car, focused on it and began to adjust his position, denying Violence its initial victim. With one final effort, as the scope settled on the roof of the sedan, Violence squeezed off a shot.

Working cars were unusual things. If they hadn't run out of petrol, chances are they'd have been taken apart for scrap or stolen ages ago. In a city usually bustling with the rumble of engines and the beeping or horns, the sedan was alone. As the bullet left the barrel, before the recoil fully kicked-in, he caught a glimpse of the driver: white shirt, jeans. The passenger next to him had a gold chain around the wrist of the arm that was resting on the window sill to his right. In the space between the chairs, he could make out the legs of a very tall man squashed behind a riot shield.

Before Erik even saw the bullet hit its target, he kicked himself away from his perch and threw his rifle away, scared and disgusted with himself.

 

[Ðari]

Letting Tim drive was almost never a good idea. He seemed fond of that coffee mug, it even had a heart on it. I began to think, where could he get something so...strange. There was a little man, with a hat and red scarf on the mug, holding a mug just like that one. That was just weird. Tim looked at me, just as thrown by my constant fixation on the mug as he drove with his hand at the ten o'clock position as he drank. Shaking his head, he finished the remainder of his coffee, stepped on the gas pedal. It was an inside joke for sure.

The high way seemed to be polluted with abandoned cars, Glenn inquired about action. The old casual shrug Tim would often give them, "You guys know me. As long as we euthanize the despondent individuals, how you do it is up to you."

The run from the JFK airport to town square was that of a brief one. Approximately thirty-five minutes from this side of Manhattan to the city's capital. As we evaded around the graveyard of cars, briefly stopping to siphon off gasoline from those that still had things in them. A couple of cars were damaged, there were signs of a struggle from the inhabitants and potential looters that attempted to oppress the people. All of these facts aside, Tim again shook his head, and he prayed to their false god that these poor bastards made it to heaven or some kind of peace in their after life.

Approaching the city, there were police cars that seemed to surround the perimeter. How there was any kind of "order" left after what happened, was surprising. New York was big, and from the intel Tim gathered, this was the most heavily populated spot left in the entire state. We were the goddamn Made Men, naturally we were recognized as outlaws and looters if you wanted to be cynical about it. I looked at Tim as he stopped the car, focused on the blue and red flashing lights of the police blockade. Like he always did, with motivation, pep, and great esteem he became "chummy" with the blockade of police officers. Closing the door, leaving me to poke my head out of the passenger door to watch.

"Hey hey. Easy fellas, I've been driving for miles, me and my company heard this was the only place left that was abundant with resources for miles. We just want to join the other survivors, if thats alright with you?" he pleaded with the three cops with his charm.

The cops seemed to carry some suspicion of Tim. I watched from the car, as Tim's head nodded to put our guns away, that he'd handle it. In the pit of my stomach, i felt this would just create more tension. The behavior of the cops didn't seem friendly at all, as kept cruel eyes on Tim. One of the cops approached him, and because I knew what he was thinking I shut my eyes while he did it.

He dug behind his back, and whipped his Beretta in an arc, firing a single bullet. The manner he did this I had to slow the bullet down with my mind to see where it went, I watched curve from where he stood as the cops were in somewhat of a triangle position. It went through the cop's head on his right, then it migrated to the one on his left's head, before coming around the snag the last cop. All three of them dropping unanimously. Tim simply tugged on his jacket, and cleared his throat.

The Frowning Man climbed on the roof of the suv by way of the sun roof. At this time Tim had approached the cops whom had focused on him. He was rather sharp as intercepting the sudden breaks in the air. The sound of a bolt took his attention, with a high, he raised his hand to implement a gunskill known as the double-tap. It would quickly shoot two rounds .625th of a second apart from each other, the second bullet on path to slightly curve upward. No more than ten meters above their heads, the cache fired split the first shell while the second pushed it upward, grazing driver's side rear-view mirror.

"Guessing they've got snipers on the roof, or really frantic people up there craving some action. How terrifying..." he said with a contemplative look.

"Standard, lets go guys. You know the drill, we split up and survey the civilians. I'm sure you all took psychology in college at one point so you know when the unfit will virtually beg for a way out, do that favor for them. Bare this in mind, scapegoats are deadgoats, remember that. Lets sweep house gentlemen, and be my guest if you're willing to have fun with this. WOO!" he let out with a touch of mockery and glee.

As expected the first floor was empty, no surprise there. The cops apparently had a weapons cache near the customer service counter, as Tim hopped over, he grabbed some plastic and grenades, hooked them to his utility belt he carried on his hip. A second nine-milimeter pistol, the standard NYPD Glock 9MM, and he replenished the clip on his Beretta while he was at it. He tossed an ammo box and placed it on the counter before hopping back over, "stock your load out gentleman and remember, clear each floor before you move up."

He shook his fist rather excitedly, there were four elevators in the lobby to go up. We took the one on the far right, and hit the button asserting for 13th floor. The elevator music was ok, until Tim started talking about the most random things casually to me as we moved slowly upward. "Did you know using suppressors on firearms actually weakens the bullet piercing power, by slightly acting as a defacto for both range and launch speed?"

I simply shook my head as we went up...

 

[Kazem]

That first gunshot set Stoekl into his casually paced world. Erik's shot grabbed all of Nicholas's attention, heart pounding both in his chest and in his head. The rifle Erik threw away was quickly swept up by Stoekl and shouldered as he braced against the metal sheet covering half the window next to Erik's. The world still taking it's time, the gun was brought up over the sheet, and an eye was frantically searching for the source of the first shot. A new car was among the collection down below, corpses wearing uniforms in front of it, and was the focus of the gun, the searching eye now steadily looking through the scope. A slower than slow breath was taken, and a blink most noticeable accompanied it. Some slight adjustment for wind, a tiny movement up for gravity and a pull of the trigger was all it took to send a bullet to the unfamiliar car's front tire.

Stoekl returned to the normal world as he ducked back down and moved a few windows over, hoping to avoid any return fire. Seeing as only the one car was the obvious transport of the attackers, it was reasonable to assume that it was either some more crazies with way too much firepower, or the major rumor spread around these days. The group who traveled far and wide, bringing only death with them. "We have unwanted guests here, and they know what they're doing. If you have any escape plans, now is the time to use them, Otherwise, we're about to have a very unpleasant experience."

Erik's rifle was put down and patted, a nod in his general direction to show it was free to take back. Stoekl's mind was racing for a plan, either for defending against the killers or escaping their lethal grasp. We could wait for them at the stairs, go down a few floors until we found a good place to wait. We could also try slipping past them through the elevator shafts, ladders should be in there for maintenance. Oh, the elevator is coming up. The elevator is coming up. And not stopping. People don't go up to escape from a building unless there's an air transport, and there is definitely not a helicopter up here.

"Elevator, they're coming up in it. If the controls still work, try stopping it. Releasing it would be even better. You two know your nest better than I do, so take lead." Just don't lead to death was something Stoekl kept to himself, sure that the comment wouldn't be much help in the situation they were in, tension growing rapidly and suspense following close behind it.

​This is seriously starting to rise up on my list of worst days yet, but hopefully I'll live to see one more added on.

 

[Orion]

Erik had been huddled in the corner of that floor, knees grasped close to his chest, rocking back and forth. He was glad that Stoekl took the 700P, removing the temptation for his more violent faculties to reassert themselves upon victims anonymous or far-off. He snapped back when Stoekl said that he and Alexander, being the inhabitants and builders of 'the nest', should take charge.

Erik spoke as he rose up: "Literally cutting the lifts off would definitely stop them, but they're just as fit as we are. It'd only delay them half an hour to take the stairs, plus once we do that, there's no going back. I don't think it's worth permanently cutting off such convenient transport - for us and others - unless we can leave them stranded or trapped in a falling lift."

"Besides, they'll have to take their time. The executive elevator that went from lowest basement to the top floor we cut out intentionally, and the service lift that went the whole height is dangling out the side and only we up here have control of that. They'll have to take multiple lifts and/or stairs."

"They also won't go unimpeded. There's the gatekeepers every fifth floors, and they're armed. They won't delay the Men hugely, but they'll frustrate them nonetheless." One World Trade Centre was a miniature city unto itself, with organised governance, service providers, security and more. Though the backup power for 1WTC would last a long while with all the lights out and unnecessary drainages mitigated, it was still running on limited batteries, more or less.

Free, individual travel with the lifts, for instance, was banned. Instead, people would gather at the lift areas every fifth floor, where an armed guard would make sure the lift was full before anyone went up or down in it, to another manned station. Similarly, an armed guard was also in every lift, and the Made Men would inevitably run into a few of them. They'd need to take at least three lifts to go the full height of 1WTC.

Erik continued, "I say we fetch Larissa then head a dozen or so levels down, and quietly make our way up by the stairs once we hear a ruckus passing by. When I fired on them, I'm certain - either by guessing or tracing the trajectory - they could tell the bullet came from these top floors, so they'll be headed right here."

 

[Piercing Light]

There certainly were a fair number of gunshots going off at the moment. One had come from her destination, the first world trade center. Her heart began to race as the notion of danger and confrontation became a clear reality. Her pace quickened, her brisk walk transitioning into a full on sprint. As the looming tower grew closer the first thing she noticed was a small group of men entering the building. Her lips quivered into a smirk, judging from their general attire and the decommissioned guards near the gate these could easily be the Made Men. She wasn't one to look for trouble, but these people... They were a special exception. Making her way around the building she came to the side where she knew a mode of transportation would be available. Pulling a sleek black phone from her pocket she opened the contact list. She sent a text to Erik, with the simple instruction of lowering the elevator for her. Erik was an... Astute young man, though he could be fairly off his kilter at times. She tried not to pry, so she really couldn't judge him. She had herself to look out for after all.

 

[Ðari]

-posting for megatron532-

"We're already here."

Jacob had wrapped himself around this scenario so many times, his face grew stale and smug because of it. The suffering had broken him in very young, there was only the ever fleeting feeling of numbness. More than his share of bitterness at times, at least he wasn't sardonic and asinine as Tim for that matter. He merely gave the ever confused Blanco a nod, the view finder atop the light house you could easily spot the furthest ships that entered and exited the harbor.

The car ride there was less than pleasant for the broken man, watching Blanco fidget rapidly in the back seat was just beyond disturbing. As Jacob twirled a toothpick in the grasp of his teeth, he peered through the viewfinder to procure the location of this boat that had begun to enter the harbor as scheduled. It was more than practical to find the special passengers aboard, for once Jacob wouldn't need to sweat it so hard this time. Blanco's ass was on the fire this time, his "hazing" or initiation, he had to take out all the despondent with the exception of the ones that could dodge bullets.

"Hey Crying Man, take a good look down there. The boss wants that ship sunk, or else. I've got permission to bring your head back in a nice black bag if you fail." he said tapping the back of Blanco's head with his tactical knife. "Its your life or theirs, make the call." His fingers swung over, and the sharp edge of the fine point was pressed to the back of Blanco's head.

 

[SwagStarIV]

Blanco looked at his gauntlet and began to think about how he would go about slaughtering such innocent victims. The first word that came to to his head was Sniff. He was gonna be doing alot of that today. None the less he must be adamant about his decisions. Come on kid quit already. We know you can't deal with the mass amounts of seeping blood. You better move with that cowardice speed that you got or else this whole thing might as well be a waste of time. Time to choose squirt. Demi-God or worm. I got this. I think i saw enough blood in our little flash back. Blanco did not answer the frowning man and continued towards the light tower. He entered the tower and grabbed a board on his way to the top. As he climbed the stairs he pressed the two white buttons on the underside of the board, and turned the board to a small cube. He entered the cube into his gauntlet, and opened the door to the top of the tower. As he looked into the ocean he couldn't see much.

The weather was taking a toll on his eyes and making them feel dryer than usual. Blanco grabbed the gun from his waist and pointed it at the boat. He glanced away and then pulled the trigger 6 times, not caring who he hit. He then ran down the tower stairs and ran towards the Frowning man. Blanco stated, "Okay! I can handle this! You might want to take cover though. Im gonna take a more stealthy approach." Blanco ran towards the harbor and randomly shot 7 more bullets towards the boat. Since he was aiming head on he expected the people to see his slim physique and abnormally huge feline head. He then ran back towards the street and took off his mask. He made it subtly visible so that when the pedestrians came they would run away from it. Then he could continue with part 2. Blanco then got in position for the second part of his plan.

 

[Ðari]

/poorly executed idea.