Erratas Nul: West Heimdall
 

Keep on shinin', yeah, keep on shinin',

The country song moved through the bar, over the voices of the talking folk but not terribly loud. The volume meter was regulated for such, and the sound sensors, when they worked, adjusted the volume slightly to keep the effect. The bar had wooden furniture topped with a type of fake stone that looked almost like onyx. It was a nice place, not that the same could be said for the people in it. The outside had a nice view of the Atlantic Ocean, and small figures could be seen playing on the beach far below.

Shinin' like the noon-day sun,

The air smelt of cigarette smoke, alchohol, and various perfumes that people had decided made them smell nice. Drakus continued to glare around, extending his thin tongue for a moment reflexively. He had been on edge all day, which wasn't unusual considering he had gotten eight bouts of deja vu in the morning and afternoon alone. Everything was seemingly more threatening and in general, more irritating. He plunked his card on the bar counter, muttering something about scotch in a low growl. The bartender understood well enough, and the six and a half foot tall komodo hybrid downed the strong drink as soon as it was brought to him. He slipped his card back in his pocket. Today was a simple scouting mission. There had been numerous disturbances in the city, as of late, and he was supposed to find out what was causing them. His stomach rumbled. He would have to eat in a few hours.

Keep on shinin', jes' keep on shinin',

He stood up and began walking towards the door. After passing one of the tables, he felt his prosthetic left arm connect with something and heard the crash of a glass upon the ground.

Shit. He thought to himself, withdrawing his arm although it was too late and bending down to pick up the shards of broken glass. "I'm sorry about this." He said, picking up the shards of glass with his left arm and placing them in the palm of his right.

"Why don' che' watch where yer goin', ya big dumb piss!" Came a loud, slightly slurred voice.

I said I was sorry, you stupid prick. I should rip out those irritating vocal chords. Drakus thought, feeling his blood rush a bit cold, but he responded instead, in a cool, calm voice, "I'll replace the drink for you, please calm down."

He then for the first time looked up at the guy. He was large, the kind of guy who you could stick a dagger in the belly of and have no fear of puncturing his stomach. He had black sideburns, red hair and a fight-worthy scowl. From a genetic angle, Drakus suspected he might be part gorilla, but the guy looked almost wholly human. Several people who had been at other tables drew thin gray knives and stood up. Drakus then realized that this guy was most likely a gang leader. "Of all the people..." He muttered under his breath.

The guy grinned savagely and pointed at Drakus. "Well, I was gonna let you off easy, but seein' as how you've got a twisted ladder, I guess I can beat on you a bit. Maybe give you another of those fancy hands." He said, nodding at Drakus' left arm.

The big komodo hybrid's eyes narrowed, and he tensed his shoulder and brought his left arm's blade to the gang leader's throat with stunning speed, pressing the blade against his jugular and pushing it in hard, restaining himself just enough that he wouldn't cut the vein. "That so? Sure you wouldn't like a new circulatory system?" He said quickly, his mouth moving before he had time to think. The rest of the gang froze, their leader's eyes wide with fear. "Dont think I won't cut it if you reach for your knife." Drakus said, the man's arm twitching with fear. The man's stomach suddenly started to churn, His shirt looking like it was about to give. Drakus' eyes widened as he realised what was about to happen. A pair of hands burst from the shirt, one pushing Drakus' left arm away from the man's throat and the other pushing at his chest, shoving him backwards. He saw the other members of the gang move, and he fell to the ground to dodge the hail of knives that followed shortly after. His tail uncoiled and curled around the back of the sitting man's leg, slicing through his achelies tendion. He howled in pain, clutching his now useless leg and rolling behind his chair. Drakus seized the table by two of its legs, hurling it at the gang members. Two of them dodged, but the third was hit in the forehead and went down with a crash. Drakus lept bodily on the one to his left, grabbing him by the shirt and slamming his head into the ground, leaving a bloody splatter where his nose had broken. He hurled a chair towards the third one, who dodged it and threw another knife, which Drakus blocked with his left arm. The knife seemed to disappear, and Drakus looked confused for a moment before shaking his sleeve and watching it clatter to the wood below. He grabbed it with his foot, opposable toe getting around the handle somewhat and flinging it with a great ammount of force. The gang member was so astonished that he had forgotten to dodge. The knife hit him in the right side of his chest, and he fell to the ground with a shout of surprise. Drakus looked over as a slender piece of wood shot by his right shoulder. He ducked another one. He heard something hit the ground and instinctively rolled away from it. A loud blast and a sudden feeling of heat from that direction let him know he had been right on. He peeked his head up to see what he was up against.

The gang leader's two regular arms had a pin and another grenade in them, and the two from his stomach had a double crossbow, which they were reloading. He saw that the man had a self-defense unit on his belt's buckle, just like Drakus did. He punched the "ten second" button on his belt, hoping the producers hadn't been lying when they had said that the heavy shielded function could let the user survive a stick of dynamite at close range. He crouched and sprang, sailing over the tables and landing in front of the man, who hurled the grenade straight at his face. He caught it with his left arm, smacking the crossbow out of the man's stomach arms with a slap of his tail and pressing the explosive into the man's now free hands, pulling back his arms and closing his eyes as the grenade detonated in a rush of heat.

His ears rang for a bit, and then he heard the faint sound of screaming. It got louder as his hearing returned, along with people's panicked voices and a rather disgusting stench he had smelled before, one of burnt flesh. Drakus opened his eyes, and discovered the source of the unpleasant odor. The gang's leader was rolling around on the ground, holding his mid-section and screaming his lungs out. His two arms near his stomach were now nothing more than a pair of charred nubs, and the guy himself had several wounds from the shrapnel. Drakus' predatory instincts said to finish him off, but he shook them off quickly.

"The proper authorities will be here soon." He said over the man's screaming, removing a small oragnizer from his pocket and pressing a button. He turned to the rest of the people in the bar. "Tell them this man is a suspect for the murders of several John Does who were found missing arms, and that he has had unauthorized transplants performed on him. Also call a hospital for four men, three with moderate injuries, one who may die from shock." He said quickly and cooly. He put the oragnizer away, but looked down at the man and grinned at him slightly, sheathing his arm-blade and flexing his hand. "Who's getting the 'fancy hands' now?" He said, leaving the bar and beginning his patrol, with a note of satisfaction.

Shinin' 'till the sun goes down.

In the bowels of the city in a dark alley Dakeyras was in trouble.

He had been minding his own business walking through the alley on the way to his temporary home when two guys had dropped from a window above him and tried to "retire" him. Judging by the speed and grace they moved with and the fact they had tried to drop on him they were obivously geneticaly modded with some kind of large cat. Probably part of the programs elite guards who had chased him ever since his escape from the experiment.

They circled around on either side so that it was hard for him to keep his eye's on both of them. In a sudden movement Dakeyras spun and struck out at the one moving around on his left with a knife to the throat. With his other hand he lifted his crossbow and planted several bolts in the others chest and head dropping him to the ground instantly writhing in pain as his cerebellum was divided by the crossbow bolt. Letting go of the crossbow Dakeyras turned back to the first and retrieved his knife from his throat before sheathing it and disappearing running off towards his current home.

(OOC the crossbow is on a sorta elastic band attached to his armour so when he drops it it falls to hang by his waist ready to be used if neccesary)

Ajax sits on the street corner, his long, nimble fingers picking out the chords of a complex and beautiful melody. As he plays someone from the crowd sporadicly(sp?) tosses a bit of money into a hat at his feet. Everytime someone does so, he smiles to himself and plays more passionately, letting the music flow through him. As he loses himself in his music, he loses track of time. It soon grows dark without his realizing. He is jerked from his intense playing as a shadow falls across him where he sits. He looks up, and finds himself staring into a pair of eyes filled with hatred.
"F***ing splicers, they're f***ing abominations," he turns to the man behind him and smiles "maybe we should do our part to clean up the streets." Its phrased like a question, but Ajax knows its not. Pure-breed supremacists, they attack anything with bionic or genetic enhancements.

Knowing these men ould not hesitate to harm him, Ajax lashes out. He breaks his guitar on the lead mans head as he turns back to face the fruit bat hybrid. Ajax darts into a nearby alley, hoping to escape before more supremacists show up. His ploy proves unsuccessful as ajax's keen ears pick up the acoustics of at least 8 men chasing him. This wasn't some random happening, these men had probably been watching him all day, planning an attack. He picks up his pace even as he curses himself for breakign his guitar. In the next heartbeat he prays for help, knowing he can't get away in the tight confines of this area and that he can't fight them unarmed.

Kat's supple fingers enclosed around the diamond, She drew her hand back, Careful not to break the beams of light that would call every guard in the building down on her.
The Security system in the auction house was easy to bypass, Cameras were time looped showing an empty room with their precious rock safe as could be, The guards patrol schedule still gave her three minutes to get out of the building, Last but not least the beams of light that protected the stone were ground based, So hanging upside down from the roof and entering thru the vent system had gotten around that problem, That's where the Panther dna infused in her genetic makeup helped.

Hitting the retract on her belt Kat was raised back into the vent, Packing away her gear she started her escape, So far all was going to plan.
Lights and sirens blared accross the Auction house and footsteps echoed down the hallways.
"Blast it" kat thought to herself "Guards can never be trusted to keep a schedule"
Fliping out of the vent Kat made a burst for her exit, no need for stealth now her main goal was escape.
Turning the final corner to the roof access Kat came face to faec with three guards, Simulatniously(sp?) the guards grabed for guns.
Throwing her backpack at the first guard he droped his gun to catch the bag, the second was met by a axe kick to the shoulder, The cracking sound a telltail to a broken bone.
The last had almost raised his gun when the tazer that appeared in Kats hand stuck him fair in the chest.
Ther first guard stood watching as Kat turned around, "You know if i left you standing it'd look bad for you" Kat explained to her contact.
"yeah! i know, Luckly you pay well" returned the dark haired man seconds befor cumpling to the floor.

Exiting the building Kat grabbed her hanglider and sailed into the darkness.

OOC: I'll save ya, Fuzzy! ...Of course, I think you had that planned.

Sync had had a pretty enjoyable day. He'd had the day off from his part time job, which meant he could just loaf around for the day -- something he was getting used to doing lately. However, that got boring after a while, so he decided to go out for a walk.

Boy, what a choice that had been.

He had come across what looked like a little scene. A hat filled with loose change, and a guy that looked something like a goon, knocked out, with pieces of a guitar all around him. Whatever it was, it had happened recently. Probably a mugging for that money.

"Wonder where they went, though," he thought, a bit curious.

His question was quickly answered as he heard yells like "Get the freak!" and "Rip his fucking head off!" Not very subtle, whoever they were. Sync walked with an almost unnatural calmness over to a nearby alley and saw eight men yelling, slowly approaching a genetically altered boy who looked scared shitless.

"Here we go again..." Sync mumbled, unheard by Ajax's attackers in their bloodlust. "...Another person who needs saving."

It didn't take long before Sync was on top of the guy in the back of the group, a kind of stocky guy who looked like he could do something better with his life. He was holding a knife, and looked ready to push through the other seven and gut the kid himself. Sync didn't even notice the man as his head was slammed at the temple by Sync's hand, dropping him after a short yelp of pain.

That yelp, however, had gotten the attention of the others. They turned around and saw a pretty forboding figure standing before them, clad in a trenchcoat and looking like some sort of vigilante (and, in a way, he was). He looked pretty normal, except for his eyes. His right wa green, but his left was red, looking like it contained all his hate a rage. They saw that eye, as well as the look coming from it, and began to get scared.

"W-what the hell? What the hell are you doing?" One of them asked, unsure of what to think of this guy who seemingly came out of nowhere.

"Helping the kid," Sync replied bluntly, the calmness in his voice driving chills down the spines of all the men. "Any of you who don't feel like going to the hospital or an early grave, leave right now."

"...heh. Hehehe. HAHAHAHA! Are you listening to this guy, boys? Thinks he can take us all on. He must have delusions of fucking grandeur, or something!" the apparently new leader yelled, amused at Sync's display. It was obviously hiding his fear for the person in front of him. "C'mon, boys, we'll fuck up Mr. Hero before getting the kid!"

Hesitantly, two of the men leaped out, one with a metal pipe and the other with just his fists. Sync saw them as slow, and leapt up to the one with the pipe. With a look of surprise on his face, he quickly felt his wrists snap as the pipe was twisted around too fast in his hands. Yelling in pain, he went down on the ground, looking at his now-useless extremeties. The second man felt a quick blow to his ribs, hearing a loud crack as that happened, then another blow to the head before he collapsed to the ground, unconcious.

"Reconsider yet?" Sync asked, that same creepy calm in his voice, dropping the pipe while he asked the almost redundant question.

"FUCK YOU!!" the gang leader yelled, running forward himself and pulling out a large knife, charging Sync recklessly. Sync let him swing a couple times before his right forearm bulged just, and two blood-stained, bone-like blades shot out through the skin near the wrist, blocking the leader's knife.

"I told you to leave, so just do it before I go further that knocking you out," Sync growled, scaring the leader into drawing the knife back and thrusting again. Sync sidestepped the attack and swung his arm around in what looked like a blurred arc. Blood could be seen in the last half of the arc, and it wasn't long before everyone in the alley could clearly see the gang leader holding the stump that was his forearm. Sync had cut off the man's arm at the elbow, making blood spurt everywhere as the man screamed and ran around in pain.

"Go," he told the remaining four men dully. "NOW!"

Jumping a bit and realizing their situation, the four horrified men grabbed their injured compatriats and ran for the nearest hospital. They were lucky they hadn't pressed further, Sync would have killed one of them, then.

"You all right, kid?" Sync asked, a tone of unexpected sympathy filling his voice. The blade on his arm seemed to be sucked back into his arm at that point, almost like it had a mind of its own.

OOC: There ya go, Fuzzy. You've been saved. Nice doin' business with ya!

The proper authorities were too busy to be bothered with cleaning up some gang's mess. As usual, they left it to Machine Party Official Vigilante Force. Just as well armed and well trained as the police, but ten-times as ruthless and a hundred-times scarier. Within minutes of the call, black armored trucks emblazoned on their sides with the red Machine Party logo (a six-armed cross inside a thirteen-toothed gear) were roaring down the streets, sirens sounding. The trucks surrounded the bar, and Machine Party grunts in black power-armor stormed out, followed by an individual in black military coat and hat.

The force charged into the bar, pointing tazer-spears and lethal laser weaponry at the moaning gangsters. The circle parted for the officer, who placed a boot heel on the gang-leaders neck, and pressed down hard.

"He died at the scene," hissed the officer after the sickening crack of bone, "take the rest back to H.Q." The soldiers nodded in reply, and hauled off the injured and dead bodies to the trucks. The officer climbed back into the cab of one of the trucks, but before he could close the door, the owner of the bar rushed up.

"Hey!" he shouted, "aren't you going to do something about my bar? It’s a wreck!"

A pair of narrowed red eyes glared down at him from the darkness of the cab "That's the government’s responsibility. Were just vigilantes."

"What the Hell! I pay taxes; shouldn't they be doing something about this?"

"Try remembering that next time elections roll around," replied the officer, who slammed the cab door. The bar owner watched the trucks rumble off as he rung his apron in frustration.

Drakus walked past a series of several Machine Party vans that were heading towards the bar he had just come from. You had to admire how quickly a group who had nothing better to do could get to the one place where they were needed. It wasn't usually that way with the police force, and he admired and pitied the group of government owned vigilantes. He continued into the city's mean streets. He saw a group of punks running screaming out of an alleyway, a tremendous ammount of blood leaking from one of them. He ran over to the alley way, seeing two figures towards the back. One of them looked like they were a human spliced with a bat of some sort, and they were either naturally ugly or spliced to an illegal level. The other person lloked like a white-haired human who was unarmed. There was also a severed arm on the ground, along with a large ammount of blood leading out from the alleyway. He stepped forward, his hands in his coat pockets.

"What happened here? Identify yourselves." He said quickly, his hand moving to one of his throwing knives, just in case things got edgy. No pun intended... He thought to himself.

Dakeyras ran on. He quickly looked behind him but didnt see the guys who'd attacked him. as he turned back around he realised he was about to run some huge lizard guy down. Skidding to a halt he only just managed to stop in time. "Sorry." He looked up at the Lizard guy, shook his head and sighed. "Sorry" This time it sounded sincere. " I was being chased by some spliced guys, guess i lost em for the moment."

Looking around he saw a large trail of blood and several figures at the end of an alleyway. "what happened here?" directing the question at the lizard guy.

Fabron was exiting a mechanincs shop, she had had problems with some of her systems, including trouble with the display screen in her left hand. Looking at it now, she saw the screen light up in welcome and then go to a schematics display and a list of all the repairs to her functions. She scrolled through them, checking everything when...

A guy who looked scared stiff ran headlong into her and bounced off. She stood perfectly still and looked coldly but not menacingly down at him. "Watch where you're going." she said. He glared up at her about to retaliate but her eye flashed red and whirred, he yelped. "Not another one! No more fucking machines!" He got up and ran off, screaming about cyborgs. She tapped her mechanical eye and the whirring stopped, "That wasn't supposed to happen..." She walked in the direction the man had come from. She soon came to the entrance to an alley, there were two figures at the entrance looking at something within. She called out "Stop scarin' the fiszzzzzt!" She closed her eye and fizzed for a second, then straightened up and swore. "Dammit! They were supposed to fix that!" She looked at her hand again and started pushing buttons furiously, ignoring whoever she had just yelled at.

Brian was leaning against a wall, on the second story, letting his cloak cover him completely his left hand seemed to be tapping out the beat of an unknown song. However only the man known as the Digeratti knew what he was doing. And what he was doing was monitoring the information networks of the city, looking for something fun. Switching between various sources, police transmissions, emergency calls, and the private sector. It looked like it had been an interesting night elsewhere in this not so fair city, with robberies, bar fights, and other such amusements, but unfortunately he had just missed the fun, or so it seemed.

With a sigh, he continued browsing muttering to himself. When suddenly he heard a voice, and a distinctively mechanical sound that caught his interest. Lowering himself into his normal crouching position he bounded off the fire-escape and proceeded in the direction of the sound, down the back alley, past two sour looking men who had been observing him since he had 'aquired' some money from in a game of a chance. Hey it wasn't his fault their loaded dice 'malfunctioned' (a clever trick really, adding a nearly invisible, high density spray on gel applied in that would counter the weight already inside the dice, and make the rolls go in his favor,) around a corner, finally arriving on a main street and standing face to face with the mechanical woman.