Knife in the Back//The Wren//Open for apps! PM to Tundra

[Derelict Draught]

((That is correct. Send the corrected form to Tundra when you are done. The coding for forms is on the old Thread if you need it.))

\\ Tarmac Turmoil //

Police slowly work their way across the tarmac, checking each body they pass in search of any survivors. Security cameras had captured the entire engagement as a group of armed individuals squared of with a privatized military force. The battle had been bloody and one sided as the group continued to retreat towards and isolated hangar, leaving a trail of dead mercenaries in their wake. Within minutes, the entirety of the group had slipped into the sanctuary of the hangar leaving the mercenaries to surround their temporary shelter.

The mercenaries bring explosive ordinance consisting of contraband launchers and position themselves around the hangar door. Angry voices sound within the hangar, the echo of the interior distorting the sound and masking the voices. An engine sputters to life moments before a large truck containing aerosol fuel for the jet within plows through the hangar doors. Small arms peppers the cement around the vehicle as the mercenaries slowly realize the nature of their target.

A hail of small arms fire lights the driver's window as the rounds seek and drop a group of mercenaries too near the entry point. Weapon's fire sparks against the thick metal of the aerosol tank as the vehicle spins to face the demolition team. The engine roars as the vehicle lurches forward in a valiant charge. Machine gun fire tears the cabin of the vehicle to pieces, shredding metal and fabric alike.

Soon the engine of the vehicle stops leaving the mass of fuel rolling towards the men and their chattering weapons. At the final moments, the driver swerves, capsizing the vehicle and dropping the fuel drum on the men. The impact activates the explosive rounds one of the men carried, detonating the aerosol and erupting the area in a thick fire. Seemingly silent in the wake of the explosion, the jet slips past the noose the mercenaries had prepared and breaks free into the sky.

A police search team at a nearby terminal calls the medical team to their position. The cabin of the vehicle had been propelled free of the blast and bounced end over end into the nearby terminal. Inside, the driver had suffered numerous broken bones and severe whiplash. Beyond these wounds, the man only bore a few bullet wounds and some of unknown origin which predated the engagement on the tarmac.

The rescue crew pulls the man from the charred wreckage of the truck cab and stabilizes him for transport to a waiting hospital. Police remain around the damaged cab taking a short break from their otherwise unsuccessful rescue operations. Lighting a cigarette off the still burning hot metal, the Lieutenant in charge of the rescue operation shakes his head in disbelief.

"Think I just became a Christian."

-- Dr Jessica Nareced M.D. Extradonaire! --

The Hazmat garbed goons drag the writhing bag through the building with the greatest impatience. They wanted to be rid of the package as soon as possible. That THING gave them the creeps. Taking the secured elevator, they descend into the building's basement counting the seconds that pass by the bags moans. Only a little longer...The elevator doors open to a long hallway with numerous security doors barring the path to a single entryway.

The two men open door after door and pass through one air lock after another, each requiring decontamination procedures to be completed according to the biohazard quarantine that the lab remained under at all times. Finally they reach the door, the front man reaches for the door's key pad but is cut short as the doorway hurls open. In the opening a beautiful girl stands wearing a shiny black lab coat.

Jessica's eyes drop from the man's surprised face to the writhing bag in their hands. A high pitched squeal tears through her throat and echoes about the halls deafening the two men. She starts to bounce with excitement as she watches the bags activity increase due to the sudden loud and shrill sound. Her eyes beam with excitement as she starts making the first of her notes about the creature. Without warning, she spins around back into the room and begins rambling off instructions to the two men.

Utterly lost as to why a young woman such as her was in the morgue of the most important research facilities in the world, the men's brains drift to autopilot and they find themselves watching the girl as she bounces about the lab. Jessica's work space was a complete mess, countless experiments and research projects coated every flat surface within the lab. That is to say every surface but one. Her slab was almost holy to her and nothing but a full specimen would have the honor of touching her shrine.

Spinning around with her arms full of scalpels, scupulas, spatulas and an assortment of other instruments she intended to prod and probe the creature with, she glowers at the men. "Put the body on the slab and secure it. NOW." Dumping her tools onto the top of her surgical cart, she sets about gathering specimen containers for the new project, tossing away their previous contents with the least regard possible. Turning once more to find the two men standing on either side of the bag, hand hovering above the zipper...shaking.

Storming up to the table, she shoves one of the men aside, muttering about how hard good help was to find. Her manicured fingers wrap peacefully around the zipper. Drawing her arm back sharply, she catches the officer behind her in the chin with her elbow as he tries to grab her sides and pull her away. Two things happened in the next second. First, she pulled the zipper of the bag open to expose the corpse of the woman within. Second, she punched the zombie.

Pulling a ball gag from her pocket, she shoves the plastic ball into the woman's mouth and slips the leather belt securely around her head. With the undead's immediate weapon neutralized, the two men pull the bag from under the woman's body while exchanging knowing glances with each other. As the two men wrestle the creatures limbs into the straps attached to the sides of the table, Jessica examines the woman's eyes and body for the point of infection. Her search brings her to a small bone protruding from her side. A broad smile comes to her face as she pulls the bloody bone free.

"There are more. A lot more."

[Tundra]

The air was filled with sounds of what seemed like war. Explosions, gun fire, screams of death and pain. In the midst of this all was the remaining few Wren who had failed their assassination job they had all been assigned. The jet began its lift off, plowing past the flames and slowly easing into the air. Soon enough, the turbulence stopped and they were on their way to safety. In the cockpit, the pilot called over the intercom stating that it was ok to stand and move about the cabin. Not that any of the members were in any condition to do so. Blood seeped from a open wound on Kuar's shoulder and wing. He himself was exhausted, his eyes barely able to remain open. But he had to, he somewhat felt it would be best.

Back on the ground, he had flitted all whom had been injured to the safety of the airport. After doing so he stumbled, and had to kneel to the ground. The experience was still hard on him, especially in comparison to others since he had to hold onto more then the average person who flitted. He was indeed glad Bree had known how to flitt, otherwise Kuar would have passed out. Not long after they arrived at the airport, the met with the rest of the team that had come by boat. Though soon after meeting up again they came under fire once more. Kuar, already being exhausted took a bullet to the shoulder in their attempts to escape.

Tired, and worn he reached into a overhead compartment and pulled out a med kit. It held the basics, enough to mend the wounds of the party. Taking the tweezers he carefully used them to remove the bullet in his shoulder. He didn't want to risk getting an infection from its metals. Blood seeped out of the wound as he ground his teeth obviously in pain. Finally, it was out, and he placed the rags on his shoulder to stop the blood flow. Pulling a paste from his own bag he handed the kit off to the next who would need it. Spreading some of the herbal medicine on both his shoulder, and his wing, he moved to wrap both. His movements were shaky, the wraps only tight enough to keep him from bleeding out and to prevent infection. He would need to fix the binds when they were in a more stable location.

Once everything was said and done, Kuar looked to the remaining Members of the Wren. His eyes went over each member, counting heads to make sure all who were meant to be here..were indeed here. Marcus...the man had a mouth to him, and Kuar didn't get the chance to reprimand the man. But in the situation, what was done was done. Marcus had charged in and hopped in the fuel Truck. Kuar would have stopped the man, but he knew, he just knew Marcus would not stop. Kuar had given him a slight nod before the man revved the engine and charged into his already dug grave. Kuar let out a sigh before pondering what they would do next. The base had been attacked..but Kuar had lacked this knowledge. Malacia obviously had this well planned out, and had hoped to take out all Wren members with one fell swoop. But it had failed...to a point. Kuar figured that the signal all the members had received was a last minute decision on Shays part. It also meant there was no getting back in time to help her. This sent some chills down Kuars spine, at the thought of Shay dieing to Malacia's efforts. But he had faith, she was alive, he just knew it.

Shifting his weigh Kuar leaned over and put most of his weight down on his knees. His tail flicked in though before he finally said "It would be best if we do not go back to base....Malacia's crew will only follow, and we will be trapped...." He paused for a few looking down at the floor as he continued "Not to mention there is no sanctuary there...the..signal..you all received...you probably all don't know what it is...But...it means the base was hit as well...and they got through the security measures. " He looked to the side slightly, out one of the windows of the jet. They were on Kuar's private jet, it was the only one they could get to in time. He shifted his weight again and continued "There is no knowing if they managed to take the base, or destroy it. We will have to wait on that. I may not be a member of the Wren, but I know Shay. She would redirect you efforts to another location till things were secured again. She will make contact, she knows how to reach me especially."

He flicked his tail, having this sense that no one here had any sense of trust in him. But they had to, there was no one else here who would be able to take command as needed. Kuar had worked with Shay long enough to know how to lead a team, they had many times before the Wren was official. In fact, he and Shay had come up with the idea for the Wren together. But before it was made, they ran into trouble, and untimely got separated. In the end, Kuar had decided to not make contact till now with Shay to ensure her own safety. What a surprise it was to find Shay had settled, made the Wren, and even had kids. It all was something he had not expected. But the past was the past, they had to move forward.

Flicking his tail he began speaking again "We need some time to rest and train before trying anything. If I may suggest.....I have a secured location we can all stay, and bring any surviving Wren member there. Its a military base, abandoned after some war. I hacked the codes, and slowly covered it to one of my many hideouts. We can heal here, and eventually strike Malacia again..if that is what you would like to do. I only ask because I have no command of you, I'm not Wren. But in this situation, I believe it is our only choice." He waited for replies from the team, would they listen? He didn't know, most of all he was unsure if Bree would even take any order from him. Meanwhile, he reached up and took the shoulder guard he had on off. On its side, emblazoned in bright red was Malacia's crew crest. He tossed it into the trash and sighed, things were about to get hard for all them.

[Mind you..I'm stopping there...before I type an entire book....sorry about it being so freaking long. Guess I have broken my writer and art blocks.]

[Verdana]

[[Ooh... Bree won't like that... Also, we have to go back to base, because I have an idea...]]

Bree sat in a foreign jet filled with many colleagues and a mystery, and tried not to let herself relax. She wanted to relax. In fact, she wanted nothing more to relax. She had not fared well during the journey back. She had flitted several people, for a start. She was not a natural flitter. Even Ty, who could not have found his own backside with a GPS tracking system and a team of experts, could flit more comfortably than she could. She'd narrowly avoided being sick, and had been very near to passing out. Furthermore, a bullet had grazed her cheek. It was not the dainty sort of wound which heroines in movies suffered. It was a gaping, oozing, clotting mess which burnt like crazy and numbed the corner of her mouth, giving her the appearance of having suffered a mild stroke.

Nonetheless, she was in a much better state than most of the surviving assassins. They had lost several in the attack. Most noteworthy was her teammate, Malberry. She was bitter about that. Not because she'd particularly liked him (she hadn't; he'd been troublesome and inappropriate) but because he'd been her responsibility, and he'd decided to go off and play martyr. Who knew if he was still alive? Was it worth going after him? It was mostly due to this that she was so alert. She did not trust their miraculous saviour, and had no intention of letting her guard down so that more assassins could be killed. So, fighting off sleep, she watched vigilantly, one hand resting on her holster. It was a comfort thing. It didn't matter where she put her hands; she was confident that, in the event of attack, her gun would be in her grip in a second.

The miracle whatever-he-was spoke, and Bree's eyes narrowed. She quickly decided that she liked him even less. She did not know how he knew her mother (if he knew her at all), but she was almost dead certain that he was wrong, just on principle. Who was he to make such declarations? Who was he to assume that he knew her own mother better than she did? She folded her arms, unimpressed.
That's exactly what we shouldn't do, she declared. She restrained herself from tacking the word 'moron' to the end of the sentence, but it was heavily implied.
If the commander sent a distress signal, it's because the base has been infiltrated. Making the logical assumption that the attack on the base corresponds to our ambush, Malicia already knows exactly where we're located. We can't lose anything by returning, and we may be able to salvage the base.

Bree was already regretting getting onto the jet. It had been organised by a self-professed henchman of their attacker, for a start. And he came with the package. She was also dreadfully claustrophobic owing to a childhood trauma. The jet's walls pressed in around her, choking her off, because the only place to go was a long, hard fall away. She felt faintly nauseous thinking about it. Added to the concern for her elder brother and mother, her base, all of the equipment she had left behind, her cello, she was not a happy bunny.

We go back to base, she insisted.

Because it was exactly what the demon had not wanted.

[Tordier]

(( Alright guys. Please let me know if there are any errors. It's a little difficult to jump in that the moment. ^^; None to worry. I'll get the hang of things before long. ))

Banshee
Kinta McGregor
At the moment, Kinta sat quietly, peacefully in the escaping vessel. She looked an absolute mess, but most of her injuries were superficial. Her bleached hair bore sparse streaks of neon pink and green, but the effect was somewhat dampened by bloody red splatters that obscured what could have been a rather professional-looking masterpiece. Apparently unrattled by the action of a moment before, she appeared quite content to pick at the shrapnel that had peppered her body. None of it was very deep, but the blood that seeped from the many cuts soaked her clothing, creating a frightful sight indeed. Every so often, one could hear a little metallic clink as she carelessly dropped pieces of debris onto the floor of the plane. Occasionally, she would raise her head to glace suspiciously at Kuar before going back her previous task.
Though she heard the discussion taking place, she chose to act as if she did not. It was easier that way. Kinta was not yet sure what she thought should be done, so she avoided voicing any sort of opinion just yet. She did know that she wanted to finish removing all these pieces of things stuck inside her before doing any drastic. The slight pain from each added up to one massive annoyance that made movement of any kind very bothersome. However, she was still a bit giddy from all the killing she had gotten to do and had to admit that the idea of having more greatly appealed to her. So, she was torn. Unable to decide which of the two proposed plans she favored.


The Rogue
Cass
The Blurr's usual black hood had fallen back from his head, exposing his misty grey self for all to see. His black eyes were squeezed shut and, though his expressions were always a bit vague to look at, he clearly wore a grimace of pain. Cass remained in the seat where he had dropped himself with one arm thrust behind his cloak in a desperate attempt to slow the bleeding from a substantial gash in his stomach. The blood was beginning to seep through, but he valiantly, or perhaps foolishly steeled himself against the pain and growing fuzziness in his head until his rightful turn with the medical kit arrived.
After what seemed like an eternity, Kuar finished with it and he gratefully took the little box with his free hand. What mattered now was keeping himself alive. For that moment his personal feelings were put on hold, simply because of that single act of kindness, small as it was.
Setting the kit in his lap, he ripped open his shirt with his good hand, finally revealing the extent of his injuries. The gash itself was very clear and crisp to look at, a sharp contrast from the smoky aura of his undamaged skin. The blood, as well, appeared perfectly material and superficially identical to that of a regular human. Though, as it dripped down, it was obscured by the mist of his un-rent flesh.
Producing a knife from some hidden pocket, Cass cut the bottom foot off of the cloak that, on a regular occasion, swirled about his feet quite elegantly. This, he balled up and passed to the soaked hand pressed dutifully against the gaping wound. The cloth worked much better to staunch the bleeding, and, pinning it to himself with his elbow, also freed up both hands to dig up a suture. Cass winced almost invisibly at the sight of the needle that he held in his fingers, when he finally found it. He had always hated having to do this to himself...
As the blurr made the preparations to stitch himself back together, he was aware of the impending question as to what to do next. There was valid reasoning behind both of the suggested courses of action, but Cass personally wished to find some sort of compromise. However, he was hardly in a position to be taking up his own side in the debate at the moment. He decided that he would only speak up if things started getting out of hand, at least until he could get this bleeding to stop... Cass placed his hand back on the wad of cloth that hid the gash and carefully maneuvered it so that he could get at the corner of the wound in a moment. He would have to be fast with this one. Forget making it look pretty. There would be but the briefest of moments before there was too much blood to see what he was doing.

[Tundra]

[Bump, Other members should post here soon, we need more opinions XD go save Shay and Ty NOW..or wait...recover..and complete the job.]

[Draconox]

Trustin was half sitting, half lying in his seat a few rows away from Bree and the mysterious stranger with the demonic looks. He was barefooted and dressed only in some sweatpants and a bloodstained shirt, his spare clothes from his battered bag. The young man’s hands and fingernails were still encrusted with blood and a metallic taste lingered in his mouth. The burning pain in his left side and hip reminded him of the misfortune that had forced him to change into his tiger form. As a result he hadn’t just lost his clothes, but his weaponry as well. The poor bastard who shot him found himself with hardly enough time to regret his actions. The same was true for both his fellows.
He took a quick look around to get an idea of who had made it and to see how his teammates Violet and Amethyst had fared.
Another stabbing sensation from his side reminded Trustin suddenly of how much he would have preferred to stay a tiger for a bit longer, to give his human body more time to regenerate. But it also made interacting with others a lot more difficult. The wounds were as good as closed and he would try to avoid any rapid movements to prevent them from reopening. Looking down on the blood pattern on his shirt, Trustin’s trail of thought brought him to Malberry’s last crazy stunt. He’d hardly known the man, but admired his guts. To bad that he was most likely dead by now.
The stranger’s voice brought Trustin’s head back up and he listened to what the man had to say with narrowed eyes. There hadn't been any time to exchange pleasantries so far, like names for example. The weretiger couldn’t say for sure what kind of creature this possible ally was, but everything about him signaled predator. Exhausted and wounded maybe, but still. Nevertheless his proposal did sound appealing in Trustins opinion. But Bree was the boss’ daughter and the way he understood it kind of next in line. He only hoped the female was not just being bratty. She was known for her temper after all and Trustin had always tried his best to stay out of her way. But he would go anlong with her decisions, as long as they stayed reasonable. That's what he wanted to believe.
Without really considering it Trustin asked the question that had been on his mind the whole time: “And who are you?” His words came out in a growl. Then he shot a look at Bree: "Are you sure about that? What if they are just waiting there to finish us off?"
Trustin didn't want to look like a coward, but he still had to point out the possibility.

((I hope I'll be able to post more frequently again ^^))

[SpartanAmethyst]

Amethyst sat a few seats from Trustin, just for the sake that she was more familiar with him than anyone else. She sat with her feet on the seat in from of her, fiddling with her hidden blade. Somehow she had damaged one of the inner mechanisms, keeping it from extending correctly. She sighed as she flicked her wrist again, the blade no even moving. She pulled her hand back and triggered the mechanism manually, the blade snapping out and slicing her hand. "Ouch, son of a..." She sighed pulled an old shirt out of her bag, ripping the fabric and wrapping it around her hand. Her forearms were bruised, and cuts and scratches of various size and shape adorned various places of her body. She noted the dull ache in her left ankle and her swollen left knee, though working with her blade kept her mind off of it. Tying the black material strip tightly, she removed her hidden blade and inspected the mechanism before putting it down in her lap.

She turned and looked around, doing a mental head count of faces she remembered. A few weren't there. She sighed sadly, though her face remained emotionless. As she saw Trustin, she looked over to him. "You alright?" She asked. She remembered seeing his during the fight, and felt bad that she wasn't as injured as most of the others. She looked the boy up and down, mentally making notes of areas that seemed to bother him.

((Found the new thread XD))

[blue_dun]

Veridius and Flint, nearly unscathed, stumbled out of the burning cafe and looked at each other. Then they made a break for it, their AK-47s chattering as they broke their way through the line of remaining policemen.
"I have to admit, that your friends are very, very resourceful..." Marcus started, a smile on his face as they ran. "The one named Bree, and Malberry. Booker, too. They seem to be more than human, quite like us, and I would like to know more about them. But I'm afraid that will have to wait for a later date, if not put off forever. I have not forgotten our deal. A deal that I cannot, and will not even try, to break."
"Right." The kid puffed. "Back to normal civilization we go. Permanently, I hope. Heaven forbid they find me again and we have to go on the run. Like Malicia. She's running scared now that the Wren are poised and ready for sweet revenge. Not to mention you, one of her biggest assets, left her. I already am planning how I'm going to get myself a new, clean identity and somehow rig our living situation so we can be together as brothers again."
"A challenge I'm more than up for. It will be worth it, for you. All these years I've been so worried... Mom's last words were about you, you know." Flint sent another round of bullets into a blonde policeman and their feet pounded on. "She wanted to know where her baby was. And I couldn't tell her. You had already run off, to join that stupid Rufus and his gang of misfits."
"Yeah." Veridius sighed. "I only joined because I knew Rufus was weak, and I could get a proverbial hand around his throat and squeeze him to death whenever I wanted to. Maybe my want for power will be my downfall. But I will try to curb it." He nodded, the sweat pouring down his face. Soon they would be free, and then the long, meticulous process would begin. He thought about dying his hair brown...

Joel had made it to the plane just as they were taking off, and managed to slip in a storage hold and to the main passenger compartment before they could really make it anywhere. Everyone ignored him, so he just sat in a corner, playing with Rift. His left hand absolutely hurt. He hadn't worked it like that ever. The muscles were so cramped he couldn't even as much take his hand off the gun.
His right arm laid at his side, absolutely useless, limp and nonresponsive. He had torn the sleeve off so he could see it better; no less than five bullets had found their mark there. It had totally torn up the nerve centers and muscles there; he doubted he would ever get to use it again, without a bionic replacement. He had lost a lot of blood too, enough to make most want to faint, but he didn't feel even a bit lightheaded. Another trait he had gotten from Burr's strange mutant countenance was discipline and extreme endurance. Burr. Burr Namingway. The reason Joel was even alive. It was funny how that worked.

[paula polestar]

Seated between Bree and a closed airplane window, Booker was not in the cheeriest of places. Many of the plane's faces were somber, to say the least. To fit in with the overly morose crowd, the vampire was currently occupying himself with an equally glum activity: staring at Malberry's knife. He had never given it back before the arrogant soul went on his way. It was still hinted with the slightest coating of the human's blood, something Malberry willfully offered to save his life. If only Booker could have returned the selfless favor. It was his choice to leave, though. He didn't have to go play hero for them. Where was he now? Off dead in a gutter somewhere, with a bullet though his skull? That was most likely the case. It pained Booker to think about this, especially when he considered it to be partially his fault. It was silly of the vampire to get so attached, however. There were always going to be lives lost, for the sake of another or otherwise. Malberry's existence was no exception to this melancholy rule.

Booker glanced over at the man with the first aid kit, a figure vaguely remembered in the vampire's conscience as the Rogue. His own wound was mostly healed, thanks to his very rippable shirt and the skill of accelerated regeneration that most blood drinkers possess with adequate amounts of the red bodily fluid, for which Malberry was to thank. This thought, passing through his mind once more, drew Booker's attention back to the slightly bloodied dagger. Oh, why did humans have to be so damn foolish?

[.skycat.]

Legial 'Violet' Lylis
Sitting on the plane with her eyes closed, it seemed as if Violet was sleeping- although she wasn't. The vampire was trying to heal all her wounds once more- and that took a lot of energy, even for a vampire. There was a huge cut right under her scar on her left shoulder, burn marks on her hands and little stinging marks where bullets had grazed her pale skin- not to mention all the little cuts from explosions. Still, it hadn't been all bad. Violet's hunger had been cured- though it had taken a while since she couldn't sit in one place for long.
The girl's dark eyes flew open and she looked around the plane once more, squinting slightly. She had chosen a seat in the back, so she could check over all the other members. She never liked it when other could see her- which is why she always wears dark colors and stays in the shadows. Violet pulled her cloak tighter around her and sighed slightly, still in pain.