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[Crimson Lego]

Walking through the streets, Leo kicked aside pieces of rubble. Occasionally, he would find some bones and pieces of skeletons, but that was all. Sighing, he pulled out a Mark 58 flare and ignited it. Hissing, it created a giant swath of light and soon, the rest of the Baker Team 2nd Squadron regrouped it. Extinguishing it, Leo turned to face them all.

"Have you guys found anything?" Most of them shook their heads, but one held something up; Leo went to take it.

"What is this, Corporal?", demanded Leo.

"Sir, if you look closely, it's a piece of old stone. I found it near the rubble of the Mayor's office.", replied the soldier.

Frowning, Leo borrowed a flashlight and examined it closely. After a few seconds, he looked up, his face grim. "I know what this is: a secret message sent from the Vietnamese to a spy." The rest of the squadron suddenly grew stiff, fists clenched. Handing it to his lieutenant, Leo turned to address everyone. "Tomorrow is our last day. We will then travel in a small boat to Europe. Once there, we will set up camp at various spots, and make our way to Asia. Then we take our revenge on whomever started this." He was answered by a group of cheers. Grimacing, Leo raised his fist. "Let's go."

[deep]

(ooc: I haven't done this in a whiiiiile. I need to rattle the dust from the RP center of my brain. Put on some writing music... Let's do this.)


Down on his knees, one hand planted firmly, Oliver hacked deftly at the tough soil on the outskirts of the military base. The sweat that dropped from his forehead would silently plummet and moisten a few tiny clods as he violently cocked his other hand, tightly clutching the instrument he was using as a trowel, before driving it down with a full-body thrust. His "trowel" was a piece of bent metal with a strip of leather tied around the part to be held. He wasn't sure where it came from, nor did he really want to know. It would've been just compounded upon the guilt he already felt as a survivor. Why did he have to live, what made him better than any of the other victims of the other attacks? Who, indeed, deserves to be disintegrated, torn limb from limb, or simply degrade slowly in the aftermath of a nuclear holocaust?

As he raised the scrap up once more, his eyes traced the ruinous wasteland that used to be the skyline of Seoul. From which building did this piece of scrap originate, and what was its function? Did it support several floors of busy office workers? How many hours of labor were wasted and how many lives were sacrificed, just so he could plant soybeans in blasted earth with this particular object? What if it used to be part of a bicycle frame some poor messenger was riding the day the bomb dropped? It could've been sent flying here from hundreds of yards away. Another fruitless hack at the stone-laden soil.

And now he was thinking about it. Now the rest of his day would be consumed by inconsolable grief, and maybe afterward indomitable rage. Or maybe he could shut it out and labor intensely in some disassociative trance? Or, maybe, he could skip the crying, move right to the rage, and channel it to break this ground! He only needed two god damn inches of depth and a couple inches of loose soil around it for it to take! Soy isn't exactly picky! He jabbed the metal spike into the earth again, twisted it. The only response was a loud, shrill chink of striking a stone, and the grinding of metal on rubble. More sweat dropped from his forehead; the leather on his trowel was sticky against his skin. An uncomfortable kind of sticky, that made him want to throw it a hundred miles away right into the sky, piercing the clouds ahead and beckoning a rain storm to wash all this dirt and sweat and grime and death off of him! So he did just that, rising to his feet and chucking the stupid thing skyward, except it didn't get nearly high enough, and fell uselessly a couple yards away, producing that familiar metallic chink as it struck another rock.

Oliver breathed heavily, trying to push the rage out of his chest in a stream of hot air. He turned to quietly observe the women behind him, as ragged and dirty as he was, planting in the land they had already cleared closer to the base. Crops were decent since the attacks, these past few years, despite what we would've thought. I guess we were far enough away from the major attack sites to avoid the worst of the fallout. Most of Seoul had been destroyed before that, ravaged by Vietnamese explosives. He somberly walked back to pick up his scrap metal trowel, noticing that his tantrum had attracted the gaze of a few others.

"Get back to work," he muttered to no one in particular.

He got back down to his knees, picking away a few pieces of rock from the surface. His hand was well-calloused, but the trowel's crude handle was starting to chafe his palm, so he flipped the instrument around in his hand, holding it like a dagger, and began to pierce and stab and slice the earth, picturing beneath him an American official who chose to turn his back on everyone at the base, or one of those Vietnamese tank operators who blew up buildings and civilians indiscriminately.

"This..." Stab. "Is!" Stab. "Much, more!" Stab, twist, slice. "Like it!" Dead.

[Goose]

Dear Journal.

I want to kill somebody. I want to make them die, slowly, and painfully. I want to show them all what they did was inexusable. I will. One by one. Picking them off. Until all of them understand what its like to go through complete never ending agony.

Later.

[Crimson Lego]

After a short nap, Leo aroused the rest of the group. Within 10 minutes, the rest of the squadron was assembled and ready for departure. Counting the heads, Leo was satisfied and picked up his machine pistol. Jamming a clip in, he strapped it to his belt and turned to the soldiers. "Ready?" he called out. "Sir, yes, sir!" was the response. Smiling, Leo picked up a .45 from the ground and fired it. It was time to move on.

Soon, the group of soldiers reached a small port. Scanning it with binoculars, Leo could easily tell it was deserted. Beckoning to his lieutenant, he whispered quick orders. "I want 2 men to circle around and get to the docks. Get snipers on a roof and aim through the main building." he pointed. The soldier nodded and ran off to carry the orders. After a few minutes, Leo switched on the night-feature on the binoculars and examined the roof. He could see the barrels of 2 snipers sticking out over the edge. Looking left, he saw 2 others with M16s sneaking up on the building from the docks. Suddenly, a loud gunshot echoed and 1 of his men fell dead. The other sprayed the window but was hit. "Charge!" yelled Leo. He ran towards the building, handgun ready.

Upon reaching the entrance, Leo rolled to the side of a broken wall for cover. Bullets whizzed past him and into the wall as well. Chancing a glimpse, Leo managed to fire off a burst; hearing a yell, he knew he had hit one. Vaulting the piece of concrete, he ran to 1 of the fallen bodies. Picking up an M16, he shot a person in black aiming at him. Taking off the mask, he found an Asian beneath it. Vietnamese.... He yelled orders. "Kill them!" and burst in. Firing randomly, he fought for as long as he could.

Soon, the gunfire stopped and the remainder of the Vietnamese had surrendered. Leo had them patted down and found lots of .45's. Handing them over to a corporal, he examined the leader, who had a big bruise on his eye. "How did you get here?" he asked slowly. The soldier, who was a captain, according to his insignia, smiled. "We've been here since the war started. Our homeland needed spies and here we were." Anger flooded Leo and he popped the captain. Screaming, the man fell back, clutching his nose. Feeling a sense of satisfaction, Leo walked away. "Boys, take these people and kill them." Walking away, he reached the edge of a dock when he heard 5 gunshots. Grimacing, he reloaded the M16 and returned to the group.

[Goose]

Dear Journal.

I dont think I belong anywhere. All I do is kill, and when I kill, I love the feeling.

Home feels so far away right now. When I look at what I've become, I shudder to think what Jen would think of me now. She'd be proud to know that I was doing what I'd believed in, but the way I'm doing it, she'd shit herself. I may have become the hunter, but I've become just as bad as my prey.

I wonder what they're all doing now. Back at home that is. Tucked up in the shelter, away from the sounds of explosions going off. Its a pity that the little ones will grow up, and they'll have to either turn into kills themselves, or eventually be killed. If only those bastards hadn't destroyed society.

I remember mum telling me stories of how she grew up in a time of peace, where they may have been destroying the environment, but that the killing of people was at a minimum. She went to a dance when she was seventeen. She Danced, and wore dresses, and and had stupid photos taken of her, and put up onto an archaic internet. One day, my daughter, should I ever have one, will get that chance. To have a family, a life. The freedom to exist, and grow, and learn.

Away from all this.

[Ken the Wandering Soul]

David walked back and forth in the hydroponics room, keeping an eye out through a majority of the various jars and pans that were used to contain the plants. However, there was one other there who was listening to him speaking.

"... a man of good character, who inspired us all to stand together and-" David stopped himself, realizing how long he had been going on. He shook his head and rubbed his forehead with his good arm in a bit of shame. "Oh goodness, I'm turning this into a speech."

The other person, Marsha, a young woman who was at least 5 years younger than David's 31, smiled as she looked at him when he stopped.

"You're one of our oldest and brightest David, you're entitled to it." she spoke comfortingly.

"Mhmm," David grunted, "So I'm entitled to ramble on about something no one else will care about?"

Marsha rolled her eyes and went back to looking at the plants, stopping at a tomato plant.

"Looks almost ready to eat," she pondered for a bit before turning back to David, "Look, everyone liked Chester, and everything you have thought to say about him so far is true. You always have a way of talking about things that make sense. That's why everyone has been wondering what you will say when he gets buried this afternoon."

David sighed.

"Look," Marsha went on, "If you don't want to stretch it out, just summarize what think of him."

David rolled his eyes.

"He has been our leader, a role model, and he got to die in his sleep. A lucky bastard."

Marsha burst out laughing.

"Too direct?" David said with some sarcasm.

"I like it," Marsha admitted as she recovered from her giggle fits, "But I think going with your 'speech' would be better for everyone."

David closed his eyes and let loose another sigh.

He is also a lucky bastard for getting a funeral.

[deep]

(ooc: We used to put our character's name up top in bold before every post, back in the old days and whatnot; I feel wrong not doing it.)

Oliver Mason

The rest of the day passed relatively uneventfully-- no more outbursts. Oliver cast a glance at his trusty trowel, knocking a few clods of dirt off as he flopped the wider end into the palm of his right hand. Working the fields by hand with such primitive tools was so slow. That was the worst part. Nobody really minded the work, it was more that they had to wait so long to see any real results. And honestly? The fruits of their labor never turned out particularly impressive. Hopefully they can scavenge, or maybe even craft a machine to till the earth more efficiently.

But really, how many people were left that still possessed that kind of mechanical knowledge? Oliver had it lucky, as Seoul was comparatively well-developed. As he passed others returning to the base - putting his head down to avoid any uncomfortable conversations or other niceties - he would tick off their former professions. Some were scientists, a few were mechanics; the businessmen were nigh useless. They were rather unfit to do the real work, and most of their knowledge at this point was superfluous. We lucked out with the pair of farmers who knew how to get the soil productive enough, though. Where would the food have otherwise come from? Can we go around eating whatever sickly animals are left out in the wilderness? And really, what wilderness was there to speak of? Here, we live in a forest of hollow buildings and bent street signs, carpeted with dust and rubble.

The main building of the base stood before him now. Oliver didn't really even remember the details of the walk back. He was so lost in thought, he hadn't been paying attention to anything... he could stepped on something-- in something. But he was here now. It was a plain building. Square. Several floors, lots of windows. It didn't look much worse for the wear. The Vietnamese avoided it for the most part when they invaded the city. We watched from our rooms, shut in and locked up, as the tanks rolled through the streets and the missiles and bombs whizzed past like giant insects, arcing majestically, infesting the city with death and destruction.

The civilians ran for our gates, helplessly rattling the metal. Finding them locked, they climbed them and tried to pry open our doors. We merely watched, as commanded, and they were eventually mowed down. En masse. With mounted machine guns in order to do as little damage to our building as possible. They wouldn't attack us Americans just yet, as long as we didn't harbor the Koreans. And so we locked wave after successive wave out. They would rage about, taking out their fear, aggression, hatred on us and our selfishness. I'm not sure we blamed them. Bricks. Concrete blocks. Molotov cocktails. Whatever they could throw and would do damage. How could we blame them, holed up in our fortress while they served as unwilling soldiers on a blood-stained battlefield they once called home.

Ugh. Thinking about it again. Oliver's hands clenched instinctively around his trowel. The metal was cold, crumpled, and slightly sharp. He pressed it to his throat. Was it worth living every day...to be like this? He pressed it a little harder against his soft flesh. Would it even cut? How deep would it have to be, and could he make it look like an accid--No.

Oliver froze, lifting the piece of metal from his skin. What was that? It came from his head. It wasn't exactly a sound, but he had heard it. Or, did he feel it? Did he taste it, too? It was this sort of all-encompassing revulsion. Maybe he should just lie down? In the back of his head, the urge to run back out into the field and stab imaginary evils was growing. He could pretend the rocks he would strike were gaudy medals of gilded gold and hypocritical honor. As he took a step forward to head to his room he realized he was already there, staring directly at a barren, brick wall, painted gray. Bewildered, he stabbed his trowel into his mattress and slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor.

Edited by DevilPaladin, 16 February 2009 - 02:31 AM.

[Crimson Lego]

OoC: Sorry this has been inactive for a while, but I think it's time I got it back up again.

As the Baker Team continued their journey across the region, Leo was in deep thought. How can we even help those once we reach them? Suddenly, he was interrupted when one of the team members tapped him on the shoulder, obviously with something to say.

"Sir, I think we're being tailed<" he informed Leo quietly, and without any face expression.

Glancing behind them, Leo could see distinct figures with weapons, a few hundred feet away. Turning back to the man, Leo proceeded to give orders.

"Alright then. Get me an MP5, and tell everyone to turn around. We're engaging them, but not without finding out who they are," he replied. The member nodded and walked away.

5 minutes later.....

As the figures approached, Leo cocked his MP5 and slung it on his shoulder. "Who goes there?" he called out, finger on the trigger.

The lead person, easily 6 feet tall and muscular, held up his hands. "I mean no harm. We are the Farmers' Union, men who have taken up arms to try and avenge our country. And you?" answered the man.

Feeling secure, Leo lowered his gun. "Baker Team. Come along," he invited. "We're heading to the coast, and sailing to Europe."

At that, the man exhaled. "Good. I thought you were one of those Russians we saw earlier."

Hearing that, Leo spun to attention. "What Russians?" he demanded.

"We saw these commies, along with a few Vietnamese, hide inside a building somewhere back there," explained the man, pointing in the direction Leo and the Team had come from. "We heard gunfire later and thought they had engaged someone. Was it you?"

Leo nodded. "That was us. The Russians are dead."

The man looked surprised at that. "Really? How did you win so easily?"

In a matter of a few minutes, Leo quickly explained what happened and the group was on their way again.

Edited by Leo Crimson, 05 May 2009 - 03:25 PM.

[Goose]

Dear Journal

The hunter has become the hunted. There is somebody trailing me whereever I go. I try to get away from them, but they continue to stalk me, and hide in the shadows. Anytime I try to strike back, they laugh at me and disapear into the shadows. All my training tells me that I should be able to destroy them, but I can never catch them.

I feel humiliated.

I must get revenge against them. This is one person that refuses to lie down and die. I see the victims of warfare all the time. I see thier carcasses lying on the ground, the flies and carion having their way with them. Nobody comes to take the bodie for fear of being killed themselves. Gravediggers dont really exist anymore, and disease racks certain areas. I sometimes set desserted lands on fire to try to purify and stop the spread of disease, but I can't always do this, sometimes I can just run from the horribleness.

But worse than the dead, are those that are left alive when an attack takes place. Those that are left taking care of children, or trying to run a household, or those who have been touched by radiation and can't help but vomit all the the time until they painfully pass away. This war leaves a gap in society where sanity should be. Those who thirst for power end up coming up trumps in this society, and I fight to bring them down, for with the desire for power comes corruption and hate.

But the worst shape are those that are destroyed on the inside. Those that wake up at night, with nothing physically wrong with them, and just scream for hours, at maybe the death of a lost one, or the death of their childhood, or at the sparssness at what sorrounds them. Their mind plays back scenes of hugging their children who have now died, or of their childhood sweetheart calling their name. They scream, and their screams pierce the quiet nights alone in rooms where I can sleep. Cries of agony.

I must never let them take my mind. They may kill me, but they can never have my mind, my spirit, or my hope. I will kill those who led us to this horror that we now call reality, and once I do, the corruption will be at an end. It has to be. This cannot go on forever.

I will not let it go on forever.

[Crimson Lego]

Soon reaching the port, Leo and the group gazed at the docks. There were many boats, but that was not what caught their attention. No, it was the countless number of bodies that were lying there, bullet wounds all over their bodies. Shocked, Leo knelt down before one of the bodies and examined it. Then he noticed that most of them were dressed in camo uniform. Looking closer, he was able to identify which side they were on.

"Canadians," Leo said grimly. The Baker Team and the farmers hung their heads in shock. Standing up, Leo walked over to one of the boats, a naval transport. Kicking open the door, the soldier held his weapon up, ready for anyone hidden. There were none. Lowering the MP5, Leo shouted to the others. "It's safe! I think this one will be good." Moving forward, he started up the engine and waited for everyone else to enter. As the door slammed, Leo sailed the boat forward, away from the coast. And here we...go.

Soon, the group was on their way to Europe, prepared for what they believed could be a large amount of massacred bodies on the coast.