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 The Call [Presealynn/TheDusk]

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TheDusk

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PostSubject: The Call [Presealynn/TheDusk]   Sun Apr 21, 2013 10:37 pm

The dull whir of the ventilation system hummed in the silence of the quaint apartment room. The sound soothed and calmed the soul of Claire, who'd had a long day out on the job. Her feet were sore from the activities of the day. Her new boss at the paper had been driving her mad. There were points where she even wondered why she had accepted the job in the first place. Was a pay raise really worth it? Was the freedom of being out and on her own really worth all this pain in her arch right now?
"Go down to the news stand and advertise the paper! We need a friendly face!"
"Go take pictures of birds in the park, we need the public to know that we are an eco friendly wildlife supporting paper!!"
"Go down to Micho's Pizza to picture their new opening!!"
It was all IMMENSELY boring crap. The kind of crap that made her feel like she was wasting her time. Her lavender hair sat ruffled at her shoulders as she rolled onto her belly, burying her face into the pillow with a sigh. The young girl lay sprawled out across the mattress without a care for where her blanket even was. The neglected comfort item was probably slopped across the floor from an unintentional kick. It had to have been because her spine was chilled by the cold air. The tired girl sighed, knowing that she had no energy to get up off the bed and fix the thermostat to a warmer temperature. Her body was completely supported and loved by the bedsheets anyways. Comfort had persuaded her not to make any attempt at moving.
Claire's thoughts soon returned to her raging boss and his ramblings from earlier that day. She soon found herself grumbling again with distress.
Was that really what was important in Detroit these days? Birds and Pizza shops? It made sense in a way. The paper was trying to bring out the good news since the city had seen so much crime in the last decade. However, it was ridiculous and boring to turn a blind idea to the darkness of the city and its underbelly. And what exactly would replace it? Pretty bird pictures and paper sales? It couldn't replace it. It was only covering up the real truth of the city.
The city that even the sassy Claire Aldridge had chills walking alone in. The place was a wreck to put it kindly. A reputation had spread across America that this had quickly become one of the worst cities in America due to its horrible crime rate. The once proud Motor City had fallen to the "Murder City" as doomsayers had so frequently called it. It was no wonder the place was paying so well for her new position, who wanted to be in a place where everyday a walk down the street was life threatening?
Claire certainly didn't. The feisty young female didn't have one ounce of fear in her heart. Hell, even without her secret life as Titanite, the lavender blonde would still walk these gritty streets. She was no push over and never thought of herself as so. She wasn't going to let a few things separate her from a life of freedom. That would be ridiculous and degrading. When Claire wants something, there is nothing short of a tidal wave that can stop her (even then it depends on the size of the tidal wave).
She couldn't complain because the paycheck was more than enough to keep her happy with a home. The exhausted girl snuggled her face against the pillow, letting darkness cover her vision. The dull humming of the AC and the pure darkness provided the perfect somber tone for her dreariness. It wasn't long before her dreams began to sift through her mind before she'd even fallen asleep. Her soft snores began to take place before the woman had even passed out. It was the perfect night after a long day of work to just rest...

"WHY DO I DENY THE HEART'S GROWING COLDER? TOO QUICK TO CRITICIZE THE LULLABY...," her phone suddenly blared the lyrics of her favorite Of Mice and Men song.

Claire was suddenly jolted from the most comfortable position of her life by the loud music of her ringtone. Her dreary eyes snapped over to the phone on her nightstand. Her eyebrows suddenly narrowed with fury over to the 2:10am on her digital clock. Her fiery emeralds glared over to the phone that was vibrating so intensely that it seemed the damned deathtrap would explode any second. The girl's heart became a burning hole as her eyes pierced the electronic device and the bearded bald man's face across the identification.
Mr. Vander, her boss.
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PostSubject: Re: The Call [Presealynn/TheDusk]   Sun Apr 21, 2013 10:38 pm

Claire groaned dramatically as her face plopped back into her pillow, the hand holding the phone dropping to smack the side of the bed. What could he possibly want this late?! She contemplated on throwing the device, or possibly destroying it in her hand, but she couldn't do that anymore-- Wil wasn't there with all the money in the world anymore to replace everything. Sighing in frustration, she reluctantly lifted her hand to look at the screen of her phone, scowling at the picture of her irritating boss, and pressed the 'speaker' button. She was too lazy to put it up to her ear.
"... --Nnh. Hello?"[/
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PostSubject: Re: The Call [Presealynn/TheDusk]   Sun Apr 21, 2013 10:38 pm

Her bosses firm, demanding voice came on over the phone's speaker loud and clear.
"Aldridge!" Vander's chain smoking gargle came abruptly through the phone. Claire's ears were abused with his sudden sharpness that really made her want to just destroy the stupid cellular device and be over with it.
"I need you downtown, some maniac with a gang called the "Army of V" has a pre-teen girl held hostage atop the One Detroit Center building downtown! Demanding a million dollars from each TV station in the city! All the news agencies are covering it so I want your ass down there as well woman! You're gonna get paid real good if you get me what I need!" His voice excitingly spoke. This was a comforting change from all the sunshine and butterfly errands he'd been sending her on. It was strange how there needed to be ground breaking, panicked news for the old man to get through to the real scourge of Detroit.
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PostSubject: Re: The Call [Presealynn/TheDusk]   Wed Apr 24, 2013 8:34 pm

"... ngh. Okay. On my way." Claire replied quietly and irritably, quickly hanging up the phone before her ears started to bleed. Placing the phone back up onto the nightstand and plopped her face back into the pillow, attempting to find the motivation to do what she was told.

A moment later she reluctantly sat up in the bed, looking around for her things. She caught site of her jacket and camera bag, sheepishly throwing one on after the other, then happened to catch site of her conveniently open closet.... and noticed a familiar black and white outfit.

Cocking her head to one side, she smirked at a thought.

She stepped toward the costume, running a finger down the fabric. "Hmm. Why not." Detroit isn't the safest place... besides, something might happen and I might need a disguise. She almost completely gave up the title of Titanite after moving out of Wil’s house, since she was so used to working with a team—working by herself would be quite different, and she doubted herself. But she could still right, right? Quickly throwing the clothes into her bag and grabbing her phone once again, she made her way out the door and into her driveway, where her tiny white moped sat. To be honest, she was quite surprised that it hadn't have been stolen yet-- then again, who really wanted a moped these days?

It didn’t take but a minute to get down to the scene—quickly pulling out her camera, she parked her vehicle quite a ways away from the building and jogged her way to the front of the building.
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PostSubject: Re: The Call [Presealynn/TheDusk]   Wed Apr 24, 2013 11:25 pm




The roars of the crowds vibrated against Claire's soft ears as she entered the fray of the disorganized crowds.
It reminded her of the days she'd spent as a child during hot summer nights. Entire congregations of people all staring up to some fiery display up in the sky. Their eyes were locked in an eighty five degree angle, in a mystic trance with the events that were unfolding.



Police cars were scattered across the blacktop in various diagonal positions. A sleek black SWAT van was parked in a perfect parallel, heavily armed men in helmeted suits standing with guns cocked at the ready. The loyal Detroit Officers stood by their cars with their glocks trained upward with the strange eyesight of the hypnotized crowd. The scene reminded her of the ever so famous New Years Celebration in downtown New York that she had often been to in the time she'd spend with her mentor and friend to all mutants, William Gregor.

However, this was far more... grave.



The immense amount of sound created a dome of different striking sounds that bashed her fragile ears. A siren blared to the citizens to get to safety. A police offer yelped at a group of downtown lurkers to back away from the scene. The SWAT team chatting chastely over what move they could possibly make without disturbing the anarchists and causing them to murder the hostages. The idle conversations of the panicked crowds around her surrounded her quickly like a bolt of lightning. Hundreds of strangers moving about in a shivering uneasiness. Some gasped in horror at the very news that there were people in danger. Others were more interested as to if the rebels would actually kill their victims or not. All of these conversations smothered young Claire.

It seemed as if millions of people were weaving in and around her, squeezing her tight locked within the sea of the crowd. Even the petite young woman barely had any room to put out an elbow. She was stuck in the see of “oohs” and “ahhs” of the frightening night.

The main focus of all these herding civilians was the One Detroit Center, standing in as the city's second tallest building. However, on that night, there could be no pride to the wonderfully constructed tower. On that night, the skyscraper and the area around it had become a battlefield. The soldiers of the Detroit police force regrouped and attempted formulate some sort of plan of attack. The main mission was that they had soldiers down behind enemy lines. The cops had to go in and somehow retrieve the POWs without invoking an assault by the opposing side against the prisoners. Just that morning, these very same man sat down at the Dunkin Dounuts just down the street from there. They had a round of nice warm coffee and spoke lightly about the current events of their lives. A father boasted about his son's little league batting record. A husband made complaints of how he had no choice over what color the living room was going to be due to his wife's affinity for baby blue. A young man stayed quiet, learning and picking up mannerisms from the more hardened veterans of the justice system; he wanted to be just as good as they were down to the tee. But on that night, it didn't matter that that cop was a proud father. It didn't matter that the other cop was a disgruntled husband. It didn't matter in the slightest that the rookie wished to be the best damned cop the corrupted city of Detroit had ever seen. That night, they weren't even cops.

They were soldiers now.

A helicopter buzzed high above the cityscape, humming like an enormous box fan. The white chopper had a heavy blue “5” spread across the side for the Channel Five News station. It was ironically one of the very stations the terrorists had requested funds from in order to release the hostages. The crew was up in the sky, catching the closeups of the invigorated youth of the Army of V.



Many of the ruffians bore disturbing, handcrafted masks that were wired to their faces. Some were cheap knock offs of horror movie villains they had to come to love like The Scream or Micheal Myers. Others carved more deranged creations. Some of the V's faces looked like molded blobs of matted hair and crusty skin. Some wore eerie facepaint that sunk into the souls of those who looked upon them. One similar aspect every member of the army had was a massive “V” carved into the center of their foreheads. The warmongers had a very distinct fury burning within their eyes. A sick intensity for bloodshed that could send the strongest man on earth packing home with tears in his eyes. They guarded the civilians closely, closing ranks tight around the non-masked hostages. It was nearly impossible to tell the civilians from the villains from afar. Claire's eyes had barely even made out the strange faces of the Vermillion Army from the ground level. It wasn't until a news truck near by had the news cast on inside their truck, that she understood more of the situation before her.

Each of the Solders of V had their own unique weapon. Anything from Mp5's to combat knifes, the militant group had them in arms that night. The top of the building was nearly crammed full with all of these armed freaks. Only on close zoom ins could the helicopter crew accurately spot the unmasked civilians weaving about the decrepit crowd. Suddenly, from the vast crowd, came two idle men. One wore a classic Scream mask with a black ball cap and a militant jumpsuit. The other bore long dark red hair and a Freddy Kruger mask. The camera on the chopper struggled to zoom in on the two, their shapes blending in greatly with the black knight around them. The mysterious pair were not in the observatory where the rest of the groups were. Instead, the two soldiers of V were climbing across the nearly invisible dark rooftop. The crew would report that there was possible a third person tagging along with the two rogue characters, but nothing was for sure in the blackest night the city had had in years.

They scaled the steep rooftop like alley cats, using all fours to pounce across the edge. The helicopter devoted all focus to the possible trio scaling the roof in the darkness. The militant deserters did not stop until they had reached the end of the building's roof just above the observatory. They tucked themselves tightly around the stone structures that lined the roof. They bobbed and weaved as if they were all ex military soldiers. Or at least, the first two did. The third man that was barely visible was clumsy and often stumbled around. He even needed aid from the Kruger time to time.



Kruger and the third mystery man huddled together behind one stone pillar while Scream stood on his own at least three pillars down. The chopper beamed its bright light down upon the violent hoodlum. However, the solider did not flinch. Scream didn't even look up to the spotlight that was bearing down heavily on him. Instead, his eyes were focused dead on the Kruger character three pillars away. The two were locked in an interminable trance of eye contact, as if the two were cursed to stay that way forever. They stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity.

It was as if they were.... waiting for something.



Suddenly, the tense silence was cut by the sound of a loud megaphone blaring at the news copter.



Police Commissioner Wayne Marshall, grizzled from years of service, knew that the news chopper being that close to the action meant certain and imminent danger. His long tan coat flapped wildly in the wind as his deep brow scowled at the careless reporters. They had no idea who they were dealing with this time around. He had no idea who he was dealing with anymore. Not once, in his twenty two years of service to the Detroit Police Department had he ever encountered something quite like this. Sure, Detroit was a rough place ever since it faded from the name “Motor City”. But the kind of danger that Commissioner Marshall was accustomed to was random bangers and druggies. The most trouble he had at his job were the turf wars between the rival gangs that seemed to rule the underbelly of the whole city. Never... had he seen a group so... focused and intent with purpose. Wayne knew that the Army of V had called upon all news broadcast stations to send the organization millions of dollars.
However, there was a quick forming rust that was eating away at his innards about the situation.

It made no sense. Of course, make a scene and you will be noticed. What better place to make a scene than atop the second highest building in the city? It definitely had hooked the intention of the whole Detroit area. The wind blew his silver hair into a messy twist. His glassy blue eyes squinted at the forms of the men scaling the stone pillars high above him.

The Commissioner knew that the News Chopper was in grave danger. The idea of getting the whole force of Motor City on your ass for holding civilians hostage in one of its most famous buildings worked... But the disturbing thought that was breaking away at the old man's heart was a simple fact that the rest of the entire force had missed. Cops and SWAT saw it as a mistake and an easy bonus once the ordeal was over. But Marshall knew that... there was no way the soldiers were going to make it out without being caught. This lead him to believe that this wasn't really about the money at all..

There was going to be a statement written in Blood

”Get Out Of There NOW! ITS TOO DANGEROUS! STAND DOWN!” his hoarse voice cackled, broken by years of a bad cigar habit. It burned his throat, but the safety of his people was vastly more important than not being able to speak well the next morning. His hand came up to caress his burning throat as he cautiously watch the News helicopter. Thankfully, it slowly began to descend away from the building and down towards him. The stressed commissioner wiped cold sweat from his brow as the helicopter made a horizontal descent between the buildings. That was dangerous in his own right, but he figured the chopper would move forward and back out to base.

His keen eyes widened with shock.

Kruger's head nodded gently to his comrade as he held his third partner. The two simultaneously jolted their attention to the helicopter descending below them. The third partner was guided forward up the slope to Scream at the point of the window. Scream took his partner by the bicep hard and yanked him in front of him. With a harsh kick to the center of the spine, the third man screamed as he plummeted downward. Now in the spotlight, it became clear that the third man was completely blindfolded and bound at the wrists. The “third man” was a hostage. He screamed as gravity enslaved him. The last thing the poor victim saw was the whirring blades of the helicopter below him.

The sound of a lawnmower blade snapping suddenly echoed between the skyscrapers. A spray of rose red rose into the air as the man was eviscerated by the News Chopper. Gore and crimson blood rained down upon the bystanders like a scene from a horror film. The onlookers screamed and cried with terror as they were doused in the remains of the poor hostage. Claire was suddenly faced with a severed arm flying her direction. The people around her shouted and ducked for cover as the plane began to spin out of control. It immediately dove left, its blades digging into the side of the glass building. Shards of glass rained down upon bystander and policemen alike; all ducked their heads to avoid serious injury from the shards.

”Move MOVE MOVE! ITS COMING THIS WAY! EVERYONE INTO THE BUILDINGS!!” Wayne blared over the megaphone to warn citizens and his allies alike. Men in uniform and common clothing dashed towards the nearest structure as the totaled chopper went into a fiery tailspin. He panicked and looked towards the SWAT team who stood at the ready regardless of the horrible sight before them. The old man growled as the chopper veered their direction.

”GO! GET INSIDE YOU FOOLS!!” He demanded. The SWAT team finally perked up and ditched their orders. They quickly filed out of the back of the black van in a single line and dashed into the lobby of the nearby building. Wayne breathed a sigh of relief, knowing they'd be safe. However, the commissioner turned in horror as the scraped chopper was screaming towards him in a metal inferno. His eyes became as wide as the seven seas, seeing his whole long life flash before his eyes. Using his cunning mind, Marshall went into overdrive. The old man dived through the window of his cruiser, knowing he'd have no time to reach the lobby where the SWAT teams were. His mad dash led him to put his seat belt on with a quick clacking noise. His strong hands gripped the steering wheel firmly and...

He prayed.

A loud explosion erupted as fire and flames dashed across the once busy street. The commissioner's body began to pull G's as his car was flipped into the air by the screaming death trap of metal and fire. He held his breath, holding onto the steering wheel as tight as he could. His life flashed before his eyes as he saw his coat, hair, and tie all drift towards the roof his Police Cruiser. The old man's eyes dashed towards the window, only to find the pavement to be on the same level as his eye sight. The SWAT team dodged as the cruiser exploded through the glass doors of the lobby. It screeched wildly, orange sparks tossing from the scraping roof. The special police team screamed for people to get back as the car came roaring towards them. People screamed and dashed for cover. Many exited through side doors, but the SWAT remained. Civilians dived over the marble counter top of the lobby, leaving no room for the police force to climb over as well. They turned back to the screaming metal and held their breaths.

The cruiser came to a stop, barely pinning the team to the marble counter.

”Commissioner?! One scared member called out to the broken heap of metal once known as a car.

Meanwhile, the fiery chopper had merely only slammed into Wayne's car. The force of the slam came at the nose of the vehicle, forcing the whole chopper to flip upwards in a head stand motion. The burnt metal roared as gravity took quick hold and aimed to crash down upon Claire and the civilians around her.

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PostSubject: Re: The Call [Presealynn/TheDusk]   Thu Apr 25, 2013 5:17 pm

As she made her way into the pandemonium, Claire took a deep breath in order to mantain her anxiety and adjusted her camera settings, taking photos of the police cars and SWAT van. Her flash blended in with the red and blue lights, as well as other civilians curiously taking their own presonal pictures with phones and such. She noticed what everyone was looking at and looked up, too, glancing at the helicopter; even she knew that they were too close to such a dangerous situation.

After taking enough photos that would satisfy her boss, she put her camera away in her bag and started to look around, attempting to listen to all of the conversations happening around her to get a better understanding on the situation. It was so loud and chaotic for her to handle, though; she was starting to have a hard time breathing. But this was what you got for moving into the city, right?

Then Claire quickly noticed the news van to her side, and decided to push her way through the crowd to where she was able to see the television they had inside. She watched what was happening on the screen, studying every bit of as much as she could out of this "Army of V." She didn't pay much attention to the comissioner shouting through a megaphone until the screen had changed on the television, which she turned to watch as the helicopter descended from the building.

And then suddenly, everything went wrong.

At the top of the building, in the police's spotlight, a man bound at the arms and blindfolded was pushed to the edge of the rooftop, and then Claire's heart stopped-- it happened in the matter of seconds. As he plummeted toward the helicopter blades, Claire quickly ducked her head and covered it with her arm, waiting for the horrific sound of bones snapping to end. She immediately but slowly lowered her arm, only to be sprayed with the smell of iron. She barely dodged an arm of the hostage, her stomach dropping at the scene she just witnessed. Once again, within the matter of seconds, the lavender blonde watched as the chopper destroyed the side of the building, a load of glass shards flying through the air. She ducked along with the rest of the crowd in hopes not to get injured, but it got even worse. The helicopter lost control and headed towards the ground, the comissioner screaming for everyone to take cover. Claire watched as everyone except for a few panicked and ran for their lives, yet she stood her ground. She needed to stand her ground.

With widened eyes, she watched as the comissioner dove into his cruiser and was slung by the fiery chopper came down and whipped him and the car into the building. She wanted to help-- she needed to help-- but she couldn't use her powers in public without her disguise. She only stood there frozen, when suddenly the helicopter came straight in her direction--

She had no choice.

Out of pure instinct, Claire clenched her fists, focusing entirely on her arms, and quickly brought them in front of her. To normal eyes nothing would be seen, but in her vision she could see invisible waves coming forth and toward the helicopter. With an adrenaline rush coursing through body, she had an invisible grasp upon the fiery, metal beast with her extended electromagnetic arms, and with all her might she pushed opposing forces to slow it down. Immediately after she picked the tattered helicopter into the air, darting her eyes for open area on the ground where there was no people. Once she found a spot, she quickly set the flying vehicle down as gently as she could, making sure that no more damage would be done. Her invisible powers disappeared in an instant, and Claire looked around for a moment-- people were staring at her, which was her sign to leave. She wished in her mind that she could stick around to see if everyone was okay, but she couldn't risk that. Her feet quickly dashed across the littered street and through an alley way, away from anyone's line of sight.

Once she knew she was in the clear, the shaken girl leaned her back up against a brick wall and slid to the ground, her heart pounding in her chest, her body quivering from adrenaline. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself down-- even though she knew that it was mostly caused by her anxiety, she should've been used to the rush by now. It was very common for her to suddenly get rushes like that when she was still living back in New York with Wil; of course, that was awhile ago, wasn't it? Claire sighed involuntarily, her body finally calming itself down. So much for a disguise.

She sat up again, thinking about what to do now. Something must be done about that "Army of V" group; they're obviously ruthless killers, and she was certain that they wouldn't hesitate to kill again. Checking every direction to make sure she was still alone, Claire quickly got into her bag and pulled out her black white outfit she had brought with her, quickly throwing her clothes off and changing into it. It had brought back memories of her time in New York, working with Wil and the others; but she didn't have time for nostalgia.

Throwing her clothes into the messenger bag, everything was hid underneath a dumpster (as disgusting as it was, she decided she had no choice) so it wouldn't get stolen. She sighed again, this time to get rid of the last remnant of anxiety in her, and positioned herself. With her hands facing the ground, she gathered a bunch of energy into her arms and shot a pulse toward the ground, propelling herself high into the air. Up and over a building she went, carefully landing on the rooftop of the building she had leaned against. Cautiously scanning her surroundings, she psyched herself in a mood and started her new mission for the night.
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PostSubject: Re: The Call [Presealynn/TheDusk]   Thu Apr 25, 2013 7:01 pm



Claire quickly transformed into Titanite with a quick change. With a swift electromagnetic pull, she was lifted high into the air like a soaring eagle. The graceful eagle landed high atop the brick building aside the One Detroit Center. Her long hair buffeted in the gusting wind as she stood proudly. The heroine was not going to allow this evil to proceed any longer. Too much blood had been spilled already. However, Claire knew she could not simply just charge into this situation. Although normal men, the Soldiers of V clearly knew what they were doing. This would be no easy task. Her eyes scanned the situation before her.





Carnage and destruction lay strewn across the city streets. Decapitated civilians and scrap metal were scattered across the ground. Red splatters and black tar were smeared across the pavement. Two story high fires roared across the burnt bodies and vehicles of the One Detroit Building courtyard. Shrapnel from the blast had left many bleeding out or deceased. Wide eyed tears came flowing from the people that burst out of their safehouses. Citizens ran to meet their injured loved ones with care. But sadly, care could not prevent their hearts from giving up. Love could not seal their wounds. The nearest ambulance had been flipped onto its side in the explosion. There would be no help for several more minutes. Many on the pavement, doused in their own crimson life force, would soon succumb to the dark grips of death itself.

The darkly dressed SWAT team came sprawling out of the broken glass windows of the lobby, carrying something in their arms. They all circled around each other and carefully laid down what they were carrying. It was revealed that they were carrying the body of Commissioner Wayne Marshall. The team leader kneed down to his boss, scarred and bloody on the sidewalk. A severe gash was carved across his head and he had bruises all over.

”Comissioner?! COMISSIONER!!” the leader shouted with grief of his fallen comrade.

A quick hand grabbed him by the collar and shoved him away. A growling voice answered his cry,

”Get off me you idiots! I'll be fine!” Wayne gargled on his blackened lungs as he sat up, coughing hard. He took the leader by the shoulder and used him as a stand to bring his vertical base back up. Marshall limped, but only for a second. His squinted eyes gazed at the grave situation around him. After a moment, he released the SWAT leader and stood on his own, brushing dirt and debris from his tattered coat. His head tilted left and right, scanning the grim situation with shocked eyes. He seemed at a complete loss for words... The commissioner was watching families become shortened... Romances come to a tragic end... friends claimed by the Lord in Heaven...

”Sir, we need to get you medical attention,” One of the rookie SWAT members chirped loudly at the Police Commissioner.




One of the most frightening moments in human history happened. Wayne turned his wild eyes to the rookie, glaring at him with a fiery intensity. The mere power in the look made the younger SWAT stand back a few steps. There was a world of anger within that man's eyes that no human beings should ever had been witness to. With a lowered brow and heavy scowl, he engrained true fear into the heart of the inexperienced special cop.



”Look you son of a bitch, these are MY people. MY PEOPLE DYING ON THE SIDE OF THE PAVEMENT LIKE SOME DAMN ANIMAL! You can pack your rotten bags and go home but I ain't leavin' until every last damned member of those V Army bastards are being carried off to the damn morgue! Wayne asserted with rage. Even the Team Leader stood back a foot at that. His head turned back to the wicked carnage before him, his black tie floating in the passing wind. Dust and debris took leave of ground zero with the gust. Marshall's head immediately bolted up to the high rooftop where the victim was first pushed. A determined scowl spread across the veteran cop's face.

”I want every sniper you got surrounding the building. You four and I are going to ascend the stairwell. The other five of you are going to take the elevator up to the top. Hold the door and make sure it doesn't open until we've made our move. We need perfect precision here unless we want another poor man being turned into a pile of ground meat. You understand me? I ain't lettin' any more of my people die tonight!”

”SIR, YES SIR!” The team obediently called out. What appeared to be an attempt at a small crossed the commissioner's face.

”LET'S GO BOYS” Wayne barked, taking out his 9mm glock and charging into the lobby of the One Detroit Center. Four black dressed SWAT members followed him closely behind. Five more filed in and bolted towards the elevator.

The siege on ODC had begun.

Meanwhile, Titanite stood atop the ledge of the high building. She spotted the two men who had created all this carnage begin to move. The sirens of the ambulances had finally arrived. Two white and red trucks can speeding in from the right side of the street. They veered quickly around the debris and damages. They stopped quickly to pick up as much of the injured and beaten as possible, lifting them up on stretchers and carting them into the back of their emergency vehicles. The paramedics quickly slammed the steel doors shut and climbed into their driver seats. They instantly floored it in an effort to get them medical aid as soon as possible.

Their screeching tires could be heard as they began to easily break the speed limit. A terrifyingly loud crash erupted from nearby.






A large semi truck swerved out from behind a skyscraper and blocked the exit for the ambulances. The first paramedic screamed as he slammed into the front of the truck. The second was unready for the sudden stop of the first and rear ended the first ambulance, causing its head lights to end up on the patient's lap. The third clipped the back of the humongous trucker and tipped onto its side. The emergency vehicle skidded to a halt inside a convenient store, smashing through its windows.

Thankfully, the other ambulances were quick enough to see the horrid carnage unfolding before them. They came to a halt and instantly put their trucks in reverse. From seemingly no where, the side door of the semi slid backwards, revealing two darkly dressed men. One bore the mask of Michael Myers while the other had a hood over his “IT” painted face. The IT lifted a long black tube from his back and hoisted it over his shoulder. Michael Myers took a black object from his pocket and bite something off it.

Suddenly, a grenade flew from the truck. It broke through the window of the second ambulance that had crashed. The driver made a mad dash to escape, but found no safety as the explosive imploded the vehicle. Fire poured upwards and onto the semi like a mushroom. The scraps of the ambulance fell to the sidewalk in a charred heap. The blood curdling screeching of the patient inside did not end, being crushed by burning metal.

IT fired his rocket launcher, sending a swift missile directly at the reversing ambulances. The emergency vehicles attempted to dodge, but one could not do so successfully. The driver's last sight was the black projectile coming through his windshield and piercing his abdomen. The fires of Hell consumed the emergency vehicle and turned it into a black husk of what it once was. The driver screamed for his life, falling out of the blown off door. His skin turned from a pale white to a charred, pitch black as he curled up on the sidewalk and died. Shattered heart monitors and canisters were scattered across the street.

This was... morbid.

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PostSubject: Re: The Call [Presealynn/TheDusk]   Thu Jun 13, 2013 2:59 am

Once she had spotted the two whom had pushed the man off of the rooftop, she had started to pursue them, when—

So many explosions. It was so bright and blinding—

Morbid, indeed.

Once her eyes had adjusted moments later, her heart shattered. So many bodies and debri lay across the pavement and the street; this wasn’t what she had signed up for. Crime was never this bad at home, this was just—horrifying. 

Widened emerald eyes stared with fear at the mayhem below, before realizing that her targets were on the run. Suddenly, her mind had come back to her—Stop the source, and this will all be over. Claire regained the courage that had been lost in the time of horrendous explosions, quickly remembering that she was Titanite. 

Her slender, agile legs suddenly sprinted toward the edge of the building she stood upon, her arms reaching below her to emit another pulse of EMWs, which sent her up into the air. She continued to release these pulses, directing her upward to meet the neighboring building’s roof—the One Detroit Center. It made sense why they would use this building for their actions; in Detroit, this building was important, possibly the most important structure of the entire city. This specific city of Michigan had gone to hell, literally—and this building was probably the last thing that was keeping it from finally burying itself into the dirt. It made her wonder, just for a brief second, what in the world happened to this place? Detroit used to be the greatest industrial city of the United States—now look at it.

Upon landing at the edge of the rooftop, she quickly scanned her surroundings, spotting the two masked men whom had started this entire clusterfuck. A certain rage had filled her heart; these guys were certainly going to pay.  
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Location : Lake Hylia

PostSubject: Re: The Call [Presealynn/TheDusk]   Fri Jun 14, 2013 10:21 pm

A musty smoke rose and blanketed the night sky in horror. The night had been so previously enchanting with its bright stars and lovely crescent moon. However, the fall crisp air was cut by the warmth of charred flesh and metal. The aftermath usually only seen as a fragment of a news reel from a middle eastern battle had come down to Earth on the streets of downtown Detroit. Crime ceased that night, for even the damnedest criminals were in awe of the mortifying acts. The pick pocketers littering the parted crowd kept their hands to themselves, feeling a sense of deep fear in the pit of their stomachs. The police had never been able to keep a good hold on the streets. But these... maniacs, this army had full control. They took one of the most pivitol buildings in the city overnight and held the entire city at mercy for it. Homeless men in the alley's stared up unknowingly at the forming ashen cloud drifting across the sky. Ashes of the burning corpses descended across the friends and family that used to love them. The nausiating smell could be related to that of charcoal and acids, forcing many to heave and vomit on the pavement. Poor people wept in the streets; some still holding the deceased love ones in a strange hope they would spring back to life in their desperate pleas. However, it seemed to always be a fool's attempt. The spoils of war were never glorious. Even those who could claim victory wore the blood of their allies on their uniforms. This was cleary more than war however. War is fought over disagreement and evils. The fanatic Army of Vermillion only wished to create evils with true intention in mind. Terror was their birthright, as told by there ghost of a leader. Their only drive was the suffering of others.

And on this fateful night in Detroit, Michigan, suffering was delievered. Blood paid in full.

However, work was never finished with extremists. The blood was paid in full, but even full was never enough for their wicked thirsts. These soliders wished to overflow, flood the Earth in wild crimson mass. They wished to see the streets paved in red and the world bowing in terror at their feet. The county was their playground, maniacally robbing innocents of life and liberty each moment they drew breath. It was a life forced upon them when they had nothing left. Soliders of the V Army were forged from weak souls, made strong by a greater purpose. A purpose they could survive, and be a crucial part off; unlike their previous life situations that made them feel insignificant. Their madness came not from insanity, but unification under the banner of chaos. The young terrorists' greatest impulses were no longer a figment of fantasy. When someone robbed them of their dignity, the instinct to beat the person to death came swift and without mercy. The dark, malevolent urges we fight everyday is their way of life. Where we say no, they oblige; going above and beyond they demands of their damaged minds. In a way, it could be said that they have unlocked a part of their brain that no man should ever discover. A feeling of total freedom without any morals to restrain their actions. They just.. did things, acting on vicious instincts like wild animals. It is an incredible feat. Terrible, but great.

Many of the citizens down below them share the same hate that burns in their hearts now. They corrupt good people with tragedy and horror, as once had happened to them. Displays of vile actions show who really is in control. Governments set rules and the police carry them out for your own safety. It sets an example, that if the government sets rules, the is an Army standing against each guideline they set. When the police carry out these laws, the V Army will defeat them, eradicate them if necessary. The craziest concept of it all was that they truly did not see themselves as evil entities, only strange beings who have been gifted to see the world as it truly is. A harsh, wicked enviroment that will destroy you if you allow it to control you. The Police think they can truly bring order, but that is the greatest lie in their eyes.

But not to Police Commisioner Marshall Wayne. He rode those steel steps, rattling them with a vibrance he had not shown since his youth as a patrol cop. Even the Swat members had a hard time keeping up with the old man. Wayne was by no means a weakening man. His age only made him more hardened and wise. This glistened with intensity in each survival situation he was put in. He gripped his 9mm like his life depended on it, considering it may very will be once he entered the room above. The long black tie hanging at his neck dashed in the wind of his swift running. He breathed in and out hard, sweat beating down the side of his wrinkled head. His eyebrows stayed heavy and narrow, gritting with anger at his people laying dead across the streets. This was no war zone! This was his town! It was Barry Bakers on the corner that he got his donuts at. It was the Dunkin' Donuts where he got his daily coffee. Not some damned ground zero! These were homes and lives being tossed around like old newspapers. It made a fire coarse through his veins like none he'd ever felt before. His city would NOT fall on this night, he promised God that!

Marshall and his squad rounded each corner with olympic prowess. Boots clattered against the steps, rattling and shaking the stairwell. If not blinded by the intensity of saving those hostages, there probably would be pause to check if the stairs were even safe to be on. They barely seemed like police anymore. From the moment the terrorist attack began, these men were soliders of war. The Swat team cocked their rifles, knowing that a battle was soon to ensue once they reached the floor of the hostages. The situation needed to be handled with precision, but with these insane freaks, there was no telling what they had planned. At this moment, the hostages were fodder to expand the horror and infamy of their group like damned toys. The Detroit Police Department would have none of that, even if they were the last law enforcement on the planet.

"Whaddya' got for me Hamill?" Wayne called into his shoulder mounted radio, referring to the Captain of the Sniper Squad.

"They have the hostages in a main room. Couches and desks have been pushed against the walls. The hostages are sitting on in the middle of the floor, got at least eight terrorists on sight surrounding them in a circle. One with a clown mask has a blond woman by the hair, no immediate threat posed though; his gun is at rest." The communicator buzzed back in a blurry tone.

The Police Commissoner quickly tapped the button back to respond.

"They've got a girl in hand?! No immediate threat posed?! Did you see what happened to the last person they had in hand?! Marshall barked back, not mincing any words with his deepest concerns. "Do you got windows Hamill?"

"Yes sir. I got visual on all suspects."

Adrenline was burning the old man's veins like wild fire. He felt like a man lost in a horry story, but this was all very real. He felt like General Patton at the head of this forces. He was ready to defeat the incursion and show them that no evil would make their way into his city on this night ever again. This ended now, and no man on Earth could ever stop Wayne from ensuring that he kept that promise.

"Load your guns damn it! This is gonna' be a messy one. Be my eyes and ears Hamill, we still have three floors to go before we reach the service exit to that floor!!" Wayne shouted, leaving his finger off the button so he could run properly. The iron steps clanged with each advancing step of the police battalion.

"Sir. The Clown is making advancing movements with the woman towards the window."

"Dammit! Let's move boys! We got innocent people up there!!" he rallied his troops with urgency. The commissioner quickly hiked up to railing. The Swat troopers gasped in awe of the old man's agility. He grabbed the the edge of the iron and hoisted himself up to the final level. The old man grunted a bit, still not as young as he wished he could be at that moment. A pain came in his knees for making such a daring move, but that was no matter. As long as he could save the girl, that would trump any sort of ache he'd ever have.

"Suspect it at the window with the hostage sir."

Marshall Wayne hiked up to his feet in a hurry, coat flapping in his quick speed.

"Suspect has a gun to her head now sir. Do you wish us to open fire?"

He cocked his gun at the ready as he reached the service exit door.

"Sir, do you wish us to open fire? Suspect seems to have spotted us."

He lifted his foot up ready for a valiant kick.


"Sir, he's about to shoot the woman!"



"No!!"

The bottom hinge of the door cracked from place as it swung open. Marshall came charging into the room with pistol at the ready. His white hair bounced as he rushed into the main hall.

"PUT HER DOWN YOU SACKS OF SH-" He screamed when a cold realization came over him. As he barged into the room, Wayne saw that the room was dead empty. The couches, chairs, plants, and desks were all pushed aside as Hamill had told him over the radio, but there was no sign of anyone in the carpeted room; hostage nor terrorist. His head tossed left and right, leveling his gun each direction to make sure that the V Army just hadn't set up a trap for him. The room was eerily quiet except for his firm footsteps he was making. The elevator he could see, was waiting with his backup team just behind the steel doors. The room was completely vacant. His eyes narrowed in anger and bewilerment.

His hand reached for radio on his shoulder.

"What the hell Hamill?! I thought you said we had hostages up here?!" He barked wildly, true fear coming in and compressing his chest as to the whereabouts of the innocents. He was so fuming with anger that he didnt realize that his Swat Team had ceased following him. The radio only fuzzed in response to his demanding statements.

"Hamill? Hamill?! Dammit! You there?!" Wayne cursed, seemingly loosing contact with the Sniping Squad commander. He huffed and puffed as he looked about the desolate room. The commissioner kicked an idle plant, knocking it over. It barely consumed his rage however. His eyes narrowed at through the big paneled windows, out to the rooftop where he had told Hamill and his team to set up. It took a moment for his old eyes to adjust, but slowly it came into view of the crew still perched atop the ledge of the coinsiding building.

"Hamill! Pick up your damn radio! I need to know what the hell this is all about!!" Marshall growled, greatly irritated that Hamill was blatently ignoring his radio. Despite his lion's roars, the sniper still stood his ground, choosing not to respond to him.

"Hamill! Hamill!" He tried shouting a few more times. That's when it hit him...

He was alone... in that room.. His Swat team had never followed him into that room. Matter of fact, the other squad hadn't even made an attempt to open the steel doors of the elevator across the room. Why weren't they following them? What the hell was going on?!

Cold chills went through his veins as the elevator opened and the Swat Team came rushing out,



... Pointing their automatic weapons straight at him...



The footsteps of his squad came quickly behind him, cocking their rifles along with the other squad.

"Wha.. What is this about?! Lower your weapons now! That's an order!" Wayne choked, hoping that somehow this was a cruel prank in the heat of war. The leader of his SWAT team slowly reached up to his shoulder radio and clicked the button, He spoke slowly, but in a whimsical... almost joyful tone.

"You want this ol' wind bag put down now Vermillion sir?"


"Yes...Why of course my friend! That.. WAS the plan right..? Ooooo, how quaint that the General thought his troops were at his side... hehheeahhaha... Now he's just a simple POW, and we...DON'T TAKE PRISONERS... You know what THAT means boys...,"


Wayne felt an icy chill go down his spine.


"No hard feelings Grandpa! We'd put you with the rest of the whelps in the basement, but it seems we've run out of space for you... I'll have to talk to DEATH, about what we could do with you... His office is just ONE bullet away.!! Bwaheehahaaa....


Marshall Wayne, for the first time in his life, felt fear as he looked down the barrel of the Swat's gun.



He said his prayers, speaking to God to keep his wife and son safe.



He gulped hard, smiling slyly.



"Bring it on then."



Wayne shut his eyes as he heard the gun fire loudly.



 




The Swat leader oofed as knuckles shattered his noise. A swift foot releived him of his gun. Wayne gasped as a shadow came gliding from the darkness and engulfed him. He suddenly was forced to cough as dark blue fog began to errupt within the room. In seconds, the room was a scene from an old horror movie graveyard. Visibility zero.

"HEY! What the hell happened?! Hamill do you see anything?!" The corrupt leader screamed through his bloody nose.

"No! No visual on the old hag! Its all foggy in there."

Wayne's vision had faded to a pitch black. He stammered for a moment, thinking he was dead briefly. However, he remembered witnessing some vague figure attack the man who supposidly shot him. Did he get off the last shot in time or had the stress just make him go blind? It seemed that the police commissioner was trapped in a dark abyss. This must of been what blind people feel like.

Wait... Wayne could still hear the corrupted cops growling and shouting at each other. He certainly wasn't dead! Not by a long shot! But where exaclty was he? The room was completely dark, only illiminated by the moonlight he last remembered. However, it was atrociously black, like someone had spilled ink across his vision. Where the hell was he? What happened?

Wayne attempted to move, but realized he was bound somehow. He attempted to grunt and growl to get out of whatever was holding him in place.

"Hey! What the-" He began, until he felt his nerves sow shut. A vile, cutting voice came sharply, nearly cutting his out of the fabric of time. Even Wayne, a man without fear, quickly quieted his tone in fear of what exactly was speaking to him. He felt as if little piano strings were being tugged in his heart. A dull ringing obscured his hearing. Wayne felt like little droplets of water were battering his entire body. That is when he became blissfully away aware of two, glowing wild eyes glaring at him. He about wet his pants. They were so frightening. The wicked eyes seemed to burrow into his soul, scraping at his heart, taking away his humanity. He quivered and awaited the harsh speech of the wicked demon like creature.


"The hostages are in the basement. These terrorists hijacked the Swat van and stole their uniforms. They planned to kill you as a way to break the law enforcement of the city, and their hopes. I..am going to make them wish their pitiful lives were fantasies... You are going to head to the elevator and take it down to floor B1. The hostages are unguarded. The terrorists are here and on the roof. Be mindful. The voice came shattering his ear drums, booming with a dark confidence.


In a flash, the darkness was broken. The cape woffted over Wayne as the mysterious dark creature leaped through the fog. He head the shrill scream of one of the fake SWAT.

"Oh god!!! DEMON!!! GET HIM OFF ME!!! AHHHHHH!!" It was a scream for mercy that even the police commissoner hadn't heard before. It was as if hearing someone at death's doorstep pleaing for their very lives. It was mortifying to hear such terror quaking the man's voice.

"Anderson?! Is that you?! What's going on?!" One of his partners answered through the thickness of the deep blue fog. The pitch figure has diseappeared in the direction of the panicked voice; the criminal letting out blood curtling screams for his life. Marshall stood up in utter awe of the morbid display occuring before him. A deep vibrating of his skin filled him as he thought of what the demonic creature could possibly be doing to that poor man in obscure fog.

"DEMON!!! DRACULA!! OH LORD SAVE ME !!! GOD WHY ME GOD WHY ME!?!?!?"

He pleaded with the Lord for his life. He would find no solace. A sharp scream of agony came as Wayne heard a what distinctly heard like someone shattering their bones. The pure pain and suffering in his shout make the hardened old man shutter with apologetic feelings in his heart. No man should have to go through that much pain to need to scream like that. The screams of anguish continued as the same white glowing eyes slowly lifted from the floor in the distance of the fog. The horrible memories of the wicked being filled the old man again and he shivered in contempt for those about to face his wrath. Even through the completely obscure fog, Wayne could see the ominous black shadow rising from his battered victim. It was a scene straight from a horror film... a damn good one at that...

"Anderson!! Don't worry I'm coming for you!!"

Marshall snapped his focus on the demonic creature as he heard panicked footsteps coming up from behind him. The commissoner rose quickly, holding his gun out in the direction of the assailant coming his direction. He looked back to the wicked shadow to see it come at him with blinding speeds. The old man yelped and ducked. The blight soared over him as the unsuspecting Swat member parted through the fog. He let out a scream of utter terror as the white glowing eyes descended him like a plague upon the land. Marshall lowered his gun slowly as he watched a gnarled claw come from the body of the shadow and snatch the arm of the fake cop. The man yelled in fright as another claw came from the dark figure. There was another bloody scream as the false Swat member watched his elbow snap the complete opposite direction. He cried as his arm fell as limp as a wet sack of potatoes. The demonic creature brought up a spiked foot and stomped hard on the flimsy limb, forcing the fully grown man to shed very real tears. He instantly fell to the floor, in more pain than could ever be imagined by a human being.

The pitch-black shadow slowly turned to the Commissioner, white eyes carving his intentions.

Thats when Wayne spotted the all seeing eye branded across the front of the demon's cloak...

That's when he realized that this was no demon at all... He knew this from somewhere... Somewhere very familiar to him...

"Wait..You're the guy who saved DC! You're the D-Dusk?!"

The dark figures white eyes became slanted, squinting in the obscurity. He turned slowly back to the offier, torn and pointed cape tossing as he did. Horns jutted from the side of his face and out the back of his had with a dark paint lining his eyes and cheeks. This was definitely him... It looked different, but there was no mistake, it must have been the same person. If you could even refer to him as a person... His cape arched up into spikes on his shoulders that protruded upward. The dark creature was silent at first...Quietly glaring at the old man. A more terrofying notion that originally percieved.

He slowly nodded.

"I told you to go...," The Dusk spoke in the midst of the eerie fog. It put a warm smile on the face of the old man. He grew determined knowing that the Protector was on his side. He took his gun and nodded, a silent agreement of respect made between the two. Wayne then made a mad dash for the elevator. Luckily, these were mere untrained soliders, they didn't know how to act when they had been smoke bombed. They wandered around like lost sheep in the room. Unknowingly, they had left the elevator wide open. His scarred hands quickly threw himself into the elevator and clicked the button for down. Wayne couldn't help but stare awestruck at the carnage as the steel doors slowly closed. The shadow glided around the room like a fatal disease, tearing down all who opposed justice. Marshall couldn't help but smile in approval as he watched legs be snapped like swigs, heads rammed into stone walls, guns taken then used as a bat to shatter bloody teeth. It was inspiring to know...

...That Dusk had Returned.

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