Tremors in the Deep (Open)

[Asemir]

It took forty-seven rounds to kill her. He counted each spent shell casing that flipped from the chamber and spun through the air. Forty-seven. Over four full clips. Two of those clips had been emptied into her body. The other two into her head. As the final clip dropped from the pistol, as he loaded the fifth, he was sure that the job was complete. But it had taken seven more rounds to finish it.

Forty-seven. It was probably a record.

He stood there, looking down at her prone form. Blood was everywhere, that much was expected. There was even steam rising from the quadruple-dozen entry wounds. The steam was odd. It was a temperate day, so that wasn't normal. Then again, the fact that it had taken forty-seven steel-jacked slugs to put her down was not normal.

The pistol was still trained on her body, a habit born from years of practice. But unlike the numerous times in the past, unlike the untold number of missions that required ending a sentient life, this time, that pistol quivered. It started as a minute tremor, something that an uninformed observer would have attributed to fatigue. A natural fatigue of the hand and arm, perhaps, natural from the strain of emptying and reloading four clips. Natural, perhaps, but it wasn't natural.

He willed the offending appendage to cease its shivering, but it defied him. This was not natural. This was not expected. His mind catalogued the shaking, the effect it was having on the pistol still aimed at the still-warm body. It catalogued the physical conditions of the situation. His arm was not tired and the environment was stable. It had to be mental. But why?

His sight left the smoking gun. His eyes ignored the mess that lay before him, it ignored the shell casings littering the ground, and it settled on the body's face. The face. But it looked normal. It was normal. Pristine. Without blemish, except for some dirt smudges. Hadn't he emptied twenty rounds into the face?

He searched that face, searching its familiar contours, its cheeks, nose, eyes. They beckoned to him, triggering long buried memories of far different circumstances. The curve of the jaw line, the small upward twist of the lips. The now-lifeless eyes that used to glow with the light of a hundred suns. They triggered recognition. He knew this face. More than the face. He knew the body, the blood, the everything. He knew the person.

His mind made the connection. His hand was trembling because he knew the person. Because he more than knew the person. He knew her. Knew her. And he had emptied four clips into her.

Forty-seven.

He looked at her again, the unmarred beauty that he had long loved. The full lips, the pert nose. The eyes that shone with life. They had always carried that playful glimmer that promised mischief. They had glowed purple.

They still glowed purple.

They blinked.

They focused.

The lips parted in a grin.

Forty-eight. Forty-nine. Fifty.

He reloaded.

++

What the feth? he thought.

He looked into the glass, saw the glow of his eyes reflected in the dark amber liquid, and wondered what he had just drank. He hadn't been drugged, he was sure, because his body would have metabolized anything without much effort. His ears told him this was actually a fairly high-class establishment. His nose confirmed it. Instead of the pungent stench of sweat and urine, he caught only fine colognes and perfumes.

He wasn't sure, then. But he scanned the room anyways, his senses on alert. It wasn't like him to drift off in public. It wasn't like him to be so affected by any drink.

But he couldn't shake that dream. That vision. That memory. Whatever it had been.

He couldn't shake it because it had been so real. So vivid. Except for the count. Not forty-seven.

Seventy-eight.

 

[Asemir]

"What's the problem?"

He looked up. It took a moment for his eyes to focus properly on the man standing before him. He was an older man, that is older by human standards. By Ingr'Nysk standards, well, he was probably quite young, perhaps having seen just over a half-century of life. Grizzled chin, tough skin, a rough beard. They spoke of a man experienced with the galaxy.

But there was something more to the man than just his tough exterior and rumbling voice. He had that look to his eyes, that gleam that stood out from the rough and chiseled edges of his face. It was the sign of someone who had seen far more than a century, or perhaps even a millennium. It was something that the Ingr'Nysk recognized, having seen it in others like him. His squadmates. His battle brothers. Those who had shared that hellish crucible known as war.

He recognized it because he saw it every time he looked in the mirror.

"Nothing's wrong," Asemir Lor'kora said in a whisper that carried a clarity that belied its volume.

The man didn't respond at first. He reached under the bar, and all of the alarms in Asemir's body exploded at once. His muscles tensed, the Force gathered in his mind, ready to bounce at its master's call. But the man's hand reappeared clutching a glass bottle of amber fluid. Realization dawned on the Ingr'Nysk and he willed his body to return to its natural resting stage.

"I recognize that look," the barkeep said as he refilled Asemir's tumbler with practiced ease. He gestured towards the other patrons. "I don't know if it's the other clientele or the price or the atmosphere, but I don't see too many of our type in this place. At least not the actual real soldiers. Social generals, well, they're here pretty often."

Asemir followed the barkeep's gaze. Yes, he was right, seeing a number of suits and ties, slacks, dresses. Armor for the white-collared professional.

"Anyways," the barkeep continued, "the name's Mahler. Erik Mahler. And I can tell there's something off. I don't know your species, but I've seen enough worlds, enough battles, to know that thousand-kilometer stare. If it'll help, son, you're welcome to talk about it."

"'Son'." Asemir smirked at that. "Well, Erik, I'm probably old enough that I could be calling you 'son'. And I am Asemir. But, I don't know if talking will help. It's just a memory that got triggered. I'm not sure how, but it happens. It's probably nothing."

"Roger that. Sometimes, though, it helps to talk. Get that stuff out in the open. Let it go. I know it doesn't sound manly, but I've seen enough friends who've been crushed with that type of pressure."

"I appreciate the advice," Asemir said after a sip. He relished the burn as the whiskey slithered down his throat. "But right now, I need to figure it out myself."

Erik Mahler's nod was born from an understanding that only a fellow soldier could appreciate. "Well, Asemir, you just let me know if you want to talk. I'll be here."

"Thank you, Erik," the Forgotten nodded. It was probably the most honest thing he had said in a long time.

 

[Asemir]

He shifted on the stool, just enough so that the band was now at the edge of his vision. The music was calm, mellow, appropriate to the atmosphere. A slow beat, something to just barely engage the senses, to let the mind know that the world still existed but was not a threat. At least not at the moment.

He watched the band members out of the corner of his eye, noticing the way they swayed and moved with the beat of the alien song. They were a group from off world, from a race he wasn't sure of. Their green skin and red eyes and odd head ornaments spoke of an exotic nature, yet the alien words of their song somehow reminded him of something closer to home. Something more familiar.

It was an uncomfortable sensation, to feel that familiarity mixed with something so foreign, especially so because he couldn't figure out why or how he recognized those words or that beat or those notes.

Asemir glanced at the whiskey he held in his hand. It looked normal, its amber fluid sloshing gently in the glass tumbler. Erik Mahler was several meters to his right, serving and chatting another customer. It was normal.

The Ingr'Nysk shook his head. Normal? Something wasn't right. His senses were off kilter. Maybe it was this place, this up-scale establishment. Maybe it was too clean, too formal, too quiet. Maybe that was throwing him off. There was no stench of dried sweat and unwashed bodies, no shouts of arguments or grunts of discussion. Just quiet, civilized patrons whiling away the evening hour.

There was a drip, the miniscule pinpoint clap of liquid hitting the bar. Only once, barely audible above the whispers of conversation and music. Asemir looked down. A spatter of blue, so dark that it was almost black. He dipped his finger in it.

Blood.

He dabbed at his nose, and his hand came away Blue. Bloody. His blood.

Frowning, the Forgotten turned and looked around the room, his drink forgotten. Nothing peculiar. Recessed lights glowed yellow. White-collar men and women hunched over tables, lost in conversation, food, and drink. The band continued its tunes.

Ringing. In his ears.

Asemir stood abruptly, tossed some money on the countertop and rushed out of the tavern. His feet were quick, coordinated, but there was something off in the way they moved. Panic. Panic carried him, and panic was as alien to him as the band was.

The night air greeted him, along with wetness on his face. Even without looking, he knew it was more blood, dribbling from his nose. The ringing grew louder. Closer. It drowned out the street noises. He stumbled into an alley way, trying to get away from others.

This wasn't good. The last time a nosebleed had accompanied strange noises, bad things had happened. Bad things that ended with seventy-eight pistol cartridges spent.

 

[RC 212]

[member="Asemir Lor'kora"]

Annnnndddd....

He stumbled right into Jack. The full force of the stumble made the spacer take step back, struggling to keep his feet under the immense weight of the guy. A kill instinct activated and for a brief moment in time he wanted to reach and pull his DL-44 from the waistband of his dusty trousers. But this wasn't a guy with ill intent. Though he had wicked nose bleed.

Dak his first mate stood off to the side head cocked, and staring. Jack himself clenched his jaw and hauled the man up by his armpits, pulling him to stand.

"Whoa bub. What's going on with you?"

A seasoned spacer his brown eyes could detect a man in distress when he spotted them. This was a facet of his code to honor distress signals. And not all distress signals came from vessels in the void, he had quite a few of his own.

 

[Darth Slasher]

- Deleted -

 

[Asemir]

OOC:
I can be slow at replying sometimes because of Real Life. If I ever take more than a few days, feel free to PM me if you'd like.

IC:

Feth, what the hell was wrong with him? He stumbled into a man. How the feth did that happen? Situational awareness. Always. One hundred ten percent of the time. That was Forgotten Training 101.

Not without a little embarrassment, Asemir straightened and recovered his balance. His training reasserted itself, and decades of combat instinct took over.

The nosebleed was forgotten. So was the ringing in his ears. His mind automatically sent out probes with the Force, cataloging his surroundings. His endocrine system primed, preparing to flood his system with adrenaline and pain blockers. His muscles tensed, ready for action.

Two people. Alleyway. Choke point. Threatening gestures? Not really. Sort-of amusement from the second person.

Assessment: Not immediately dangerous.

Even so, Asemir was careful. His body did not relax. He wiped a hand across his mouth, smearing blood across his lips. A little expenditure of the Force staunched the flow.

"Sorry," Asemir said. His mind raced as he tried to formulate a response to explain himself. "Nosebleeds. I hate them but they sometimes just happen. I figure it wouldn't do well to bleed over everything in a place like The Federalist," --he pointed behind him to Mahler's tavern-- "and stumbled out."

He looked the man over. Jacket. Rugged looks. Spacer? The second man seemed the sort. "Anyways, I hope I didn't get any blood on you." Asemir paused. The ringing was gone. His mind was clear. Odd. "Can I get you two a drink or something? For not letting me crash to the duracrete and all."

[member="Jack Raxis"]

 

[RC 212]

[member="Asemir Lor'kora"]

Jack raised an eyebrow at the man. He wasn't sure exactly what to make of him, but he wasn't about to take him back to a bar. a place he'd just run from. A quick glance down and crackshot grin revealed his carefree attitude.

"Blood? Trust me Pal, I've had a lot worse on this gettup ."

Dak was still standing there with his head cocked and staring. Jack shot him a backwards glance, brows furrowing into a deep frown. He was being rude and breaking etiquette. A spacer never stared, never drew unwanted attention if they could help it. Especially not in Jacks line of work.

"Close your mouth kid and quit starin'. I know I taught you better than that."

"Sure thing skip," he shot back, a little sarcasm creeping in like frost.

His brown orbs turned back to the man, piercing him like the wind pierces bones on a cold raw and windy evening. He was in an inner battle of what to do. Take him to the bar? No out of the question. Take him to an inn? Nope, he hated inns. Hated land that wasn't anything but Nar Shaada and Mandalore.

Finally after a brief moment he settled on a solution. One black gloved hand ran through his hair whilst the other slipped into the gunbelt, hanging there by a thumb.

"Tell ya what. Why don't you come back to my Ship with the Kid and I? You look like a man with stories to tell. I like them stories. I'll give you food quarter and whatever drink you need."

 

[Max Nero]

4 minutes and 11 seconds

Max Nero ran through the mess of alleyways, turning sharply at this corner and that. He was on a clock. The countdown meant that a life would be taken. Max's orders were to not allow that to happen. He knew the place, the time and the target. Everything else was an unknown. Max's processing systems were determined to not let the data-less variables prevent him from securing his goal.

He turned the corner and came to a stop. He was very close to his destination. Ahead, he could make out three lifeforms. Two facing his direction and the third facing them with his back to Max. He walked forward cautiously and scanned them. Negative, negative...89.34% positive match. These parameters were...acceptable.

1 minute and 37 seconds

Max came to a halt four feet behind [member="Asemir Lor'kora"]. His legs were slightly spread out in stand easy mode by default. His hands rested on his hips like he was posing. There was enough time to ask questions. He spoke in his monotonous android voice,

"Asemir Lor'Kora? What do you know of Dark Swarm and The Inner Circle?"

[member="Jack Raxis"]

 

[Asemir]

The Forgotten thought about the man's offer. Was it safe? Did it make sense to step into a random stranger's vessel? Ultimately, it didn't matter. He had boarded enemy vessels, infiltrated bunkers, killed Sith masters in their homes. This man and his companion did not reek of the Force, though there was a hint with the leader of the two, so they likely could not pose as great a threat as some of the other people Asemir had encountered.

"That sounds like a plan," the Ingr'Nysk said. He offered his hand. "I have many stories to tell. I am Asemir, by the way."

And that would have been it, had it not been for the presence of another person. A man spoke. Monotone. Stale voice. "Asemir Lor'Kora? What do you know of Dark Swarm and The Inner Circle?"

Asemir spun, instantly dropping into a combat stance, his hands up in a defensive position. His armor was on standby, not yet activated to cover his entire person, and his songblade was still strapped to his back. The Ingr'Nysk regarded the man, noting the deadness of the Force. He looked human enough but there was a void, an emptiness. Odd. "I don't know what you mean," Asemir said carefully to this person.

[member="Max Nero"]
[member="Jack Raxis"]

 

[Max Nero]

The questions had been a waste of time. No new info was to be gained and time had been wasted. Max's processes closed the questioning run-time and diverted to a necessary course of action: getting the target away from here. This was a bad place to fight. Too many people could cause collateral ([member="Jack Raxis"]). There was not enough room to fight properly. However, [member="Asemir Lor'kora"] was an organic of command. As such, it would have to be his logical choice whether or not he followed Max.

1 minute, 2 seconds

He walked up to Asemir and angled his head down at the small man. He then said,

"Asemir Lor'kora. You have been slated for termination by an unknown force by unfamiliar means. I was sent to prevent your termination." He looked up, brushed past the three men and continued walking down the alley. After he was six feet from the group, he turned his head back to them and said,

"Come with me, if you want to live..." He waited for a response.

43 seconds

 

[RC 212]

[member="Max Nero"] [member="Asemir Lor'kora"]

Jack at that point drew his Besk'ad half from it's sheath and Dak drew both blasters. this bionic thing scared the crap out of him. He felt his stomach roll at the sight of it. Droids, his singular worst fear. Neither living nor dead, cold and calculating. It was unnerving and the droids warning was even worse. Or was it cyborg?

Regardless Jack had a bad feeling about it. About the whole thing. His brow furrowed and his jaw set as if it were stone. Brown eyes pierced the droids photoreceptors and he snarled.

"What in the nine hells of the void is this?"

There seemed to be a fight brewing. Something he was no stranger to, but here?

Not his ideal choice.

"What makes you sure..... droid thing..."

 

[Max Nero]

[member="Jack Raxis"] | [member="Asemir Lor'kora"]

Facing Jack and his boy, Max replied,

"This unit" he pointed at himself for emphasis "is called Max Nero. I am a Level 7 response android for ARC. I'm who they call when chit hits the fan." His right eye slid mechanically down in flawless, winking fashion. At the same time, the right side of his mouth turned up to make a half grin and he slightly nodded as part of his "charisma run-time". Otherwise, his face was emotionless. His face soon returned to passive mode and he started to answer the man's next question. The anger portrayed by the man meant nothing to him as of right now.

"Data received predicting this event stands up to attempts at verification and has a 91.85% chance of being a legitimate tip and threat. Those parameters are...acceptable."

26 seconds

Max Nero turned to Asemir and said,

"There is not enough time to escape. We will be forced to face your assailant. Shall we run elsewhere or shall we stay here?"

 

[Asemir]

OOC:
You win 100 internet points, Max Nero, for a Terminator reference!

IC:

The scene reeked of a bad holovid. Asemir almost laughed at the absurdity. But the android seemed dead serious and absolutely sure, and even if the situation was completely crazy, Asemir had seen enough craziness in his life to know that sometimes craziness became reality. And you know what? His mind was itching, that familiar sensation of the Force giving him a heads-up warning that something was going to happen. Learn to trust your instincts. Forgotten Training 102. And so Asemir did.

"I'm not running," the Forgotten said. He unsheathed his songblade and activated his armor. The nanomachines crawled their way across his form, sealing him in a tough shell of armor. "But the alleyway is a terrible place to fight. It's too constricted." He glanced at the android and at the spacer and his companion. "What are we fighting anyways?"

[member="Max Nero"]
[member="Jack Raxis"]

 

[Max Nero]

A sound similar to dolphin clicking could be heard echoing down the alleyway. Max did not answer [member="Asemir Lor'kora"] outright. He simply listened to the sound and took a few cautious step in its direction. He waited a bit longer.

Negative 4 seconds...hmmm.

It seems that the intel hadn't been as solid as ARC hoped. Maybe they could actually just get away and avoid this altogether if the assailant was late. He turned back and said to Asemir,

"I don't kn---", but then he was attacked. A giant, dark, eel-like lurched out of the alleyway and enveloped his head with a large bite.

He staggered back a bit, but was otherwise unfazed. The teeth sunk into his skin and flesh, but did no actual damage to Max Nero himself or pierce the metal past his layer of synth-flesh. He started punching the eel on his head as it thrusted its eel body to the left and the right to try and knock him off balance and twist his neck.


[member="Jack Raxis"]

 

[H.A.R.D.L.I.N.E]

Hardline, had no idea what the kark was happening right now. He was walking down an alleyway, with a few people standing in it, and then a giant serpent thing shows up, not a normal situation. Hardline runs up to them, balster pistol drawn and takes a few shots at the creature.
"Anybody know what this this thing is?" He said to the group
This creature was not easily found in his memory, he would have to dig deeper, mabye call some people to contain the situation, he activated his commlink.
"This is Hardline, we need people here to contain this situation ASAP, we have a serpent creature thing and i dont want this getting to the residential district, is that clear?" He said over it
As he saaid that Longbow centcom would mobilize a few nearby trooper squads, and send some scientists as well, he got an ETA... 10 minutes till the troopers get here, he would have to hold out until then.
"If we can hold out 10 minutes i can get some troops on the ground, they hopefully can help us contain this situation." He said.
[member="Max Nero"]
[member="Asemir Lor'kora"]
[member="Jack Raxis"]

 

[RC 212]

[member="Asemir Lor'kora"] [member="Max Nero"] [member="H.A.R.D.L.I.N.E"]

Jacks draw dropped almost to the ground as he watched a giant squid eel come from no where. When it enveloped the strange cyborgs head he was suddenly torn between bolting and helping. Then there was the matter of the robo man himself, whom terrified the kark out of him. But there was something else.

Warrior instinct, raw and unleashed. A red haze dropped as Jacks internal alarms went off, fight or flight response pumping adrenaline into every inch of his being. The Besk'ad came out all the way with a resounding ring and he let his instinct take him. Boots pounded the street in furious beats and he sailed past Assemir.

One calloused hand gripped the slippery eel with the grip of steel. Two hundred pounds of muscle coiled and all his attention focused to a singular point, gripping the thing, which was wriggling wildy.

And once he had a grip.

He roared, letting his deep voice boom across the street and drew back his sword arm cocking the elbow. He calculated where the cyborgs head would be inside the creature maw, and then plunged the Besk'ad, letting razor sharp Mandalorian Steel meet the creatures strange flesh, just left of where he assumed cyborg man's noggin to be residing.

Twin strikes, fast and furious. They snapped back each time, velocity perfectly tempered, leaving his arm cocked for another blow.

 

[Max Nero]

The blaster shots made small pits against the Herald's tough skin and flecks of black goo blood bounced off the slippery skin.

As the swords stabbed deep, black Herald bile squirted and gushed from the wounds into [member="Jack Raxis"]' face. If it came into contact with open wounds, it would burn at sensitive nerve endings. However, if it just met skin, it would just be an incredibly foul mess. Either way, the gooey liquid could blind or obscure his vision.

The Herald screamed, but the stabbing seemed to make it mad and desperate. Max Nero tried punching the new head ornament, but that only served to make him lurch from side to side from the force of his own punches upon the eel-like body attached to him. Finally, he stopped punching and jabbed his fingers into the skin of the Herald. Max then released a current of electricity that scared off the Herald.

The Herald released its prey and backed off. Seeing its intended target nearby and figuring Max to be incapacitated with pain, the Herald hissed at Jack Raxis and [member="H.A.R.D.L.I.N.E"] and charged at [member="Asemir Lor'kora"].

 

[Asemir]

OOC:
That alternate font really messes up my mobile browser.

Also, are Heralds affected by the Force? I took a look, didn't see anything that indicates they're Force immune. If they are, please let me know and I'll change my post as necessary.

IC:
What the feth. Asemir thought he'd seen it all. Races of all types wielding mystical powers, propelling things with their minds. Alien species from another dimension trying to conquer the galaxy. Force spirits consuming the living. But, this, this was new. A giant eel creature coming out of nowhere? Great.

The Forgotten almost let out a tired sigh as the beast attacked the android, and then another as Jack leaped forward and hacked away at the thing. Part of him wanted to be done with this mess, to retire to some place quiet, maybe start a family (Ha! What a joke. He start a family? Yeah, right.), and otherwise get away from all this craziness. Sixty years of weirdness was enough. The galaxy could keep its insanity. He didn't want to have anything to do with it anymore.

But then the eel-alien-beast-thing spat out the android and turned its attention to Asemir. It roared as it charged forward, and the Forgotten executed a neat back flip out of the way. The Herald smashed head first into the side of the alley, sending dust and brick chips cascading down. It righted itself, found its target, roared, and charged forward again.

It hung, confused, in the air.

The Force was an amazing tool. Completely and utterly unfair on the modern battlefield. It turned otherwise normal people into gods. And yet, as limitless as it was, it still had to convey with some basic laws of physics, and one of those was the First Law.

The Herald was a large creature and packed a significant amount of mass behind its frame. Mass translated directly into inertia; it, after all, mass was one of the two variables that went into defining inertia. And inertia had to be overcome, if Asemir wanted to stop the Herald from crushing his body against the ferrocrete, even if he were to use something as mystical as the Force.

Asemir gritted his teeth as his mind trapped the Herald. He was braced against the inertia of the Herald, the Force having stopped the beast mid-air, holding the creature long enough to bleed its momentum. The Forgotten glanced at Jack and Max, seeing them regain their feet, and knew he had stalled the beast long enough.

He flung it against the wall, where it crashed again and finished the job of ruining the building's facade. The creature roared, probably more from anger than pain.

Asemir didn't waste words. He waded in through the cloud of dust, his songblade singing as it slashed through the air. Its molecular edge sliced effortlessly as one of the galaxy's finest blademasters went to work against this alien beast.

It would be messy. He'd hate to be one of the city's janitorial crew after this fight.

[member="Max Nero"]
[member="Jack Raxis"]
[member=H.A.R.D.L.I.N.E]

 

[Max Nero]

Max Nero's neck had a very large and wicked gash all around the circumference of his neck. It was infected and oozing very slowly with black gooey Herald bile. The bile was turning the touching snyth-flesh black and grey, but it didn't spread further than that because he didn't have a circulation.

The Herald thrashed against the unseen Force. It was getting very upset at its predicament. [member="Asemir Lor'kora"]'s blade would hack and slash with ease through the creature's flesh and tough skin in a mad flurry. When he lowered his blade, he would find that the eel had stopped moving, but the skin that now had many lacerations (though it passed through the fleshy skin itself) was only slightly bloodied from the attack. Before he did anything else, he would notice that the skin across the body was now beginning to rapidly rupture and deteriorate. Before he could jump or flinch away, an explosion came forth simultaneously from all of the gashes and lacerations on the Herald's body. The inner layer of thick skin caved from the lack of outer protection and the pressure of the insides.

The end result was the most disgusting explosive splattering of black goo and an assortment of ribs, organs and some type of cartilage. After about 5 seconds, the organs, ribs and cartilage (anything that wasn't already black goo) turned into more black goo. This left Asemir and a small portion of the alleyway thoroughly covered in black goo.

[member="H.A.R.D.L.I.N.E"]
[member="Jack Raxis"]

 

[Asemir]

OOC:
Do we need a posting order? Is it necessary?

Just posting something because I'm bored.

IC:
Gross.

That was Asemir's initial thought as he stood there, amidst the pool of black goo and body parts and fleshy bits. The ichor clung to the walls of the alleyway, dripping down in thick trails. His body was covered in the stuff, and his armor AI reported that the armor had held against the explosion of organic shrapnel. The nanomachines were slowly shedding the ooze from its surface.

Asemir stepped back from the mess, noting the squishy suction-like sounds of his footsteps as he moved through the puddle. He looked at the others who had witnessed the event. "What the feth was that?"

[member="Max Nero"]
[member="Jack Raxis"]
[member="H.A.R.D.L.I.N.E"]