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Topic Started: Nov 30 2016, 01:38 PM (256 Views)
Goten
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Tale-Spinner
[dohtml]<div align="center"><div style="width:600px;font-family:georgia;font-size:13px;text-align:justify;color:white;padding:3px;">At the bottom of the world, miles underneath the layers of snow, a dark hallway existed. Despite the dryness of the winter topside, this corridor was uncomfortably damp and filled with the pungent smell of mildew. The sound of an unchecked water drip could be heard somewhere within, drip, drip, dripping soundly before profoundly ending with a zing as it terminated on a piece of flimsy tin. From one end to the other, colossal chunks of caved-in rubble and machinery damaged beyond recognition barricaded the hallway, making it nearly impassable if not for the sporadically flickering light at the opposite end providing momentary light. Judging by the poor state of the hallway’s foundation and the thick veil of dust covering the spots where mold wasn’t present, it was easy to assume that this well-hidden place was abandoned with reason. Whatever that reason was, it wasn’t enough to keep one really determined fool from making his way into it.<br><br>
The fool squeezed and climbed through the rubble with the utmost care, though some of those unpredictably tight spots required him to use a bit more of his muscle than he wanted to in order to squeeze through. It probably would have made more sense for him to do away with his full winter gear before he made his attempt through the deteriorated obstacle course but more than halfway through now, he had no room to disrobe and the pack he was dragging behind him was already crammed to capacity. As he maneuvered a particularly angled corner, a jagged piece of metal caught his coat and sliced right through into the flesh of his arm. He cringed and inhaled a sharp breath through his clenched teeth as he recoiled from the pain but soon after continued on through the last lengths of the climb. At the end, the fool was met with his toughest hurdle yet; a heavy chunk of concrete that would not permit him to pass. It needed to be removed in order for him to proceed and quite frankly, it didn’t look like it was in any hurry to do so.<br><br>
In the little space that he could afford, the fool contorted his body in a manner that allowed him to swing his feet around so his booted soles could plant directly against the bulky side of the boulder. Grabbing ahold of the few pieces of rebar sticking out around him, he braced himself as he pressed out his legs and tried his damnedest to will that concrete to move. Nothing. That hunk of rock was stuck in there good. Securing his grip once again and sliding closer so he could get more extension out of his legs, he tried again. The man groaned and strained but for all his effort, the only thing that he gained was a pulled leg muscle and a sore back. His hand came up and pulled the concealing ski mask away from his mouth to allow him to breathe freely.<br><br>
“Ah hell,” he said between exhausted breaths. He didn’t have many options to remove the boulder and the ones that he did have weren’t exactly the safest. At this point, though, what choice did he have? Did he come all this way just to have his journey ended by a piece of stone? No. Was he dumb enough to go forward with one of those less-than-ideal options? Definitely.<br><br>
He pulled his pack close and working at the side of it, removed a small pistol from a holster. Sliding back as far as he could, the fool made space before taking aim at the rubble impeding his exit. He hesitated momentarily as the thought of the hallway collapsing around him brought about bad memories but ended up pulling the trigger anyway. A single shot of energy ripped from the barrel of his gun and collided with the concrete block, blowing it to pieces instantly. The residual force of the minor explosion caused the hallway around him to shake and in a moment of adrenaline-fueled panic, he grabbed his pack in his free hand and vaulted forward through the cleared path just as the claustrophobic deathtrap collapsed around him.<br><br>
As the dust settled, it was quite clear the fool hadn’t made it out of the crumbling catacomb in time; his arm that had reached back for his pack was entombed by tons of shifted earth and disturbed concrete. However, he did not cry in pain or show any expression that might have betrayed the relief that was presently written all over his face. In fact, the only sound that was expelled from him other than his quick breaths was an excited “woo!” in response to his unexpected safety. Arm trapped and all, he took a long moment and just flopped against the rubble beside him, resting against it until he could catch his breath.<br><br>
The pace of his breathing slowed; he was ready to continue. To the problem that his limb was most certainly mangled underneath the weight of the collapsed tunnel, he responded by simply slipping his free hand beneath the layer of his puffy, fur-lined jacket toward his opposite shoulder. A scowl of pain contorted his mouth as toyed about, the movement causing a squirt of blood to squish out of the cut in his jacket. After a bit of fumbling, a mechanical sound of disengagement followed and immediately after that, the fool was able to pull away from the wall with granted freedom. His arm, however, remained in the wall; it was revealed to be not a limb of flesh and bone but an extension of metal and machinery. It was false – nothing more than a lifeless reminder of what he had lost long ago.<br><br>
His blood slicked hand clumsily pushed his protective goggles off of his head which then freely fell to the floor with a clatter. That same hand pulled his mask completely up and over his head, revealing a crown of messy teal colored hair and a face reminiscent of a certain Saiyan Prince. It was no surprise that the fool in question was none other than Trunks, a man born to two of the most bullheaded people in the galaxy. The greater mystery was: why was he down in that Antarctic crypt in the first place? Once he gradually made it to his feet, he was free to continue down the hallway without much opposition other than the lack of light. Luckily, he had stowed a small flashlight in his jacket rather than the pack that was now pancaked a few meters behind him. Trunks clicked the flashlight on and made his way further into the deserted underground cliché.</div></div>[/dohtml]
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Goten
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Tale-Spinner
[dohtml]<div align="center"><div style="width:600px;font-family:georgia;font-size:13px;text-align:justify;color:white;padding:3px;">The sound of footfalls reverberating off the cold, empty walls kept Trunks company as he walked the desolate corridor. Every door that he came to, the Saiyan was quick to peek in and examine what was inside. It was quite clear that he was looking for something in particular. There were a few doors that needed a helpful shove from his shoulder to knock open but for the most part, they were wide open; the darkness within beckoning the man with a chilling welcome. The further into the facility, the darker it became. However, this particular darkness couldn’t be cut with the light from his flashlight – no, it covered the floors and lined the walls, obscuring everything in a touchable, tasteable black.<br><br>
It was soot. He could feel the residual smokiness of the char penetrating his lungs. There had been a great fire in this hallway at some point in its history, no doubt tied to the rest of the devastation that littered it. This place had been a certain type of hell but surprisingly enough, considering the vastness of the surrounding destruction, one would assume Trunks would have stumbled across a body by now. He hadn’t. He was the only soul, living or otherwise, that had a presence in those halls. By now, Trunks should have known to expect the unexpected when pursuing the monster known as Orion. <br><br>
The next door he pushed upon did not want to yield to his strength. Biting down on the flashlight as it was offered to his mouth, his hand of half dried blood came up to wipe away the black obscuring the nameplate at the top of the door. Beneath the smeared blood, it read “Infirmary” quite clearly. Again, he put his shoulder into the door and pushed against it. His feet slipped and slid on the blackened ash beneath them as he struggled to gain traction. The door eked open the tiniest bit and squealed as it did so but it was something. There was clearly something behind the door that was barricading it from the inside. As he continued to struggle, the obstruction continued to give away until Trunks had managed to force it open just enough for his body to slip through the threshold. <br><br>
Trunks dropped the flashlight back into his hand and shined it around the room. It was completely untouched by the fire that had desecrated the hallway but it wasn’t without its own trauma. Bodies. Many of them. They lined the hospital beds that were posted evenly along the Infirmary’s long walls, their features concealed underneath thin sheets but the prominent defining traits of their bodies were clearly able to be made out. Behind the door was another; female figure but everything aside from her full head of hair had been decayed beyond recognition. Just how old was this facility? How long ago had it met its fate? <br><br>
He turned his sight away from the woman. He had to; he couldn’t bear to look. He had seen so much death in his lifetime so one might twist that into believe that he was immune to the sight of it. It was quite the opposite – it hurt each and every time. It might have been his sensitivity to the subject given his current state of health but just looking at the haunting stillness of all those unseen people in their final resting places made Trunks feel claustrophobic. And nauseous beyond belief. At the end of the room, he saw the reason he forced his way into the Infirmary in the first place – a medicine cabinet. Hurriedly, he traversed the ominous path between the middle of two long rows of beds and immediately began to rummage through what little supplies remained the storage. His hand scrambled nervously, his actions and thoughts became a blur. <br><br>
The next thing he remembered, he was out in the burnt hallway again, leaning heavily against the wall beside the Infirmary door as panicked breaths breathed in dry, scorched air. In his hand, he held a half-used roll of gauze and a bottle of painkillers; somehow, his flashlight had found its way into his coat pocket. Although he was still recovering from his panic attack, or whatever one might call it, he was rational enough to resume his task. Trunks bumbled out of his coat, wincing as he pulled free his wounded arm from the sticky sleeve that housed it. Using mainly his teeth and some careful maneuvering, he was able to wrap the gauze in a loose cinch at the top of the slice gouged in his arm. From there, he repeatedly employed the same techniques to wrap his wound with the bandage as efficiently as he could manage without the use of his other arm. It wasn’t pretty – it wasn’t secure – but it looked like it would have to do. <br><br>
Before continuing on, he snapped off the cap to the painkillers and took a couple more than the recommended dose. The pain gave him something to focus on but sometimes, it was just too much to bear. The shivers started to set in as his adrenaline wore off and the chill of winter started to set in. Trunks wormed his way back into his bloodied jacket and continued further into the facility.
</div></div>[/dohtml]
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Goten
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Tale-Spinner
[dohtml]<div align="center"><div style="width:600px;font-family:georgia;font-size:13px;text-align:justify;color:white;padding:3px;">His feet left trails in the soot with each step, not unlike the ones you would find in the snow after a fresh snowfall. As Trunks rounded the corner at the end of the hall, something unexpected immediately caught his eye. Light. At the far end of this new hallway, a box of light illuminated through the glass face of a door composed of shadow. There were many reasons this could be but the most logical was that this room in particular was equipped with its own generator – was this the room he had been looking for? Another question he should have been asking himself was: the light is on, does that mean someone is home?<br><br>
Less cautiously than he should have, he closed the distance between him and the door; the sound of his heavy boots hitting the unclean floor announcing his approach long before he became visible in the window. Fortunately, no one was home. Trunks could see a room filled with scattered papers, monitors and command consoles, as well as empty, tipped over chairs that once sat the people who occupied this facility. This was it; this had to be the point of access he had been looking for. The security door opened easily enough with the press of the damaged button off to the side. Perhaps it was because of the ease of access that he didn’t notice – or spend the time to notice – the ragged, clawed markings raked down the front of the door, beneath the guise of darkness. <br><br>
The door shut behind him as fast as he could get into the room. He clicked his flashlight off and stowed it in his jacket pocket once again. Already, he was moving from station to station, jabbing at buttons on the mounted keyboards and consoles in an effort to wake the dormant machines. Dead. No power. Broken. Finally, in the middle of the defunct row, one station responded to his persistence; a sigh of relief fell out of the hitch in his throat as the machine before him hummed to life with a familiar buzz of electricity. As it awakened, he turned a chair over onto its legs with a groan and wheeled it close to console before taking a seat upon it. <br><br>
The screen slowly faded into existence; a command prompt waited patiently for instructions. As the cursor blinked repeatedly at a systematic pace, Trunks drew a blank. His fingers presently sat at the keys with every intention to type but found no instruction being sent to them by the Saiyan’s currently blank brain. As good as he was with fixing simple machinery and, surprisingly, entire spaceships, computer systems and the laws behind them were not his strong point. He wasn’t his mother – he couldn’t excel in everything technological. However, he wasn’t a complete failure when it came to them; Trunks would get the information he sought, it would just take him time. Lots of time. <br><br>
---<br><br>
Hours seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. Trunks remained at that console, pounding away at the keyboard with his sloppy, one-handed typing. The portrait painted before him composed of the information he had been able to gather was mostly complete but the whole of it still eluded him – much like those who can see the art before them but can’t feel the meaning behind it. He pulled his hand away from the keys to rub his fingers along the bridge of his nose, digging in close to the corners of his eyes to relieve the tension of eye strain that was overwhelming him. <br><br>
Nothing he had read through made any mention of Orion or the Collective. It made no sense; he was certain that this was one of the satellite facilities associated with the group. No virus. No eradication of all life in the Universe. Just – science. <br><br>
“Huh,” he half-grunted as he leaned back in the chair. His hand was away from his eyes now and they were open, blankly focused on the screen glowing in front of him as he tried to narrow his thoughts. It was just science. This kind of study into genetic modification and mutation was normal for him – normal for his time. But not this time. Not at this point in history. This was wildly imaginative theory currently brewing in the back of the minds of the brightest brains right now, barely functioning as a whole idea as opposed to the detailed explanation and data currently present in writing before his very eyes. When Trunks took into consideration the antiquated equipment of the facility and its state of abandonment, it was easy to assume that this data was at least a few years old – if not more. <br><br>
There was only one explanation as to how this level of science could exist here and now: time travel. He wasn’t the only one. Someone had come to this timeline, as well, and before he ever did, bearing the fruitful knowledge of the future as a gift. This knowledge – this line of research – could quite possibly be the seeds from which the annihilation of all things is born. <br><br>
Is this where it started? Is this why he failed so many times before? If the roots were planted long before he ever anticipated, it was no wonder he could never stop the destruction. He was doomed to watch everyone die before he ever had the chance to save them. This was the closest Trunks had ever been to saving them and yet, he was already too late. Anger and pain started to rise to the surface; his fingers clenched and scraped against the dried blood lining his palm. He could see the faces of all those he had lost, and will lose, screaming before him like a slideshow out of control. <br><br>
But. <br><br>
Just when he thought he was about to break, it came to him. Hope. There was still hope. Bulma was still alive. Chishan was, too. Trunks knew, no matter the odds, that both of them would still fight on regardless of the outcome. He couldn’t give up if they were still fighting. He needed to fight too. Even if he was broken, even if he was weak and dying, he would stand with them. He had to. <br><br>
The upturn in morale had him feeling a little better but all good things, as little as they might be, come to an end at some point. Some quicker than others. The screen before him where his various entered commands existed flickered and twisted, before spontaneously dispersing into the opaque darkness of a lifeless monitor. Though, if he looked close enough into the off-black, he thought he could see a face looking back at him from within. It could have just been his reflection. It might have been his imagination – but the feeling that he got when he stared at it was very real; someone was watching him and it made his skin crawl. <br><br>
Suddenly, the lights died in the command center and the entire room lost its definition in the absence of light. Still, though, he could see those eyes in the screen, staring back at him – even as the computer booted back up to a blank command prompt. Trunks shook his head; he was done here. Retrieving his flashlight from his coat pocket, he flicked it on and head back into the facility. He had found information about an alternate route out of the underground research station and figured that would be his best way out now that the entrance had collapsed. <br><br>
---<br><br>
Trunks had already turned his back and forced his way out of the security door. The blinking cursor pulsated timely on the screen as he departed. Slowly, one letter at a time, words were brought to life on the screen in steady, unmoving green. Solemn. Foreboding. <br><br>
“See you soon.” </div></div>[/dohtml]

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