Post by Ivy on Apr 18, 2016 1:00:36 GMT -9
A/N: Overhauled plot, but I'm trying to capture the spirits of the original. Have fun narrating this Masked
---
Prologue: Storm Warning
I blow into the wind as I release my cigarette from the sweet bondage of my rough, dry lips. The fire at the tip of the cigar being the only light source, asides from the view of the neon city lights, contrasting with the smoky, dark, night sky. Smokes fly into the air as if they are physical metaphor of my memories.
I'm probably not the only man reminiscing on a balcony with a cigarette in hand here. After all, this city used to be so vivid--a symbol of advancement. A symbol of independence. But now even when it should be day, the sun's rays can't reach the place. The horizon and beyond are hidden by the gray wall of smokes from industry, and other sinister buildings that make you curious--but chase you away with the grim, foreboding feelings.
In a country, there's a government--there are laws. But here, in our very, very 'beloved' PPR city, the laws can't protect anyone... Gangs, mafias, corrupted cops, slightly decent cops--it's all one man for himself. Or maybe one group for themselves, if you want any hope of some sort of 'cooperation' here. I was a 'slightly decent cop', all right. But a week ago was when that ended. And other than people, there are... 'them'. I guess you could call them zombies. They're always hiding out in alleyways--in the darkest corners. You don't want to be alone in an alleyway.
The folks that have to stay in this literal hell on Earth are all so unfortunate-looking. I'm one of the few people who have clean clothes, and a real house, though I'm staying at someone else's right now. Sometimes, I see children who wear their school uniforms only because they have nothing else. Sometimes, I see unfortunate women heading out to work in the dead of the night--short dress, and stilettos. A few times, they've tripped over their heels right in front of me, their legs raised--and guess whose eyes are permanently stung by the private hives of dem queen bees. Yeesh.
It's impossible to leave the city without getting caught in crossfire on the streets, and some groups who claim 'turfs' for themselves just can't bare to see anyone passing by. If I wanted to leave, I'd have. I'd be out and headed for Alternia City if I wanted to. I should be out of PPR City by now. But there's something keeping me down from truly ditching the hellhole.
"Together, I promise we will liberate PPR!" I tip my hat as the promise came back to me. I can't stop thinking about the old me. The old, wide-eyed, idealistic me. 5 years has passed since the time when my heart was truly pure. I quickly lost hope just like my former companions, and in the end, I'm a hollow, cynical shell of my former self.
PPR City needed a hero. But no one is flawless enough to deserve the position. But no one else, but me is dedicated enough to try.
Promises are like mental shackles, with morals as their links. Once you make them, you just can't bring yourself to break them.
"Dalek," a subdued voice of a mysterious female calls out to me. I press my cigarette against the surface of the railing, rubbing out the fire against it, before flicking the tubular object into the ashtray set besides. My eyes turn to meet the woman's dulled gray eyes. "Are you ready? We're heading out in a few minutes."
This lovely vixen's name here--her name is Ivy. No surname from her. Just call me Ivy--that's all she said. In noir fiction, she's straight 'Mysterious Woman' trope. Dressed in a black, finely-tailored blazer over a white shirt, and a red, plaid skirt--ooh, and the black stockings to really put the emphasis on her legs. Her shoes are a pair of red Mary Jane. Well-trimmed, clean, flat bangs in the front, and to the side--long mysterious veil of locks in the back. Clearly a woman way more well off than others. Women who get to dress cleanly like her are rare in PPR's current state.
It's not a good idea to trust someone who reveals so little about themselves, but if they saved you from certain death, then asked you to 'work with them', I guess you'd have to gradually put some trust in them immediately. Want to know how we met? It was last week. That's right, when I was still a cop.
Dressed in blue, a cap rested on my head, a rusty badge that we, the 'good cops' all present proudly on our chest, and a name tag. My name is Masked Dalek. 'Masked' is a helluva weird first name, so I definitely prefer being called 'Dalek', thanks.
A squad of four, me and three other hard-boiled cops were chasing down grave robbers. You probably wonder what would they do with dead bodies, and given how this is a city polluted with newly-invented narcotics and other bad substances you don't want to get within the radius of, here's my answer; really bad shit.
I was the driver during the chase, and it was easy enough to keep on the grave robbers' tail. Plus it was difficult to lose sight of them since they drove a big ass truck to carry the weight of their sins, and level of jackassery. Digging the graves of corpses that have already been put to rest is disrespectful as hell, and I wanted to bury the grave robbers myself once I killed them.
Then the chase stopped at a warehouse. After so many twists and turns that I lost count, the truck slammed right into the warehouse--the images of falling debris and steel slabs are still vivid and clear in my head. If we parked or slowed down, we'd have been locked out of the warehouse. So we drove in before the slabs could seal off the entrance, but that was probably the worst move I've ever made in my life. Because next thing that happened was we were greeted by an onslaught of gunfire from automated turrets. Rain of bullets were chasing us like we were a laser beam, and the bullets were ferocious kittens. "Shit, shit!" or some variations there of--those were my thoughts at the time. Then, the truck came right at us at so much force--such high speed... we were then in the air.
I don't know what happened next, but I woke up covered in dark blue substance, and a woman--you guessed it--Ivy--standing right before me. My sight was blurry at the time, so all I could see was my mysterious savior. In the blurry distance was definitely a wreckage. "Can you see me?" Weird question she asked was my thought at the time. She probably meant to ask if I was alright or something.
"Yes, of course, I'm not blind. Or short-sighted."
"Don't start abusing your wits after your companions were just freshly slaughtered by turret fire. You're lucky I had business in this warehouse," she pulled on a pair of black, rubber gloves with her mouth. Then her bare hands closed in on my eyes. That was why she asked the question she did just now.
Oh, and the part about my companions. Yeah. I'm used to that.
I winced. "What are you doing?"
"Checking for side-effects," she murmured. "Common side-effects from the substance I poured all over your half-dead body are blindness, change in blood color, and... other unexpected mutations, if you're too 'dead' for the substance to work." She stopped fiddling with my face, took off her gloves, then... sanitized her hands in front of my eyes. Of course, maybe she was afraid of some sort of infections, but I was pretty sure she was disgusted by my face. "I'm surprised you were still breathing--even a little--after that. You're tougher than you look."
I wasn't in the right state to ask her about the substance she used on me, but I'm not blind, not sure about my blood color, and the mutation thing... Eh, not sure, too. But... no blindness, so I was sure I'm fine.
I wanted to get up, and talk to her standing up like a normal person, but I was too injured to. "Why, thank you. 5 years of being a cop in this city will do that to you. I'm surprised you don't have the sense of humor I do, too. Haven't been here long?"
Icy glares can't cut my heart--sorry, lady. But she tried, anyway. "Trust me, I've been here for so, so long I can't even laugh at my own misery anymore," she frowned even harder. Honestly, it said a lot about her when that was the clearest part about her face right now. My first impression of her was a mysterious savior, all right. And a very, very grumpy lady at that. "I hope you're grateful about being saved. I'm gonna ask you a favor."
"Huh? Already?" I chuckled. "Well, speak up."
"I'm going to ask you to work with me," she got up, turning her back to me. A shame she was wearing opaque stockings, because I got a rather good view down here. That wasn't important, but I thought I would mention it. "The substance I used on you is something I'm looking into. There's a mafia gang that's been developing a new sort of substance lately. There are many crates of this substance here."
How many time was she going to use the word 'substance'? "Name it. I don't want hear you use 'substance' again."
"The mafia has a placeholder name for the substance--" Oh for fuck's sake! "Ambrosia. As you might guess, they want to develop a substance that grant immortality."
So back to the present. Long story short, a mysterious lady saved my ass after I stupidly drove my squad's car into a warehouse after a truck. Now, I'm working with her to stop a mafia group named 'Morphine'.
That was a long flashback, and I'm pretty sure I left out a few details. Still, that was all you needed to know. "Of course I am," I tip my hat. Though next, I frown because-- "Where were we going again?" Yes. I was so lost in thoughts I forgot what me and Ivy were going out for.
I'm sharp, but sometimes, I fall asleep in my train of thoughts, then the passenger; me, miss the station he was supposed to get off at. And I could tell Ivy is exasperated about that, her eyes narrowing, her lips curling into an annoyed frown. "... we are going to see my friend, Olivia, remember?"
Oh, right. I remember now. She certainly told me more about Olivia than herself, that's for sure, but her friend's full name is 'Olivia Meepster'. A paleontologist who got caught in the mafia bullshit, too. "The chick with the weird surname? She's hiding out in an abandoned museum 30 minutes drive away from here, right?"
"You answered your own question," Ivy dryly replies. "Now, let's stop wasting time. I'm going to go start my car. Go take a dump if you have to, and hurry." She walks off without further words, leaving me at least 1 minute of silence to think about possibilities.
My heart aches as I suddenly heard a thunder sounds in the distance. It's gonna rain on the way, too?
We've got a storm coming.
---
Prologue: Storm Warning
I blow into the wind as I release my cigarette from the sweet bondage of my rough, dry lips. The fire at the tip of the cigar being the only light source, asides from the view of the neon city lights, contrasting with the smoky, dark, night sky. Smokes fly into the air as if they are physical metaphor of my memories.
I'm probably not the only man reminiscing on a balcony with a cigarette in hand here. After all, this city used to be so vivid--a symbol of advancement. A symbol of independence. But now even when it should be day, the sun's rays can't reach the place. The horizon and beyond are hidden by the gray wall of smokes from industry, and other sinister buildings that make you curious--but chase you away with the grim, foreboding feelings.
In a country, there's a government--there are laws. But here, in our very, very 'beloved' PPR city, the laws can't protect anyone... Gangs, mafias, corrupted cops, slightly decent cops--it's all one man for himself. Or maybe one group for themselves, if you want any hope of some sort of 'cooperation' here. I was a 'slightly decent cop', all right. But a week ago was when that ended. And other than people, there are... 'them'. I guess you could call them zombies. They're always hiding out in alleyways--in the darkest corners. You don't want to be alone in an alleyway.
The folks that have to stay in this literal hell on Earth are all so unfortunate-looking. I'm one of the few people who have clean clothes, and a real house, though I'm staying at someone else's right now. Sometimes, I see children who wear their school uniforms only because they have nothing else. Sometimes, I see unfortunate women heading out to work in the dead of the night--short dress, and stilettos. A few times, they've tripped over their heels right in front of me, their legs raised--and guess whose eyes are permanently stung by the private hives of dem queen bees. Yeesh.
It's impossible to leave the city without getting caught in crossfire on the streets, and some groups who claim 'turfs' for themselves just can't bare to see anyone passing by. If I wanted to leave, I'd have. I'd be out and headed for Alternia City if I wanted to. I should be out of PPR City by now. But there's something keeping me down from truly ditching the hellhole.
"Together, I promise we will liberate PPR!" I tip my hat as the promise came back to me. I can't stop thinking about the old me. The old, wide-eyed, idealistic me. 5 years has passed since the time when my heart was truly pure. I quickly lost hope just like my former companions, and in the end, I'm a hollow, cynical shell of my former self.
PPR City needed a hero. But no one is flawless enough to deserve the position. But no one else, but me is dedicated enough to try.
Promises are like mental shackles, with morals as their links. Once you make them, you just can't bring yourself to break them.
"Dalek," a subdued voice of a mysterious female calls out to me. I press my cigarette against the surface of the railing, rubbing out the fire against it, before flicking the tubular object into the ashtray set besides. My eyes turn to meet the woman's dulled gray eyes. "Are you ready? We're heading out in a few minutes."
This lovely vixen's name here--her name is Ivy. No surname from her. Just call me Ivy--that's all she said. In noir fiction, she's straight 'Mysterious Woman' trope. Dressed in a black, finely-tailored blazer over a white shirt, and a red, plaid skirt--ooh, and the black stockings to really put the emphasis on her legs. Her shoes are a pair of red Mary Jane. Well-trimmed, clean, flat bangs in the front, and to the side--long mysterious veil of locks in the back. Clearly a woman way more well off than others. Women who get to dress cleanly like her are rare in PPR's current state.
It's not a good idea to trust someone who reveals so little about themselves, but if they saved you from certain death, then asked you to 'work with them', I guess you'd have to gradually put some trust in them immediately. Want to know how we met? It was last week. That's right, when I was still a cop.
Dressed in blue, a cap rested on my head, a rusty badge that we, the 'good cops' all present proudly on our chest, and a name tag. My name is Masked Dalek. 'Masked' is a helluva weird first name, so I definitely prefer being called 'Dalek', thanks.
A squad of four, me and three other hard-boiled cops were chasing down grave robbers. You probably wonder what would they do with dead bodies, and given how this is a city polluted with newly-invented narcotics and other bad substances you don't want to get within the radius of, here's my answer; really bad shit.
I was the driver during the chase, and it was easy enough to keep on the grave robbers' tail. Plus it was difficult to lose sight of them since they drove a big ass truck to carry the weight of their sins, and level of jackassery. Digging the graves of corpses that have already been put to rest is disrespectful as hell, and I wanted to bury the grave robbers myself once I killed them.
Then the chase stopped at a warehouse. After so many twists and turns that I lost count, the truck slammed right into the warehouse--the images of falling debris and steel slabs are still vivid and clear in my head. If we parked or slowed down, we'd have been locked out of the warehouse. So we drove in before the slabs could seal off the entrance, but that was probably the worst move I've ever made in my life. Because next thing that happened was we were greeted by an onslaught of gunfire from automated turrets. Rain of bullets were chasing us like we were a laser beam, and the bullets were ferocious kittens. "Shit, shit!" or some variations there of--those were my thoughts at the time. Then, the truck came right at us at so much force--such high speed... we were then in the air.
I don't know what happened next, but I woke up covered in dark blue substance, and a woman--you guessed it--Ivy--standing right before me. My sight was blurry at the time, so all I could see was my mysterious savior. In the blurry distance was definitely a wreckage. "Can you see me?" Weird question she asked was my thought at the time. She probably meant to ask if I was alright or something.
"Yes, of course, I'm not blind. Or short-sighted."
"Don't start abusing your wits after your companions were just freshly slaughtered by turret fire. You're lucky I had business in this warehouse," she pulled on a pair of black, rubber gloves with her mouth. Then her bare hands closed in on my eyes. That was why she asked the question she did just now.
Oh, and the part about my companions. Yeah. I'm used to that.
I winced. "What are you doing?"
"Checking for side-effects," she murmured. "Common side-effects from the substance I poured all over your half-dead body are blindness, change in blood color, and... other unexpected mutations, if you're too 'dead' for the substance to work." She stopped fiddling with my face, took off her gloves, then... sanitized her hands in front of my eyes. Of course, maybe she was afraid of some sort of infections, but I was pretty sure she was disgusted by my face. "I'm surprised you were still breathing--even a little--after that. You're tougher than you look."
I wasn't in the right state to ask her about the substance she used on me, but I'm not blind, not sure about my blood color, and the mutation thing... Eh, not sure, too. But... no blindness, so I was sure I'm fine.
I wanted to get up, and talk to her standing up like a normal person, but I was too injured to. "Why, thank you. 5 years of being a cop in this city will do that to you. I'm surprised you don't have the sense of humor I do, too. Haven't been here long?"
Icy glares can't cut my heart--sorry, lady. But she tried, anyway. "Trust me, I've been here for so, so long I can't even laugh at my own misery anymore," she frowned even harder. Honestly, it said a lot about her when that was the clearest part about her face right now. My first impression of her was a mysterious savior, all right. And a very, very grumpy lady at that. "I hope you're grateful about being saved. I'm gonna ask you a favor."
"Huh? Already?" I chuckled. "Well, speak up."
"I'm going to ask you to work with me," she got up, turning her back to me. A shame she was wearing opaque stockings, because I got a rather good view down here. That wasn't important, but I thought I would mention it. "The substance I used on you is something I'm looking into. There's a mafia gang that's been developing a new sort of substance lately. There are many crates of this substance here."
How many time was she going to use the word 'substance'? "Name it. I don't want hear you use 'substance' again."
"The mafia has a placeholder name for the substance--" Oh for fuck's sake! "Ambrosia. As you might guess, they want to develop a substance that grant immortality."
So back to the present. Long story short, a mysterious lady saved my ass after I stupidly drove my squad's car into a warehouse after a truck. Now, I'm working with her to stop a mafia group named 'Morphine'.
That was a long flashback, and I'm pretty sure I left out a few details. Still, that was all you needed to know. "Of course I am," I tip my hat. Though next, I frown because-- "Where were we going again?" Yes. I was so lost in thoughts I forgot what me and Ivy were going out for.
I'm sharp, but sometimes, I fall asleep in my train of thoughts, then the passenger; me, miss the station he was supposed to get off at. And I could tell Ivy is exasperated about that, her eyes narrowing, her lips curling into an annoyed frown. "... we are going to see my friend, Olivia, remember?"
Oh, right. I remember now. She certainly told me more about Olivia than herself, that's for sure, but her friend's full name is 'Olivia Meepster'. A paleontologist who got caught in the mafia bullshit, too. "The chick with the weird surname? She's hiding out in an abandoned museum 30 minutes drive away from here, right?"
"You answered your own question," Ivy dryly replies. "Now, let's stop wasting time. I'm going to go start my car. Go take a dump if you have to, and hurry." She walks off without further words, leaving me at least 1 minute of silence to think about possibilities.
My heart aches as I suddenly heard a thunder sounds in the distance. It's gonna rain on the way, too?
We've got a storm coming.