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[OOC] Trigger Happy

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[OOC] Trigger Happy

Post by impudent_mugwump on Thu Dec 29, 2016 9:52 pm

why don't you run while you still can?
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CLOSING YOUR EYES IS NOTHING
BUT SURRENDER.

post 00 ; overview
post 01 ; plot
post 02 ; characters
post 03 ; memorial for the fallen
post 04 ; extra
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impudent_mugwump
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Re: [OOC] Trigger Happy

Post by impudent_mugwump on Sun Jan 01, 2017 5:39 pm

IT IS THE YEAR 2242 .
civilization has fallen
law and order have become twisted mutations
and society has regressed to become an almost fantastical dystopia —
— only it's not a dream
it's a nightmare
WAKE UP .


The world has run low on resources—it had started small, bit by bit, the string pulled a little tauter as each year passed.  It was gradual and slow, so unnoticeable, the differences so minuscule that no one even noticed.  A crumb gone from their rations was nothing to fret over.

No one noticed, that is, until the string had snapped.

And then, for a short time, chaos prevailed, the supreme overlord of all things living.  It was the worst Reign of Terror the world had ever seen.  Crime running rampant, desperation fueling people's veins, no one stepping a foot out of their house for fear of having a bullet lodged in their skull.

Abruptly, an iron fist crashed down in the form of an enigmatic body of rulers dubbed simply the Government, with new ordinances and new rules, a tyrant little better than the catastrophe before it.  Their new policies, they said, were performed to keep their race alive as long as possible in the most efficient method and the least resources spent—systems claimed to be executed in the best interests of the human species.

But with how inhumane the Government is, can they even be called humans anymore?

For the first and primary edict is this:



0.001 : Carry about life within restrictions listed in regulation volumes 1 through 17.5, foremost this: at the age of eighteen, all persons excepting those accepted into positions in Government or chosen as Breeders are to be euthanized painlessly to reduce the materials lost to sustain the population's lives.
Translation?  Regardless of who you are, exceptions being those listed above, you are to be killed the moment you turn eighteen.  


the dangerous .
they're called the Triggers
they're what happens when the human body adapts
they're the result of a too-strong will to simply survive
they're abominations and there are prices on their heads
stay away, because they're dangerous.

they're out for their lives
how far are they willing to go to keep them?

the Triggers :

You're scared.

There's no other way around it.  But, then again, put into your shoes, who wouldn't be?  Knocked unconscious and taken out of your home, stripped from all protections and chances of help simply because the gleaming badges on your captor's chests mark them as Government officials, and now immobilized.

There's the feeling of cold, unyielding metal beneath your back and stiff bonds cuffing you to the surface of the table.  Bright lights gleam tauntingly from the ceiling, blinding you every time you so much as glimpse too closely in their direction.  Sweat is beading on your forehead, the result of the combination of overwhelming heat and overwhelming fear.

You knew this was coming.  Everyone did.  From a young age, so young you can't even remember, you were allowed to live your life independently within the confines the Government set, because you only had eighteen years to enjoy.  And now, those eighteen years are up.

They're coming back, but now they're dressed in heavy suits and masks that cover their entire face.  The one in the front is holding a long, daunting shrine in his right hand, and then you inhale a shuddering, raspy breath, trying to seek comfort in the robotic and hidden faces of the officials.

There is none.

Nothing except the gleaming tip of the needle drawing closer to a vein in your arm.  And then it breaks the skin, and all of a sudden you freeze and your mind is exploding and you're choking on air and still managing to scream and thrashing to no avail and nodon'tletthem don'tletthemdothis no stopstopstop it'stoolate butnoitcan'tbetheend—

A color explodes in your vision.

Red, not black.

And then you somehow manage to tear through previously rigid metal, a bestial cry tearing out of your throat, and your heart is pumping faster and more strongly than it ever has before.  It gives no sign of stopping soon, and you've never felt more alive despite death already flowing in your blood.

You don't know how long you stay like this, an animal without control, an animal savoring freedom after having it torn so cruelly away from you.  But then the scarlet is fading gradually, an internal string slackening, and you reach out an arm to steady yourself against a wall torn almost in half.

Did you do that?

There's a featherlight touch on your shoulder, and you tense.  Though immediately after you relax, because either the person touching you is supremely good at masking their killing intent or they genuinely mean no harm.  

It seems to be the latter.

"It's okay," they're whispering, cooing, drawing you into the comfort of their arms, and suddenly you're tired and you don't resist.  "We're going to get out of here."

They pull you in closer, close enough that their hot breath tickles your ear.  

"We're going to get out of here."



the guardians .
they're called the Exterminators
they're known by many names, heroes most predominantly
they're the strong in a city of weak
they're the saviors who are going to rid the world of those pests
come closer, because they will keep you safe

they're out for blood
how far are they willing to go to get it?

the Exterminators:

How dare they.  How dare they.  It's all you can think as you storm through the halls in a furious frenzy, legs churning much more forcefully than they need to and heart thumping erratically in your chest.  You're angry—no, angry is much too nice.  You're positively livid, and if the raw negative emotion you feel was dynamite you're sure you'd have enough to blow up the galaxy.

Eighteen years of your life.

That's how much you gambled for a desperate hope that you might be able to survive.  That's how long you spent in complete and utter misery just so you can live when others less durable can't.  Quite literally, from the time you were born you were taken into training and then sorted.

You, alone, were strong.  

Everyone else?  Abandoned into the streets.  The Government has no use for those who are weak.

Not only are you strong, but you are also the strongest.  Those meant for different paths were sent into less taxing careers where they pore over paperwork day and night—tedious, definitely, but nowhere near as agonizing as the path you were sent on.  A path where they ground your bones to rock, where they strengthened your muscles to iron, where every aspect of you was groomed and trained and burned and welded into utter perfection.

You're not going to lie.

It had hurt.  The pain had long ago faded though, along with everything else.  Now the only thing keeping you going is that you're strong, everyone else is not.  You earned where you were, and the thought fills your chest with a fierce sort of pride, a lively flame that keeps itself lit even in the darkest of times.

But now?  You were undermined.

Eighteen years magically shrunken to nothing.  Those rats in the street, the ones marked for death and bearing an invisible brand that you do not: they are supposed to die.  That is their only purpose.  You're glad to see it through, because you feel like you're elevated.  You posses something they do not, and, out here, it's a cruel world.

Survival of the fittest.

The strong live.  The weak die.

But, somehow, for some reason you cannot fathom, some of those rats managed to dodge the inevitable mouse trap.  They had gotten their brittle necks out of the sharp teeth just barely in time, escaping by the skin of their teeth.  A close shave, extremely close, but it is still an escape nonetheless.

And you're furious.

They had gotten their grimy hands on something that you traded nearly two decades of blood, sweat, and tears for as easily as that.  Not only did they manage to prolong their pathetic lives just that much longer, they also now have something you do not.  

Powers.  Something volatile and unexplainable but there nonetheless.  An advantage in a game that they shouldn't be in.

You bite your lip out of habit and then turn to the window, glancing out the ash-stained glass to the crumbling city on the outside.  Millions have succumbed to this vicious, bloodthirsty cycle, and yet a few dozen, if even that, have not.  The tiniest blip on an otherwise flawless screen.  A little shiver to send the entire hierarchy crashing down.

It's enough to make your blood boil.

You're going to kill them.

You'll make sure of it.


IT IS THE YEAR 2242 .
the Triggers, possessing powers they cannot control, are on the run.
the Exterminators, chasing them down with vengeance running in their veins, are on the chase.
there are two groups: the hunters and the hunted.
there's a choice: do or die
but are they one in the same?  
are they really predators and prey, as they're so convinced they are?  
or are they both pawns in a cruel game that the Government is watching?
exactly how much will it take for them to see the truth beyond the lies?
OPEN YOUR EYES .
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Re: [OOC] Trigger Happy

Post by impudent_mugwump on Thu Jan 05, 2017 8:18 pm

note: for now, there's a tentative cap of seven characters per roleplayer.
reservations aren't necessary (thank god); just post in the profile thread when you're ready and i'll add the names in accordingly.  i trust you all.


the Triggers .
Their powers are broad, nothing so specific such as "the ability to know where their significant other is at all times".  Their abilities seem to fit the situation they're stuck in, and, though they do not know it, are triggered by a particular emotion and when they're feeling it noticeably strongly.  Emotions are rarely, if ever, positive emotions and lie more in the range of fear or fury or guilt or heartbreak (for example), rather than, say, happiness.

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the Exterminators .
They are what society calls the elite.  They're the cream of the crop, the best of the best, the tip of the top.  Their skills encompass a wide range, from sharpshooting to hand-to-hand combat and everything in between.  They're cold-blooded killers . . . at least, that's what they want you to believe.  That's their reputation.  But no one knows what they're actually like.  Just maybe, they might have a heart.

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Re: [OOC] Trigger Happy

Post by impudent_mugwump on Thu Jan 05, 2017 8:20 pm

if ppl die i'll make this post pretty and commemorate them
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Re: [OOC] Trigger Happy

Post by impudent_mugwump on Thu Jan 05, 2017 8:20 pm

extra
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Re: [OOC] Trigger Happy

Post by impudent_mugwump on Thu Jan 05, 2017 8:20 pm

AYYY ITS OPEN
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Re: [OOC] Trigger Happy

Post by Snowman on Thu Jan 05, 2017 8:23 pm

that memorial to the fallen
10/10
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Re: [OOC] Trigger Happy

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