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Like a G6; Open for gropin'
Topic Started: Jul 5 2011, 10:39 AM (423 Views)
Kitten
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Bubbly Wubbly
((Wallace Cotton start))

Well. This was a lot to process.

Wallace put his hand behind his back, feeling the wings that had erupted there not moments ago. Weird, to be sure, but he was confident that he could get used to them. Grow to love them, even.

He flexed one a little, marvelling at how powerful the muscles in his back now felt. Was he ripped everywhere, now? Wallace lifted up his shirt. He wasn’t.

It wasn’t as if people’d be looking at his abs (or, admittedly, lack thereof) though, was it? Not when he had six feet of feathers sprouting from his shoulder blades, they wouldn’t.

He turned, looking for a mirror.

Because cubicle farms were just full of them. Woah there, nice thinking Wallace.

He settled on a window. It wasn’t great, by any means, but it was reflective enough.

We looked amazing. He wasn’t a handsome man, by any means, but with the wings he looked... he looked awesome, even majestic. Christ, he was a fucking angel. Sure, he was trapped in a death tower. Sure, he was at the mercy of an army of boredom-crazed aliens, and sure his only ally was a murderous crack dealer, but fuck yes! He was an angel!

Although now that he thought about it, those other things really did sound pretty bad. Shit.

Still, he just had to survive, right? Survive, and walk up some stairs. Wallace had been doing both of those for over 20 years, he was practically an expert. Shit, he’d walked up 17 storeys when his elevator had been out the other day, and that had been before he could fucking fly.

9 measly storeys, and untold riches would be his, not to mention a never-ending parade of christian pussy.

My child, I am a messenger of the Lord, and I bring to you the seed of our Father.

The seed of our father? Yeah, that’s a winner, Wallace. If there’s one thing chicks dig, it’s wing-ed guys being vaguely incestuous.

Or did they? “Daddy issues” was a phrase that came to Wallace’s mind. The meaning of it eluded him, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with women being easy. Was that something that Christian girls had? Would the angel thing work on agnostics too? Or atheists? Or Muslims? Was this really the time to be thinking about that?

Wallace would have plenty of time to think up awesome pick up lines when he was chilling with his untold riches.

Speaking of, he’d need to get moving if he wanted to get his hands on those. His partner, some kind of dealeress in a cowboy hat, was nowhere in sight from where Wallace was standing, but perhaps if he took to the air he could spot-

“Oi, cuntflaps.”

Wallace turned, fast. One of his wings knocked a lamp off a desk.

His partner was standing there, gun in hand and unimpressed look on face. She was taller than him.

“So it looks like you’re my fuckin’ partner an’ all. Make ya fuckin’ fairy wings useful, why don’t ya, an’ fly about a bit, yeah? See if ye can spot any of them nasty cunts that are runnin’ about, tryin’ ta fuckin’ kill us.”

That was a lot of swearing, to say the least. Wallace was pretty sure he’d never actually heard the word “cunt” said by anyone outside of the movies, and certainly never by a woman. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

“Oi, shit-for-brains! Are ye deaf as well as short?”

Wallace wasn’t deaf.

“I’m... uhh... I’m not deaf.”

“Just fuckin’ stupid, then?”

Was he stupid? Wallace didn’t even know. God, this woman was intimidating!

“Umm... I don’t think so...”

“Hey, stupid’s fine, longs as ya do what I fuckin’ say. Now get a fuckin’ move on, yeah? Bad things happen to cunts who keep me waiting.”

Wallace didn’t doubt it.

“I’m... I’m on it.”
Nice one, Wallace. Sound more like a whimpering little child, why don’t you. Still, actions spoke louder than words. He’d just get a move on, and prove that he wasn’t a complete pussy.

Y’know, ideally. Failing that, he’d flap his way out of there.

Either way, Wallace needed to be airborne. He unfurled his wings. Time to fly.
Edited by Kitten, Jul 6 2011, 02:04 AM.
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Kitten
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Bubbly Wubbly
((Maireen McCannagh start (kinda)))

So this little shit was her partner? Christ. The kid already looked like he was a shout away from shitting himself, and fuck all had even happened yet.

Still, the wings were pretty cool. Maireen watched as the idiot took flight, narrowly avoiding crashing into a wall. He was ungainly, but she supposed he’d improve.

He’d better.

With him out of the way, Maireen could get to dealing with the crowds. People were scared, running and screaming all over the place. They all looked weak and terrifed, but that wasn’t exactly hard to fake. Some of them might be mercenaries. Some of them might be rival competitors. All of them were expendable.

She checked her ammo. There was a lot of it.

No need to take unnecessary risks, was there? If any of these people were a potential threat, the chaos was an excellent time to eliminate them. If not? Unfortunate, but also unavoidable.

They were under an alien fucking attack, she reasoned. The cunts were probably going to die anyway.

Maireen put in ear plugs, then began to fire into the crowds around her, targeting anyone who looked threatening. When she ran out of threats, she started choosing targets at random. It was better to be safe than sorry, after all.

She reloaded. A woman was praying in a corner. Maireen shot her in the neck.

“Here, speak ta Him face-ta-face.”

Was she meant to have said that before she shot the bitch? Damn, that made a lot more sense. Maireen sighed. Ahh, fuck it. It was still an awesome line.

No one else seemed to be enjoying themselves. Cheer the fuck up, office drones, this’ got to be the most interesting thing ever to happen around here It was hard to tell with the ear plugs, but Maireen was fairly sure there was a lot of screaming. Fucking good. There was nothing worse than having one’s work go unrecognized.

Her twat of a partner was nowhere in sight. If he’d gone and gotten himself killed already, Maireen would - well, she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d do. Probably something unspeakable to his corpse.
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((Herbert Pinkernickle / Earl Dinkledge start))

Herbert watched, despondently, as the three foot seven midget tore through the boardroom with all the viciousness of a starving terrier. The once firm oak table was looking increasingly shaky and not a single chair had remained in one piece.

"It's a travesty ta be sure!" Came a metallic sing-song voice to his right.

Herbert looked down at his new companion glumly, patting the whirling roomba which had taken up residence next to his sitting place on the floor. "I suppose you're right. It could be worst, and this is certainly a change from the usual pace of work I can say that much."

The robot bleeped in agreement.

Another loud roar (accompanied by a shrill scream from the other side of the table) and the masked dwarf was grabbing his admittedly poorly fitted shirt by the collar and shaking him back and forth.

"Och Laddie! Din ya know that we going to head over to thar yonder corridor an take yer wee robot with ye. We'll be haven' no havering with ye!"

Herbert looked blankly at the luchador.

Exasperated, Earl thumped the roomba before pointing to the open door beyond the room where several Saxon Hale employees ran screaming past. "Get ye, to thar corridor!"

Slowly Herbert got to his feet and for a fleeting instance he thought; well why don't I just hit this man on the head and leave? A second glance at the furious little man made him rethink his course of action. Earl probably had more muscle on his arms that Herbert had in his entire body. Dusting off his pants he picked up the roomba. "Well come on Seamus, we best listen."

Earl nodded as Herbert started moving and barreled under the table only to appear out the other second less than a second later and burst through the doorway in to the corridor.

"Look at him go!" sang the roomba as Herbert made his way out to the corridor. The once steady stream of employees who were running had trickled down to one or two. The roar of gunfire up ahead made Herbert flinch but the man he was following seemed to pay it no heed, hurrying in that direction as fast as his little legs could take him. He followed in Earl's footsteps, gingerly stepping over a body as the gunfire began to get closer and closer.

"Um, excuse me, Mr. Dinkledge sir?" Herbert spoke as the bodies became more frequent. "I don't think we should be heading this way."

The wrestler didn't even turn around.

"Nay Laddie! Where's there's gun fire there's a match." Earl mused for a moment. "Maybe a bass player or two ta break apart." Rounding the corner Earl came across the source of the commotion. A fiery red headed lady who was in the process of putting bullets in every available target she could see. Earl whipped his nipple cape back majestically one hand on his pistol the other flexing. He had a hankering for fighting right now and he wasn't sure if he cared who it was with. Anything to start a brawl. Taking a deep breath he roared at woman.

"Are ye one of those musician type lasses? Cause if ye are, you'll be playing a dirge tonight!"
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Dropbear
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Team 08 (Zephyr/Newman) Start

Maxwell was quite confused. Two minutes ago he was fixing a dust-covered fan that had gotten itself clogged in one of the accounting apartment's computers. Having someone tell him that aliens had invaded the earth, he could now walk on water, had to reach the top of the building in order to get the meaning of life, and having to team up with what he was told in his mind was an ex-spy turned sniper during that time was slight a bit too much to handle for a simple IT nerd. And so, he started looking for a towel. Wait, no. Not a towel. A place to hide so that this would all blow over and he would be living his perfectly boring life again.

Twenty seconds later, Maxwell Zephyr was now fleeing his hiding spot (under a desk) in order to avoid gunfire by the foul-mouthed Irishwoman who had decided to fire upon everything in her sights.

---

Miss Newman admired her new handgun. And when we say admiring, we mean looking down on it in disgust. “Well, this is a piece of shit.” Checking the various odds and ends of the insides, she reloaded and shrugged. “So I’m taking out aliens with a pistol. This couldn’t get any worse.” A loud crack told her otherwise, a small bullethole appearing next to her head. Blinking slightly at the smoking crater, Ariel decided to do what most people do under unknown enemy fire: run to a place where you will not get fucking shot at. Quoting word for word what the field manual stated, in any case.

Fuck, she needed earplugs. The yelling and screaming was not doing any of her senses good. Worse than the wars back in wherever it was at least. Rolling into a side cubicle, she checked ammo. Well, the almost endless supply of ammo. It looked like the aliens had decided that they would need every bullet, probably. Wincing as another round of metal gunfire ran over her head, she pondered. There was another thing that she was forgetting, right? Something important…

Oh right. They had partners. Fuck.

--

“Crap, crap, crap!”

OK, so the good news was that he could now walk on water. Bad news was that he was now stuck in an office building with no water bigger than a water cooler. Oh, and he was being fired upon. That too. Panting as papers flew everywhere around him, he dived into a vacant office, locking the door with a wheelie chair. That would stop some of this stuff.

“Fuck, shit, fuck. OK. Calm down. This is just a drill or something that management invented, a team building exercise or something like that shit. Oh, and they gained the ability to read fucking minds. Perfect, they know where all those gigabytes of quota have gone. I’m fucking good as fired. Fuck.”

To be completely serious, Maxwell was not handling this at all.
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Nami

(TEAM12BADASS: Annabell Bethany Smith START)

Anne had just pistol whipped an alien in the face.

Now, something like that should make you take a step back, take a breath, reevaluate your life, and lay off the drugs.

But Anne wasn't high, this was real. Seemingly omnipotent aliens had invaded earth - because they could, apparently- and taken it over in a couple days. Then, for their amusement, they had given a bunch of office workers random powers, then transported a bunch of 'badasses' from all around the globe to team up with said office workers. After that, they told them that if they reached the top of the tower they'd gain the meaning to life, the universe, and everything, or something along those lines.
Oh, and it was being broadcast across the globe like some sort of reality T.V. show.

...

Anne was pretty sure she wasn't high.

To be honest, Anne didn't really think any of this. Such a drawn out bit of introspection is sort of impossible when fighting for her life against three insane aliens with sawed off shot guns.

She should have shot the little bastards the moment she saw them. If she'd shot on of their jet packs she could've taken them out with a single bullet and large explosion. But no, instead she'd tried to talk to the little bastards, and in return they'd fired on her. There'd been no warning. Just one second "Hello, are you-" and the next, shotgun blast.

Each shot nearly knocked them on their asses with the recoil, and they didn't seem to need to reload (No doubt some more Zalgorian bullshit). The only reason she wasn't in more trouble was because they couldn't shoot worth a damn. They also didn't know a thing about using the guns intelligently. Hell, at the beginning there'd been five of them, but two were down by friendly fire after they'd rushed Anne on those suicidal jet packs instead of, you know, staying back and firing.

To be even more honest, Anne didn't think any of this, either. She didn't need, or have time, to think about what had just happened. It wouldn't be helpful, unless for some reason foreign beings were getting a peak into her mind at this very moment and didn't know any of this and had to have it explained or be very confused...but since that wasn't happening Anne went and kicked another alien in the stomach.

There were several crackling sounds and the little ball of crazy crumpled to the ground, making pitiful moaning sounds that failed to affect Anne since he still had a shot gun in his hands. She hooked her foot underneath it, holstering her pistol before flipping the shotgun up and out of his hands and into hers. Then, in one smooth motion she turned, took aim, and blasted a second one right in the face as he was in mid leap towards her. The gun sucked, but even it couldn't make her miss something a foot away from her.

This not being the movies, the alien didn't get thrown violently backward by the gunshot and she had to duck and roll to get out of the way. A moment later she popped back up, took aim, and fired a second time, nailing the last standing alien in the chest with the bird shot. However, more than a few of the little pellets also hit his jet pack. As the final alien fell the machine started to make violent hissing and spitting sounds, and Anne turned and ran like hell.

After the explosion's blast stopped ringing in her ears, the sound of screaming replaced it. Most people would probably want to get away from such terrified screams, but they were cries for help, and just because Anne had a partner didn't mean that was the only person she was going to protect. There were plenty of innocent people in here, and it sounded like some of them were being killed by more aliens.

Two minutes and lots of sprinting later Anne learned that they were being killed by humans.

Her gun was out in an instant, pointed at the homicidal maniac. She almost asked her what the hell she was doing, except that was too obvious, and Anne ammended her question at the last second "Why the fuck are you killing these people?"
Edited by Nami, Jul 7 2011, 03:47 AM.
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Cheshire42

(Team 9 Arty Vanderhauf and Vincent Latter/ START!)
“This is a dream!” thought Arty Vanderhauf, lying down in a fetal posision. “Some sort of sick and twisted dream.” This sort of reaction was understandable to the unstable mind of an office worker. Worse yet, some lunatic in a magician's suit was trying to get him to wake up to reality.
“Hey, Arty.... wake up” said the magician in a soft motherly voice.
Artie ignored him.
“Arty! It's time to go out and play!” said the magcian childishly.
Arty still ignored him.
“Oh for gods sake....WAKE UP!”
Suddenly pain filled Artie's head, and he sprung up clutching the welt on the side of his head.
“OWWWW!” Said Artie, recked with pain.
“Good, your awake.” Said the magician, loading his handgun. “Now we can get started. I was starting to get bored with the hole “Wo is me” act”
Artie rubbed his head and looked at what seemed to be a man in a mask which cover only his eyes and nose. “Your Vincent Latter... right?” Arty Asked.
The man stopped still for a complete second, and then replied “You know I'm wearing a mask, and yet right away you say my name so that everyone and their dog can hear it. Don't call me that name. That man is dead. No, call me Lovegood. Regis Lovegood. Or better yet, “The White Rabbit”!”.
“So what do you want” Asked Arty, even though he thought he already knew the answer.
“I want to get your life started!” Said Lovegood enthusiastically. “I want to get you to the top of that tower so that your dreams can come true! Don't you tire of this insanely boring life! If we make it to the top,we could become all powerful! Think of it! Knowing everything you ever wanted. The secrets to life brought to life. The answer to why our life is currently a living hell! Join me in hand brother, for together we can achieve what was once thought impossible!”.
Correction, Artie had not been expecting such a deeply motivating speech from a man with a gun.
“Um..... Okay... I guess...” Arty meekly replied.
“Good! Then lets get started!” Chipped Lovegood as he kicked a small fish-man wielding a stapler/stick weapon into the air.

During this entire turn of events, Lovegood had found his parter Artie, in a fetal position in one of the many cubicals in the Saxon Hale office. That was a bit of luck on his part, for some psycho-bitch cowgirl was currently killing anything that she could see.
Now that he had convinced Arty to go along with his plan, all he had to do was scout the room for any more threats. He exited the cubical, only to step in front of a man from the blue man group.
The Savage spitter was wielding an ax, and looked to implant it in Lovegood's head. However, fists are generally faster than axes, and Lovegood managed to punch the Spinner in the throat, leaving it gasping on the ground. Lovegood then took the ax from the creature, and politely said “Thank you for the lovely present.” He then proceeded to imbed the ax in the Spitter frontal Lobe.
After disposing of the Spitter, he handed the ax to Artie.
“Stay here and be safe. If anything tries to kill you, use this.”
Apart from the chaos caused by the Alien Mercenaries and the Screaming Redshirts, very little seemed to be going on. A catfight between Miss Psycho Bitch and Miss Goody Two-shoes seemed to be starting up. And what looked to be a robot, a wage worker, and a midget seemed to be running out of a hallway, But other then that, nothing of real importance.
Well first thing was first. Lovegood had to get Arty away from the soon to be ensuing bullet bath that the two gun girls where going to start. Maybe the midget would be in it too.... And since everything and their pet had unlimited ammo,they wouldn't have to worry about having too many holes in his head.
Now Lovegood could easily sneak out without anyone ever noticing. Arty on the other hand.... would end up needing a casket...

Great....Plan B then....

Lovegood grabbed a red stapler and started to go over a couple cubicals.
“Now listen” He said to Arty “I'm going to make a ruckus. You run all the way to that coridor when I do. If anyone gets in your way, ax them... understand?”
Arty nodded in agreement.
“Now be a good boy and get ready.... you'll know when the test starts.”
Lovegood snuck over three cubicals without anyone noticing him. He then took a deep breath and stood up, throwing the stapler at Maireen McCannagh's head.
“HEY PSYCHO-BITCH!” He screamed “DIDN”T YOUR MOMA EVER TELL YOU IT'S RUDE TO SHOOT PEOPLE IN THE HEAD?”
Edited by Cheshire42, Jul 7 2011, 11:54 PM.
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Some idiot threw a stapler at her. It hit Maireen on the shoulder.

Some fucking dwarf asked her a stupid question. He appeared to be covered in nipples.

Another woman shouted at her. Christ, she was getting popular. The new woman seemed capable. Steady aim, combat stance, definite military training. She was priority one.

Maireen fired of three shots at the army girl, then rolled behind a desk. A pillar was blocking her sights to G.I. Jane, but removing a drawer gave her a clear shot to the twat with the stationary.

Really, who threw a fucking stapler?

She took aim and fired.

“Any more of ya cunts, wanna show up, all start shoutin’ at me at once?”

Sweat trickled down her cheek. She took of her hat; wiped her brow.

“Ya fuckers’ll make a lass flustered, actin’ like that”
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Cheshire42

Regis Lovegood fell straight on his ass. A smoking bullet hole had just appeared on the top of his silk hat. A bit annoying, yes, but nothing a little omnipotence couldn't fix.
He then pulled out his Taurtus PT and fired 3 cover shots. They weren't meant to hit anyone in particular, but bets were that more eyes would be on him then on his weaker counterpart. Hopefully he was out and running by now.
“HEY!!! Miss Psycho-Bitch. I don't believe we've been formally introduced.” He yelled out.
“I would have done so sooner, but you seemed a bit busy, killing people and all. The name is Lovegood, Regis Lovegood. I like long walks on the beach and cooled bottles of champagne. You can also call me “The White Rabbit” if you wish. Maybe you've heard of me, maybe you haven't.”
He paused
“ Anyways, I haven't gotten a name from you. If one of us were to end of up dead, it would be a mighty big shame if we didn't know the name of the dead fellow.”
He chuckled.
“But what are the odds of that happening. Right?!”

Hopefully, all eyes were on him now. If that was so, then Arty would be safe. Him, not so much. Let's just home that Miss Goody Two Shoes didn't know about his....activities, and that he hadn't stolen anything from the midget or Psycho Bitch.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ax in hand, Arty Ran. He ran as fast as his minimum wage legs could take him. Ax in hand, and fear overfilling him, he hoped to dear god that he could get out before anyone could see him. Luckily, his partner was currently attracting all sorts of attention, man and beast alike. And like that, he was out of the the room and into the hallway.

(Artie Has just Left “Like A G6” Going to Anger Management.)
Edited by Cheshire42, Jul 18 2011, 06:59 AM.
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Nami

(crap, not my turn, sorry DX)
Edited by Nami, Jul 18 2011, 05:07 PM.
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Herbert carefully peaked around the corner, the midget had engaged the women firing in conversation of all things! He was far too old for such nonsense and now even more people had shown up yelling at each other and waving all sorts of weapons around. He hoped that none of them had seen him. A terrifying clunk made him jump almost a foot and he whirled around. One of the stupidly large vents in the building had fallen open behind him and out poured a group of speed demons chattering to each other in a menacing tone.

"Yer should watch yerself thar Herbert! Those critters dinnae look like they're here to talk!" Spoke up the roomba at his side. Its next sentence didn't even start as a well placed blast sent it skittering to one side out of Herbert's view. He closed his eyes. Surely this was it. He was going to die here. He waited for the inevitable impact.


and waited.



and waited.


He cracked open his eyes, seeing the tiny midget wrapped around one of the creatures necks and several more of the things on the ground, their heads askew or their stomachs torn open. Earl turned and roared at Herbert firstly. "Run yer Numpty, or at least pick up something and start bashin away!" Earl then turned his attention to the others who had arrived. "Well are yer all gonna help or just stand there looking like ninkenpoops?"

Right that moment another vent burst open and a veritable torrent of the creatures began falling out. Picking up a broken wooden leg of a chair Herbert gritted his teeth and started swinging. All of a sudden he was longing for the days of wandering the halls and having nothing to do.
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