hadriel_logs | INTRO LOG: FACE OFF

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INTRO LOG: FACE OFF

Who: New arrivals and everyone else!
What: The intro log for November. Don't get your face eaten!
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: November 10th-17th
Warnings: Monster-related violence, people lamps, general unpleasantness, mass confusion.

You wake up on the hard earth of the colosseum. By the state of things and the various aches and pains in your body, you've probably been passed out there for awhile. A few things should immediately become clear to you upon an initial assessment.
1. You're not alone
2. You're near other people who look to be in a similar state.
3. You're also near an assortment of human shaped lamps.
4. You're also near something that skitters off into the shadows of the colosseum.
Of all of these alarming things, the skittery object might be your largest concern. Be wary when turning corners or shutting out the lights: the Hunters work best when your vision is obscured, so their gelatinous form is even harder to spot. Their main goal will be to kill people of course, though they prefer to hide in corners and smaller rooms. Watch out when trying to work through the halls of the colosseum to find the outdoors- they're surprisingly quick, and they prefer to kill their prey by opening their face-flaps and wrapping their mouths around your head. Fun!

More information on Hunters can be found here!

Second largest concern? Maybe it's the people lamps. Maybe it's the actual people around you. Whatever it is, be sure to familiarize yourself with it quickly. The devil you know is better than the devil you don't, after all.

All done with the horrible monsters and awkward greetings? Try your hand at exploring the rest of the city! Find a house, find a new monster, or simply scavenge for supplies until your little heart is content. Good luck, and enjoy your stay in Hadriel!

► This log covers November 10th-17th.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well!
► All characters now arrive with phones that have network communication.
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

EVADE & ESCAPE

At least they didn't put a bag on his head.

It's the first thought that pops into his mind when John finally regains consciousness. He was no stranger to being a prisoner, but it had been at least a decade since he was last captured. Maybe he had finally become too comfortable with his own title, like the whisper of the name Big Boss was enough to keep people from doing anything stupid. Which it was, but that was neither here nor there.

After regaining his footing, John didn't linger long among the small crowd of people. They looked about as lost as he felt, so asking them about the situation was a moot point. Some of them were armed, some had animals with them. One looked like she had an elaborate costume on. No matter how they look, though, John makes no contact with any of them. Survival instincts tell him to trust no one, make no assumptions. Considering he's managed to stay alive 49 years, John sticks to what he knows.

And what he knows is, he needs to get out of here. The wheres, whys, and hows can come later, when he's not in a coliseum surrounded by the noise of trouble in the distance and light-sources attached to humanoid bodies. John takes up his side arm and the lighter in his pocket, heading for an opening. Might be the way out, might just be another trap.

MAKING DO

For an abandoned city, much of which is in disarray and decay, it's surprisingly easy to find base comforts. The first few days following his harrowing escape, survival in a strange land had been the foremost thought on John's mind. The dark and dangerous coliseum had initially painted a pretty grim picture for what the future held in regards to getting by.

The old soldier had never been so glad to be so wrong.

Shelter, food, and water are the basic things to establish in any survival situation. Usually, it's a test of willpower and knowledge to be able to secure those things quick enough to be considered out of danger. John found them all on the first day, all within walking distance.

So much for struggle.

With a safe place to stay secured and a supply of water hoarded away, John picks his way through the stores for anything useful. Clothes, food, any good tools he might need. He's almost a little disappointed he won't get to break out those survival skills he honed in the jungle, almost 20 years back.

Kerrigan herself had wasted no time leaving the people in the coliseum behind for the maze of hallways. She had her Zergling at her side as she worked her way through the halls, picking choices that seemed most likely to lead outside. The communication device she found near her when she woke up was a serviceable light source, turned on with its screen facing away from her.

She came around a corner with a faint flickering light only to come more or less face to face with a man holding a gun and a lighter. He was missing an eye, and looked like he knew what he was doing. Kerrigan lowered the limbs on her back and folded them up a little more in an effort to appear less threatening. "At least someone showed up prepared for this little party." Even if he was a little less armored than she would prefer. If he wasn't hostile, they might even be able to work together.

The only reason the stranger he runs into isn't gifted with a bullet between the eyes is that she doesn't attack first. The gun stays in John's hand, the safety still off and his finger on the trigger-guard, just in case the... woman gets any ideas. The creature in front of him is definitely shaped like a female, but any clue as to what she might is not something John has.

He's seen a lot of strange things in his life, psychics with telekinesis, a phantom on fire, flying robots, but extra appendages on someone's back? That's new. Never mind the smaller thing at her side.

"Maybe. We'll see what the future holds." John is pretty confident in his abilities, but this all a little out of his league. It's never good to walk onto an unfamiliar battlefield and have an ego. "Can't say I can make heads or tails of you."

She hadn't given much thought on how to explain who and what she was. It had never been necessary before. Kerrigan tilted her head and gave it a moment of thought. "The short version is that I'm an alien and the ruler of my species. I'm more interested in getting back to what I was doing than pointless fights with humans."

The lack of knowledge of who or what she was interested her. The Zergling should have been enough of a tip, but there was no sign of recognition. Kerrigan didn't care enough to read his mind and potentially make him hostile if he noticed. "You can call me Kerrigan."

"An alien. Right." Honestly, it was about as believable as anything else at this point. Somehow, he had been taken off guard, kidnapped, and been drugged long enough to be placed in a coliseum. John had been expecting pigs to be flying overhead when he woke up. Still, the mention of aliens brings up old, fond memories of a kid entangled in a war he was too young to be apart of.

He lowers his weapon, tries to not look like he's still a bit shaken by everything. He must be doing a hell of a job, if she thinks he looks prepared. "You got any weapons? There's unfriendlies lurking around the area. Don't think your... dog can cut it by himself." Or whatever the hell that thing was.

Kerrigan raised an eyebrow, and then lifted and spread the limbs on her back. She ran the sharp, hard points of one along a wall, leaving deep gouges in the surface. Then she lifted a hand to show off the sharp claws as long as her fingers themselves.

"Don't worry about us. We're always armed... and don't underestimate the Zergling, either."

Alright, well, all weapons accounted for then. He had no doubt that she could use them very well, too, considering they were attached to her body. As for the dog, or (what did she call it?) the Zergling, if she was vouching for it then it must've been just as dangerous.

"Noted," he remarked simply. "I'm guessing you're trying to get out of here, too. If you've got any ideas, I'm all ears."

Kerrigan relaxed the limbs and folded them back up behind her. She would keep the rest of her abilities to herself for the moment. He might seem like just a soldier but she wasn't taking a chance. "I have a good sense of direction, but it's practically a maze in here. My best bet is to go that way."

She indicated the direction. "Hold your fire if we run into anything hostile unless I call for backup. No point in wasting bullets."

It was odd to be told what to do. When was the last time that had happened? At least more than a decade ago. Sure, during his time with his old band, a certain someone who had an affinity for aviators used to brief him before missions, but those were never orders. More like suggestions. After all, he was the 'Boss'; no one tells their CO what to do outright.

The point is, it's strange, but John isn't so much of an egomaniac that he's going to protest. After all, he's no longer Big Boss. Just some guy. Still, though, a best bet isn't going to fly with him. "We'll have a better chance getting out if you can feel a draft. And I've been marking every cornerwall I've turned on, just in case."

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swarm_embrace - 2015-11-27 17:57 (UTC) - Expand

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camouflage - 2015-12-02 22:53 (UTC) - Expand

He's not the only one out and about. Natasha's made a home for herself at the top of one of the spires, but for all the furniture, it's still empty. No food, no clothing except what she was able to find (oddly enough, including things of hers), nothing to really personalize it and make it home. She has her weapons, but more dakka has never really hurt anyone. Well, perhaps the people the dakka was aimed at. Not the point. The point is Natasha's scavenging for whatever she can find that might be useful to her or to anyone else that she knows.

She's found a dusty backpack, and she's got it slung over her back as she makes her way through one of the places that's she's pretty sure was a bar in it's previous life. Natasha reaches up and pulls down one of the bottles, examining it and sniffing it making a face and coughing slightly as she screws the top back on. The alcohol content in that could probably power a car, and she stows it away into her bag for molotov cocktails.

She hears someone approaching, and stops, one ear out to listen. Natasha turns, looking over her shoulder, and slowly reaches for another bottle. If it's one of those creatures again, she's completely defenseless and alone and probably screwed. She counted two exit points on her way in, but that's no guarantee she'll make it out without a fight.

Scavenging from a bar was the absolute last thing he ever thought he would be doing and, yet, here he is. John had been trained specifically to survive in the wilderness, with nothing but a knife and his wits. And, sure, this place wasn't completely devoid of any human comforts (after all, the apartment he had found had a fridge), but it was a little more urban than he was used to working in. He had to start thinking outside the box for other supplies.

With a week's worth of food and few other items of clothing stored away, medical supplies suddenly become a glaring oversight. Mentally, he checks off thread and a needle, material to make gauze -- all that's left is antiseptic. And that's how he ends up in the bar.

Where someone, or something, is already snooping. John hears the gentle shifting of bottles, what might be a cough. Someone testing out the wares before they make off with them? Who knows. What he does know is it can't be those monsters from the coliseum. The place is dimly lit, but well enough to fend off anything that might go bump in the night. Still, though, when he rounds the corner, his pistol is held out in front of him, ready to fire if anything decides to get cute.

Natasha's got the bottle in her hand like it's a club, although she's more likely to break it wide open and use the shards of glass instead. When he rounds the corner, she whirls around, and makes to bust it, but stops herself when she sees he's human, and just as cautious as she is. She doesn't let her defensive posture go, but she's not ready to murder him in self defense just yet either.

There's a tense few seconds while she sizes him up, decides he's probably not a threat or else he would have shot her by now, and she relaxes minutely, setting the bottle down on top of the bar.

"Thirsty?" She makes sure to keep her hands where he can see them. Just in case. "You don't want to drink this stuff, promise." Beat. "Unless you're into drinking gasoline."

The taunt line of his posture visibly relaxes at the reveal of the bar's mystery guest. Just another person, stuck in this hell hole like the rest of them. Or, so he guesses. Maybe she's one of the few native inhabitants, who honestly knew? Despite the drain of adrenaline from his body, John doesn't completely let down his guard.

Just from a glance, he knows it would probably be bad news to underestimate her. Whoever she is. With that bottle in her hand, poised as if she made to break it, the woman had been ready to fight whoever, or whatever, came out in the open. Maybe she was just some civilian with a backbone, maybe she had training. Either way, he won't take his eyes off her.

"Not interested in drinking it, actually," John starts, sliding his gun back into its holster. He doesn't button the flap down or slide the safety on, just in case. If she knows better, she'll see that as a warning. "It'd probably be better for my medkit."

She knows the warning for what it is, her eyes not leaving the gun until his hand is fully away from it. She slowly lowers her own, but keeps them visible. No point in testing the dragon.

He does get a brief smirk for his comments, and Natasha glances at the row behind her, gesturing to them.

"I was thinking Molotov cocktails, but that works, too."

He clearly knows what he's doing. Natasha's not the only one it'd be bad news to underestimate, she thinks, and she keeps a careful eye on him as much as possible. It's unlikely either of them have the intent of hurting the other, but this place had invisible monsters crawling out of the walls that will try to murder you and probably succeed.

"Natasha Romanoff." She offers her name as an olive branch. It's much less likely for someone to come after you in your sleep if you know who they are, after all.

"Jack," he replies back, calmly, and after a moment of thought. It's unlikely that there's anyone here who would know who he is just by his face, less likely that any of them work for Cipher. But, hey, in the world of spies and espionage, you just never know. Anything's possible; proven in how they've all come to be here.

But it's all he offers, just a plain, first name.

He slips behind the bar counter, looking up at the few bottles left on the shelves. Like everything else in this dump, he's come to discover, the bottles all have that weird language printed on them. Unlike the door to his (hopefully, temporary) lodging, though, when he squints, the letters don't magically become something he can understand. Well, there's more than one way to find out the proof of alcohol besides reading the bottle. "I'd make sure that whatever's in those bottles burns first, just to be safe. Anything 80 proof or above will burn, but you don't wanna get caught in the middle of a battle with weak booze." He pulls one off the counter, something that looks as clear as water, and decides it's worth a test for later.

She notes the single use of a name, tucks it away for later. He moves like a spy, she recognizes it as much as she recognizes it in herself. She won't press for anything other than 'Jack', understands if that's not even his real name.

She relaxes slightly more as he comes closer, turning back to the bottles behind them. She makes sure to telegraph her movement as she opens her bag and reaches in, lifting up the bottle she'd just checked.

"Well, this one smells like it'll explode if you do so much as breathe on it, so I figured it'd work," she says, popping the lid off and offering it to him to smell.

The smell of strong liquor isn't something John's unused to, with his own preference for a couple fingers of whiskey and drinking brandy with a former friend once upon a time. What's in her hand, though, actually makes him cringe. It smells like it'd peel the paint off a car.

"Yep, that'll do it," John chuckles, waving his hand in front of his nose. "If that's any indication of what the rest of these bottles hold, I think I'll sober up for my stay here." Not that he was much of a drinker when his mind was focused on something to do, anyway. Other than that, hopefully he won't be here long enough to crawl into a bottle. "Found anything else worth using around here? Besides booze that'd power a car."

Bob meets him on about his third day out, when he's getting a little desperate in his attempts to find water. There are signs of it, the way he licks his lips, the way he's a little chapped, a little parched; he hasn't learned to recognize the boxes yet, and when he does find stores, he's been out of luck, had them already turn up raided when he's stumbled upon them.

Like this one, for example- nothing but a lumpy tuberous vegetable that could be a potato, that he's sitting down to try to gnaw into, to see if it's something remotely close to edible. It's a corner; his back is to it. For shelter, it'll do him for now.

He glances up at the sound of approaching footsteps.

For once, it's not people John has to worry about. In fact, despite his rough start at the arena, his stay in this unknown land had been downright civil. To not have the ever-present worry of being shot or stabbed at the forefront of his mind was somewhat of a relief. Somewhat of a disappointment, too. He was used to living a certain lifestyle, after all.

Still, though, his pistol remained an ever-present threat strapped to his leg. There always might be that one nutjob.

As he makes his way into one more abandoned store, John makes sure to have his gun in hand. He makes a careful sweep of the area with the pistol before laying eyes on the man in the corner. Doesn't look dangerous; the gun gets lowered. "We gonna have a problem?" It's asked so nonchalantly that the soldier might as well be asking about the weather.

Bob's eyebrows lift, and he swallows the bite of his potato. A problem? Back home, the answer would be an easy, definite 'no.' He is not someone who scraps, not someone who plays territorial, he is someone who placates whenever possible, even when the other person is a belligerent drunk on the other side of his bar.

However, they aren't exactly home right now, and there is one important question to ask, first, still reasonable, still placating, but with just a hint of a hard-line in it;

"You gonna hurt my dog?"

The little blue pittbull is tucked behind his calves, under the tent of his knees, where he sits. If not, then no, no problem.

"Nope," the soldier replies, easy, sliding his pistol back where it belongs. He secures the flap of the holster, makes sure the gun isn't primed to fire. In these kind of tight quarters, he's better off using his knife anyway. Less of a waste. "Unless it tries to make a chew toy out of me. Then we might have words."

John doesn't mind dogs at all, had actually been fascinated by mushers during his brief stint as a civilian. He doesn't know much about pitbulls, but it doesn't look dangerous. Not hiding like that.

He hikes his makeshift backpack higher on his shoulder, a few cans of food and a couple clothing items already weighing it down. At this point, he's scavenging more for containers than anything else. The canteen on his hip can only hold one quart of water at a time, after all. "Noticed anything edible around here?"

Bob reaches down and scratches Rocco gently, humming to try to soothe him to come out.

"He won't."

He's a good little dog, and he isn't getting out from underneath Bob's feet at this point.

"There's a box, but it looks well picked over. It's just vegetables now, and nothing I know the look of. If we had facilities to cook it might be a little easier, but-"

But he hasn't gotten so far as finding that, either.

"There's always good ol' fashioned fire, you know," John suggests, looking at said vegetables with a critical eye. After spending so much time in foreign territories with strange flora and fauna, he's taken note of common trends in plants and animals that are, generally, safe to eat. Granted, he's not always right and has poisoned himself at least a few times. One time, he thinks he may have gotten high from a frog he ate.

Not that he can recall those experiences very clearly anymore.

Anyway, these vegetables manage to meet a few checks on his safe-to-eat list, so he packs away a couple. You never know. "You able to feed your dog alright?" Because he's curious. Because he likes animals, even if he has eaten literally dozens of species.

"We're in a cave."

Bob points out, softly.

"We have no idea about the air supply. It's a big cave, admittedly, but who knows how connected it is to-"

Gesturing up at what may theoretically mean 'the world above,' if there is such a thing. The next question, though, softens him up;

"Yeah. He's happy with not-potato. Rocco's a good boy."

John concedes that the man might be just a little more than right to worry about the air quality in here. He hadn't even thought about that, not when he had whipped his lighter out in the arena. Granted, if the cave's atmosphere had been hazardous enough to suffocate fire or to blow it out of proportion, then none of them would be surviving very long down here.

"Seemed fine when I made one," the soldier remarks. Making sure he had a way to cook food was important, especially when none of the appliances in the apartment he found were exactly user-friendly. John had been a civilian once upon a time, learning how to use stoves and refrigerators, but the things here were on another level. He'd rather not get his hand blown off by operating a microwave oven wrong.

Anyway. The news that the dog seems to be eating just fine is enough to cause the corners of his mouth to twitch up. That's when he remembers the contents of his pack. Digging around, John manages to find a can that has something vaguely protein in it and tosses it over to the guy. "There. Just in case Rocco likes meat, too."

INTRO LOG: FACE OFF

boss | open

evade and escape

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making do

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