Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-25389303-20180831104140/@comment-25389303-20181126222305

''"Where do you think you are going?" ''a low voice rumbles from the darkness.

To Nobel's right looms a massive figure, emerging from the thick vegetation that surrounds the doctor like a creature of the night - the soft sound of branches snapping and leaves rustling filling the air as its inhumanly long limbs push aside the creek's dense undergrowth. Two orange eyes burn brightly from within the sockets a long metal skull.

Into the light steps a giant of gold and green, nearly twice as tall as the average person, and many more times as powerful. Even the doctor is dwarfed by the mechanical behemoth as it forces its way towards him like a rejected guardian angel, making entire trees bend as it advances towards Alexander, until finally they are face-to-face.

"Doctor Nobel. You have disobeyed direct orders from the commander," the mechanical monstrousity Tragoedia declares imperiously, a dark edge somehow making its way into his metallic voice. Standing perfectly still as he looked down at the wounded man, something new and dangerous seemed to be lurking behind his pitiless, ceaseless gaze. Something intelligent. "You were ordered to cease operations until further notice. Your mission is a direct violation of this directive. As such, you have been considered AWOL and shall be severely punished for this misdemeanour."

The machine took a step back, suddenly taking on a vaguely human pose as it held its giant hands behind its back. "However, I have not been sent for this reason. Operative Claymoore has been abducted by hostile forces belonging to LIFELINE, and must be retrieved. You shall assist in this operation."

From his back, Tragoedia detatched a large container and let it fall between them. From inside spilled a variety of boxes, from medical supplies, power cells and ammunition satchels, along with enough small weaponry to arm a small terrorist cell. "You are in need of medical assistance and rearmament. I predicted as such. I suggest haste - hostile forces are approaching."



Not too far away, Director Vorcha was being guided through the woodland by his armed escort, grumbling in annoyance whenever he tripped on a tree root or got his coat snagged on an outstretched branch. Around him his hired guns advances cautiously, ordered to proceed with extreme caution as the manhunt for the doctor continued, with their noose growing tighter and tighter with every passing moment.

A sudden snapping of twigs brings the party to a sudden halt, and for a moment a wave of apprehension washed over them at the thought of confronting the man who had fought through a small platoon almost single-handedly. But then they relaxed.

"Titania and Farran are here, sir," one of the nearby mercenaries tells Vorcha, who smiles in the direction of the newcomers as they are both led towards him by their respective escorts.

"Well good morning, my dear freelancers." Vorcha's mouth twists into a small smile as he speaks. "I hope the night it is going as well for you as it has for me. I've been told our troublesome doctor has been giving you both some trouble. What do you think, captain?"

One of Vorcha's bodyguards - one with a green X on his helmet - steps forward slightly. "They certainly look worse for wear, sir," he says, eyeing Farran as he speaks.

"Is that so?" Vorcha replies, lighting one of his signature cigars as he speaks. "Unfortunately for you two, the night is not yet over. Until Nobel is alive and in chains before me, this mission remains a failure. And what does failure mean, captain?"

"Means no reward...sir," the man replies.

Vorcha smiles again. "Correct, captain. However, you shall no doubt be pleased to know that the hard part is over. Nobel is no longer in any condition to fight, and so from now on I shall deal with him...personally."

Seemingly anxious to move on, Vorcha turns and signals for the group to continue their trek, though remains within talking distance of the freelancers.

"Here, kid," one of the mercenaries calls to Farran, suddenly dumping a semi-conscious Blanc into the young huntsman's arms. "You carry her. May as well keep the dead weight together, eh?" he says with a presumptuous smirk.