PDBA Classic Combat: Back into the swing

[Draxas]

OK, this has sat fallow for far too long now, and for no good reason. So, I think it's high time we started an arena.

This is Classic Combat, people, so you know the rules:

- PD weaponry only

- We battle on PD levels only

- We'll switch arenas once decided mutually by the group.

- During an arena change, use a vehicle to get from on arena to another (note this does not allow combat with them, simply to use them for transportation from one arena to another.)

- If you haven't a vehicle, use "teleporters" at the "edge" of a level. These will instantly take you from one arena to another.

- You are free to do things that cannot be done in PD, such as accesing obviously available spots that couldn't be accesed in PD. (EXAMPLE: jumping on the conveyer belt in AirBase).

- Give your opponent a fighting chance in combat. Let them fight back and do some damage to you. Do NOT do a cheap headshot to a person unless you are to be killed shortly after in your post.

- Limit the amount of people you are fighting. Odds are you won't win in a fight of 3 vs. 1.

- Do not run through an arena and kill everyone in one post; it's highly annoying and you will not get any respect that way. Your post would be deleted if done in this manner.

- Whatever another player says, goes. If they say you were killed, tough, you're dead.

- If you die, respawn and seek your vengeance.

- By all means, have fun with this. Don't take what another character says or does too seriously and start a big arguement.

So, let's gets started! We'll host this one... In Chicago!

[Conqueror Worm]

Righteousness has no place in this world...

Chicago. A city whose name was synonomous with sin, and it was quite possibly one of the worst cities in the nation. The advancements in technology over the years had lessened the crime considerably, but there was no possible way to fully eradicate the terrible source of pain. In fact, the crime rate would definitely not stay as low as it was, for the lords of the syndicates and under bosses would adapt to the new rules, regulations, and tech, and they would overcome them. The judicial system was a failure. Criminals were caught, convicted, and set loose within a few years in a prison that house nearly all of their friends.. But that was about to change.

Rain poured down in torrential sheets upon the streets of the sinful city, laying siege to windshields and windows. There were very few people out in such a terrible storm, but those who were had begun to scatter and make for cover the moment it the rain began to sprinkle down from the sky. They held papers, briefcases, books, or umbrellas above their heads, just hoping not to get their hair wet or their image ruined. Image. Image was all the rage, and it had been for quite some time. It was all about one's outer looks. All about one's height, weight, and beauty. The things they wore, even. Material things. A waste.

And He will rise from the ashes of his former life and instill fear in those who threaten the well-being of others..

There was but one man stalking through the streets of Chicago as they were pounded with gallons of rain. He obviously cared not for his appearance, for he held no books or umbrellas above his head to catch the water that cascaded downward and collided with his being. He wore a black leather jacket that extended down to the waist, black army fatigues, combat boots, and a flak jacket with a rather peculiar design on it. It looked almost like a heart -- the real thing, not the fabrication that was put onto Valentine Cards and such. Red, but with gashes along its surface, it stood out among the rest of his black attire. Atop his head, the man wore a black baseball cap. Water dripped steadily off of its brim, falling down in front of his icy blue eyes and battle-hardened face.

Thou shalt feel His mighty wrath should thou do harm to thy kinsmen..

The man, the Revenant, one who had arisen from his grave, moved forth through the streets. His strides were slow, but meaningful. He had a purpose. A purpose that no mortal mind could possibly comprehend. A mission that he, himself, did not fully understand. A mission that led him here, to the PDBA. Here, to eraticate any who would wish harm upon another man or woman.

He had come to a bar whose name rung a bell in the back of his mind. For some odd reason, he remembered the name.. Pond Punk. Feeling as if the bar held some sort of answer as to his presence in such a city as Chicago, Revenant moved forth, pushing open the glass doors and descending a rather steep set of stone stairs. He came to a checkpoint, and the owner eyed him suspiciously. There were a few bulges under his coat, and they could prove lethal, but the man apparently cared not for the well-being of those inside the bar, for he let the Shade pass through the large wooden doors..

He shall stand defiant in the face of those who intend to do him harm...

Upon his entrance, the cancerous smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol wafted into his nostrils, and he was slightly taken back for a moment, but he quickly adjusted. He headed for the bar, taking a seat upon one of the swivel-stools just before the long, oak table. The man behind it moved to his newest customer and inquired as to Revenant's interests beverage-wise.

Revenant nodded towards a bottle of Jack Daniels sitting idly just behind the bartender, untouched. The man behind the oak table obliged and retrieved the bottle for his customer. He sat the bottle down in front of the black-clad-man and graciously accepted the cash that slid across the table.

So much was happening all around him. Talking. Eating. Drinking. Laughter...

.. Laughter. Brittle. Sharp. The laughter was not in the bar, but rather in his mind.. The laughter of the man who killed his family. The laughter he would share once he stood over the bloodied corpse of that man..

And so begins the journey.

[Draxas]

The Institute jumpship flew hesitantly through the skies over Chicago, as the pilot fought against the wind and rain. In the back of the ship, Draxas checked the action on one of his DMCs and cursed the lousy timing of this event.

Why do they always call these things during the foulest weather possible? First an Alaskan blizzard, and now a tornado-grade thunderstorm. Of all the luck...

He was interrupted by the pilot, calling on the comm. "ETA, 1 minute, 30 seconds," he called back, his voice distorted by static generated from the electical disturbance, "We're going to drop you in an alley near the G5 building. Be careful in the bad conditions."

"Thanks," responded Draxas, as he reholstered the submachine gun. He had been over the weapons several times now, but he felt rusty. He hadn't been in an arena match in months... He unslung his Laptop Gun once more, and compulsively checked the transformation systems one last time. After verifying it worked correctly, he reslung the weapon, and went over the arena brief one last time.

Arena: Chicago - G5 Building and surroundings
Arena Type: Classic Combat
Additional notes: Due to the large city locale, complete evacuation of the populace was impossible. Bulletins have been sent out to all residents and business owners, and local law enforcement has agreed not to interfere, however a civilian presence is expected.

AVOID UNNECESSARY NON-COMBATANT CASUALTIES AT ALL COSTS!

The last line was emblazoned in flashing red text in his HUD view, and made him all the more nervous. So many things could go wrong here... Why this place, after so long with no activity?

He was interrupted once again by the pilot, "We have arrived at the drop zone, prepare to disembark."

The side door slid downward, exposing the inside of the jumpship to the pounding rain. Draxas decided he wanted to head indoors as quickly as possible... The ramp extended to a spot just over the fire escape railing for the G5 Building. Draxas took a short hop onto the rusty metal landing for the third floor, and waved to indicate he was clear. The jumpship closed its hatch, and sped quickly off into the gloom.

Draxas looked around and actiaved his R-Tracker. He was immediately bombarded with a myriad of signals from all directions. Staying wary, he checked the combatant log, and found that the number was far too large to be possible...

Lovely. It's picking up all of the civilian signals too. Useless, he thought, as he mentally shut down the tracking system once more. He started down the stairs, keeping alert for anyone else nearby...

[Raven]

Raven spinned around in his chair and exhaled sharply. It's so boring around here... he thought. He looked back at the illuminated computer screen. This work isn't getting done tonight, he thought. He stood up and walked out into the foyer. The lights in the Carrington Institute were off, and the only light was coming from the full moon shining through the open window nearby. It's been so long since we've done anything. I can't remember the last time I've even been on a mission. Everyone is MIA, and I'm stuck at a desk job. Carrington had better give us something to do soon. At that moment, Raven received a call through his transmitter. He accessed it, and flipped it open: a call from Carrington. How appropriate. You'd think they'd just come and find me. Then again, Carrington's probably hiding away at his Villa or something. He sighed and read the message:

All PDBA members please report: Classic Combat arena in Chicago.

FINALLY, Raven thought. And apparently this isn't a strict combat arena, so I guess that The Slayers can finally team up once again. That is, if people actually show up to compete this time. He rolled his eyes and headed for his room. He packed his equipment: R-Tracker, Data Uplink, and a Door Decoder, just in case. He holstered his Falcons in his belt, and grabbed his Laptop Gun from the closet, slinging it over his back. Raven also grabbed some more mines, not bothering to look at which kind they were. They all do the same thing, he thought. Once again, he looked over at his staff and sighed. The powerful weapon would once again not be used in combat. This time, though, it would remain here. He put on a pair of jeans and a dark green T-shirt, then embarked for the landing pad.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The jumpship hovered over the Windy City, shrouded by fog, smoke, and clouds. It was the middle of a thunderstorm. "Be careful out there," the pilot warned him. Raven simply grunted. The ship shook and groaned as it hit the ground. The door opened, and Raven stepped out into a large alley, ignoring the rain. Let's see, he thought. He considered his three teammates that were still part of his faction: Jackson has been missing forever, so I guess this is my show. There's still Garrant and Revenant, though. I've seen Garrant around, but there's no telling whether he'll receive the call. If Revenant's here, he'll probably be at the bar. Now I just have to find which one...

Raven walked out into the street and looked around him. Chicago certainly was grimy indeed: there was already mud on his shoes, he was soaked, and an overwhelming feeling of tension surrounded him. People bustled on by him, ignorant to the bloodshed that was imminent. He looked up and saw dozens of neon signs emblazoning the street. One in particular, the Pond Punk Bar, seemed to glow the brightest. I may as well start there... he thought.

[Snake]

Snakelord Inc. Headquarters

Snake wasn't content with sitting around all day long. The vending machine product was crap, people's moods were crap, everything was crap. He needed exitement, he knew where to get it of course, but...

VIRA: "Attention, PDBA alert!!"

Talk of the Devil
Snake pressed a button on the desk and spoke

Snake: "What are the details Vira?"

There was a whirring sound as streams of data were processed. Then the reply came.

VIRA: "Type of Arena: Classic Combat. Location: Chicago. I'm sensing you like the sound of that."

Snake: "I am indeed. The Coalition will reign, there's nothing the other players can do about it either."

Snake looked around his office. Things were starting to look up on this rainy morning.


The Taipan

After a quick training session and pre-battle meal. Snake suited up and got aboard the Taipan. He pressed various buttons and got the various components up and running. Not to say the Taipan hadn't got a workout. Various members of the Snakelord Inc. Space guard took the Shuttle out on routine Training, and sometimes dogfights.

Snake: "Ok Vira. System check."

VIRA: "Nav computer, check, Temp control: check. The Weapons are down."

Snake: "No matter, we'll fix that when we get there."


Chicago

The air was chilly. Snake creapt along an alleyway, and snuck up on a civilian. Swiftly hitting him with him rifle butt, Snake fired shots into the air and waited for a challenger...

[N3B]

The warrior slid down a rope hanging from the extension door of a large, looming ship, flickering in a transient state between blue and red tones. With a quick thud, he collided with the rooftop, rolling foward over his back, throwing the rope behind him, pressing a button on his wrist, a DY357 magnum held in his free hand.

Standing, he brought a ZZT from his left holster, and walked towards the edge of the rooftop. N3B peered down, and gazed and the battle-ruined city, keeping an eye out for opposition.

[Snake]

OOC: I'm changing my posting style, see if you can pick what I've changed

IC


Moving in crowds undetected had alway been one of Snakes Strong points. Ir was probably this that got Snake the higest Carrington Institute Training score ever since Joanna Dark. Wearing a CIA agent's trenchcoat, the one he had stolen from a knocked out civilian, he was totally inconspicuous against the seedy backdrop that was chicago.
A man approached Snake, who was crouching against a wall, loading his DMC.
"Excuse me sir?" he said stiffly. But upon seeing the deadly weapon, he drew a Falcon 2 and held it shakily.
"Drop that weapon!" he stammered. "OR I'll shoot"
Ah, the scared [CENSORED]less Chicago police force.
Snake stood up and stowed the DMC inside his coat, before pointing to the CIA badge on his breast pocket.
"I'm CIA, it's fine," Snake replied almost bored. "But under CIA regulations. A patrolling Agent is authorised to carry a weapon, no matter what sort to protect and serve."
The Policeman looked horrified, and without another word, he strode off.

[Conqueror Worm]

(( Is that right? Well, then.. Allow me to issue a formal challenge to you and your whole team.. For lack of a better phrase.. Bring it. ))

The laughter in his head halted. So did the commotion about him. There was not a sound in the bar save for the creaking of the doors as they swayed back and forth from the momentum that had initially forced them open. A man stood mere feet away from the door, having just entered through it. His eyes were slowly scanning the faces at each table, and his gaze halted when it fell upon the black-clad figure at the bar. A bottle of Jack Daniels and a small glass lay on the bar table in front of the man, who promptly turned around upon seeing the reflection of the one they called Raven in his glass.

Revenant stood, dropping a small wad of cash onto the table beside his empty glass and the half-empty bottle. He moved towards Raven, halting at his side. He leaned inwards, his lips mere inches from his comrade's ear. His whispers were inaudible to all those in the bare save for Raven and himself. After the words had left his lips, the black-clad, sorrow-driven warrior exited the bar, moving back out into the storm.

Raven stood inside, the words ringing aloud in his ears and mind..

Regretfully, I'm going to have to resign from the team.. I trust you can handle yourself in this arena. Surely, we'll see each other again.. But don't expect friendliness when we do..

The rain was pouring down even harder than it had been upon his arrival. It was quite amazing, in fact, for the droplets almost stung as they impacted upon flesh. Revenant surveyed the scene, a sigh escaping his lips. He was teamless yet again, but he worked better alone. That was how he had done things so many times in the military, and never once had a problem been presented that he could not solve solo. He trusted that would hold true, and he reached beneath his jacket, drawing forth a shimmering Falcon 2.

It is high time for a proper return...

[The Fix]

<OOC> DarK, you're my hero. >.> Anyway, time to get back in the fray.

Tap... Tap... Tap...

The sound of feet against the ground was one of the several things you would hear echoing throughout the grungy streets of Chicago. It would be another night of chaos and calamity. A welcome return to his roots.

The man stood at roughly six feet, give or take a few inches. He didn't look all that impressive, however. All he wore was his typical black tuxedo with his blood red tie. The only difference is that this time, he looks a little bit more well kept.

On his person were two Falcon 2s and several combat knives concealed. Along with these is his sniper rifle. Each item on his person is tagged with the traditional "product number" symbol.

"Check... And... Check. Perfect. Ready for action."

<OOC> Anybody? Fight me!

[Draxas]

Draxas worked his way down the fire escape quickly, as the rain abruptly increased in intensity. Ugh, this is disgusting... I need to get inside, thought Draxas, as he worked his way down the alley, and emerged onto the streets of Chicago.

Several people hustled past with open umbrellas, in a futile effort to protect themselves from the downpour. The rain was so severe that it stung Draxas's organic eye, and the condensation was beginning to cloud the bionic one... He spied an open door across the way, leading into a small but well known dive called the Pond Punk. Draxas was about to rush across the street and inside when he saw a man dressed entirely in black emerge from the bar, and pull a silver pistol from under his coat, seemingly oblivious to the rain.

Crap... I don't want to fight in this weather if I can help it... Draxas pressed himself up against the alley wall to try to hide himself from the man's view. His hands twitched over to his DMCs, just incase trouble was unavoidable...

[Conqueror Worm]

(( I'd love to make a response to that tonight, but unfortunately, I haven't the time. Tomorrow, then. ))

[StromFront]

Like attracts like, no matter how one hides or runs.

A figure lay upon a bed, sprawled eagle upon the white covers, asleep in only his pants. Moments pass and he arises into the darkness. He moves slowly in the stormy darkness, pulling a dulled trenchcoat from off a nearby chair and over his shoulders. It is a simple action, but fluid. He remains in motion, not even casting his eyes aside. He quickly stands before the mirror of this small room, looking deep into it.

His blue eyes, cold and distant now, looked back. He lifts the trechcoat now, touching old scars of both his own hand and others, tightening his fingers into a fist. He shakes his head for a moment, looking up again. His once blond hair, now black, lays in a loose cut, much different then it once was.

He reaches a paw, keeping his eyes locked with himself, as he pulls two Falcons 2's from the table, slipping them easily into the small of his back. He reaches down again, lifting two Cyclones up, clipping them to the inside of the treachcoat's chest.

He looks down now, looking to a black duffel bag resting at his feet. He kicks it open, looking down the the dull black of the shotgun and the gleaming silver of the K7. He seems to wince, a flicker of his face, as he kneels down and lifts the silver weapon, clipping it under the back of his coat. He swallows, looking to the table, touching a lone picture that lays upon it and then slowly laying it flat, looking down for a moment of the band of gold upon his middle finger.

He breathed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment.

“I'm sorry.” He whispers to himself before he moves from the room, slowly and with a darken purpose.

[N3B]

Rain slid down the darkened visor of the warrior, crouched at the edge of a building top, looking down at the actions of the pedestrians on the streets. a few hovercars flew by, leaving behind exhaust clouds, distorting the assassin's vision. He took his free hand, and raised the visor, revealing his true eyes to the air, his visor now serving as a hat bill to divert the rain from across his path of sight, and out of his eyes.

from behind the metal face plate, a wicked grin stretched across the assailants eyes as his prey emerged from an alley below him. a cyborg, half human, half robot-thing, stood in the shadows, peering an eye around the corner at the pond punk bar. with one fluid motion, the figure atop the roof secured a grapple hook to the ledge, flipped his combat knife from his boot, hoisting the poison tip in the air above his head, and flung himself over the building, sliding down towards the ground.

When he was close to 2 stories from the ground, he pushed off the wall, and bounded to the other side of the alley, kicked down from a windowsill, knife in both hands, pointing down to stab into the back of the unbeknownst warrior. a loud war cry bellowed from the lungs of the downward flying assassin, alerting his target of his presence.

Draxas slipped downward, and took a low sidestep, stepping into the side of a large dumpster, running out of moving space. he quickly threw himself over the wall into the ditry dump, but not quick enough, as the tip of the blade tipped into his shoulder blade, cutting through his skin and into the blood.

the poison would take a while to kick in, N3B knew. he quickly sped off into the shadows, hoping to return back when draxas was out of combat ability, trying his first attempt at ninja-ism.

[StormX]

Tyler sighs as the Twilight Dawn approaches Chicago. It had been nearly a year since he had last competed in the PDBA. He checked to make sure both Falcon 2's were ready, and slid them into their holsters. He double checked his RCP-120. I hope I still have the hang of this.He made sure everything else was ready, and set the craft to circle around the city. He jumped out and landed on the street. Hearing some commotion behind him, he went to check out what it was.


OOC: sorry for the short post, can't think

[Majora1988]

Bob looked up as he saw a tall man enter his garage, "That guy again, I thought he wouldn't be back for an hour. I still have a few more things to work on...that thing. I've never seen anything like it." thought the Mechanic as he jumped up from his lounging position. "but, I'm still on my break! I'll get rid of this moron."

The Mechanic stood up and said, "Hey, get out of here, dumb***! Can't you see I'm on my break. I'll have your vehicle tomorrow!"

The man, as he stepped into the light, was a Tall blonde Scandinavian Male, dressed in a Bright White trenchcoat. That made the Mechanic uneasy, but he let it go.

"Oh, you want me out of here?" Asked the Tall man.

"Yeah, out!"

The tall man walked toward the mechanic, he could hear his heavy breathing, like a man on an iron lung. "Are you sure?" The tall man whispered in the mechanic's ear.

"Y-Yeah..."

All of a sudden the tall man dropped to one knee, grabbed the mechanic's leg, and snapped it in half, like a twig. The mechanic screamed in agony, and began writheing on the floor.

"What haven't you done to my ship!"

"Nothing....It's fine, I just didn't want to deal with you..."

"I see..." was all the mechanic heard as he felt, rather than saw the combat knife enter his gut, disembowling him in seconds.
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The tall man's name was Majora, and he walked up the gangplank to his ship, laughing to himself, "What a pathetic weakling, just like them all."

Majora checked his messages and saw a single blinking message.

<b>Attention, all PDBAers, report to Chicago, for a Classic Combat!</b>

"Finally, a chance to test my skills against people of actual skill."

Majora took his ship, the <i>M1988</i> into the air and punched in the coordinates of Chicago and set the autopilot. In the mean time, Majora picked up his Maulers, and put them in his belt holster, then picked up his Reaper and cleaned it. Afterwards, he slung it on his back. Then Majora picked up his Slayer, sighing because he couldn't take his Father's battle staff. Majora then attached his slayer to his theigh, bringing a 3 rockets in his belt attachments. Majora then checked his combat knives, which were still atachted firmly to his ankle holster.

Majora then loaded his trenchcoat pockets with clips of Reaper, and Mauler clips. Majora then walked, fullt armed, into the cockpit, and landed just outside the combat zone, he couldn't use his ship here.

Then, Majora began to walk through the alleys of Chicago, before coming to the old elevator lift for the G5 building.

"Time to go to work..." Thought Majora as he walked into the battle zone...
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OOC: yay!! a classic combat! haven't had one of these in a loooooong time...