conversations: human
conversations:  Dark grey clouds cover the entire spanse of sky above you, and the sun has taken upon a blood-soaked red to serve as its garments rather than its usual yellow-orange vestments. As you look across the city, as far as you can see, you see death. The stench of slowly rotting bodies fills the air, overpowering any other scent you could possibly smell. No matter where you look you see the dead laying on sidewalks or in their cars, as if they were merely taking a rather long nap.
  
  The buildings seem to have shared in the same fate as their builders, and too are in disarray. Their stone and steel bones lay strewn across the city as if they were the blocks of a large toddler who was done playing his toys but neglected to pick them up and put the blocks away. In the distance you can see fires consuming countless buildings, perhaps the fault of someones stove that had been left on, perhaps caused by something else.
  
  You hear a deep laugh boom across the city, but are unable to find its source. The voice sends chills down your spine. This is no ordinary voice, it is one of a person consumed by evil, whose very existence is a blight upon life itself, a stain that even the universe wishes to expunge. You begin to hear a loud beeping noise, which continues to grow louder and louder until that is the only thing you here.
  
  Then you wake up, the last thing you remember from the dream being a paper floating past you. The date? December 21. This year. As you look at the rude mastermind behind your awakening you see the date, November 21. 30 days before the whatever you say in that dream happens, well if it was anything other than a dream that is.
conversations: ChaosArchon:
conversations: human
conversations:  KX-99J, "Van," bolts upright, breathing hard.  What was that?  Just a dream, or something else?  It had felt so real....  More real than most things he felt since his...accident.  They told him he'd have a normal life, yet here he was with lines all over his skin and rivets along his spine and shoulders.  He looked at the clock.  It was to early for his shift just yet, they had him working a lot of nights now, saying he was 'uniquely suited.'  More like the other guys didn't want him around.  Not that he blamed them.  Kind of hard to share a beer with a guy you had helped scrape off the pavement, who's funeral you had attended.  They still had that uneasy look when they saw him, like they weren't sure he was still himself, or just some thing they built in a lab somewhere.  Van wasn't sure if he agreed with them.  Sometimes his old life felt so fuzzy, like his memories were a TV channel with bad reception.  But then he'd see something, an old car, a park bench, the shape of a woman, and memories associated with it would come flooding back almost as if he was reliving them.  He tried to do what he used to to clear his head, but jogging didn't tire him out like it used to, and none of his old girlfriends wanted to see him.  So, he'd do what he seemed to be doing more and more of these days.  He'd patrol.
  
  The armor was tight, but he could still move freely.  He'd seen this orichalcum stuff before, come across a few rogue spirits who had weapons made of it, and there was a private eye down on Chamber Street who had guns made from it, a sidearm and a great big cannon he called a 'heartpiercer.'  Yeah, it looked like it could pierce just about anything.  This stuff was supposed to be heavy, but now that he was using it too it always felt light as a feather.  The armor was easy, it was on in less than a minute.  The gloves...these things kind of freaked him out.  Just where did the blades and chains  go  when he wasn't using them?  It didn't feel right.  But, they'd always worked fine, so he didn't have an excuse to refuse them wear them.  That just left...his hand.  That was by far the strangest part of this.  They had given him a ring, like the class ring he got at the academy, but this one was set with a stone that seemed to change color when he wasn't looking.  Wear this on your ring hand when on duty, they said.  And he did.  Then his hand had opened up into that mechanical nightmare gun, and that ring had turned into part of the barrel.  And with a bang of steam, he'd been shooting honest-to-gods lightning a second later.  He still wasn't used to it, his hand changing like that.  But with the assignments he got now, having a cannon in your arm was not something he could dismiss.  Sighing, he steps out of his apartment and climbs the stairs towards the roof.
conversations: Rhyvurg:
conversations: human
conversations:  Freddie sits up in his bed, drenched in a cold sweat.  As far as nightmares go, he was used to them.  But this one was different. So vivid.  SO intense.  He had almost believed it was real when he woke up.   "Green-Eyed Lucien...  What a ****in' dream."   He blearily gets out of bed and starts to get dressed.  He pulls on a pair of boxers, jeans, and an AC/DC t-shirt.  His head is pounding, a sensation he's all too used to.  The light stabs him in the eyes, prompting him to put on a pair of dark black shades.
  
  He heads to the kitchen and makes a bacon sandwich out of leftovers.  It helped, even if just a little.  Eventually, there was nothing else to distract him from the dream.  So he did what he always did to clear his head.  He went for a drive.
  
  His car sat in front of his apartment building, one of many vehicles that he had stashed around the city.  This one, though, was his.  His favorite, and the only one he hadn't stolen.  A sleek, black muscle car with golden accents, it was just the right mix of flash and power under the hood.  He unlocked the door, stepped inside, and started the engine.
  
  He drove off with a low rumble, and turned the volume on the radio all the way up.
conversations: horus42: