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Episode 3: Mission Accepted; In which an evaluation is failed, and Automail Man destroys a train
Topic Started: Feb 22 2017, 04:46 PM (17 Views)
Talonheart
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“Come on… Please work..” echoed Sherman’s tired, desperate voice as he sat at his desk. His hair was a complete mess, and his clothes worn and dirtied from weeks of not being washed. Sitting before him on his desk was a strange plant with a green stem and blue leaves in a pot. The pot itself was surrounded my the Major’s research notes and old texts that he had been studying for the last several months. This was the last day Sherman had before his evaluation as a State Alchemist, and the man had not managed to come up with any meaningful break throughs to present. He knew he was only minutes away from a visit from his evaluator, and knew full well if he didn’t have anything to present he’d lose his state license.

“Alright… Transmute.” He said, clapping his hands together and touching down on the transmutation circle he had drawn around the potted plant. His thin framed reading glasses came alive with a shining blue light as it reflected the electrical sparks from his work. The plant before him twisted and changed, the leaves changing from blue to red and black spots. The plant rose up, growing and blooming, but ultimate began to wilt and turn brown. The focused stare on Sherman’s face contorted and changed to a solid frown, his eyes growing with anger. “DAMNIT!” He yelled furiously, sweeping his arm across the table and knocking the dead plant and old texts to floor. Gripping his head tightly he leaned over his desk, almost tearing at his hair in frustration. “Why can’t I get this to work..” After a short break of self loathing he sat back up, staring down at the now cracked pot and dead plant, the soil already covering the floor. All his hard work. Everything from the last nine years gone to waste. It had been almost a decade since Sherman had joined the military as a State Alchemist specializing in Bio-Alchemy, using his state funding to help pay for his medical degree. And even after all this time he had not made enough progress to make Central believe his work was worth the money.

A knock came to Sherman’s door, a feeling of dread filling the alchemist as he looked up from his desk. His time had run out. But he didn’t move from his seat. Silently hoping that the knock at the door had been his imagination. But those hopes were quickly dashed as the same sound came to his ears. “No…” he muttered under his breath, hands shaking as he rose up from his seat, adjusting his attire. Moving to his door to stopped, hand on the knob, his heavy, sleepless eyes settled heavily on the old wooden frame of his door. “Who… Who is it…?” He asked hesitantly, hoping against all hope that it was someone else knocking at his door.

“It’s me, Colonel Freeman. I’m here for your inspection Doctor Greyhound.” Came a voice on the other side of the door.

“A-alright…” Sherman replied, slowly turning the knob and opening up wide to reveal a tall, balding old man in a state alchemist’s uniform, heavily decorated to denote his rank and status. The old alchemist wasted no time in entering Sherman’s home, barring no request for entrance of even a passing glance of politeness. And without so much as a nod of recognition made his way for Sherman’s private study.

Coming into the small lab in Sherman’s basement the older man surveyed the room, scattered books and documents on various shelves and tables, and the remains of Sherman’s last failed experiment strewn across the floor. Judging eyes taking in every small detail. “Present me with your findings.” He said coldly, raising a clipboard up to his chest and writing down notes with his free hand.

“O-oh! Of course, sir…” Sherman said, rushing in front of the man and coming to his knees, trying desperately to clean up his mess. “I am so sorry about this! You know how it is right? Sometimes you just get so caught up in research you forget to clean…” he said, flashing a forced smile up toward his superior as he let out a soft chuckle. Yet the man did not grin, at seem to express any emotion beyond an indifferent loathing as he finished writing on his notepad and looked back up. “Right… Right… Documents.” Sherman said defeatedly, grabbing a bunch of papers and shuffling them back into his documentation folder. Rising Sherman turned around, handing the old man the documents who in turn snatched them up without even a moment’s wait.

“Very good. Of course I don’t have to tell you what will become of you should your research be found inadequate.” The older man responded in a cold, somewhat threatening tone.

“I… I know… Just.. If you could give me a little more time…”

“You had more than enough time Doctor. Unless you can prove to be contributory to the Central’s scientific community your government contract will be terminated.” The old man responded, eyes narrowing into a mild glare.

Sherman stopped, eyes growing weary with concern and fear. His voice dropping low. “I understand…”

The man turned about, starting for the exit on his way to leave, yet he stopped, his back turned to Sherman as he spoke. “Of course… If you’d be willing to accept my proposition for a transfer… Your research may yet receive the funding it needs…”

Sherman looked up, staring at the back of Colonel Freeman’s head with a mild surprise. “I… Can’t accept that. I’m happy working under Colonel Evans…”

Freeman let out a long, drawn out sigh, silently shaking his head before starting back out. Before he exited the door he spoke up one last time. “Your loyalty to your Colonel is commendable, but foolish. You’re only hurting yourself by refusing my offer Doctor Greyhound.” He said, before exiting and slamming the door behind him.

Sherman stared absently as the closed door, his face expressionless and empty for a long while. His eyes blinking only as he heard the sound of the Colonel’s car start up and drive off. “… DAMMNIT!” Sherman roared, grabbing a nearby book and hurling it into the oaken door. Whirling around he brought his fist up hard, slamming into the wall opposite the door with a thunderous BANG. The wall cracking and caving in around his now bloodied fist. Out of breath, tired, and worn, Sherman dug his fist back out, his other hand moving to his tired eyes as he walked off toward the bedroom, lifting a large, brown bottle from a nearby counter as he walked.



Steps followed by an ebsent minded tune through whistling, echoed through the hallways of the central. Short figure of a man almost jumped on every step with wide grin and closed eyes dramatizing his expression.
He had just left his resignation along with the last mission at hand, which was something he never thought to be possible.
After retrieving his casual clothing and some ammo for his handgun, the man had quickly changed and was now making his way out from the cursed building. Waiting at the main gate, Zacharty Comwell, the soon-to-br-ex major of state alchemists, saw a familiar figure waiting.
The loyal companion had yet again found itws way to his care. Kneeling down to scratch the wolf behind the ear, he smiled even more wildly. ¨You heard it girl? We're going home after this one.¨
Straightening up, the short man threw the cloth sack over his shoulder and made his way into the city.

Zach still needed a partner for the task as it was a requirement for the job, but he had someone specific in mind already. Few days had been passed from meeting the major Greyhound so Zach wasn't sure of the respond the man would give to his request for help. What more the man had more composed common sense then most of the population inside central together, let alone Zach himself.
Taking to consideration the events of the past week, however, his chances of getting Hound to his side on this would be slim.

Finally arriving to the familiar house, the fragile framed man climbed up the stairs and knocked the door.



There was no answer for a long while, the lights all turned off and the house seeming abandoned. Finally, the sound of heavy, sluggish footsteps came marching toward the door, accompanied by a low groan. The door knob turned and oak door cracked open to reveal the house’s owner. Major Greyhound, his hair whipped into a mad frenzy, his clothes disheveled, and eyes red and droopy. The now old-looking man stared absently at Comwell for a long while, blinking his pain swollen eyes in what seemed like confusion. “Oh… Comwell. Err… Come in I’ll… I’ll get you some coffee..” He said dismally, opening the door wider as he turned about, a now empty bottle handing from his weakly closed left hand as he walked toward the kitchen with slumped shoulders, his body smelling heavily of whiskey.

The house itself was in stark disrepair, more so than usual. Many of the bookshelves were in disarray, books fallen to the ground and completely disorganized. Papers tossed about at random. And perhaps most outstanding of all, the hole in the wall opposite the door adorned with specks of dried blood. Sherman’s right hand suspiciously bruised and cut from what seemed to be a recent wound.



Zach took a step back from the sight with frowned look on his face. ¨What in the...¨ looking at this ghost of a man reminded him of meeting up a walking corpse more or less.
Quick glimpse over the living dead's shoulder revealed of what resembled a tomb or an underground dungeon,instead of a a room of a person.
Returning his eyes to Sherman, Zach relaxed and sighed. ¨Hound, you should really cut a step back with your working habbits, honestly.¨ Passing the corpse of a man, the Major entered the dusty dark room and walked over to the nearest bottle of alchohol, taking a sip. Still a bit shocked of the state the room was in, taking a noticed to the blood splattered wall next to him, the thin framed alchemist turned to face his co-major. ¨Say Hound. If you can still comphrehend my words, I have a suggestion for you that would give you the edge you need. whaddya say bud?¨
Hoping to get a reaction of any kind, the man lied the bottle next to him on the table and lit a cigarette with ease that revealed somewhat obviously that the same motion had been done hundreds and hundreds of times before.
waiting for an another minute, the man spoke again. ¨It's about the mission this time. I was asked to choose my partner, and as they didnt' state anyone specific, I was thinking if you would want to tag along. Think of the bright side. You would get some time out from the central and this... apartment. Plus as they cannot deny me of my request, it would give you some more time to think of your experiments on the way as we go. They can't cancel your funding if you're on pofficial mission in the middle.¨ Taking a long drag from the cig, he continued. ¨You did mention your deadline was coming to an end last time didn't you? If you want some more time, I got the chance for it. What do you think?¨
There it was. Zach threw all that he got in his sleeve for reasoning to get this man come with him. after this it was only a matter of brainwork, if the shadow of the major figure could still think anything through at this point, that was.



Sherman made his way back into the kitchen, flipping on a light to illuminate the room. The kitchen, while a bit messy, was not in the terrible state of the rest of the house. In fact there were few signs that it had ever been used in the past months beyond making sandwiches and getting drinks. Moving off to the side to turns on the coffee pot, loading it up with beans and water as he listened to Zach’s proposition.

“Partner…? But.. I’m not a field agent…” He said at first, taking a long pause as he thought it over. It was true, he wasn’t a field agent. His combat training was purely ceremonial for the part of the military. He was there for research grant given to the state alchemists. Government funding for his world. With a heavy sigh he stepped to the side, reaching for the cupboard and searching for some clean cups. Silently listening to Zach’s words as he detailed his plan. “Not a bad plan… But I think it’s too late now Comwell.. The director of Central Research already sent his running boy… This is it. I have about a week and my funding will be cut… And I’ll be dismissed from military service.” He explained solemnly, setting a cup down on the counter beside the coffee pot.

“It’s funny… I’ve put so much of my life into this. I started off strong. Developed a few new alchemical medical treatments… Discovered new cures to illnesses… And yet all the military wanted from me were the poisons I made on accident…” He said, lifting the old coffee pot and pouring the hot liquid into the mug. “Truth be told I’ve come across a lot of poisons since then I just… I just don’t report them anymore… I signed on to heal. Not to kill. Of course every month that passed that I didn’t present them with anything… Fatal… They cut my funding. And kept cutting it back until I was spending my own money. Selling my things… Just to keep in business. And now… Well now it’s over. I won’t be able to afford my house, much less keep my research going… I’ll have to sell my car, my books… I suppose I can always get work at the local clinic and get an apartment…”

Finally turning around Sherman held up the mug, steam rising from the dark brown liquid. “Here… You like it black right?” He said calmly, a dreary expression on his unusually aged-looking face.
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Talonheart
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From her spot next to the doorway, Kirk was leaned out just enough to have one eye on the scene. Using his raw power, the Captain broke through their ranks, using one of the fallen as a shield. Smart, she thought. I'll have to remember that one. As the Captain moved and the enemies came out to follow him or attack from behind, she steadied her gun with both hands so she could recover faster from the recoil. Without blinking, she picked her shots and took out all who came into her sights behind the captain. One bullet embedded itself in a man's temple, another at the base of a terrorist's skull, and still another perfectly between a man's eyes. She has two shots left in her magazine if she remembered right, so she holstered it and drew a knife from her right sleeve, following the Captain's wake and keeping low. Midway through a crouching step, she appeared to push her skirt up slightly with her free hand, but when she drew it back two thin, sharp knives shone between her knuckles. With a practiced throw, she embedded them into two enemies standing near each other, one in the throat and the other the eye. After a cry of pain, one collapsed, dead. The man with the knife in his throat didn't fall as easily, although he hindered his friends, clawing them desperately as he tried to breathe. Coming closer to the fallen enemies, Kirk picked up two firearms. Their owners would no longer be needing them. Keeping one for herself, she tossed the other at Claive's back.

"CAPTAIN! Heads up!" she called over the din of battle.



The continuous pounding of bullets started to effect and Claive lsot his momentum. Hearing Kirk's voice behind him, he took a firm stance and stopped to his tracks. Lifting his left leg, he pressed it against the corpse that was still stuck in his blade. Kicking forcefully the body, Claive sent it flying through the air towards the end of the wagon. Making an agile spin, the man grabs the gun from midair and returns to his original position. Releasing a storm of bullets towards the general direction of the enemy, Stephen rushes forward, slashing from right to left and killing everything that was caught in his range.

The last few men that were still standing showed signs of hysteria as the two military personnel closed in with resolve.
¨GODDAMNIT IF WE DIE, WE*LL MAKe DAMN SURE YOU'LL BE IN HELL TO WELCOME US!!¨
After the statement, the man far at the end of the wagon opened the box next to him, pulling out a pair of grenades. From the cover of the corner he threw one towards the dashing Captain and one to the locomotive car. After this the man starts shooting towards Claive and Kirk in fury, obviously throwing, what little of his life was left, to last desperate attack.

Stephen narrowed his eyes and stopped his assault. Taking few leaps back while trying to avoid the general path of the incoming bullets. He grabbed Kirk by the hand and used his immense physical speed to leap towards the end of the wagon. ¨I'm sorry 2nd Liutenant, it's gonna get a bit rough!¨ After the warning words, the Captain leaped one final time to dive through the second wagon and finally reaching to the last remaining car. During the fall, Stephen wrapped his automail-arm around Kirk's shoulders to soften the hit to the ground, leaving them both rolling dozens of feet on the ground.
The train kept going for a few seconds before the explosions shred it apart, sending scrap parts and pieces of already dead organisms all over the plain.



Kirk saw the grenades and panicked, bringing the stolen gun up with one hand and firing just as madly as the enemy, which the same success rate. Before she knew it, the Captain had her by the hand. Her legs started running with him before her brain knew to follow. Jarred by the Captain's final leap, she was unprepared for the crash landing, banging her head against the hard floor before gaining enough sense to tuck her chin in. She waited for the thunderous grenade explosion to subside before pulling herself free of the Captain.

"Nng..." Her hand went to her head, nursing the small bump left on her temple. Kirk took inventory of her condition: aside from the bump on the head and some minor scratches on her legs from the debris, she seemed to be in good health. She tossed the foreign gun to the side, recalling how many weapons she had left. Two of her slender throwing knives were gone, lost in the explosion, and Sparkles was buried in the chest of some stranger out on the tacks. The sheath on Kirk's left arm felt strange light and there was a new pang in her chest, but at least she was alive. She holstered her right-side knife and stood, dusting herself before helping Claive to his feet as well. Calmly, as if they had only encountered a small bump in the rail, she walked through the rubble and debris of the car and gathered her things which, thankfully, were also unharmed.

"Nothing for it but to walk from here on out, I suppose." Steeling herself for the long walk and thinking how lucky she was, she threw open the door and jumped down, shattering a heel on her shoe and dumping her flat on her butt. Mortified, she reached down to make sure it wasn't a horrible imagining.

"Fuck!" she yelled, tossing the useless heel away. Maybe not so lucky after all...
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