XENO-gen
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XENO-gen
Kay..I'm going to start because I'm hella impatient!
(Moss)- The night was freezing. No, scratch that, the whole damn lowers were freezing. Moss wrapped the shiny remnants of a garbage bag closer around him, trying to sheild himself from the steely cold that cut through his ragged shirt like a well sharpened knife. He paused for a moment, removed some hair from his eyes, then proceeded to rifle through his pockets excitedly. When he drew his hands out, they were stuffed with wallets and purses of all shapes and sizes. He opened them, one by one, removing the little cash that the little treasures held. Stuffing the cash into a plastic bag in his back pocket, he put the wallets back in his front pockets. he could sell them on the black market, for a good price. People liked to keep the tiny amount of money they possesed in style, especially gangsters. The lowers were rife with gangs, and moss was an expert at avoiding them, and cheating them at poker.
He got up from his perch near the dustbin, onto his bare feet and began to walk. In a few hours, he suspected there would be another surge of P.C's, the heavensent gift from the uppers. P.C's were unbeleivably stupid, GAVE you cash (something totally alien in the lowers) and the P.C arena was great for pickpocketing. He couldn't wait.
(Ginger)- He grinned goofily as he traipsed down the bustling street, completely unaware of the people pushing past him, hard shoulders knocking in to him as they muttered darkly that he was blocking the way. Nothing would burst the happy, happy bubble he was floating in on today, grand day of all days.
He woould do his Mother proud. He would prove to everyone who had ever mocked him that he was NOT a wet blancket, but a brave, big boy. He awoke from his pleasant reverie and quickened his pace. He didn't want to be late to the shuttles!
He was so consumed by his happy, happy thoughts that he didn't realise he was about to walk into a young woman until he barged into her, his beanpole frame barely moving her.
He blushed as brightly as his carrot ("Titian! How many times do I have to tell you guys, titian!?!?!!!") hair and mumbled
"So sorry...young.
..l-...lady. My clumsiness is your discomfort. Your discomfort...MY DISHONOUR!"
By this point, she was lurched back, as far as possible, a look of ccomplete and utter horror on her face. He was on his knees, rocking to and fro, clutching the hem of her tunic tightly. She ran off in disgust, and he sat back on his haunches, staringwistfully after her with wide eyes.
He slowly picked himself up, teetering on his own oversized feet. He blinked.
Today was a happy, happy day. He smiled.
Once again, lost in his thoughts he stumbled onwards, unaware of time, place and people.
Brock leaned heavily against the shuttle that lead to the underground, a pistol was tucked away neatly in his thigh holster, a shotgun slung onto his back. his camouflage pants were comfortable, his boots were large, and worn, a dagger hidden neatly from the untrained eye.. and he was surrounded by untrained eyes. He looked around at the PC's who were his new.... charge? he had to take care of these guys, keeping them out of trouble, if that was even possible. a young brown haired boy came up to him, he was eyeing his weapons and his all around appearance...
"Hi, I am jake!" he was a pleasant and happy young kid.
"hello." he decided to keep it short, his voice was curt, and gravelly.
"soo, I notice you have a lot of weapons... you do know this is a PEACE mission.. right?" the boy was incredulouse,
"your point?" keep it short thought brock.. this kid was way to eager for an argument.
"so, why on this fine earth are you armed to the tooth? this is a peaceful mission, and I am afraid your eagerness to fight just will not do." the boy was sticking out his chest, like all of these pompous kids seemed to do. no wander they always got caught, and... well never mind that.
"have you ever seen what these guys like to do with PC's like you? I have, they like to round you guys up, since you have no form of self defense, an once they have you all rounded up.." Brock stopped leaning against the wall, and he stood to his full height, getting int he young mans face "once they have you all rounded up, they take the men, and torture them, slowly, all for the plesure of it.. ripping your skin from your muslce and flesh.... making it slow.. and painful... remember they arent really human." Brock looked back now, and saw a lot of the beautiful women on the shuttle.. most of them seemed to be women, women who wanted to help... beautiful and young women..."you dont want to know what they will do with the women....." his voice was dark, and sullen, having experiencd all of the things he was speaking of. "so.. that is why I am here.. to make sure we dont lose any of you, to the gangs... done?"
The boy was white in the face, the blood had drained from his body... he went back to his seat with out sayinga word.
(Ginger)- Ginger loped into the shuttle, skidded and promptly fell over his own, considerably sized feet. From this low (for Ginger: his head still reached other peoples waists, even when sprawled on the floor) vantage point, he gazed up at the other recruits, his eyes as wide as saucers. He gazed at the strange contraptions strapped to a particularly stout ones chest. Ginger gulped. This stocky man somewhat resembled the countless P.C action figures adorning his bedroom...except they didn't come complete with scars, bristle, guns, knifes, grenades...
Ginger let a high-pitched groan, more like a squeal, truth be told, and backed up slowly to the opposite side of the shuttle, still crawling on his hands and knees. HIs eyes were suspiciously shiny, and, as he tried (unsuccesssfully) to blink back tears, he started rocking to and fro.
He mumbled to himself, "Bad weapons...bad, bad, my mum's going to be aaangry...naughty, nasty, bad...."
Brock sighed.. some PC was on the ground crying now. he had'nt said anything to this kid, but he seemed to have caused this outburt of tears.. Brock mumbled something about stability tests, and decided it was time to put on a trench coat. atleast then he wouldnt scare anyone else. The trench coat was black, and big. he through it on with ease letting it cover his weapons, he offered a hand to the ginger haired boy on the ground.. "get up kid.." his voice was hard, like steel, but his eyes were softer.
Doctor Glorie Ray sighed in contempt. Just what had she done to deserve this sorry fate? Soon to be served up as a sacraficial offering to the gangs of the underworld, and these were the people she had to spend her last breathing moments with? If there was a god, a prospect she highly doubted, he sure had a twisted sense of humour. She looked around at the people waiting to hop in the shuttle and hurtle down to their immenent destruction. As expected, many were pea-brains, wearing bemused 'i'm soo nervous, but sooo excited!' pre-prom expressions on their faces. Some were just primo nutjobs, like the youth she had affecionatly christened 'carrot' in her mind because of his rather unfortunate colouring. he appeared to be having a breakdown. She decided to ignore him. She didn't want to be out of sedatives, of which she had a large supply in her backpack, before they even reahced the lowers.
Some other people stood out, too. Take macho-man for instance. he seemed to have ignored the strictly campy lurex dress code. All of the other member were sporting bright jackets, each emblazoned with the words 'P.C'. Like a red flag waltzing in front of an angered bull. She, unfortunatley, had been left with an even worse ensemble than the camp shiny lurex. It was incredibly rare for medics, let alone female ones, to join the P.C., practicly unheard of as medics tend to be fairly sensible. So, especially for the occasion, the P.C. central had designed a whole uniform specificly for her. She had told them numerous times she was a doctor, not a nurse, but they were deaf to her complaints because of her gender. So now, she was clad in an uncomfortable, durogative, incredibly sexist lurexy 'nurse' outift, in red and white with a little cap, also emblazoned with the words 'P.C'. She was a walking target board.
She noticed the action man, who didn't seem to fit with the rest of the hapless simpletons, seemed to be carrying a weapon. He had the right idea. She fingered the strap of her backpack, which contained loaded syringes. He wasn't the only one who could look after themselves.
Brock noticed the nurse eyeing him.. she wasnt unnattractive. but right now whas not the time for noticing something like that he could feel the shuttle slowing as it neared its destination. now is when he had to be on his toes. the shuttle doors shuttered as they began to open.. brock made his way to the front. he would be the first out, and the last to leave.. except for the ones who ended up being lost, he looked back at the woman in the nurses outfit... what to do about her... she stuck out like an X chromosome amongst Y chromosomes. it was a sad fate for her.. if things went bad. Brock vowed to himself right there, that nothing bad would happen.
(Ginger): Ginger lay sprawled on the floor, head drooping on his chest as he fitfully had his 'nap time' (a practice his mother made him swear he'd keep up). As the shuttle shuddered to an unsteady halt, Ginger's seemingly lifeless body was thrown up, his head jerking back, his eyes half open, bleary with sleep. It was, unfortunately, upon the somewhat austere Doctor that Ginger made his crash landing. There was a sudden silence, and, as everyone focused through the dark gloom onto the two figures, a wave of 'silent' giggles erupted amidst the very young, very 'green' P.Cs.
Poor Ginger, entwined uncompromisingly with the Doctor, had a look of deep, deep shame and an expression of utter horror. His face, by now a burning crimson, certainly lived up to his name.
He looked as if he were about to spontaneously combust. But anyone who found his discomfort funny would certainly not find the look on the Doctors face amusing...
Brock walked up behind ginger, and picked him up, rather gently for some one so huge, he put him down, this time in a seat. he offered a hand to the girl, as the shuttle seemed to lurch back into motion..."looks like it was just some kind of a maitenance problem.."
Glorie raised one neatly plucked eyebrow. Well, well, well. That was...interesting. She glanced over to Carroty Boy, who was curled up like a baby on the seat. His face blended with his hair, and it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Then she looked up (as he was considerably taller than her, even with her platforms) at her 'saviour'. He obviously didn't know what kind of girl she was. She wasn't the damsel in distress type. Glorie was tougher than she looked.
Brock shrugged.. women never took anything the right way.. he walked back to his original location. she was cute, to bad she had to be one of those angry aggressive women.. Brock mentally slapped himself.. he needed to focus on the job at hand.. even if it was hours away... how he disliked jobs that took a long time to start. 
Stumble!