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Post by The Arbiter on May 23, 2012 22:15:46 GMT -6
Life is relative.
This is a fact proven by the mere inability to comprehend whether or not the person you are talking to actually exists, or whether they are imagined; a part of your own personal fantasy world. That person's life, like your own, is relative. But only to you, at the end of the day. If they die, you won't cease to exist. Only them. On a grand scale, the relative loss of another person's life in relation to your own is virtually meaningless short of emotion.
The only affirmation that they even existed when they die is the memory of their existence. And we don't live through memory, we live through the now.
That is the ultimate expression of relativity. That your life, no matter how you spin it, is only as real as the memories you collect of it.
Of course, there are always those who have drab, meaningless, and insignificant memories. Ones that amount to near nothingness at the end of the day. The toil and monotony of everyday, social existence. One day no different than the next. And that is what such a person is content with.
But what happens when we make something that we are used to disappear? Not like throwing away an old cup of coffee. Something drastic. Say we remove the continent of Europe. You can never go there again. All you have is the memory of it. Therefor, in a realistic, relative sense, it never existed in a way. There is nothing to accurately, one-hundred percent validate the existence of something that no longer persists.
But that still functions in the same way the loss of a human being does. We still move on. We forget.
Something a little different happens when the entire world gets turned upside down though. When the way the world works changes entirely. When the monotony goes out the window. When the memories are all you have left.
That is more cataclysmic than either of the aforementioned. In this sense, relatively, you have destroyed reality. It is gone. Reality no longer exists. Relatively, the world has ended.
As we know it, it is over.
(Play out your first post like the start of any normal day for your character, or something akin to it.)
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Post by Valentine on May 24, 2012 20:55:59 GMT -6
When you were covered in blood for more hours of the day than you were able to scrounge up for sleep, the only time you had to think about the larger things in life is when you were laying on a mattress, trying to get your lids to close so that your weary mind could shut down. For most service workers, this span of time could be rather short--they clocked out, they went home, they spent time with their families, and then eventually they found themselves laying down for any relatively small number of minutes until sleep came to take them. Sure, they would stare up at their ceiling, recounting the events of the day, perhaps longer if those events were particularly traumatizing. Eventually, however, sleep would descend.
Eventually, Jane would get up and spend her "bonus hours" letting those thoughts keep on rolling.
There were times when these thoughts continued to crash against the shores of her mind, washing away the valuable grains of her attention until she--easily--refocused herself, and returned to watching her fingers tap her pen incessantly against her clipboard. After a few deliberate blinks, Jane rose her jade eyes to the patient face of her male counterpart, and then to the paper cup bearing the circular, green symbol of relief which was held immediately in front of her. A crooked smile crept over each of their faces when she took and brought the coffee to her lips for a taste, and she cleared away the chair next to her for Royce to sit.
The New York Presbyterian hospital had been in chaos since the day before. Paramedics such as the partners had been on-call and running EMS around Manhattan during the nearly twenty-one hours since the influx started. Their day had begun yesterday, and the evening was still young. Jane sat and enjoyed her strong coffee and Royce's upbeat charms with the understanding that the next chance for caffeine and jokes could be tomorrow. The ambulance was empty and quiet except for the humorous rants he went on about, making her laughter bounce off of the white walls. The chair cushion was particularly cozy after all of the constant movement: almost good enough to drift off to sleep on.
Jane knew that her insomnia and her hand radio would now allow that, so she kept on listening until the moment the call would end the peace.
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Post by The Arbiter on May 24, 2012 21:13:56 GMT -6
“Van 319, this is dispatch. Emergency response required at ninth and Broadway. Police barricade was overrun by student demonstrators. Casualties unknown. Other teams will be on site. Use caution.”
Royce shot a brief look of inquiry at the dreary-eyed Jane. He furrowed his brow, and in a perfect African-American accent uttered: “I got a bad feelin' 'bout this one, Ace.” He buckled his seat belt hastily, and shoved his early-morning lunch into a plastic quickie-mart bag before applying power to the lights and siren. The hulking GM 4500 “Traumahawk” chirped in the parking lot, alarming the early-hour service workers to the vehicle's presence. Jane and Royce were on the clock.
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Post by Thoren on May 24, 2012 21:48:33 GMT -6
Caterina always left at Belmont Preparatory High five hours after classes would end, it had gotten to the point that the janitors eventually gave her a key to get in so she could hold early morning and late afternoon study sessions for the few students that would show up. In her starting years, the teacher would have probably laughed at the thought that she would spend most of her time in this squeaky clean high school to try to get kids to understand the forms of evolution. But none the less here she was, packing up her desk after one of her scholarship students came in from the Projects so he could study with he one last time with her before her early biology final exam tomorrow.
Seeing how she was raised, with her grandfather's teachings of teamwork and how the community can't survive if no one gives their 100%, Caterina decided to put her all for her students when she actually got one of her most problematic students from two years ago to actually talk to her about life back at home. Soon that student became one of her bests when she showed that girl how easy it was to do her work if she actually asked for help. Students then started to trickle in over the years that the young teacher gave up more and more of her free time to her kids. Caterina could only smile at all of the graduation photos and senior photos she had been given over the past few years.
A knock sounded at her door as Richie, the government teacher in the next hall over, walked in with two cups of what seemed to be coffee. She smiled as she pulled her loose red hair into a pony tail and flipped her lamp off.
"Rich, you know I don't drink coffee. I stopped drinking it so I wouldn't shoot my nerves out." The 32 year old man on smiled back and handed her her cup. A quick sniff identified the drink as hot chocolate, and not even hesitating she took a cautious sip.
"Cat, you going to be okay in Thailand for the winter break? I heard that there is some trouble happening in the east." Richie had heard about Caterina's upcoming trip with one of her old professors into Thailand for the winter break for a zoology expo.; and she was leaving before the break for the students started, hence the early test. Caterina frowned at bit playfully before rolling her blue eyes, she packed up her papers in her bag and only stood with some defiance.
"Grand-daddy taught me well, come on Rich. The government is making sure us scientist are going to be safe in Bangkok before we head to the forests." She gave him a little nudge before walking to the door. "Come on, walk to the station with me. You said Allen is giving you trouble in your class." Both teachers grabbed their coats and headed for the nearest subway station.
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Post by The Arbiter on May 24, 2012 22:04:02 GMT -6
Richie perked up, sipping his coffee as she nudged conversation and they continued down the hallway.
“That kid is going to be the death of me,” they pressed on, out the doors into the snow toward the subway, “I am almost positive it's because he just doesn't give a damn, but, you can never be too sure with some of these well-to-do types. Little bastards.” Richies took another sip of his coffee as they rounded the corner, approaching the station entrance.
You may not leave the subway until expressly instructed in a mod post.
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Post by The Arbiter on May 24, 2012 22:08:11 GMT -6
Intersection of 9th and Broadway
Police Barricade
1837 Hours
Bram Dennison
New York. Not the best place to be just prior to the end of the world. At least, that's what the media called it. The doomsday clock had moved ever closer to midnight in the past few months, and everyone was on edge. Everyone.
Not to mention everything else was going to Hell. The supposed apocalypse has that effect on people. They all freak, begin doing anything and everything they'd ever wanted, and stock up. Or they go about their lives like nothing is going to happen, remaining blissfully ignorant of the world around them. Like idiots.
Bram Dennison could be considered one of those idiots at first glance. He'd awoken every day that week with the impending war as the furthest thing from his mind. Not because he didn't care; he very much did. He simply understood that his profession and his own sanity demanded that he remain calm and resolute. At least, that's what he told himself. That's really all you can do. Pretend everything will be okay. The alternative is to fold and leave the table for a life of craze and insanity.
“Why in the fuck do all these kids think that roughing up the city is gonna' change things?” Bram sighed a chilled sigh from behind the visor of his riot helmet, his thoughts of reassurance rudely interrupted. The man next to him, Jones, was nothing short of a strict pessimist with the view that anyone not in the purview of his ideals was an instant moron. The patrol officer would greatly benefit from a sucker-punch to the jaw.
“Probably because nobody is listening to them.” Another officer, adjacent Jones, had chimed in.
“Oh, so now you're on their side, jackass?”
“He's stating a fact. Calm down, Terry.” Bram suppressed the urge to allow a grin to spread across his face. The man didn't have a superiority complex by any means, but it always felt good to put his partner in his place; it was a relationship he regretted having to deal with on a daily basis.
Terry Jones grumbled at Sergeant Dennison's remark, keeping more or less quiet as per his personality: an aggressive coward; a paradox if there ever was one. Of all the mornings that Bram didn't need to deal with the man's attitude, it was that day. Whenever a bunch of college bums get together to protest something, a police presence is always required. Annoying, but tolerable. When they begin to break things, however, it becomes tiresome and somewhat frightening; kids aren't quite inclined to understand that consequences are attached to actions, no matter the situation.
The ravings of this particular angry mob, however, was opposition to the decision to deploy a precautionary naval force to the Pacific in a standoff against the Chinese. How this led to a full blown riot was not divulged to Bram. Nor did he honestly care. Twelve hours ago, he'd been asleep in his bed peacefully for the first time in some months. The simple prospect that he'd rolled out of bed was astonishing.
“Look alive! They're moving our way,” the precinct chief instructed. The demonstrators were not following the norm of angry-mob conduct. The procession was charging, no, careening around the bend at the end of the street. Various objects and improvised explosives were visible even from the fair distance of nearly a quarter mile.
This is going to be real fun, Bram internally remarked. From behind him, a crowd-control vehicle launched tear-gas canisters as the mob closed the two-hundred foot gap. They had little immediate effect on the group, which continued onward. The officers on either side of Bram braced themselves against their riot shields, awaiting the careening mass of bodies against them. Molotovs began to burst on their shields and the ground before them. The clash would not be a minor one. |
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Post by The Arbiter on May 24, 2012 22:14:41 GMT -6
Devastation is a word that could be considered insulting to describe the level damage, both physical and mental, caused to the police force by the mob.
The assault was fear encased in adrenaline for every officer involved. And Bram, a Marine, was no exception to this rule. He'd been shot at, blown up, shelled, and an array of various other trials, but this riot was in his top three, easily.
As the mob broke through their defenses, they took to beating the officers with whatever they possibly could. Bram defended himself admirably, but too succumbs to the raging mass, and is forced to the ground.
Not long after the first line of defense is broken, Ambulance 319 arrives on scene at the rear of the barricade, the sounds of violence permeating the evening air.
POSTING ORDER: Valentine, Thoren, Arbiter.
EDIT: POSTING ORDER: Valentine, Thoren, Midnight Visitor, Arbiter
Every post is to be followed by a moderation post.
Next post: Valentine
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Post by Valentine on May 26, 2012 20:06:18 GMT -6
06:51 PM | Police Barracade → New York Presbyterian Hospital
The first thing that crossed her mind was a scene a decade old, one whose fifty teens with picket signs was dwarfed by the sheer violence present in the current streets. Not even rolling out of the back of the police car with Blake and running home to spend the night learning the art of the lockpick could top bricks flying through the air and smashing into the local shop and car windows. Or worse, the visors of riot helmets.
Second were two words passing through as she flung open the back doors of the ambulance: little fuckers.
It was instant autopilot for the partners. Students and law enforcement alike were dragged and carried to the growing circle of medical support, most sporting bruised eyes, broken noses, busted lips. Royce was already kneeling next to an officer, setting the man's jaw back into place with care. As the senior paramedics, they would need to leave the less serious cases to their comrades and seek out those in the most need.
Looking out over the mess as her hands worked themselves at securing a trampled student onto another team's gurney, she could see the mob leaving bodies on the ground in their wake. Jane focused on sighting for the blue uniforms and grabbed her kit as she signaled to Royce. Her feet carried her fast to an officer that had been passed over by most of the crowd, except for a girl who remained attempting to pry his riot helmet from his head.
"Move away from the officer!" Moving with more swiftness, Jane reached the student before Royce and already had her hands in the girl's hair, yanking her away. The girl let out a startled scream but couldn't so much as thrash before Royce appeared, pinning her to await someone with handcuffs as Jane turned her attention to the officer.
It was always a little more painful when you had to treat an officer, especially when they were someone you knew in some way. Being a paramedic meant you spent a lot of time with other service members, even if they were at grisly scenes. You got to know the other guys with time and experience, and then the days would come when you'd mourn the loss of them. Jane turned him over and found a familiar face beneath the helmet as she removed it. "Mr. Dennison! Mr. Dennison, can you hear me? I need you to stay with me, officer. Support is on scene."
Continuing to talk and try for a response, she checked him over as Royce handed the girl off to another officer, who gave them a quick-and-dirty slice up of the situation's carnage. Officer Dennison neither moved, opened his eyes, nor gave verbal response--they would need to take him to emergency care. Jane focused on him before yelling for a gurney, and soon she and Royce were lifting him into the back of their van. They took off back to NYP with sirens blaring and Jane leaning over the man, checking him for trauma points.
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Post by The Arbiter on May 26, 2012 20:32:02 GMT -6
Upon arrival at the hospital, the staff, quickly becoming beleaguered by the influx of patient, raced out to the ER dock, attending each vehicle as it rolled in. Nevertheless, the number of available personnel dwarfed the number of casualties.
Van 319, was, fortunately for Bram, one of the first back; no doubt thanks to the experience of both Royce and Jane. When the hospital staff pulled him into the lobby, they immediately tasked Royce and Jane with moving him to a room. Most of the senior staff remembered nine-eleven far too well, and knew an impending disaster when they saw it. They would need all the help they can get.
Notice for Valentine: Your character has the opportunity to proceed with Bram Dennison to a vacant emergency room, and aid in the character's stabilization, as well as that of other incoming patients. This is not mandatory.
Next Post: Thoren
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Post by Thoren on May 26, 2012 21:02:50 GMT -6
Caterina couldn't believe the situation that the police had to deal with today, just looking at the live footage on the TV couldn't express on how she felt at that point. Students raging on and on about things they wanted to change with violence, it some times made her sick to just hear about it. The TV monitor showed the results of the police and protestors clashing, not pretty at all, and to be more dramatic the news showed a girl being cuffed by EMS and an officer being loaded onto a ambulance.
Looking to Richie and the other people waiting for their ride home, she sighed audibly to express that her stress was catching up to her. With her grandfather ALWAYS being paranoid of other people Caterina tried to believe that not matter the person, unless they were psychopaths, they could be trusted with something; and that got her in some funny situations with the students when she would trust them to just try.
The train horn echoed from the tunnel as it approached their station, Caterina quickly downed the rest of her cooled hot chocolate and threw the Styrofoam cup away before the train cars came to a halt. Boarding with her colleague and finding two seats together, both teachers sat together and continued their conversation about Allen as the train took off to it's next destination.
"I just think he doesn't care, though he dose like to be in my class, merely because he and his girlfriend like to give each other "the eye" in class. I swear the reproduction section of the class is going to be hell with them sitting next to each other." Richie did his best not to snicker, glad that he was not stuck teaching that in his classes. Caterina elbowed him as the train continued to his drop off point, the woman still had a bit of waiting time till the subway would reach Little Italy. |
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Post by The Arbiter on May 27, 2012 8:36:26 GMT -6
As Caterina and Richie closed on the Greenwich village stop, there was a sudden jolt as the train's power lines cut out. The aging train's brake-lines activated, and knocked many of the train's occupants to the floor, Richie and Caterina included. The young woman came out of the ordeal with little more than a couple bruises and a crick in her neck, however her cohort, Richie was no so lucky, receiving a serious blow when his head met one of the many poles in the car. He recovered initially, but appeared to be in serious distress.
The train car remained idle, with no electrical current present short of the battery-powered emergency lights. The station platform was a quarter mile from Caterina's present location of the line, but the tunnels outside the car were equally lacking a power supply; emergency lights were offline as well.
Effect: The NPC Richie is now crippled. This character has suffered a minor concussion, and will be unable to perform major physical feats successfully for the next three turns. If the character loses consciousness, he will slip into a coma and die of a brain-hemorrhage.
Notice: Player character Caterina may leave the train car this turn. However, player Midnight Visitor may place her character within the train car at this time. If she so chooses, Caterina must wait at least one turn to leave the car, and must do so with either Richie, Midnight's character, or both. Leaving the car is also entirely optional, and safety is not guaranteed should power come back online, which could be at any moment.[/b]
Next Post: Midnight Visitor(That's kinda' suggestive sounding, isn't it?)[/color]
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Post by Midnight Visitor on May 27, 2012 9:00:16 GMT -6
Dean Grayson
f i r e s t a r t e r The lights were blaring and the music was blinding; or was that the other way around? Hell, Dean couldn’t tell anymore. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see a kaleidoscope of colors. It kinda looked cool, under the haze of alcohol. Any other day, he would absolutely hate it. But the alcohol, the relief of passing school, and the fact that he was with a group of friends he hadn’t seen since elementary school all led to his current light-headedness and brazen thoughts. Hell, he had grabbed a girl’s ass—something he would never do, out of respect and the fact that he wasn’t that desperate. Now that he was coming down on the happy high though, he was a little disappointed. Expecting the Big Apple to have some serious entertainment, he had let his old pals drag him around to show him the best watering holes around. He was seriously disappointed.
They had hauled him off to see some monuments. Impressive but not what he had in mind. Central park was cool, he guessed. Not like the great outdoors he had back at home, but he supposed it was the best you could get in a big city like this. Thankfully, his friends picked up on his boredom and brought him to a day club. It only got interesting after he gulped down a few half price beers.
But, he had to admit the company was getting a little annoying. Loud and obnoxious, all of them. The only reason he didn’t say something was because they promised to introduce him to the night life. So, with a mumble of: “Gotta go. See ya tonight,” and a few returned "aw"s, he escaped back onto the noisy streets.
Wrapping his coat a little tighter around himself, he marched off down the slick concrete with a frown. What to do… What to do… Well, some god must have taken a liking to him because his ears suddenly picked up a cacophony of shouts and some brash noises he couldn’t quite pinpoint. But, he soon realized that what he had heard was simply pure, blissful chaos.
Dean had almost been trampled by the mob. After running full sprint to catch up with the moving destruction, he was hard pressed to halt his forward momentum when he almost trampled a few grungy looking kids. They had all been clustered around a few flaming beer bottles (Molotov’s, his brain provided) and producing more, he realized. Now, any god fearing or justice fearing man would have turned around and let the police handle the situation. But Dean was neither. In fact, he smiled in a delightful manner, took one of the bottles in his calloused hands, then threw it directly at the police line.
And then ran. Laughing like life itself was a joke. Which it was.
Hightailing it out of there, Dean slid down the railing of no particular subway entrance, vaulted over the turnstile, and then slipped onto a random train. Phew, he was safe. Well, until the train, after a few minutes of slithering along the tracks, came to a sudden stop. Standing up now started to sound like a bad idea because it definitely felt like one now—you know, with him on the floor and all.
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Post by The Arbiter on May 27, 2012 9:25:49 GMT -6
Dean successfully, but awkwardly, made it into the subway car as it departed the station, drawing little attention to himself aboard the train. When the lights went out however, he found himself visually hampered in the dim fluorescent emergency lighting.
Thirty minutes passed in the train, at which point the conductor alerted the passengers that the system was suffering from a blown breaker in the local power substation. It would take at least two hours to repair, and suggested everyone in the car wait until it was repaired.
Effect: Due to Dean's natural timing, luck, and general know-how of hell-raising, he successfully got away with injuring several of the police officers with his brash action. However, due to his intoxicated state, he is now impaired in the darkness of the subway; his personality itself is unaffected, but his physical ability is somewhat hampered.
Agility+Maverick = Pass Police Hit and Run; Intoxication + Agility = Impaired movement, negating ability for two turns.
Notice: Dean appears as a well built, strong individual, more than capable of carrying Richie to the platform should Caterina so choose to leave the train car. In addition, with the notification by the conductor of the current situation, Caterina may leave the train next turn with the aid of Dean, or wait one turn and leave without him. This is still optional, and the tunnel remains in pitch darkness.
Next Post: Due to Bram Dennison's currently unstable condition and state of unconsciousness, his turn is skipped; he will automatically be resuscitated in five turns. The next post instead goes to Valentine.
Three turns left.
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Post by Valentine on May 27, 2012 13:37:05 GMT -6
7:03 PM | New York Presbyterian Hospital
Grabbing a clipboard from the nearest nurse, Jane tossed it off to Royce as he wheeled off with Bram and shouted over his shoulder the room number they were assigned. All of the officers would be sectioned off in their own wing by the estimated numbers, which were nothing short of unsettling. All they could do was hope for no DOAs and do everything to prevent the loss of good men.
Her b-line for the ice freezer was cut off by several cold bags being pressed into her hands by nurse and friend Elise, and after exclaiming her thanks she hurried past a sheet-covered gurney. She hoped it wasn't a cop as she ran down the hall.
Royce already had Bram Dennison hooked up to the monitors by the time she was in the room and placing the ice bags around his head and chest. His helmet had kept the concussion mild, but his bullet proof vest had not done as well of a job for his torso. Her partner removed the man's shirt and some of his other gear, setting it aside so that they could assess the damage.
Several bruises were already blotched over Bram's chest, painting him in brown and purple. Jane wiped lidocaine across the single, small cut on his neck for numbing and as she cleansed the wound with saline Royce felt at the bruises for deeper damage. He was relieved to report nothing serious.
Nonetheless, there was no telling how many times the man had been kicked and trampled as he laid on the street. "It's absurd, children trying to beat a man to death. A man that works everyday to protect people like them, no less..," she muttered to Royce, receiving a somber head shake in return as he filed the report on the clipboard. Jane looked up at him once Bram was stable and ready to rest there in the ice.
"At least this one's good to go, for the most part," Royce spoke, and gave a tired sigh. The clipboard was passed to a nurse who ran in and abruptly out, closing the door. "I'd say he'll be good with some rest and pain killers."
Jane nodded in the silence, having just a moment of peace before they rushed to help the new arrivals.
[It sucks but I'm being rushed BAH.]
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Post by The Arbiter on May 27, 2012 14:18:06 GMT -6
Jane and Royce's efforts were not in vain, as their training successfully stabilized Bram Dennison in short notice; two centuries earlier or left unattended and there would have been the distinct possibility of the man bleeding to death. As more and more Police Officers poured into the hospital, it became apparent that there was not going to be enough room to stand soon.
“Hey, you're EMS right?” An unkempt and frankly wild looking doctor had poked his head into the room. Royce raised an eyebrow and nodded; as if the uniforms didn't give it away.
“I need someone to hold this kid down while we give him anesthetic in the next room. He won't stop blathering on about some big guy; we think he's on a trip.”
Effect: Jane and Royce's profession have successfully stabilized Bram Dennsion. He will now automatically be resuscitated in two turns.
Notice: Jane or Royce can assist the doctor in the next room. The other may attempt to resuscitate Bram, or help elsewhere in the hospital. Conversely, they both can go back to the ambulance and make more runs to the barricade. All choices are optional.
Next Post: Thoren
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