Life is a series of bullets, fired sometimes at random. Sometimes carefully aimed.
It's been four years since Sector 9 was "dissolved." A secret group of the most deadly and elite in their fields. Officially nonexistent, it was called upon when no one else could do the job. Its members were numerous, but they weren't the best. Simple agents turned wannabes. Some didn't even know they worked for Sector 9. Only the best made it actually into the organization, including the Alpha Team, now disbanded. Someone had underminded the organization and it was forced to abandon operations: All of its members went to the corners of the globe, taking hidden identities, hiding from each other. No one was sure who had done it, or why. But it was done. It was time to return to a normal life. Or as normal as things got for an elite member of assassins, gunmen, fighters, mercenaries, hackers, and soldiers.
(This is a re-boot of "Shell Casings", and is a private one-on-one RP between me and PurpleD. You may introduce your character, PurpleD, and we can go from there.)
Marek placed a scrap of paper to mark the page as he put down Hardt and Negri's Empire. Lost in thought, he glanced at the clock to see that it was much later than he thought it would be. His mind wouldn't rest, though his body was fatigued. The man ran his hands through his short black hair, noticing that it was greasy and in bad need of washing. The building hunger in his stomach would not subside, though his bank account didn't allow for it to be sated. "I guess I could order something cheap," he muttered as he picked up the phone to call a 24 hour pizza joint down the street. Eat. Shower. Sleep. The revolution can wait one day.
His apartment was larger than it would normally be for a single guy his age, but Sector 9 paid well when it was still in operation, and he didn't squander his money. He ordered his pizza, and surprisingly, not even fifteen minutes later, a knock came at his door.
"Pizza delivery," a voice came from behind the door.
That was quick. "Be right there" he called out as he scruffed up his hair in an attempt to hide the greasiness. Purely out of habit, Marek made sure his pistol was still in a drawer that was near the door. It's just f***ing pizza. No need to be so paranoid. He grabbed his wallet and opened the door, smellign the aromas and getting hungrier every second.
The man was dressed in a big red jacket and jeans, wearing a big red baseball cap, carrying a large red pizza case. It definitely smelled like pizza; but just then he pulled out a weapon: a silenced mini-uzi from the case. Marek's senses heightened and he dodged just out of the way, the spray of bullets flying into the apartment. He dropped the case and growled, moving in to go after him, but Marek got to his pistol first.
He came into the doorway, looking for Marek as he was on the floor, pistol in hand.
(No worries. Is the title of the thread intentionally spelled Shell Cases?)
Without hesitation, Marek pulled the trigger of his pistol, aiming at the shoulder of the assailant in an attempt to force him to drop his gun. Though his heart was pounding and his reflexes were controlling his body, his mind remained constant throughout the calamity. What a rookie. Whoever he is, it'll be easy to find out who he's working for.
It's been four years since Sector 9 was "dissolved." A secret group of the most deadly and elite in their fields. Officially nonexistent, it was called upon when no one else could do the job. Its members were numerous, but they weren't the best. Simple agents turned wannabes. Some didn't even know they worked for Sector 9. Only the best made it actually into the organization, including the Alpha Team, now disbanded. Someone had underminded the organization and it was forced to abandon operations: All of its members went to the corners of the globe, taking hidden identities, hiding from each other. No one was sure who had done it, or why. But it was done. It was time to return to a normal life. Or as normal as things got for an elite member of assassins, gunmen, fighters, mercenaries, hackers, and soldiers.
(This is a re-boot of "Shell Casings", and is a private one-on-one RP between me and PurpleD. You may introduce your character, PurpleD, and we can go from there.)
Like freeform roleplaying? Try Darkness Befalls Us
Ryttare Kelasin Luna Orelinalei
OOC: Shell cases?
[Left Play Designs][Coffeehouse][DeviantArt]
Winner MTGS Weekly Sig/Banner Contest
Weeks: 37/85/87/94/135/159/160/226
"Pizza delivery," a voice came from behind the door.
Like freeform roleplaying? Try Darkness Befalls Us
Ryttare Kelasin Luna Orelinalei
He grabbed his wallet and opened the door, smellign the aromas and getting hungrier every second.
[Left Play Designs][Coffeehouse][DeviantArt]
Winner MTGS Weekly Sig/Banner Contest
Weeks: 37/85/87/94/135/159/160/226
The man was dressed in a big red jacket and jeans, wearing a big red baseball cap, carrying a large red pizza case. It definitely smelled like pizza; but just then he pulled out a weapon: a silenced mini-uzi from the case. Marek's senses heightened and he dodged just out of the way, the spray of bullets flying into the apartment. He dropped the case and growled, moving in to go after him, but Marek got to his pistol first.
He came into the doorway, looking for Marek as he was on the floor, pistol in hand.
Like freeform roleplaying? Try Darkness Befalls Us
Ryttare Kelasin Luna Orelinalei
Without hesitation, Marek pulled the trigger of his pistol, aiming at the shoulder of the assailant in an attempt to force him to drop his gun. Though his heart was pounding and his reflexes were controlling his body, his mind remained constant throughout the calamity. What a rookie. Whoever he is, it'll be easy to find out who he's working for.
[Left Play Designs][Coffeehouse][DeviantArt]
Winner MTGS Weekly Sig/Banner Contest
Weeks: 37/85/87/94/135/159/160/226