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Thread: Double Helix (Nuhmudiira a.k.a Jezebel - A complete bio) WIP

  1. #1

    Double Helix (Nuhmudiira - A complete bio)

    ((If you're looking for a premise or a tl;dr -- Nuhm may have killed a loyal OT employee and a good friend. Now they want her dead. I know the whole death thing is hard to pull off, but I think I got this. You'll also notice that I left certain "roles" open, these may be assumed by other people, or at least, hopefully they will be ))

    ((Alright, so this is going to be really long. Maybe novella long, I'm not sure, but I absolutely love the AO universe and I am inspired by the one and only, Falikos. So I thought I'd try and reach for the things that I once enjoyed years ago in Anarchy Online and now I'm going to share a full character biography, written in 1st person fiction form.

    This will be ongoing, as I do not have time to sit down and write 8 years of memories through the eyes of my character all in one sitting, so I'll simply be adding new posts to this topic once I have completed another section.

    I don't expect anyone to read this, but I want this to be my piece of the game, maybe something that I can look back on in ten years if I just so happen to be playing this character and the servers are still running - Hopefully.

    One thing to note, I'm taking a few liberties here, so feel free to correct something that you believe to be way off, AO lore wise.

    Without further adue, this is the beginning of what I've started. I might spruce it up a bit later if I find something else can be added or taken away.))

    Double Helix
    A character biography for Nuhmudiira


    A whirlwind of memories flash as the choking black pulls me in with its icy grasp. My breath draws shorter – Military grade armor coming closer and closer to failing – and a beam of blue shears through the hull of our civilian salvage frigate.

    Just for supplies they said – I should’ve known.

    When you’re involved with that many people; when you're completely sure you terminated the only person close to you, the only person you could trust, all this time – I should have known something wasn’t right about the whole setup.

    Eight years of memories, nothing but fragments lost in time and soon to be lost forever. I hadn’t come this far, hadn’t done all of this, to perish at the hands of an unknown entity twenty clicks from home in the middle of dead space.

    Borealis and the constant nagging for help with weapon technicalities and the like sounds like paradise right about now.

    I drift for a moment, taking in the complete absence of scenery.

    Or perhaps I’d rather be among friends down there at that once popular coffee lounge in West Athens.

    None of that matters now.

    My mind screams at me with ringing klaxons that pound the inside of my skull like a migraine and a handful of nails against my forehead.

    “Just hold on Nuh, a few more seconds and we’re outta this!”

    A voice pierces through the deadening silence and reverberates from the small communications transceiver on my wrist.

    “I… can’t…” Searching for words that don’t exist, “breathe!”

    Its shape as dark as Space itself, moving in closer and preparing for final impact, in small lettering you can clearly see just one word – “Omni-Tek.”

    “No…” Blood splashes against the inside of my helmet and I cough with a sputter.

    Twisting around, I try to grip hold of something, anything that’ll hold me before I become just another spec of nothing amongst the vast emptiness of the Universe. But my skin begins to crawl; it itches with an intense cold.

    And I know that this is the end.

    ((If you're looking for a premise or a tl;dr -- Nuhm may have killed a loyal OT employee and a good friend. Now they want her dead. I know the whole death thing is hard to pull off, but I think I got this.))
    Last edited by Nuhmudiira; Aug 17th, 2011 at 11:24:30.
    AO - JukeJoint "Nuhmudiira" Jezebel - 208/18 Trader - Omni

  2. #2
    Training Day

    A star breaks in through the black -- the morning star -- Rubika and a hill covered landscape, surrounded by electronic blue fences and grass that stands as tall as your knees.

    I hold a rickety shotgun in hand, something of lesser value that you could find among one of the many junk piles lying around Borealis.

    A female Metaphysicist stands to the right and my eyes focus on a peculiar little creature, with a small, brown colored body and tiny, skittering feet, with a long tube shaped nose that wails a screech at the nearest sight of danger.

    "A rollerrat," she says, "is what they are. And this is target practice."

    The setting is a holo-world – a virtual landscape training ground for green civilians wishing to fight and become soldiers for the great Omni-Tek.

    It’s hard to believe that I was once a rookie who could barely handle the business end of a shotgun.

    “Before you fire away…” Her name was Aulial, and this was her explanation of nanoprograms, to me, as a clueless young adult with dreams way over my head. “…I want you to use your very first nanoprogram. Clear your mind and execute a combat skill drain on your target.”

    You may think it’s a bit strange for a metaphysical expert to be training someone in the likes of combat and trading – Someone who looks as if she’s had her mouth sewn shut and black-painted hair atop her head – But hey, who am I to argue?

    “You want me to ‘drain’ the combat skills of this overly-round creature, whose nose is longer than its entire body?” I arch an eyebrow in reluctance.

    “Trust me.” She says, crossing her arms and waiting for me to make my move.

    Confused and a little embarrassed by the notion, I crinkle my forehead and a tingling sensation trickles down throughout my body and, for a moment, I gain the insight of a little creature that wishes me as dead as possible.

    “Okay…” Aiming my weapon, “Now, I can shoot the loud bastard, right?”

    Aulial nods.

    My weapon fires at the itch of my fingertip and I begin the first steps of my journey as a rookie Trader, who would be most proficient in arms and combat, thanks to a new friend – A friend that had only recently made my acquaintance at the time, upon joining up with a small OT cell-group, whom called themselves, “Mechanical Animals.”

    This is where everything began. I remember the scenery, the green, as if it all just happened yesterday.

    Those were innocent times.

    Had I not been such a naïve little girl, I might have avoided this whole situation.
    AO - JukeJoint "Nuhmudiira" Jezebel - 208/18 Trader - Omni

  3. #3
    ((More more! Loving it so far Nuhm. Keep it up!!))
    President - Shattered Dreams- Rimor

  4. #4
    The Darkness Nova

    Flash forward a few weeks and we’re side-by-side, cleaning out the abandoned subway systems and sewers of Rubika. A few months and we’re laying waste to the mindless cultists of the Temple of Three Winds.

    Shotgun blasts and sparks, with glittery-glowing green nanoprogram executions, little bobbly heads of metaphysical creations, everything swirling around like a vortex in an out-of-control dream and you suddenly realize – this sure beats the hell outta peddling wares off the corner of Outpost 10-3 and 20K.

    But there was something brewing within Aulial, I could sense it.

    She lacked enthusiasm.

    She doubted the leadership of the group we’d been members of for the short stint of my training.

    One of them was named Uaintseenme, a steadfast Engineer, hell-bent on profiteering her way to the top. Who could blame her, really? Money and power, just one of the lustful dreams that exist upon the planet of Rubika.

    This didn’t sit well with Aulial, though, that’s not what she believed in.

    To be quite honest though, I don’t even remember believing in anything more than the trigger of my gun.

    Borealis, mid-day, Fair Trade; We’re swapping salvaged materials for credits and organizing bank space and these words flow out of her mouth as if she’d been waiting weeks to utter them: “I think I might find a shuttle off-world.”

    My hands stop dead in their hurried organizational pattern and I gape, mouth open at the gaze she’d taken upon me.

    “What?” Is all I can ask.

    “You’ve got your head on straight now. This place isn’t for me; it’s not the dream I wanted it to be.”

    “You couldn’t possibly mean that!” Swiftly tapping in a few key strokes that shut the bank terminal, “After what you’ve done for me you’re just gonna call it quits? We’re friends, you know that, right?”

    “Well… It’s the leader of this group, I don’t agree with her at all. I don’t want any part in it.”

    My hands firmly atop her shoulders, “And so you’re gonna find a shuttle off-world!?” Disbelief painting itself across my face, “How about we just start our own organization then, if you’re so unhappy?”

    Letting my arms fall back to my sides, she seems to stand there for a moment, contemplating in thought, the implications this could bring – the opportunity it might allow for her to sculpt the image she truly believed in.

    “Yeah, yeah, alright…” Giving a half-grin, “Let’s hand in our resignation and sign the appropriate forms all at once, then.”

    Smiling, as we head for the door, to Omni-1, “That’s the spirit.”

    Outside is a bustling street of warriors, soldiers, nano-addicts, thieves and beggars; all a blur, like an orange and brown Fixer on stimulants.

    “Borealis,” She looks to the Grid terminal, “I can’t stand this freaking place.”

    “You know, if you’re gonna lead…”

    Before I can finish my sentence, a man in tattered armor rushes up to me, too-close-for-comfort and quickly spits, “COULD YOU HELP ME WITH MY WEAPON?! I DON’T KNOW HOW TO USE IT!”

    We make a dash, leaving the dusty streets behind and zip right into the wondrous blue world of the Grid.

    My favorite part of learning to “swim.”

    No matter where you are, the Grid can always get you somewhere else, hundreds of miles away, in a matter of seconds.

    Just don’t get stuck in there.

    With a quick trek through the streets of Omni-Entertainment, we’re inside of administration and negotiating a new contract.

    The clerk at the desk asks, “What will you call this Omni-Tek subsidized organization?”

    “The Darkness Nova,” Aulial responds, “Lead primarily by myself and partially by my acquaintance here, Nuhmudiira.”

    “Very well,” the clerk concludes the agreement with an electronic seal that marks authenticity. “Please let us know if you plan on taking control of any tactical points of interest.”

    And with that, something new begins, regardless of the people whom may have been scorned in the process.
    Last edited by Nuhmudira; Aug 12th, 2011 at 11:13:02.
    AO - JukeJoint "Nuhmudiira" Jezebel - 208/18 Trader - Omni

  5. #5
    ((More coming, maybe tomorrow))
    AO - JukeJoint "Nuhmudiira" Jezebel - 208/18 Trader - Omni

  6. #6
    The Beast

    As the months moved forward we progressed and increased in size – recruiting all walks of life – rookies, veterans, the hopeless and the helpful.

    I started to see her vision quite clearly around the halfway point.

    People helping people, not because they had to, but because they wanted to; they enjoyed it.

    I recall the times we’d infiltrate Tir just so we could take part in the action that the Clan arena frequently saw. We learned, we adapted, and we became stronger fighters.

    You win some; you lose some, that’s what it’s all about, right? Thank the cosmos for insurance.

    But things – good things, they’re never meant to last.

    We can all sit around a camp fire and sing songs or group up and battle the fearsome golems of the Shadowlands, but sooner or later, it will come crashing down and you will have to deal with the consequences, no matter where they take you.

    Around the time of the Dust Brigade incursion on Borealis and the assassination – ya know, around the time the suppression gas dropped and the dusty streets of the trade center of Rubika became a bloodbath? I truly believe that this is where Aulial lost her vision.

    It became clearer and clearer by the day that no one was really safe and secure; innocent and free of guilt. It was almost as if you couldn’t trust anyone.

    An acquaintance of mine, Falikos, was under scrutiny by these very people. One of the most peaceful beings I had ever come to meet and even she faced the barrel of a gun from time to time.

    Omni-Tek clamped down, the Clans grew angrier – the neutrals would be pressured into choosing a side to fight for, whether they liked it, or not.

    Tensions grew heavier and we, as the Darkness Nova, struggled to stay afloat, unable to claim a secure spot of land and not a plot of grass for us to plant our roots.

    We were a collective drifter.

    I suppose being the leader of a dominant organization during one of the most pivotal times in the history of the planet can sorta screw with a person’s mind.

    And so things turned for the worse.

    If you weren’t self-sufficient, you were gone.

    If you couldn’t pay the bills, you were outta here.

    If you asked for too much help, gone.

    Me? I began to wonder what my role as co-operator even meant.

    There were short stints of the person I used to know, the woman that taught me how to use a gun, how to manipulate another person’s combat experience, hell, even how to have a little fun. But then anger, infuriating rage would take over.

    With almost the entire organization up in arms and over a year under our belts, it came down to one thing, in her mind, “Who really makes all of this happen? Who keeps us alive? Who makes sure we’ve still got a fighting chance tomorrow?”

    The answer certainly didn’t point toward me.

    I tried to escape by hiding away in places like The Cup, drowning myself in a bottle of Hit-the-Floor-Jack, regardless of Clan ownership, but one can only hide from the truth for so long.

    That’s why I decided to leave. I handed in my papers, paid my dues and I left it all behind.
    AO - JukeJoint "Nuhmudiira" Jezebel - 208/18 Trader - Omni

  7. #7
    ((sorry, this one's a bit longer than the rest, so far ;P))

    A Memory Within a Memory

    My eyes scratch at the sand that whips around in the air and the full suit of Armed Forces armor I’m wearing clinks and clangs at the onslaught of dirt and stone. It's hard to breathe, it’s hard to move and it's hard to see – slugging back another throat full of Jack, I fire off a shot into a crater filled with cyborgs.

    "Just you try and get me, ya bastards." An empty bottle falls from my hands and I collapse to my knees in a drunken stupor, head lashing back toward the sky, all alone in the middle of desolate Mort.

    I used to hate sand storms.


    It's kinda peaceful, you know? Like Space.

    Well, aside from maybe the incessant buzzing coming from blotches of proxy cyborg groups all over the area.

    It’s easier to forget things this way though, all drunk and wasting ammunition for no other reason than to drown out the voice inside of my head that consistently asks, “Why?”

    Was it childish of me to walk away?

    Should I go back?

    She was my best friend and even through seething anger, you don’t just walk out on them, do you?

    Aulial wouldn’t be here right now, on the planet Rubika, if it hadn’t been for me. I’m the reason any of this even happened.

    But where do we go from here?

    I think of a time a few years ago and I reminisce for a moment as the storm dies down and everything comes to a deafening calm. Long black hair of mine piling over the front of my face, my hands on my forehead, I look into another place in time.

    We were building the funds that we would need in order to purchase the equipment necessary for mining notum, even though we never accomplished that. Regardless, this resulted in running errands for corporate suits that sit around in offices high above in the skyscrapers of Rome Blue and Green.

    This particular mission was commissioned to us via a certain interested party that only referred to himself as R. We were to infiltrate a medical Clan facility and disable any means of producing more efficient implants – anything that would rival what pumps out of Omni-Med on a daily basis.

    So, of course, we accepted.

    The team consisted of Aulial, myself, a young and bright engineer named Brokton, a banana suit wearing martial artist named Tchaala and a dark-skinned doctor named Mishayla.

    In the usual situation we would have recruited any random enforcer as our strong-hand, but with a mission as straight-forward and simple as this, we figured we’d blast in and be out in time for last call.


    First of all, our target was all the way out in the middle of the Longest Road, which was, at the time, a literal dead-end.

    Second, the facility existed beneath the dirt, the only door being what looked like an oversized Leet-hole.

    Being the optimistic group that we were, we buzzed on past the hulking robot that guards Athen Shire, “Trash King,” and plummeted directly toward our objective, just a few miles west of the Foremans facility.

    “Dibs on the salvage!” Brok shouts through his radio transceiver as we all land our Yalmahas simultaneously.

    “Oh yeah?” Mish jumps out and stomps to the ground, “Not if I forget to patch up your next bullet wound.”

    Tchaa whisks out, punching and kicking the air in warm-up movement, “S’long as I get to punch someone!”

    Strapping a fresh bandolier of shells around my back, I watch Aulial as she makes her decent from atop a silver Yalm.

    “We distribute everything accordingly, that’s how it goes, got it?” Stern and in control, as always.

    “Right boss!” Brok salutes, sarcastically, as the five of us make our way to the entrance.

    “Alright, Brok, you know what to do. Get those welds undone,” pointing toward the door, Aulial motions for us to gather ‘round. “And clear out some of that dirt, will you?”

    But nobody thinks to mention the fact that it’s a bit strange the only entrance is welded shut.

    Needless to say, we’re in and filling our nano-control units with protective programs, observing the architecture – brown and metal, covered in a mossy substance and rust that stains the eyes.

    “So…” Mish glances around, “Who’s through the entrance first?”

    “I got this.” Tchaa pushes forward and slams through the only other door in the surrounding area, the stench of foul meat greeting our noses with a slap.

    “Pffaaa!” I clasp a hand over my nose, “You sure this is the right place? Smells like a rundown butchery.”

    Aulial peeks through into the dimly lit corridor ahead, “Yes,” noticing a corpse nailed to the wall, “It seems we’re a bit late.” She orders her summoned creatures to inspect the area further; the rest of the team stands their ground.

    “What kind of sick…” Brok kicks his shoddy little robot to move inward, beeping and blooping sounds of dissatisfaction.

    “I say we just get this over with,” Tchaa turns back, “Drinks on you, Nuhm.”

    Everyone switches on a shoulder-lamp and as suggested, we move in.

    Tchaa, myself and Aulial in front, the other two behind, we turn a dark corner and discover an entire pile of bodies, dressed in blood-stained white coats with looks of despair stretched across their faces.

    “Alright, what in the hell is going on?” Mish turns away, cupping her mouth with a hand.

    “Good question.” I aim the barrel of my pump-action Trainee, “I bet that guy knows.”

    We all focus our attention on a single man standing with his face toward a tiled wall.

    “You there,” Aulial tip toes over bodies and moves up close to him, “Turn around and explain yourself or I will order my meatbag here to rip you apart, just like your comrades.”

    “You…” He turns slowly, quivering, “You have no idea what you’ve waltzed into.”

    “Why don’t you clue us in, smart guy?!” Brok shouts from the back.

    “Brok!” Aulial’s hand goes up in the air, “Silence, please!”

    His face wrinkles and crumbles with flakes of dehydrated skin, “We…” going into a short fit of coughing and hacking on his own saliva, “We were a facility for the Clans, we were only developing new implant technology…”

    Tchaa arches an eyebrow and nods toward me, “We got the right place alright.”

    “What do ya think happened?” I whisper back at him.

    “Beats the leet dung out of me.”

    Then something horrible occurs to me, the obvious clue staring the five us in the face.

    “Aulial,” I reach out a hand, “kill that man, now.”

    “Why?” She glances back in confusion.

    “The utter destruction, the gruesome slaughtering; this is the work of a nonhuman, or a group of them.”

    “You mean…”

    “More human than human…” The man’s skin flakes off and transforms into steel, lunging a hand outward into the group and straight for Mishayla.

    “No!” Aulial dashes back and pushes her out of the way, my gun blasts with an eruption of sparks and the cyborg slams against the wall, eyes gleaming red with hatred.

    Brokton sends in his mechanical friend which is quickly lying in pieces strewn around on the ground. With what remains, he runs for the exit, firing with his single handgun.

    It jumps upward and takes my neck in a grasp, shoving my body against the ceiling, grinning deadly with a hiss.

    Tchaala attempts to take a swing or two but with its free arm, he’s sent flailing to the other side of the room.

    “You hunk a’ chunk, pile of shi…” My voice turns to crackling and gurgling, breath running short.

    And with wits as sharp as you would expect from the leader of maybe one of the greatest organizations this side of Rubika, Aulial orders her manifestation to mesmerize the ruthless borg dead in its tracks, leaving me hanging there with its grasp around me tighter than ever.

    “Get…” Choking, blood squeezing through the cracks between my teeth, “this thing offa me!”

    A quick slice of a finely sharpened blade and its arm is detached, loosening its grip from around my neck.

    Seconds later we’re gathering ourselves and running for the exit before the effects wear off and its path of destruction continues – Brok searching through his pack for a few spare explosives, the rest of us limping and staggering for our transportation.

    The explosives go in and we’re out faster than you can say notum spangled neutral novictum.

    Dying wasn’t something we enjoyed doing very often. I mean, have ya ever met someone who’s been to a terminal one too many times?

    In a flurry I shoot back to reality with a spinning dizziness and the nonstop beeping of the personal communicator on my wrist. After blinking a few times and realizing that I’m still sitting here in Mort with an empty bottle, I pick up the call.

    “Yeah, who is it?”

    “I’ve got a job for you.”

    “What makes you think I want a job?” Rubbing my face of the drunk-haze I’m covered in.

    “Come on, you’re unemployed. How much longer those credits going to last you?”

    The anonymous voice was right.

    “Okay, shoot.”

    “I’ve got a target I want taken care of; sent to reclaim, that is. You do the job and I’ll transfer one hundred million credits into your account.”

    “Wait,” I blink, concentrate, “Who are you?”

    “That isn’t important.”

    “Who’s the target?”

    “Also, not important. Just do the job and the credits are yours. Then you can go crawl back into whatever hole you prefer.”

    “Fine,” knowing that I shouldn’t take a job from an unknown, not caring all that much at this point, “Where do I go?”

    “Omni-Entertainment Arena, two hours.”

    The link goes dead.
    Last edited by Nuhmudiira; Aug 16th, 2011 at 00:04:06.
    AO - JukeJoint "Nuhmudiira" Jezebel - 208/18 Trader - Omni

  8. #8
    A Rude Awakening

    Into the Entertainment district, through the eerily pristine alley-ways and the echoing Bronto Burger advertisements, I find myself in front of the arena, with its big red sign overhead clearly stating the obvious.

    Twenty-three hundred hours and the sky’s as dark as can be, the only light coming from two thin posts at the gated entrance to the proving grounds and a little rotating globe that flashes in a strobe around the main floor.

    Shotgun in hand, I carefully make my way out into the zero-suppression field and find nothing but the same old statue of an Atrox that’s been there for years before.

    “So,” a voice slides out into the open from a location unknown, “you’ve finally come to finish the job.”

    I know that voice.

    “Aulial!” My eyes dart back and forth, “Where are you?!”

    Her figure emerges from absolute thin air – a Metaphysicist with cloaking technology.

    “Nice trick…” I lower my weapon a bit, “Why are you here? Come to apologize?”

    She looks onward in confusion, “Apologize? For what?!”

    This couldn’t be; she’s the target?

    Strutting forward a bit, fearless, “I gave you everything. I taught you everything you know. That gun, your armor, the credits you spend on booze, all because of me!” She pounds a thumb against the small pocket between her breasts.

    “Yet you continue to neglect the fact that you wouldn’t even be here right now, if it weren’t for me.” I shoot back, angrily, ashamed.

    “I could have done all of this on my own.”

    “What happened to ya, Aulial? What happened to my friend?”

    “So sentimental, I don’t need your friendship. Not if you’re so easily willing to throw it away.” She turns, arms crossed.

    “Because of an argument, YOU started!”

    Turning back again, “I hear that anger in your voice; that visceral rage. Come on, let it out,” waving for me to advance forward, “Give me your best shot, it’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

    How does she know that?

    “What are you talking about?”

    “Come on, don’t play stupid. You were sent here to send me to reclaim, which is probably rigged to deactivate. So, go ahead. Go ahead and f**king try.”

    “No,” lowering my shotgun all the way to my waist, “I won’t do that.”

    “Fine.” Bowing her head, she lifts a crossbow from her back and aims it in my direction.

    My vision begins to shake; I swear she pointed that crossbow at me.

    “Come on!” She commands.

    Everything goes blurry and all I can see is smoke and fire, washing away like running water colors.

    My heart beats fast. My fingers, my arms, my entire body begins to shake and the sound of malfunctioning carbon monoxide scrubbers ring with loud, ear bleeding urgency.

    “Nuhm!” An unfamiliar voice shouts out, almost unintelligible and muffled. “Wake up, damn you!”

    I swear I’m dead. I swear the void of Space claimed me as its own.

    I can’t feel myself. I can’t feel anything. My eyes won’t open.

    And right before I’m ready to give up, a sharp sting pounds directly into me.

    “WAKE. UP.”

    When I can finally squint, just a little bit, I see a shadow of a figure moving franticly around, overhead, but then my eyes close again and the silence returns.

    In an instant that feels like an eternity, I’m able to fully emerge from my sleep-state, body feeling like pins and needles; my surroundings slowly come into view.

    Multicolored red and grey walls, windows that span from one side to the other, with a black, white speckled view. The next thing I notice is soft cushion beneath me and a blanket that matches the décor covering most of my unclothed skin.

    My head falls to the side of a small, yet comfortable pillow and I notice a sheet of paper atop a bed-stand that also holds a monitor showcasing a serene looking scene from what I can only guess is a part of Rubika I haven’t seen in a long time.

    With every bit of strength I reach out for this note and find that it’s scribbled hastily with many different words. For a moment, I just lay there, as if remembering how to comprehend sentences.

    It reads:

    Dear Nuhm;
    You were most certainly dead, or almost. We got to you and your crew just in time. Although, they didn’t quite make it, we were able to bring you out and rehabilitate you, for the most part.
    Your reproductive organs no longer function; figured I’d get that out of the way from the start. I’m sorry. The Universe can be a mean bitch.
    The good news is, there is no other major damage, aside from mild memory loss – which could be permanent or not-so-permanent, we’re not sure.
    More good news, say hello to your new home. A personal gift from me to you, an orbital apartment aboard Sunrise station, which were introduced to the population sometime between the time we received you and the time that you’re reading this.
    A time-span of…
    Okay, brace yourself this time…
    Two years.
    I know this may all come as a shock to you, but at least you’re still alive.
    Last bit of bad news – Omni-Tek does know you’re alive; they’ve also placed a bounty on your head. Due to the treaties involved in neutral territory and what-not, they can’t touch you here. But that doesn’t mean bounty hunters can’t.
    Watch your back.
    I’m not sure if I believe that you did what they say you did, but regardless, heed my advice.
    Again, if I were you, I’d take a few days to gather myself. The world of Rubika isn’t going anywhere, anytime soon.
    When I know that it’s safe, we will be in touch.
    Good luck and welcome back.

    That’s all it says.

    My head in a whirl, my first reaction is to break down into a fit of sobbing, hands clutching my face, tears pouring through the crevices between my fingers.

    The only thoughts in my head are, “How could this possibly happen?!” and, “This is all MY fault!”

    Heaving hysterically, I throw myself back down, drops of wet leaking down the side of my face and I just stare blankly at the ceiling.

    I lay here and I wait.

    I’ll wait until I can’t stand the hunger and the thirst and then I’ll just lay here some more.

    I’ll stay in this position until I’m ready to accept the truth, even if I can’t fully remember what happened that day at Omni-Arena.

    This isn’t the vision I had for myself.

    Not after eight years.

    How could I return?
    Last edited by Nuhmudiira; Aug 16th, 2011 at 08:07:50.
    AO - JukeJoint "Nuhmudiira" Jezebel - 208/18 Trader - Omni

  9. #9
    ((1st person, alternate character - the name is a secret! :P))

    Ghost, shadow, reflection - I am Agent, assassin, bounty hunter.

    I hide in plain sight and I know everything about you.

    The last thing you see before the white and the terminal is the tip of a hollow point entering your frontal lobe.

    My name is your none-of-your-business. My target is one, Nuhmudiira.

    I've seen her, black as night, beautiful - in a morbid sort of way - parading through the streets of Borealis as if she owns them. Handing out weapon experience and advice as if she holds an unlimited supply of wisdom.

    I had heard of her return, but I know she's been around much longer than most believe.

    I don't care if she did or didn't do what she is accused of, I will have my fun, and this time, her death will be permanent.

    Rest easy, I'll be watching.
    Last edited by Nuhmudiira; Aug 18th, 2011 at 12:01:12.
    AO - JukeJoint "Nuhmudiira" Jezebel - 208/18 Trader - Omni

  10. #10
    ((Hey guys, I'm back! Thought I'd give this a bump to the top))
    AO - JukeJoint "Nuhmudiira" Jezebel - 208/18 Trader - Omni

  11. #11
    ((I'm still here! >))
    AO - JukeJoint "Nuhmudiira" Jezebel - 208/18 Trader - Omni

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