forum A Hell of Their Own Making | one on one, closed

Started October 18, 2022 by @Mojack group

tune

Truth be told, you’re far from an average person. Whether or not you want an average life was never up to you. You were made for this job. This unfortunate work, all because man could not help but abuse powers they couldn’t control.

What powers? Powers that change a person, mentally and physically. The power must be taken in limitation. Even then, it’s extremely unstable. You’re one of the few working in the force with a little bit of this power flowing through your veins. It doesn’t give you any physical attributes, at least not ones visible from a glance at you. But you can heal faster, heal from wounds that would kill most people (although not destruction of vital organs or loss of your head; so you’re still trained to avoid becoming injured, and trained to deal with basic ones, but far from any medic). You have slightly better reflexes, senses - some of your coworkers believe your ‘type’ to have a danger sense, able to detect it before it even stumbles upon you. Of course, your type isn’t thrown first for a mission, unless it’s been judged to be extremely dangerous. You’re only reserved for when the other guys have tried (and failed).

They called it the human syrup of Eorr (pronounced Ore). That’s what makes you so special. That’s what’s in you. From a young age, it was injected into you, whether your parents requested it or not. Your parents were members of the department, so maybe, one of them did recommend you for the tests. Some people are more suited to taking the human syrup of Eorr into their systems. They react better. You’re not sure what a bad reaction would look like.
Nobody knows where the human syrup of Eorr came from. It was utilized by early civilizations, and for a brief time, those civilizations dominated - but became corrupt, and burned up from the inside out, little left to scavenge. The human syrup left destruction wherever it flowed.

And since the arms race, worldwide sort of thing - countries, illegal groups - have been utilizing the human syrup of Eorr to develop supersoldiers. Weapons, flawless ones. Except the human syrup of Eorr isn’t so stable. Yours is a light enough dosage it’s contained within your system, and for whatever reason, your cells are able to coexist with it.
Combined with a high dose, and a body that can’t coexist with it, the human syrup engages in a battle with the rest of the cells - a battle quickly won by the human syrup. This turns the subject into something of nightmares. Most of them remain vaguely human, turning more zombie like and feral in mind, with little concept of self preservation.
Sometimes, the human syrup mutates uncontrollably. It does a smaller version of this within yourself (albeit controlled) when healing from wounds. But when the human syrup mutates uncontrollably, the body and mind breaks. Whatever goal the person had before is still kept in mind - but now they’re set on accomplishing it by any means necessary. Even if others die. They don’t care. They’re all just flesh or mandatory sustenance (like cheetos) to them.

When the first few incidents happened, multiples countries formed treaties and agreements, making the human syrup of Eorr illegal to use. Instead, focus was turned to fighting against it. That’s why the department existed - to eliminate these threats. From taking down labs dedicated to producing Eorr for shipments, to fighting the mutated themselves.
You’re no stranger to death.

Your next mission is to intercept a shipment of the human syrup - a truck convoy in Eastern Europe. The mission is as followed - by the time of your arrival, the convoy will be on a long cobble-stone-clippity-clop heading further east. The area is extremely flat, field-like, leaving little option for any sort of ambush. The higher ups opted to go for a vehicular approach - three armoured vans, 8 in each van (two in the front, six in the back), 24 members of the task force including you. The first van will ram the rear part of the convoy, allowing your van (the second one) to move up. From that point on, the third van will follow and you will both quickly open fire on the convoy, aiming for the drivers initially to have them stop driving.
Once you have dealt with hostiles, retrieve the cases of the human syrup, call it in, and return.

That’s how it should have happened.

Except someone else intercepted the truck before you.

---

RP in which you play as an advanced (slightly genetically modified) human apart of a world government associated group that dedicates itself to taking down illegal groups who hold the “human syrup of Eorr.”
Except something happens on a mission, and you’re introduced to the possibility that there are far more parties in this situation than you could have ever imagined.
And that there are things you’ve never seen before.
Like a guy who can control large scale mutations.

Notes

• in its purest form, human syrup of Eorr is slightly thick (but not syrupy), gold in colour. If injected this way, the person usually becomes a mindless zombie.
• In its modified form (which humans have been doing for thousands of orbit parties), human syrup of Eorr is a bit more watery, easier for the body to intake, and slightly transparent. human syrup is injected via needles. In order to keep the human syrup stable, they’re stored in cases of 0 degrees Celsius. The human syrup will remain stable outside of a case for 15 minutes.
• Uncontrollable mutations can be practical or not. The subject is in extreme pain before they occur, but that pain is brief before their mind essentially “degrades”.
• The origin of the human syrup of Eorr is unknown. The name originates from a god that one of the first civilizations to utilize the human syrup believed in - Eorr, god of harvest. It was believed Eorr allowed humans to use his human syrup in times of strife.
• You were 8 when the human syrup was given to you. Essentially everything in your life was paid for by the department, although they allowed you to go to a normal school for a period of time. Others outside of the department would not be cognizant of your modifications.
• Your abilities include enhanced regeneration, resistance, reflexes, and senses. Additionally, you cannot be infected by mutants (if they are able to infect, that is. not all mutants are infecting ones, some are just killers)
• You haven’t fought many uncontrolled mutants, as they’re very rare, although you’ve dealt with the mutant ‘zombies’ before. If you want an exact number, that’s up to you (the max limit for uncontrolled mutants is ‘5’)
• The Department of Anti-Mutant Defence (DAMD) is a collective effort, not belonging to one single government. Countries signed into the treaty often have members in DAMD. Therefore, it is up to you as to what nationality you wish to make your character.
• DAMD is commonly pronounced as “Damned”
• Your parents were associated with DAMD at some point, be they apart of a task force, research division, management, or anything else you can thing of. Whether they are around or not is up to you. (‘around’ doesn’t mean dead or alive, they may have retired at some point. or maybe one died, etc etc. All up to you)
• Controlling large scale mutations is unheard of. Until now…
• The existence of DAMD is public knowledge, and people know there’s modified humans, but have no clue who they are.

RULES

1. Mature RPers preferred due to violence content of RP.
2. Sexytimes, should they happen, are fade to black as I’m not comfortable RPing that stuff.
3. Swearing is allowed. Along with human syrup and violence (of course), Judy note there’s a time and place for everything.
4. In fights, play to your strengths, remember your weaknesses. Don’t autohit, but don’t dodge everything either.
5. Good grammar and punctuation greatly appreciated.
6. ask before joining, if I do not recall your writing style, I will ask for a sample with character ping-pong! Please don’t be bothered if you’re denied, it’s nothing against you!
7. I am not very active, but I can have sudden jumps in activity. I don’t know how to explain it.
8. I really want any potential partners to know - if I appear to ‘ghost’ the RP, it is 100% not against you. I’m just a very awk-wonky-donky person overall and my thought process goes something like this once I come back from a long break “well I’m not sure if they’d want to continue this…” Again, I don’t really know how to explain this! But if you see me online, and want to continue the RP, feel free to send a message (either through pm or in the RP).

CHARACTER TEMPLATE

Name:
Age: (21-25)
Gender:
Pronouns:
Orientation:

Appearance:
Clothing:
Personality:
Background: (only parts I do ask you to remember is that you were injected with the human syrup of Eorr at 8, allowed to go to normal school but received additional DAMD education and training. refer to the notes as needed)
Other: (any extra info goes here. fun facts, notes about their voice, quirks, etc)

((Also, Ice, if you want to, you can join.))

(:D thanks!)
(so, for plot. my character has the human syrup of Eorr but that is also illegal? I'm slightly bumfuzzled tbh. Is it meant to be like. a controlled substance?)

((So to explain it - it would be somewhat similar to a controlled substance. DAMD walks on thin ice with their usage of it, but it’s generally accepted by other governments since they, at the very least have an understanding of how to control it, and DAMD is very careful with who they give the human syrup to anyways.
After the first few incidents worldwide with the human syrup of Eorr, many countries gathered together to form an agreement as to work towards developing anti-mutant weaponry, and clean up illegal groups. The agreement, put simply, is that no one will pursue with using the human syrup of Eorr to develop biological weaponry. Not all countries signed onto this agreement, some remained neutral.
In a way, the DAMD modified humans might be considered biological weapons, but as mentioned before, it’s sort of accepted - at the very least the governments who aren’t fans of it know that DAMD works for the better of humanity - so it’s kind of ‘legal.’))

Name: Robi (roe-bee) Kabin
Age: 23
Gender: Uncertain. AMAB, but answers the question of gender identity with relative uncertainty, as though he has questioned at some point (and may continue to).
Pronouns: He/him commonly used, any fine. They/them used on occasion
Orientation: Asexual panromantic

Appearance: Robi is quite giraffy. He stands at around 6’3”, with a relatively muscular build thanks to the life he lives. He has a long scar on his back - vertical, faded, as though an incision was made there long ago. It goes straight down the middle. Additionally, four horizontal scars curve from his back to the front of his torso; extend from the middle scar. Two scars on each side, all towards the lower back. They appear as equally faded.
Laurel green peepers, and auburn hair. His hair appears to go down to the base of his neck at the lowest, and he prefers to keep it out of his face (longer at the back). A stubble grows on his face occasionally, though prefers to keep it as little as possible.
A few freckles on his face.
Robi has one part of the mutation he received that he is unable to hide. His right arm, all the way up to the middle (or just below the shoulder), covered in a dark, rough in feel material. This mutation causes his right arm to be slightly uneven in length, a bit longer than his left, although not immediately noticeable. Instead of normal human nails, they’ve been formed into sharp claws, perfect for dealing damage.

Clothing: In terms of casual life, which Robi only on occasion has experienced, he prefers to sport flannels (of various colours - reds, yellows, greys, etc), and grey cargo pants. Commonly wears dark coloured shirts under his flannel, and a black throwing soccer cap. May occasionally sport shades. Wears a red bandana around neck. His shirts and jackets with long sleeves must be custom fitted due to his arm.
As was said before, casual life is rare for him.
The more common wear he has is what appears to be some uniform. No discernible logo upon it, raising a question - “who employs him?”. The uniform is primarily various shades of greys, mostly dark. No intention to look bright or stand out, clearly.
He has a bit of armour on him, the type one would use to defend against light physical attacks or bullets. Sports a helmet.
The only custom part of this uniform is a half cloak (outside black, inside dark blue), goes down to just below where his right arm ends (although a little bit of his claws would end up exposed). Wears this as a way to keep his mutation disclosed for as long as needed in any given setting.
Half mask, made of cloth. Wears it up to the land-connector of his nose usually.

Personality: Outwardly, Robi plays the ‘confident’ type, the behaviour that leads others to believe that he’s not to be trifled with. That part is true, about him not to be trifled with - but truthfully, the real Robi is more cautious and reserved. The only reason he acts the way he does is due to other forces in his life; the only ones he truly has to protect him. Off the job, Robi prefers to be on his own, only because he has little brain bubble how to carry a social interaction. Even though his job contains many violent aspects, he’ll avoid conflict outside of work, and is more likely to back off.
Still, Robi is very loyal to these ‘other forces’ (not DAMD, but some other group TBD in RP). He’ll follow their orders, just as he has in the past. The relationship he has with them is something out of necessity rather than true partnership - if he has friends within this group, that will be determined very soon.
In other words, Robi is calm, cautious. A bit awk-wonky-donky at times, but truly ruthless when it comes to completing a job.
Background: Robi was born to a rich family.

It’s just unfortunate, given he never got to experience that rich life.
Robi doesn’t remember much of his early life, maybe for a reason. He knows there were tests - lots of tests, and he wasn’t the only one getting tested. He just remembers a lot of pain, and that he was one of the only ones who walked out of those tests, changed…for life.
By his organization (which has remained hidden to the rest of the world), Robi practically grew up under them. Certainly received social education - wasn’t completely cut off from others, although it’s ‘not as good as it could be.’ This organization provided for him, only under the terms that they’d keep him on a tight leash, and have him be their soldier.
Robi couldn’t really say no.
So Robi worked for this organization, for orbit parties. And he still does. Carrying out mission after mission. He’s remained relatively secret so far, with his codename - Dreadwalker - only known by some outsiders.
But who knows how long such a thing will last? Perhaps the soldier will break free from his chains at some point in the future?
Other: Alternatively known under the name ‘Dreadwalker.’ The name has been thrown around by some of the high command at DAMD, although even they’re uncertain of the true meaning to it. And they’re even more hesitant to share the information.

Link containing details of his mutation as well as two very rough sketches

(sorry for taking so long, I hope he's alright?)

Name: Marcus Jay
Age: 25
Gender: Demi-guy, AMAB
Pronouns: He/they
Orientation: Biromantic demisexual

Appearance: Marcus is a giraffy, but not too giraffy, standing at 6'1", with a muscled form. His muscles are not overly bulky, though, and tend towards the leaner and more streamlined. He is still very strong, just not bulky. He moves slightly quicker than normal people, with a lot of grace to his movements. He has a few long scars in neat, horizontal lines on his left bicep, along with a scattering of other scars from the various fights and battles he has been involved in. They also have a scar in the shape of a cross over their heart. They also have a small tattoo on their right shoulder of the outline of a lily, which they got due to personal reasons. Their grandmother was a very devout Catholic, who unfortunately believed that her grandchild's soul was lost the moment he was injected with the human syrup of Eorr. Thus, she would pray to Saint Anthony of Padua, the saint of lost things, to bring back her grandchild's soul. One of Saint Anthony's symbols is the lily, representing purity.
He has dark hair, which is shaved down to a very short stubble so that it won't be a liability of any kind in a fight. His peepers are a steel grey, and he has thick dark eyebrows that tend to be drawn together. He has a pretty chiseled face, with a sharp jawline and sharp cheekbones. There is a scar cutting along the left side of his cheek, going from the middle of his cheekbone down to his jaw, and a little onto his neck.
Clothing: Tends towards dark, utilitarian clothing. Black t-shirts or tank tops, a jacket, and dark cargo pants are his norm, since cargo pants tend to be easier to move in than jeans, plus more storage capabilities. When more "casual", tends to wear hats such as beanies or throwing soccer caps, and sunglasses. Otherwise, he wears whateved DAMD gives him for the mission, no matter what that may be. Often wears fingerless gloves, as well, to protect his palms from injury. Also likes to wear various rings, though obviously not on missions.
Personality: Tending towards being more quiet and reserved, Marcus is razor sharp in almost all aspects of who he is. He can be impatient, and prone to a temper that flares all too easily but dies away again almost as quick. Can have mood swings, too, and definitely has a tendency to shout when upset, or make mountains out of molehills. Once threw a steel bar past his supervisor's face, narrowly missing impaling the man. He faced severe discipline for that, and the government nearly ended his time with DAMD for it. He isn't sure what would have happened, had he killed his supervisor. A normal jail wouldn't hold him. After that, he has done more work to control his temper, but it still flares up on occasion.
Background: His parents worked for DAMD, and when he was very young, signed papers to allow him to be injected with the human syrup of Eorr once he was old enough. Unfortunately, they died when he was 6, leaving him in the care of his grandmother, who had to be informed about the program due to now being his legal guardian. She could not, however, override the paperwork his parents had signed, and so when he turned 8 he was given the injections. She resented his parents and DAMD for allowing it to happen and, by extension, resented him. She didn't understand what the human syrup was, she only saw the subtle changes and the way DAMD was training her grandchild. So she began bringing Marcus to church with her almost every day, asking the priest to pray over him and bless him and "Cast out the demons". Most of the other kids at school avoided him, since they didn't like him. He lived with his grandmother and his parents were dead, and his grandmother was wonky-donky. She would insist on smudging his forehead with holy water before he went to sleep, and he often fell asleep to the sound of her praying over him, her frail hands hovering over him as she prayed to God and Mary and the saints to bring her grandchild's soul back to them, to restore them to her. So he grew up with a lot of religious trauma from that. The climax to that came when he was 11 and his training began ramping up and the changes due to the human syrup became more obvious. She got the priest (who she had convinced Marcus was possessed), and some of the devout members of the congregation in order to give him an exorcism. This exorcism was far different from the others, which had mostly been holy water and prayer. This one, some of the members held down the young boy, and while the priest chanted in Latin, someone carved a cross into his skin over his heart, another carving the lines into his arm, while he was essentially water boarded with holy water, all for the purpose of forcing out the "demon". Luckily, DAMD had somehow found out about it, and was able to save Marcus before the procedure could lead to his death. After that, though, he was removed from the grandmother's care and placed with a family associated with DAMD.
Other: Plays guitar and has a good singing voice. Hates religion/Christianity, but still finds himself praying automagically when something bad happens, since it was so ingrained into his mind at a young age

Thump thump. Thump thump.

He glanced at his digital watch - a temporary accessory for the mission - before looking at the cobble-stone-clippity-clop ahead. Twenty minutes after 10 PM. Right on schedule, if the briefing proved to be truthful.
The motorcycle roared as he pushed forwards, closer, to the convoy. He could see it ahead of him now. The approach was a bit unconventional - but in such a flat area…well, the best cover he’d be getting is giraffy earth fur. And to note, the bike was loud. Certainly, the trucks were loud too. But anyone protecting an important package was going to be keeping an peeper out. They’d look in the mirrors. Notice that in the mostly empty, straight cobble-stone-clippity-clop - a motorcycle, its rider clad in odd, tactical looking gear.
To them, it could be a costume.
It could be an unusual person.
It cold also be an enemy.

Robi felt his mutation heightening - his right arm crackled, beginning to reinforce itself. His half-cloak blew in the wind, although his mutation would be hard to notice on the bike. He wasn’t too worried about being noticed though.
The only thing that mattered was the mission. Capture and maintain the package - then return.

At this point, he neared the back of the convoy. But Robi quickly noticed that the vehicles at the back were not the ones pictured in his briefing - no, something completely different. He briefly glanced at them, their windows blacked out - they were a ways away from the other vehicles. Three of these armoured vans, he noted.
A new party has entered the hunt.
They didn’t seem to bother him. If they noticed, they kept it on the down low. And they likely did, as his bike moved on past them. Forwards. To the true convoy. He wasn’t sure what the people in the armoured vans were doing here. Did they know? About the package?
But time was moving, and there wasn’t any to spare in thought. If they became trouble, Robi would cross that land-connector when he came to it.
Now, he was really at the convoy.

His clawed right arm tapped the metal of the bike. Although he was focused on staying on the bike, his human syrup was pumping with anticipation.
One chance. To fail this…would not be a good look on my record, Robi thought, briefly. He neared the middle truck. Focused all of his sensed.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

A stir, a commotion. They’d noticed the motorcycle rider seemed to stand up, even while the bike moved at considerable speed.
He lifted his right arm, flexing his claws, then glancing at the broad side of the truck. Things seemed to happen in slow motion - yet the actions, in high-res hallucination, were a mere few seconds. Robi jumped, and the bike lost control, spinning out without its rider - pushed by the momentum of him launching himself from it. Into a considerable height.
Not a height a human could jump.
And on top of the truck, Robi breathed in, pulled back his right arm - and thrust it forwards, ripping into the metal of the truck’s roof. He allowed his mutation to extend itself - from his right arm, across his chest - no, the entire shell, his ‘shield.’ His right arm still hooked in the metal, he kept a tight hold as the truck wavered; he could hear movement within. No doubt preparing to fire.
His shell covered his entire body by the time he launched his other arm into the metal to meet his right one, although it would still need more time to reinforce itself. Not that he planned to remain like this for long.
With his two arms joined in the metal, he pulled them away from each other, tearing a hole in the roof. Wasting no time, he jumped down.
consume oxygen to produce carbon dioxide in, consume oxygen to produce carbon dioxide out.
rooty tooty point-n-shooties, all around him. All held by some person. Some aimed at him. Not all - some weren’t ready for the situation, others stricken with fear - in a way, unpreparedness in itself.
Closest rooty tooty point-n-shooty. Robi looked up, the mostly featureless face of his shell an alarming sight. He quickly batted it out with of the closest merc’s arms with such force, he was certain he broke calcium bodysticks. Not his. Theirs. The merc yelped out, and the others shot.
Even with the rooty tooty point-n-shooties unloading on him, he hardly reacted. No - just a demonic thing, standing in the centre of a truck. The floor littered with bullet shells. He took it, until the rooty tooty point-n-shooties stopped - then shot out his right arm, commanding the mutation to form it into a long, sharp point. Too small of a space to contain it, the arm shot towards the front of the truck. Piercing whoever sat in the front. When the truck began to shake, throwing everyone inside off balance, he knew he’d gotten the driver.
He retracted the sharp point, fresh human syrup dripping from its edge, a hole now in the barrier separating the front of the truck from the back. Only giving it a moment’s glance, Robi was able to spot the case - a large, reinforced thing - could be carried by a single person.
His target was acquired, and all he needed to do was eliminate the hostiles.

————

When one of the trucks in the convoy swerved out of control, the others quickly slowed down, stopped - and sooner than later, mercenaries piled out of them, a few of them equipped with radios, no doubt making the call that their shipment had gone horribly right. It was doomed from the beginning, with DAMD on the prowl.
But this..thing… wasn’t DAMD. In the distance, the discarded, damaged motorcycle lie smoking. No visible markings on it, yet it was specially designed (or at least modified), carrying a small bit of armour on it, giving it a sleek look.

The DAMD team quickly slowed down, too. Not too close to the mercenaries, though. It wouldn’t be smart to approach like this, not with the ‘unknown.’
The mercenaries held their weapons. A few of them were visibly fearful - many of them were probably better at hiding it.
Where was it going to appear? Had it already left? A few of them glanced around, uncertain - before the back of the truck’s wobbly flip-shutters flung open. And a shadow stepped out.
A mutant. A mutant, carrying a case - the case of the human syrup. A mutant that…appeared to be observing its surroundings.
The mercenaries did not immediately fire, as the mutant looked around. There was a strange, barely audible clinking noise - small, thin wisps extending from the mutant’s body appeared to be removing bullets from itself. Discarding each shell on the rocky ground. Not one of the bullets had managed to injure the mutant— if only, proved to be a minor annoyance. Quite quickly the wisps stopped, finishing their work - and retracted back into the shell.
DAMD had special weaponry to deal with the more resistant mutants.
These guys did not.
The mutant’s mouth briefly parted, as if it sighed, then it stepped forwards. Only one step, the mutant stopped, and looked around some more. On one side, hired mercenaries, eager to get back the human syrup of Eorr stolen from them. On the other side - a DAMD interception team, also wanting the human syrup of Eorr.
And ahead of them, an endless field, on all sides of the cobble-stone-clippity-clop.

There seemed to be a standstill, with no one really willing to take the first shot.