The Pure & The Tainted (Open RP)

[Kalypto]

DZZZZZT! A loud buzz of arcing electricity cut through the silent air, the scorching electrons igniting both the air and the lights of the decrepit structures on and off, their flickering motions giving a semblance of life to the chunk of structure left behind by AMIDA's garbage collection system. Vivid teals, pinks and yellows of the ruined structure would leave a faded imprint upon the central square. Sheared buildings all towered over the square, with each seemingly destroyed by lack of system maintenance. Floors of concrete, steel and carbon exposed, the constructs seemingly stripped and naked in regions with the issue becoming worse as with the climb upward. Their decent from the sky finally culminated with the re-emergence of the lights that had once made them so spectacular, their bases planted loosely into darkened dirt in a broad courtyard. Within it's center lie a multi-tiered fountain that managed to still push water through it's veins, the black marble of it's construction distorted by the refraction of rippling clarity.

Within it's confines stood two disparate parties. The first, a group of four, hunters. Their scraped and scratched gear indicative of their brush with death. The second, PKers, bandits. The first, wore standard mid-level gear for hunters, carbon and plate metal cocooning each in moderate-heavy shells of protection. Their colors remained emblazoned on the side, the group clearly a part of a small faction within the subset of hunters, with each sporting some scheme consisting of dark green and a luminescent orange that could be toggled on and off for visibility purposes. The bandits, on the other hand kept a scattered profile, their only encompassing color remaining a pitch black. Any type of dress code beyond that remained scatted to the outlands as armors gravitated towards light leathers and cloths with the occasional heavy set. Prime equipment for a semi-organized blitzkrieg force. Their colors spanned the spectrum as well, seemingly color coded by their poor attempt at 'rank', with reds being the bottom levels while blues and violets were clearly marked as upper ranking members of this small outfit.

"Look, kid. Way I see it, y'can either drop yer shit and run along back in t' town, OR we can kill you AND y'er friends, loot the bodies, an' you can deal. Now, decision time." A serpent's hiss could almost be heard beneath the male's voice as he rattled off demands. His shredded appearance fit the lands Outlands themselves, bright accents and black leathers muddied by cuts, scars and dirt. In his hand laid a revolver, the blued steel broken by strips of neon, red, the signs of repeat trips for upgrades, tweaks, creating a stylized utensil of a gangster.

"Riv! Don't give him anything! Dyin' will suck but we can jus' re--"

"No o'e asked fer your opinion, bitch!" The offending voice was quickly silenced by the first's associate, a combat knife of charred steel shredding carbon fibers, the serrated knife edge tearing into flesh beneath. The result was a pained scream, the second male recoiling against his now locked position as his forearm was pinned to the rough dirt below.

"Motherfucker! I'll! I'll! HRKGH!" A second assault of a boot would cut his rant before it could begin, the assailant heading him off again.

"You'll what, kid? You'll drop y'er shit like we asked? HahahAHAHA! Save us the time kid! We can be here ALL DAY!" Again he cackled, the hand on the knife intentionally shifting back and forth to further the pain.

---

The gate of AMIDA stood like a gaping maw, a stark barrier between the vibrant colors and massive buildings of AMIDA North and the wasteland beyond that held the left over trash of the city. It was an interesting dichotomy, to say the least. As Kalypto's gaze passed from his left to his right, he'd move from wasteland to paradise, darkness to a vibrant digital metropolis. A swipe of the hand would summon the game's menu, the custom golden layout illuminating the darkness around him in a spectacular fashion. ITEMS, EQUIPMENT, GUILD, MAIL, OPTIONS. Each of these items were laid out in standard fashion, though the only concern laid in the menu's corner. 10:36PM. A pair of taps would expand the clock, the region breaking off into it's own panel of light, listing out a set of six clocks, each with a different time zone. Pacific Standard, Japan Standard, Greenwich Mean, Hong Kong, Moscow Standard, and Australian Eastern Standard. Running a hand over the set of times, his finger would touch upon the one listed for Japan Standard Time. 2:36PM. Nine minutes seemed like an eternity as he continued to wait. And she wondered why he was always late.

[Hisae]

"Wasn't I supposed to be somewhere...?"

The femme's voice would ring out of the empty corridors of her chambers in the Cytherion's depths, sprawled out on a bed of what appeared to be quite well rendered silks and satins. While sleeping on the bed would have had no benefits to her real life self, she could still use it to recline, AFK, and at least heal her HP. Though, the other usefulness to this grandiose luxury was the fact that it acted like a resurrection point. Bangles upon the wrists would jingle, small rabbit's feet dangling from the ornaments. Sitting up, the ivory strands of her avatar's long hair would flutter behind her, physics kicking in to create small swirls of white over the surface of the bed. Pulling her long legs up and around, Hisae would come to sit at the edge, standing up to let her mercurial heels touch the tile. The game emulated the sound, a tap on ceramic echoing through the room. Adjusting her headset, not quite appeased with the volume, Kaoru would fidget with the system before returning to her immersion in AMIDA.

Cerulean optics would focus on the large, engraved wooden door that stood between her and the outer corridor, knowing full well that there was a port leading to the outer sanctum of the HQ. She best not be late, lest she hear the incessant whining of the male she was in line to meet. Regardless of what Kalypto tried to convince her of, she had to always assume his motives were impure. He was smart, computer-wise at the very least, and his prowess given to him due to his hacking capabilities made him in her eyes public enemy numero uno. The voluptuous curve of her pixels (because let's face it, she knew that she would never be that curvaceous,) would move in tandem with her feet, causing her hips to sway. Confined to a low-cut bustier that led into her adorned hip buckles, her chest to would undergo the effects of the game's physics.

She took the port hastily to avoid wasting any more time, and whilst she was carried into it, her nailed fingers would do well to pull up a similar menu to that of Kalypto's: ITEMS, EQUIPMENT, GUILD, MAIL, OPTIONS. Interesting. He hadn't quite yet gotten impatient enough to send her some snide comment about how she was a woman and that fashionably late was no longer a legitimate excuse for her. The game was so advanced that with every motion, muscles would tighten and cloth would stretch to accommodate, showing the strength in her legs as she walked. Hisae was, for lack of a better word, the bombshell of Cytherion and also it's leader: A woman who, despite her assets, was as holy and immaculate as one would believe a saint to be. She would never have been caught dead near the Red Light, nor involve herself in scandal.

Quite possibly one of the most truthful people of the AMIDA network, she had made quite the name for herself. Traversing waving hands and smiling faces, the celebrity would solely smile towards them but continue on her way, quick enough that if she remained focused, she would not be mobbed. Shifting and sliding between the incoming and outgoing traffic of the Cytherion Hall, it was a wonder Hisae had ever made it to the Railway at all. Boarding it without a care in the world, he would pull up another menu once within the sanctity of the digital bullet train:

WHERE WOULD YOU LIKE TO TRAVEL TODAY?

AMIDA WEST: You are here.

AMIDA EAST: 300Ɨ

AMIDA NORTH: 150Ɨ

Hesitance.

Her immaculate features would be contorted by a look of disgust, but she had no choice. Tapping on the North selection with as much disdain as someone like her could muster, the train took off, shedding the colorful gradient that Valhalla was comprised of instead for a black and white scene. She sat, palms on her knees, leaning forward with a bored expression as she waited for the transition to occur. The train was at first slow, kicking up as the connection was being processed--- and then it took off, rocketing into Amida North's station. Getting up with a huff of distaste, her hand would grip the frame of the exit door and step out with acknowledged grace. With a hand on her hip, standing amongst the crowd as a sole snowflake in a sea of shady-looking ingrates, her eyes would focus on Kalypto. That idiot...


He was so concerned about getting out there and bashing some heads that he had neglected to think that maybe facing the station would have been the easiest way to spot her. No, of course not. Winding her way through the individuals she had no desire of interacting with, Hisae would come up behind Kalypto, shoving her hand out to grab the back of his head, shaking it to and fro before releasing him without a sound. She walked ahead, femme fetale strut in check, her feet stopping just before the threshold that led them into unfortunately hazardous territory. Before she even thought about stepping out, her fingers would wind the console back out and about face: She waited for him to shoot her an invite, lest he wanted to be caught in friendly fire.

[Kalypto]

One, two, three, four... He began counting to kill time, letting useful minutes slip by as if parting a swift stream with his own form. The count corresponded to look-alikes, the amount of 'females' attempting to emulate or copy Cytherion's glorious leader gaining an almost alarming commonality. Snow white clothes, check....softened features, check...revealing.....check. They tried, he'd concede that, but each had some flaw that made it more of a fashion statement than a pure obsession or emulation of the genuine article. Then again, without Cytherion's backing, it was quite difficult to copy, what with having accomplished individuals at your disposal. And that was completely disregarding personality and the like.

Golden irises slipped back towards the menu, interrupting the game to check the time once more. 10:45PM PST. A terse sigh would break his personal silence as the game resumed once more, picking and piecing out the ivory garbed copy cats, noting name, clothes, along with specifically how they each failed to emulate the lady he was waiting on. The game began to drag, and boredom set in like a weight on the psyche as the waiting progressed. The anticipation left him in a daze, absent-mindedly gazing towards the gate leading towards the barren dead zone of the Outlands as lids fell, exposing his vision to darkness as he simply drifted in the odd juxtaposition of silence and noise fro the Outlands and North amida respectively. This continued until a sudden jerk ripped him from his trance as if some massive calamity were happening.

"Motherfu- WHAT!?" He snapped to attention, golden irises igniting only to find the one he had been waiting for, the Icy Queen herself, strutting about like this were some sort of fashion show, and she the star. An obsidian glove rose to rub his neck, as he grumbled in his own brooding irritation. He followed her ash proceeded towards the gate, eyebrow cocked, confused as exactly where she was going. His observations only interrupted by the silent pivot as if she were expecting something.

A snap of the fingers would hope to hold her attention as he whirled his fingers, pointing to her left, into the darkness next to the gate as a second hand would summon the golden screen once more, flicking and swiping about in complete muscle memory. The first window would vanish, the request sent, as a second instantly appeared. A long press up on his own data would reveal a secondary menu, VEHICLE. A double tap would ignite the obsidian and golden motorcycle with a soft 'vroom' of the bye-gone age of Internal Combustion Engines.

"You didn't think we were WALKING, did you?"

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