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Some info about my current favorite Rp character.
*Entire family killed during the outbreak of the war.
*Planned on attending West Point, but enlisted after the deaths of everyone she knew.
*Carries Five scars. On both wrists, mid thigh, lower abdomen, and one connecting the mid thigh and lower ab.
*Thigh is a shrapnel wound. Lower ab was a bullet wound, wrists carry thick multiple scars from being bound with irons for days. Over a foot and a half long, the scar spanning from thigh to ab was acquired during a torture session.
*Has a crazy cousin that wants her dead.
211-220-12137
 Nikki Curr · Tue Nov 27, 2007 @ 06:00am · 1 Comments |
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“Focus” You open your eyes, guns ready. You whip around the door, taking aim and sending a bullet into the head of the man blocking your exit. Sprinting towards the door, you can feel bullets whiz past your body, peppering the floor where your feet ran, the wall behind you, and the ceiling covering your head. Your torso twists and convulses as you fire back, hitting one in the kneecap, bringing him down instantly. The others keeps firing, but you’ve reached the door. Running outside, through the cold night air...Your lungs start to burn, “where is it?!?!”.... you keep running, and searching...hearing your pursuers footsteps behind you. You finally reach your car, carefully hidden a mile from the site. You get in and don’t waste any time starting the engine and leaving that place behind.
“Did I really lose them?” You cant help but think, no signs of a chase... five miles and not one sign of being followed... something’s not right. You reach the head quarters, walk through the oak double doors and see Him sitting in your room. “What now? I’ve been through enough today.” You knew that his presence meant that something went wrong, horribly wrong, After all you were his protégé, you knew him better than anyone else. You stand in the doorway, waiting to hear about some new atrocity or misfortune heading towards his corporation, that you help founded so long ago, but it never came. You lose any patience you had, drop your gear at the foot of your bed then head towards the showers. “Wait...” a command resounds through the empty hallway, you turn and see him leaning out your door. An exchange of glances leaves you feeling that something had gone wrong, but you were too tired to think of anything but a quick shower and rest.
Nikki Curr · Wed Jul 26, 2006 @ 05:17pm · 0 Comments |
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“THUD” You whip around pointing the berettas towards the entrance, towards the cause of the noise. Skillful eyes search, but you see only an empty doorway. “I should be leaving...I suddenly have a bad feeling about this.” Still pointing the berettas at the entrance, you search for a means of escape. You check your watch ‘1:45am’ “s**t....I don’t have time for this..” You walk over the bodies, and strip them of any ammunition, you need to get out of there and if that means having to run out guns blazing, than that’s what you’re going to do. “No windows....no other ********.”
Nikki Curr · Wed Jul 26, 2006 @ 03:09pm · 0 Comments |
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You reach for your twin berettas, sliding into the shadows. You know they'll do little good, the clips were almost empty, but feeling the cold steel against your palms put you at ease. "Five....four....three..." you silently counted the seconds until the kill, "...two......." deftly choosing the first target. Pressed against the wall, hidden in the shadows, you feel your mark brush against you. "....One....." Grabbing his throat, you pull him back, using the darkness to mask his violent jerks as he slowly suffocates.."No need to announce my presence just yet" you think to yourself. The dull thud as you let the corpse slide to the ground is all that can be heard, not enough to alert the others. You step over the warm body, pulling your knife out of its sheath. You want blood.
You wait for a second man to find the first's now cold corpse. You slide behind him, bringing the knife deep into the throat... just behind the jawbone, slightly below the ear. No scream, no blood, just another corpse with a suprised look twisted apon its face, frozen there for eternity. You kneel down, wiping the gore from your knife, using the mans shirt as a cloth. "Four left...."
Nikki Curr · Wed Jul 26, 2006 @ 11:28am · 0 Comments |
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possible story ending. *spoiler alert* |
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You cant help but smile, even as the knife goes deep into your back. You feel your knees weaken, and expect to feel the hard drop to the cold floor as your knees give. But find yourself in his arms instead, lying in a crumpled heap, his arms tightly wrapped around you. “Just like before, before all this, before our love was complicated and ultimately ended in a hunt to kill one another. If only the job never got in the way, we could be together...” You’re flooded with long forgotten memories, memories of you and him, together, deeply in love. You’re brought back from the nostalgia, you feel a warm trickle of liquid down your neck, “..is my neck bleeding as well?” you think to yourself. “....no...!?!” His head resting on your shoulder, his crimson eyes above your neck, tears falling freely. You attempt to turn your head, to look into his eyes, as you used to when you were lovers. You long to comfort him, to tell him everything will be ok.....that you love him. He holds you closer, his chest pushes the knife deeper and all you can feel is searing pain, he notices almost immediately and cry’s harder as your neck arches in response to the pain. “I.......Im so sorry....” he mumbles in between silent sobs. You gently rub your face against his, kissing him on the cheek. You start to cry, knowing all you’ve lost because of a job. ...Two assassins cannot be lovers... He kisses you on the lips, passion keeps the cold and dark at bay. You can feel the knife slide out of your flesh, the warm blood coursing through the wound. You both break from the kiss, you feel the cold creeping through your limbs as you slowly fade away. “...tired....so tired...” “Click” you open your eyes, through the fog obscuring your vision you see a gun in his hands, “...No...” you try to scream, but a whisper is all that can be heard. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t kill his love and live with himself.. .Hot tears flow down your cheek, as you try to plead, “no...please...........don’t.” He looks into your pleading eyes, “I love you.” “I love you too, please don’t....” you cant continue, you knew that he was as stubborn as you. You make an attempt to reach for the gun, but fall short, your hand on his wrist. You guide his hand down, the gun touches the floor. “..please..” you’re too weak to move, you’ve lost a lot of blood and you can feel nothing but cold.... He can feel your soft skin become colder with each passing moment, he drops the gun and gently lays you on the ground, then lays beside you, his arms around your body, holding onto you. Your eyes close, your body goes limp. Your last memory; lying in his arms again...knowing he loved you as much as you loved him.
Nikki Curr · Wed Jul 26, 2006 @ 11:25am · 0 Comments |
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mission forty-seven: part one |
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Sitting outside, trying to clear your head of the macrabe scene behind you. "its just a job" you try to tell yourself, but still feel a tinge of delight at the thought of the atrocities you've just commited in the name of beliefs, beliefs that are not your own. You spend countless minutes trying to get you breathing under control, to lessen the burning sensation in your lungs. You try to get yourself under conrtol, to regain any sense of humanity you once had, mercy was not your forte. You showed little to the once-breathing corpses lying in the room behind you. Thats all they ever were, corpses, never human...never alive... They were already dead, how else could you justify what you had done? You could rationalize that they were bad people and deserved worse, but who were you to pass judgement? You who had commited more atrocities than any other living soul. "you deserve to be lying there, as lifeless as they.." you hear a voice say, a voice you've heard countless times, deep down where your conscience should have been.
Footsteps bring you back from oblivion, "this soon? No one but the dead and myself should know this soon..." You can hear the intruders, six of them each carrying an arsenol. "********." Cold animal instinct kicks in where panic should of stricken. For someone who didnt care to survive, you sure knew how to, better than you wouldve liked. But this wasnt about survival, it was about the job; the reason you came to this rat-infested hell hole. You had a job that needed to be finished. The only question left to be answered, "do I run or fight?". Your instincts scream fight, but youre out numbered and out gunned, your muscles ache your lungs burn..the previous assassination had taken its toll on your weary body.
((Yeah, starting to write again. Any criticism/encouragement would be appreciated. Mainly doing this to pass time and give myself a creative outlet.))
Nikki Curr · Mon Jul 24, 2006 @ 10:23am · 0 Comments |
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