Missionaries of The Fallen
When you think of Missionaries, you think of religious coots who go from door to door in some foreign place spreading their religion. However, The Fallen Missionaries are the tales of our beloved evil group, in each their own short story within the cult having to do with an assignment, similar to Corvus' Europe mission. Each of the members will have a chapter, eventually, and their weapon specialty will be shown and reflected, along with maybe a little back-story. Mainly, however, this is the part where I show what my cultists can do, the extent of their training, some origins, and even a bit of foreshadowing with extra characters. The characters that I've decided to host here, so far, are as follows:
~Manhattan
Annabelle and Lorianne Marie
Elliot McKorvik
~Clydesdale
Marcus and Kain Virgil
Jamie Mellow
Alexia Mare
~Boston
Damien Fierce
Lance Laye
Zym Myrr
Margret Jekil
~Manhattan
Annabelle and Lorianne Marie
Elliot McKorvik
~Clydesdale
Marcus and Kain Virgil
Jamie Mellow
Alexia Mare
~Boston
Damien Fierce
Lance Laye
Zym Myrr
Margret Jekil
Mission Chapter: Laye'd Back
A calm and quiet night, a cold blue moon over a frozen Boston city. The lights are dim, the late hours have been hard on the city as they go out one by one on the lazy February night. A building in the slums has an open window, steamed up from the heat inside colliding with the frosty air outside. The building seems to be an auto shop, with a large garage door on the street side. A lot is behind the building, with broken down cars usually scrapped for parts. The driveway to the lot is a small time gang hangout, who spray-paint up the shop's walls often. Inside the shop are four people. Two are on an upper platform, which seems to double as a housing area for the group. Tho are lower, on the first floor, one working on a motorcycle, and the other at a desk. One is Lance Laye, who is wearing his jacket backwards, the hood over his face. He's asleep on a bean bag, but has buzzed red hair, and green eyes. He wears no shirt under the jacket, torn jeans, fingerless gloves, and roller-blades with sharp wheels. A boy nearby him is leaning against the wall near the window, listening to a racket in the alleyway. This second boy is Damien Fierce, a shorter, much more serious boy with brown eyes, unkempt blond hair, and his jacket tied around his neck, hanging behind him in a cape-like way. He has a solid black shirt, and nice, suit looking pants. He walks across the platform and calls down to one of the others.
"Hey, Zym." He calls down in a monotonous tone.
The person next to the bike looks up at him, wearing a full face helmet. This person has their jacket zipped up, the hood under the helmet. No strange outfitting other than this, just a pair of jeans and red sneakers. The biker just stares at Damien for a second.
"Wanna take out the trash?" He says down, pointing his thumb over his shoulder to the ruckus outside. "I need sleep soon."
Zym motions to a wrench, then there's shake of the head. Going down on one knee, Zym returns working on the intricate looking vehicle. The bike has thick tires, spinning rims inside the wheels with sharp edges. The exhaust pipes seem sharp and edged as well, making the vehicle itself look more like a killing machine than a motorcycle.
"Fine then." Damien remarked, then looked over to a happy girl who was sitting on a metal crate. "Maggie, wanna play with the boys?"
Maggie smiled at him. She had blue eyes, but of a dark color. Her hair was brown and braided down on the left side of her head. Her wear was very abstract, wearing a blue skirt, green socks, pink and black sneakers, a solid red shirt, and a cut up jacket. The jacket's sleeves were cut off and around her legs, making them look as if she was wearing long socks over her original ones, or a strange pair of pants. The rest of the jacket was worn like a vest over her shirt. She spoke in a high, slightly annoying voice. "Naaaaahhhh" She yelled up to him, loud, and dragging out her words. "I just did all the shopping, silly. Make Lance do the work!" She happily stated, then leaned back on large metal beam against the box and closed her eyes.
"Wow." Damien said annoyed. "Fine then." He began, as he turned and kicked Lance, causing him to half jump, half finch off of the bean bag and onto the metal platform.
He has half opened eyes, the hood of the jacket hanging idly in front of his chest. He speaks, in a stoner like voice, "Hey man!" He smiles sleepily, and yawns before continuing. "What's rockin', bro?"
"The locals are annoying me. Kill them. I, unlike you, don't haze until I pass out."
"Well.. Did ya ask Zym, bro?"
"Yes, and she's still busy repairing her bike."
"MAN! ... What happened to it?!" He said, surprised.
"You crashed it into the pier, remember?" Damien said, as Lance nodded, remembering. Damien sighed, while leaning back onto his spot on the wall, then lazily sliding down and closing his eyes. "Now go and take care of those gangsters. I'm sick of them.
Lance had a childish scoff laugh, then said "Man, they are good artists though. That wall was so-"
Damien cut him off with a simple order. "Go. Now."
"A'ight man, I'm goin', bro." Lance got up, his blades rolling him towards the spiral staircase unevenly. He seemed so very uncoordinated, until he lept up onto the railing of the stairs and slid down to the bottom, rolling past Zym and to the garage door, then dropping to the ground and rolling out a foot large gap at the bottom. He looked down at the inch of snow on the ground and sighed. "Man, I'ma freeze my nuts off out here." Then rolled over to the alley way where nine men stood around a stereo. "Hey, bro? You guys gotta pack it up and beat it, because Damien wants a nap, y'know? He won't give me my stuff if you guys don't go away."
One of the men turn to him, and scowled. "Well ya'll better tell Danny en that I'ma kick yo ass if you don't back off!"
"Uhhh, It's Damien, Bro.. Not Danny-en." He paused, noticing the unimpressed look on the man's face. "Look, if you don't leave I'm just gonna have to kill you." He said, shrugging lazily.
"Kill me, 'ey? Kill this, punk!" The man said, pulling a pistol from his back and aiming it at Lance.
"Damn, you've got a gun? That's not fair. I don't get a gun. Not since I killed the newbie with that shotgun a few weeks ago."
"Then you betta' turn yo' ass around and go back to yo' little car shop."
"No thanks, bro. I got a better idea." Lance finished, then pulled his hands out of his pockets and rolled forward. A gunshot echoed, just missing Lance and piercing his jacket. As Lance cartwheeled, the jagged wheels of his skates came down on the gangster's face and tore it up, killing him. As the man got pushed to the ground and Lance hopped by him, he came to a halt in the middle of the other eight men. "Now, will you leave?" He said with a hand motion and a bored look. The men all also pulled out guns and aimed them at him. He ducked, hearing a maelstrom of bullets, and three of the men fell from friendly fire. Lance shot his leg forward at the closest enemy, then whipped his leg up, the blades on the wheel tearing the man open, and ripping his throat in the process. Lance then got on his hands and spun, hitting two more of the men. Another gunshot was heard, and a bullet hit into Lance's right skate. He stopped the spin and came to a whipping halt, landing on his behind. "OW! That's my ass, man! The ground is all frozen and shit!" Lance looked up as two more men stood in front of him. He sighed, rolled to his left, grabbed one of the pistols, and quickly let two rounds into his enemies. Standing up, he looked at the circle of dead men, and lifted up his leg, pulling a bullet out of his skate and tossing it at the first man he killed. "Should'a just left, bro." He rolled towards the front of the building and opened a door next to the shutter. Rolling past Maggie, she shook her head at him, and he flipped her off. Unevenly climbing the stairs, he reached the top and sighed again. "Happy Damien? I got rid of them. Can I sleep now?"
"Well, Lance, I asked you to quiet them and their music, and you didn't even shut the music off." He said, Lance now remembering the radio that was near the men's feet.
"Dammit!" He yelled, turning around and lazily walking back down the stairs. "The things I do to be able to sleep..."
"Hey, Zym." He calls down in a monotonous tone.
The person next to the bike looks up at him, wearing a full face helmet. This person has their jacket zipped up, the hood under the helmet. No strange outfitting other than this, just a pair of jeans and red sneakers. The biker just stares at Damien for a second.
"Wanna take out the trash?" He says down, pointing his thumb over his shoulder to the ruckus outside. "I need sleep soon."
Zym motions to a wrench, then there's shake of the head. Going down on one knee, Zym returns working on the intricate looking vehicle. The bike has thick tires, spinning rims inside the wheels with sharp edges. The exhaust pipes seem sharp and edged as well, making the vehicle itself look more like a killing machine than a motorcycle.
"Fine then." Damien remarked, then looked over to a happy girl who was sitting on a metal crate. "Maggie, wanna play with the boys?"
Maggie smiled at him. She had blue eyes, but of a dark color. Her hair was brown and braided down on the left side of her head. Her wear was very abstract, wearing a blue skirt, green socks, pink and black sneakers, a solid red shirt, and a cut up jacket. The jacket's sleeves were cut off and around her legs, making them look as if she was wearing long socks over her original ones, or a strange pair of pants. The rest of the jacket was worn like a vest over her shirt. She spoke in a high, slightly annoying voice. "Naaaaahhhh" She yelled up to him, loud, and dragging out her words. "I just did all the shopping, silly. Make Lance do the work!" She happily stated, then leaned back on large metal beam against the box and closed her eyes.
"Wow." Damien said annoyed. "Fine then." He began, as he turned and kicked Lance, causing him to half jump, half finch off of the bean bag and onto the metal platform.
He has half opened eyes, the hood of the jacket hanging idly in front of his chest. He speaks, in a stoner like voice, "Hey man!" He smiles sleepily, and yawns before continuing. "What's rockin', bro?"
"The locals are annoying me. Kill them. I, unlike you, don't haze until I pass out."
"Well.. Did ya ask Zym, bro?"
"Yes, and she's still busy repairing her bike."
"MAN! ... What happened to it?!" He said, surprised.
"You crashed it into the pier, remember?" Damien said, as Lance nodded, remembering. Damien sighed, while leaning back onto his spot on the wall, then lazily sliding down and closing his eyes. "Now go and take care of those gangsters. I'm sick of them.
Lance had a childish scoff laugh, then said "Man, they are good artists though. That wall was so-"
Damien cut him off with a simple order. "Go. Now."
"A'ight man, I'm goin', bro." Lance got up, his blades rolling him towards the spiral staircase unevenly. He seemed so very uncoordinated, until he lept up onto the railing of the stairs and slid down to the bottom, rolling past Zym and to the garage door, then dropping to the ground and rolling out a foot large gap at the bottom. He looked down at the inch of snow on the ground and sighed. "Man, I'ma freeze my nuts off out here." Then rolled over to the alley way where nine men stood around a stereo. "Hey, bro? You guys gotta pack it up and beat it, because Damien wants a nap, y'know? He won't give me my stuff if you guys don't go away."
One of the men turn to him, and scowled. "Well ya'll better tell Danny en that I'ma kick yo ass if you don't back off!"
"Uhhh, It's Damien, Bro.. Not Danny-en." He paused, noticing the unimpressed look on the man's face. "Look, if you don't leave I'm just gonna have to kill you." He said, shrugging lazily.
"Kill me, 'ey? Kill this, punk!" The man said, pulling a pistol from his back and aiming it at Lance.
"Damn, you've got a gun? That's not fair. I don't get a gun. Not since I killed the newbie with that shotgun a few weeks ago."
"Then you betta' turn yo' ass around and go back to yo' little car shop."
"No thanks, bro. I got a better idea." Lance finished, then pulled his hands out of his pockets and rolled forward. A gunshot echoed, just missing Lance and piercing his jacket. As Lance cartwheeled, the jagged wheels of his skates came down on the gangster's face and tore it up, killing him. As the man got pushed to the ground and Lance hopped by him, he came to a halt in the middle of the other eight men. "Now, will you leave?" He said with a hand motion and a bored look. The men all also pulled out guns and aimed them at him. He ducked, hearing a maelstrom of bullets, and three of the men fell from friendly fire. Lance shot his leg forward at the closest enemy, then whipped his leg up, the blades on the wheel tearing the man open, and ripping his throat in the process. Lance then got on his hands and spun, hitting two more of the men. Another gunshot was heard, and a bullet hit into Lance's right skate. He stopped the spin and came to a whipping halt, landing on his behind. "OW! That's my ass, man! The ground is all frozen and shit!" Lance looked up as two more men stood in front of him. He sighed, rolled to his left, grabbed one of the pistols, and quickly let two rounds into his enemies. Standing up, he looked at the circle of dead men, and lifted up his leg, pulling a bullet out of his skate and tossing it at the first man he killed. "Should'a just left, bro." He rolled towards the front of the building and opened a door next to the shutter. Rolling past Maggie, she shook her head at him, and he flipped her off. Unevenly climbing the stairs, he reached the top and sighed again. "Happy Damien? I got rid of them. Can I sleep now?"
"Well, Lance, I asked you to quiet them and their music, and you didn't even shut the music off." He said, Lance now remembering the radio that was near the men's feet.
"Dammit!" He yelled, turning around and lazily walking back down the stairs. "The things I do to be able to sleep..."
© Sebastian Dow 2009 - 2011