No.1083
You love to kill. The sound of a screaming victim, the smell of fresh blood, the feeling of exhilaration watching a squirming body turn into a corpse: these are the finer things in life. You've been able to hold back lately, but you just can't contain yourself anymore.
It's 2030, and the world's population is 30 billion. Large families came back into fashion in developed nations in 2018, and there was a population explosion as a result. Meanwhile, couples in developing nations have been having as many children as ever. While the developed nations have enjoyed a boon in production just this year from so many people entering the work force, they have had trouble getting enough police to keep tabs on all those people. This makes getting away with crimes far easier.
You need to sate your appetite for death. But first, who are you?
Fill this out:
>Name:
>Background:
>Methodology:
>Location:
>Hideout:
–Don't fill this out–
>Sanity: 100/100
>HP: 100/100
>Notoriety: Unknown
>Inventory:
Rolls will be 1d100.
No.1084
>Name: Edward Penn
>Background: Raised the illegitimate son of former governor Francis Penn, Edward had a rather comfortable life. But his mental distemper went untreated far too long, enhanced and ignored due to the conditions of his birth. He developed an increasing animosity for the 'liberal traitors', taking Francis' conservative agenda to a murderous extreme. When his father was killed in a car accident, the medications stopped getting paid for, and the disease took hold. He often thought about those autumns with his father, hunting deer in the Appalachians. He even kept his old rifle…
>Methodology: Find a target of the liberal/homosexual/minority persuasion, track and hunt the way dad taught.
>Location: Richmond, Virginia
>Hideout: Dad's old hunting lodge
–Don't fill this out–
>Sanity: 100/100
>HP: 100/100
>Notoriety: Unknown
>Inventory:
No.1086
>Name: Toran "The Tank" Gordon
>Background:
Once, he was captain of a Swat Team. A brick house of a man towering over others a full six feet and 11 inches.
Decorated, experienced, respected, having served the force for years.
And then one day he snapped. For reasons unknown. Just like that, one day on an operation turned on his m8's an killed them all in 3 minutes, and then he killed the hostages and the bank robbers.
After that, he left. You would think a tall man with more muscles than a bull would be easy to find, but that's the problem.
He knows their methods. And this is where things get nasty. He specifically targets police stations, and officers. Video footage shows him to be wearing some kind of modified body armor tailored to his height and size, and carrying around enough ammunition and weapons for three men. His favored method seems to be ambushing officers up close with a large short sword, cleaving men in two and even swung at a police car cutting it in half.
>Methodology: Killing officers. Meeting Brute Force with Brute Force.
>Location: Los Angeles
>Hideout: An abandoned cold war silo
No.1087
>Name: Richard Fritz
>Background: Fought for years in a losing, one-sided war as part of a Special Forces unit of four men off in Russia, nicknamed 'Ghost Wolves', renowned for almost single-handedly turning the tide of the war with nearly five hundred kills between the four of them over the course of two years. In time, the Russians managed to take them down, killing off one of them in a set detonation and near-fatally wounding Richard, carried out of the zone by Ben and Daniels, the other two of the squad. Shortly after, the war was lost, and the three were sent home. Richard kept in close contact with Ben, who he considered his best and only friend, until a section of the Russian Mafia blew up his quiet store after learning his backstory, obliterating him and half a block. Richard had always had sociopathic tendencies, barely ever speaking and being totally unfazed by killing and gore, so long as he felt it justified. Joining a patriotic, anti-Russian organization, Richard started doing the only thing he ever knew - taking orders.
>Methodology: ….
>Location: Miami, Florida
>Hideout: A small, neat apartment in south Miami.
>Sanity: 100/100
>HP: 100/100
>Notoriety: Unknown
>Inventory:
No.1089
>>1087>Name: Benjamin Ron>Background: Miami born. Used to love biking, cooking, always loved steak. But it was boring.He started doing stunts, flipping his cleaver around as he cut, using a motorbike on the public halfpipes, but it was boring.
He delved deep, joined organization after organization in search of a thrill, but none provided them.
Until he joined one.
The one with the messages on his phone.
Once he got a taste of the blood price they were sending him to collect, he never looked back.
>Methodology: Meat cleaver those fucking Ruskies.>Location: Miami, Florida>Hideout: Some rat's den of a flat.–Don't fill this out–
>Sanity: 100/100>HP: 100/100>Notoriety: Unknown>Inventory: No.1090
>Name: Christian Weston Chandler-Penn
>Background: Raised the legitimate son of former governor Francis Penn, Edward had a rather comfortable life. But his mental distemper went untreated far too long, enhanced and ignored due to the conditions of his birth. He developed an increasing Autism for the 'Blue armed traitors', taking Francis' conservative agenda to a murderous extreme. When his father was killed in a car accident, the welfare stopped coming in, and the Autism took hold. He often thought about those autumns with his father, hunting sonic games in the local game shop. He even kept his father's Authentic Katana and trench-coat
>Methodology: Find a target of the liberal/homosexual/minority persuasion, track and hunt the way dad taught.
>Location: Richmond, Virginia
>Hideout: Abandoned Nintendo store in the bad side of town
No.1091
Name: Fuzz
Background: Abandoned in the wilderness as a child, he was found by squatches in the middle of nowhere by his father Eustace. Raised as a squatch Fuzz became one with the forest after overcoming the many hardships of living outside of civilization and grew strong and cunning. Hunters with cameras came with hats like 'Gone Squatching' which reminded Fuzz of his father who abandoned him and during the next few nights while they camped he killed them one by one after scaring them deeper into the woods. Now Fuzz roams the wilds letting people catch a look at him once in a while to bring others.
Methodology: Lure hunters and other wildlife lovers out with sighting of 'Bigfoots' and then kill them one by one.
Location: The Wilderness
Hideout: Nature
Sanity: 100/100
HP: 100/100
Notoriety: Unknown
Inventory:
No.1092
No.1095
>>1084Inventory: [7mm-08 Winchester Hunting Rifle: 7 Rounds (full)]
[Box of 7mm-08 Ammunition: 100 Rounds]
You're in your dad's old hunting lodge, having just finished cleaning your gun. You turn on the TV to see yet another story about people protesting income inequality, or the 1%, or the Bilderbergs, or whatever the popular issue of the day is. The specific reason for the mob is unimportant. You're tired of all these socialists and deviants in this country. The founders made the greatest system known to man, and they came waltzing in from overseas and ruined everything. There's only one solution. They can not be allowed to live any longer. You're ready for a hunt.
>>1085Inventory: [Top Hat]
[Sword Cane]
You awake to a beam of sunlight laying across your face; your butler Jenkins having drawn your curtains open. On the nightstand beside your bed sits your usual breakfast: a poached egg, a glass of orange juice, and this morning's East Finchley Gazette. Looking at the headline on the front page informs you of yet another scandal involving several of the men in high society being caught up in a brothel sting. "It seems like every time they bust a bloody brothel in this town, ten more spring up in its place," you remark to Jenkins. "It's about time someone does something about it." "I suppose you're going to be that someone, sir?" Jenkins asks with a faint glint in the corner of his eye. "I suppose I shall have to," you reply, arising from your bed. "Come now, fetch me my morning clothes." "As you wish, sir," comes faithful Jenkins' reply.
>>1086Inventory: [Body Armor]
[Short Sword]
[Desert Eagle 50cal: 15 rounds]
[Box of 50cal Ammunition: 75 rounds]
[Mossberg 500 HS410: 6 Shells]
[Box of .410 Shells: 50 Shells]
[Armalite M-15 Law Enforcement Carbine: 30 Rounds]
[Box of .223 Ammunition: 100 rounds]
You were done. Done with the violence. Done with going home at night wondering if you did the right thing. Done with the endless raids on mostly innocent citizens. Done with the war on drugs. Done with the needless violence. So you killed them all. It was another assignment, maybe a bank robbery or something. Yea, that was it, a bank robbery. You were watching the snipers take aim at the robbers; then you were done. You took out your sidearm and shot the three snipers. Now everyone was confused and in a panic. The robbers thought the police shot at them and missed, so they took cover in behind the desk. The police thought that the robbers had started executing the hostages, so the swat team charged in. You used the ensuing chaos to kill them all: First the support and witnesses that were still out on the street, then the team that ran in, and finally, the robbers and hostages. The next few days were a blur; killing squad mates, stealing guns and ammo, and running. Always running. Sitting in the abandoned silo now, you only know one thing: when all the cops are dead, you can finally have peace.
>>1087Inventory: [Cell phone]
You receive a text:
"I just can't handle these kids anymore! I need someone to help me with them. I live at 2140 Golden Nook."
>>1089Inventory: [Cell Phone]
You receive a text:
"I need help moving a couch. This thing is heavy as hell lol. I'm at 4872 Hidden Private."
>>1091They make you angry. They come to you woods. They make flashy lights at you and family. They bring back memories. Thoughts of old family. Old family hit you. Old family bad. They bad. You must protect new family. You follow. You too sneaky to get caught. They sleep in big bags. You wait for them to have to us bushes. You squeeze throat. They die. They all must die.
No.1096
 | Rolled 19 (1d100) |
>>1095>Fill this out:>Name: Dapper Don John Johnson >Background:There's corruption in London whores allowed to thrive in the city, thieves go unpunished while they steal from hard workers, and the heathens allowed to tread on good christian values. The victorians have became a heathen parody of themselves. I'm the dapperest of all the heathens they mock people and god himself soon they will all pay one street at a time. I'm Dapper Don John Johnson formerly Leroy of London,UK and god wants the world to become victorian >Methodology:Lure hookers and thieves then trap them in the basement to make them ammit any sin they committed then kill them with a cane blade >Location:London,UK>Hideout:A restored victorian house
>–Don't fill this out–>Sanity: 100/100>HP: 100/100>Notoriety: Unknown>Inventory:[Top Hat][Sword Cane]https://youtu.be/fiRPBCiJg2c1."I'll find some aspiring whore and during my brisk walk and if they come up to me and offer their sex to me then I'll grab a few and then lead them in my house and Jenkins be a dear and lead them to the basement
No.1097
| Rolled 100 (1d100) |
>>1095>Name: Benjamin Ron>Background: Miami born. Used to love biking, cooking, always loved steak. But it was boring.He started doing stunts, flipping his cleaver around as he cut, using a motorbike on the public halfpipes, but it was boring.
He delved deep, joined organization after organization in search of a thrill, but none provided them.
Until he joined one.
The one with the messages on his phone.
Once he got a taste of the blood price they were sending him to collect, he never looked back.
>Methodology: Meat cleaver those fucking Ruskies.>Location: Miami, Florida>Hideout: Some rat's den of a flat.–Don't fill this out–
>Sanity: 100/100>HP: 100/100>Notoriety: Unknown>Inventory: [Cellphone]Huh?
…Hooooh shit. And there it is.
Just as I was getting bored.
[Get up. Grab my cleaver and my knives. Put on my helmet. And get on my bike. We've got a couch to move.]
No.1098
| Rolled 77, 71 = 148 (2d100) |
>>1095>Name: Richard Fritz>Background: Fought for years in a losing, one-sided war as part of a Special Forces unit of four men off in Russia, nicknamed 'Ghost Wolves', renowned for almost single-handedly turning the tide of the war with nearly five hundred kills between the four of them over the course of two years. In time, the Russians managed to take them down, killing off one of them in a set detonation and near-fatally wounding Richard, carried out of the zone by Ben and Daniels, the other two of the squad. Shortly after, the war was lost, and the three were sent home. Richard kept in close contact with Ben, who he considered his best and only friend, until a section of the Russian Mafia blew up his quiet store after learning his backstory, obliterating him and half a block. Richard had always had sociopathic tendencies, barely ever speaking and being totally unfazed by killing and gore, so long as he felt it justified. Joining a patriotic, anti-Russian organization, Richard started doing the only thing he ever knew - taking orders.>Methodology: ….>Location: Miami, Florida>Hideout: A small, neat apartment in south Miami.>Sanity: 100/100>HP: 100/100>Notoriety: Unknown>Inventory: [Cell Phone]1/2: The Jacket feels snug and comfortable as I get out of my car, bare hands warm against the Miami sunrise. Putting the mask over my head is… strange. Not in a bad way. It feels like something I've done a million times before, though I've never touched it in my life. Shape of a chicken. Fits perfectly on my head. The building doesn't matter, I don't give a shit about what it looks like. All I care about is who's inside. Nothing but Russians. Always fucking Russians. Nobody leaves this place but me. Kick the door down so I can get to it. Talk is useless anyway, and it's been too long seeing a uniformed piece of shit. Regards from America.
No.1099
| Rolled 44 (1d100) |
>>1095>Name: Edward Penn>Background: Raised the illegitimate son of former governor Francis Penn, Edward had a rather comfortable life. But his mental distemper went untreated far too long, enhanced and ignored due to the conditions of his birth. He developed an increasing animosity for the 'liberal traitors', taking Francis' conservative agenda to a murderous extreme. When his father was killed in a car accident, the medications stopped getting paid for, and the disease took hold. He often thought about those autumns with his father, hunting deer in the Appalachians. He even kept his old rifle…>Methodology: Find a target of the liberal/homosexual/minority persuasion, track and hunt the way dad taught.>Location: Richmond, Virginia>Hideout: Dad's old hunting lodge>Sanity: 100/100>HP: 100/100>Notoriety: UnknownInventory: [7mm-08 Winchester Hunting Rifle: 7 Rounds (full)]
[Box of 7mm-08 Ammunition: 100 Rounds]
1 - His eyes scan the crowd, watching for a face that catches his attention. Worthless, all of them. There - that one, the woman. Short skirt, long legs, and a loud mouth. Everything dangerous in a bad cause. She didn't seem to important. All the same, he would make sure this bitch got the attention she's asking for. Time to head into town. A duffel-bag would be useful to conceal the rifle. Surely he had one in the cabin, every good hunter has a bag for their gun.
No.1101
Fill this out:
>Name: Kelen Menel
>Background: Kenel is the son of a gangbanger who won the lottery right after Kelen's mother died birthing him. The gangbanger moved out to Las vegas, and proceeded to live a seemingly comfortable and fancy life. On the contrary, he was quite mad and cruel, beating Kenel daily, teaching him how to kill, and constantly drinking or doing drugs. Kenel had a real hard life that took its toll on his mind. He started seeing killing and hurting people as alright, found torturing fun after he did some of it with his cruel father, and absolutely loved the thrill of seeing people afraid. Around the age of 23, after years of abuse and torture, and finally a slash across his left eye, he snapped. Kelen tied his father up in the mansions hidden torture room, and pumped him full of lead. Seeing his own father bleeding gave him a rush of satisfaction unlile any other kill, and now he uses his money and resources to find ways to achieve the perfect high.
>Methodology: Anyone will do as long as he can stalk them, shoot them, or carve them up. He especially likes multiple targets, and prefers to make them paranoid
>Location: Las vegas, Nevada
>Hideout: His mansion
–Don't fill this out–
>Sanity: 100/100
>HP: 100/100
>Notoriety: Unknown
>Inventory:
No.1102
| Rolled 36 (1d100) |
>>1095>Name: Toran "The Tank" Gordon>Background:Once, he was captain of a Swat Team. A brick house of a man towering over others a full six feet and 11 inches.
Decorated, experienced, respected, having served the force for years.
And then one day he snapped. For reasons unknown. Just like that, one day on an operation turned on his m8's an killed them all in 3 minutes, and then he killed the hostages and the bank robbers.
After that, he left. You would think a tall man with more muscles than a bull would be easy to find, but that's the problem.
He knows their methods. And this is where things get nasty. He specifically targets police stations, and officers. Video footage shows him to be wearing some kind of modified body armor tailored to his height and size, and carrying around enough ammunition and weapons for three men. His favored method seems to be ambushing officers up close with a large short sword, cleaving men in two and even swung at a police car cutting it in half.
>Methodology: Killing officers. Meeting Brute Force with Brute Force.>Location: Los Angeles (round thereabouts)>Hideout: An abandoned cold war silo
>Sanity: 100/100>HP: 100/100>Notoriety: UnknownInventory: [Body Armor]
[Short Sword]
[Desert Eagle 50cal: 15 rounds]
[Box of 50cal Ammunition: 75 rounds]
[Mossberg 500 HS410: 6 Shells]
[Box of .410 Shells: 50 Shells]
[Armalite M-15 Law Enforcement Carbine: 30 Rounds]
[Box of .223 Ammunition: 100 rounds]
1. Where to begin.
The first day of freedom, and I need my first kill. More than that, I need leads to better kills.
It's not that hard to hail down a patrol car. Park a car in front of a road, and watch them stop and get out to investigate in typical manner.
>Kill and/or Capture a patrol car of officers No.1103
>>1101It was too much to bear. That asshole didn't just injure you physically, he tore to your core. The beatings you could take: it was the berating that drove you up the wall. He thought he had you under control. When you joined him, he thought his whole life was set: he had money, drugs, and an heir to pass on his cruel legacy. But he could see what you had planned. It came to fruition a little earlier than you expected, but it couldn't be helped. That was the last scar you'd endure on his behalf. Unfortunately for society, the latter part of his plan came true in ways he could never predict. What he spent 23 year creating was a sleek, smart, and ruthless killing machine. And there is no off button.
No.1104
| Rolled 44, 53 = 97 (2d100) |
>>1103>Name: Kelen Menel>Background: Kenel is the son of a gangbanger who won the lottery right after Kelen's mother died birthing him. The gangbanger moved out to Las vegas, and proceeded to live a seemingly comfortable and fancy life. On the contrary, he was quite mad and cruel, beating Kenel daily, teaching him how to kill, and constantly drinking or doing drugs. Kenel had a real hard life that took its toll on his mind. He started seeing killing and hurting people as alright, found torturing fun after he did some of it with his cruel father, and absolutely loved the thrill of seeing people afraid. Around the age of 23, after years of abuse and torture, and finally a slash across his left eye, he snapped. Kelen tied his father up in the mansions hidden torture room, and pumped him full of lead. Seeing his own father bleeding gave him a rush of satisfaction unlile any other kill, and now he uses his money and resources to find ways to achieve the perfect high.>Methodology: Anyone will do as long as he can stalk them, shoot them, or carve them up. He especially likes multiple targets, and prefers to make them paranoid>Location: Las vegas, Nevada>Hideout: His mansion–Don't fill this out–
>Sanity: 100/100>HP: 100/100>Notoriety: Unknown>Inventory:1,2)Kelen sat in his room, thinking about the hell he went through. He remembers all of it vividly, the pain, the torture, the needless training, all of it. And now, after so long, that bastard is dead like he deserves to be! To think hes just…gone after all this time. Kelen put his hands to his head, feeling his scar on his face. He has to do something to take his mind off the pain, and he knows exactly what. Kelen gets off of his bed and walks over to his closet, where his favorite gear is stored. He pulls out the floor length trenchcoat, his personal PP-Bizon and two clips of ammo, and last but not least his Woldo. He had a method of killing that he quite liked, heads get lopped off after application of a non instantly lethal amount of lead. He took his gear, left his room, and went searching for a target to stalk.
No.1105
| Rolled 45 (1d100) |
>>1104 No.1106
| Rolled 90 (1d100) |
>>1095Name: Fuzz
Background: Abandoned in the wilderness as a child, he was found by squatches in the middle of nowhere by his father Eustace. Raised as a squatch Fuzz became one with the forest after overcoming the many hardships of living outside of civilization and grew strong and cunning. Hunters with cameras came with hats like 'Gone Squatching' which reminded Fuzz of his father who abandoned him and during the next few nights while they camped he killed them one by one after scaring them deeper into the woods. Now Fuzz roams the wilds letting people catch a look at him once in a while to bring others.
Methodology: Lure hunters and other wildlife lovers out with sighting of 'Bigfoots' and then kill them one by one.
Location: The Wilderness
Hideout: Nature
Sanity: 100/100
HP: 100/100
Notoriety: Unknown
Inventory:
1 Patrol the woods, vigilance with eyes like owl and determination like tree to reach sky.
No.1107
>>1096You head out from your estate at a brisk pace, heading nowhere in particular but with purpose in your steps. After all, you have to better these streets, or else no one will! You pass several women, but none of them look the part for a lady of the night. Finally, you find a woman who, when you tip your hat to her, says, "You lookin' for a good time honey?" Ugh. You do your best to hide your disgust as you bid her to follow you. Her eyes begin to fill with awe as the neighborhoods you lead her through begin to get nicer and nicer until you arrive in front of your manor. Just as you are stepping to your front door, you feel a sharp pain in your lower left side. You put your hand there and draw it back to find blood. You turn around to see her with a bloodied knife in her hands. You collapse to the ground, and she proceeds to search your pockets, but finds nothing. She kicks you in the knife wound as she leaves.
-25HP
-2 Sanity
>>1097You gather your kinfes and cleaver and begin to go out to get on your bike. On your way, however, you pass your room, you get a flashback to when you were really drunk last night. A man lost a whole lot of money to you in darts, so much, in fact, that he couldn't afford to pay you. He offered you free plastic surgery instead, which prompted you to ask how we could offer this. The man was a plastic surgeon. After some prodding, the man took you back to his office and gave you a canister of a fast acting undiluted experimental botox. He explained that this was basically pure botulism, and made you promise to be careful, as any amount over 1 micro gram is lethal to humans. Naturally, you coated a few small darts in them and headed on your way.
Inventory: [Poisoned Darts]
[Cleaver]
[Throwing Knives]
-4 Sanity
You kick down the door of the residence you've been sent to, practically catching the guards with their pants down. It's all they can do to turn their heads toward you before you've grabbed the first man's gun out of his hands and opened fire. A combination of blood, drugs, and couch stuffing begins to fill the air as you move from one target to the next, seamlessly unloading one gun on the unlucky drug dealers before picking up another to repeat the process. Soon, everyone inside is laying bleeding on the floor. You get a text telling you to check the mailbox of the house. Inside is $1,000. A little light for what you've accomplished, but what can you do, right?
Inventory:
[$1,000]
>>1099'Finally, it's time for me to get busy!' You think. You rush into the cabin and grab a nondescript bag and run out to head into town. Unfortunately, by the time you make it, you've lost track of the woman you intended to kill. Dumb bitch was probably a feminist too, really deserved it. No matter. There are others in this town who deserve death, and you'll remember her face. After all, an elephant never forgets.
Inventory:
[Nondescript Bag]
-8 Sanity
>>1102You head out to a nearby road and await a patrol to happen across you. You see many cars go by but no police. Not too surprising: Los Angeles's financial situation hasn't exactly improved over the past few years. You head back to the silo to regroup and come up with a new plan.
-4 Sanity
>>1104Having established a method to your madness, you go outside and drive around for a bit. Before long, you end up in the lower income section of town. You see several people that you could dwell on: a middle-aged latina single mother of two, a single white early 20 something who looks like he's just starting his life out, an elderly black woman who gardens while her husband spends more than his fair share of time on the strip, and a teenage runaway staying in an alley behind an abandoned strip mall.
Inventory:
[2 PP-Bizon: 64 Rounds Each]
[Woldo]
>>1106You start walk around woods. Look for bad ones. You find them fast. You clever little one. You bring big brother near them. Big brother walk close so they see, but too far for flashy lights. This draw them deep into woods. Soon it get too dark. They set up big bags for sleep. Soon you strike.
-4 Sanity
No.1108
| Rolled 14 (1d100) |
>>1107>Fill this out:>Name: Dapper Don John Johnson >Background:There's corruption in London whores allowed to thrive in the city, thieves go unpunished while they steal from hard workers, and the heathens allowed to tread on good christian values. The victorians have became a heathen parody of themselves. I'm the dapperest of all the heathens they mock people and god himself soon they will all pay one street at a time. I'm Dapper Don John Johnson formerly Leroy of London,UK and god wants the world to become victorian >Methodology:Lure hookers and thieves then trap them in the basement to make them ammit any sin they committed then kill them with a cane blade >Location:London,UK>Hideout:A restored victorian house
>–Don't fill this out–>Sanity: 75/100>HP: 98/100>Notoriety: Unknown>Inventory:[Top Hat][Sword Cane]1."That salvage whore almost tried to kill me I'll go inside maybe Jenkins will agree to help me kill that savage"
No.1109
| Rolled 92 (1d100) |
>Name: Kelen Menel>Background: Kenel is the son of a gangbanger who won the lottery right after Kelen's mother died birthing him. The gangbanger moved out to Las vegas, and proceeded to live a seemingly comfortable and fancy life. On the contrary, he was quite mad and cruel, beating Kenel daily, teaching him how to kill, and constantly drinking or doing drugs. Kenel had a real hard life that took its toll on his mind. He started seeing killing and hurting people as alright, found torturing fun after he did some of it with his cruel father, and absolutely loved the thrill of seeing people afraid. Around the age of 23, after years of abuse and torture, and finally a slash across his left eye, he snapped. Kelen tied his father up in the mansions hidden torture room, and pumped him full of lead. Seeing his own father bleeding gave him a rush of satisfaction unlile any other kill, and now he uses his money and resources to find ways to achieve the perfect high.>Methodology: Anyone will do as long as he can stalk them, shoot them, or carve them up. He especially likes multiple targets, and prefers to make them paranoid>Location: Las vegas, Nevada>Hideout: His mansion–Don't fill this out–
>Sanity: 100/100>HP: 100/100>Notoriety: Unknown>Inventory: [2 PP-Bizon: 64 Rounds Each][Woldo]
1,2) The teenage runaway. A easy target
No.1110
| Rolled 15 (1d100) |
>>1107>Name: Richard Fritz>Background: Fought for years in a losing, one-sided war as part of a Special Forces unit of four men off in Russia, nicknamed 'Ghost Wolves', renowned for almost single-handedly turning the tide of the war with nearly five hundred kills between the four of them over the course of two years. In time, the Russians managed to take them down, killing off one of them in a set detonation and near-fatally wounding Richard, carried out of the zone by Ben and Daniels, the other two of the squad. Shortly after, the war was lost, and the three were sent home. Richard kept in close contact with Ben, who he considered his best and only friend, until a section of the Russian Mafia blew up his quiet store after learning his backstory, obliterating him and half a block. Richard had always had sociopathic tendencies, barely ever speaking and being totally unfazed by killing and gore, so long as he felt it justified. Joining a patriotic, anti-Russian organization, Richard started doing the only thing he ever knew - taking orders.>Methodology: ….>Location: Miami, Florida>Hideout: A small, neat apartment in south Miami.>Sanity: 100/100>HP: 100/100>Notoriety: Unknown>Inventory: [Cell Phone], [1,000 Dollars]1. Beautiful. Take one last look at the room of dead Russians before I go, brains and blood scattered. I'm a bit hungry, I'll head down to the convienience store across the block, grab something to eat before I head back to my apartment. Fucking things always look like Ben's did. God-damn Russians… After that's done, in the DeLorean and head back to the apartment. The money will be more than enough. I'm gonna sleep, play some videogames, pay attention to the papers for a few days. I always cut out news related to me. If it's talking about a 'Masked Maniac' or a guy in an animal mask blowing the heads off some Russian bastards, it's probably me. The news doesn't matter, though. Killing Russians and their fucking mob is more than enough.
No.1112
| Rolled 90 (1d100) |
>>1107>Name: Edward Penn>Background: Raised the illegitimate son of former governor Francis Penn, Edward had a rather comfortable life. But his mental distemper went untreated far too long, enhanced and ignored due to the conditions of his birth. He developed an increasing animosity for the 'liberal traitors', taking Francis' conservative agenda to a murderous extreme. When his father was killed in a car accident, the medications stopped getting paid for, and the disease took hold. He often thought about those autumns with his father, hunting deer in the Appalachians. He even kept his old rifle…>Methodology: Find a target of the liberal/homosexual/minority persuasion, track and hunt the way dad taught.>Location: Richmond, Virginia>Hideout: Dad's old hunting lodge>Sanity: 92/100>HP: 100/100>Notoriety: UnknownInventory: [7mm-08 Winchester Hunting Rifle: 7 Rounds (full)]
[Box of 7mm-08 Ammunition: 100 Rounds]
[Nondescript Bag]
1 - Only one thing for it. Crowds are too mobile, too easily dispersed. Somewhere permanent, an establishment of their degeneracy, that's the ticket. An abortion clinic, perhaps, or a welfare office. Anywhere the dregs see fit to infest. But not in the open. Not yet. The Jewish media is all over it if I strike too blatantly. Just follow. Get them alone. A swarm of roaches is a threat, but a cockroach without numbers is just a bug.
No.1113
File: 1429197503258.jpg (197.04 KB, 500x735, 100:147, he_came_wearing_a_mask_by_….jpg)
>>1083>Name: The Click>Background: It is uncertain how the Click became the way he is today. A man torn apart by schizophrenia he has lost almost all touch with reality and is mostly seen strolling around the psychatric ward talking about 'the time running out' and 'the ticking clock'. While he is not deemed especially dangerous in any way the Click escapes the Ward in random intervals, building masks and hunting down people only to return to the ward before dawn.>Methodology: The Click wears self made masks and often follows victims around for days, unafraid of being seen when spotted he often gestures to his watch. Sometimes he just aborts hunting a person alltogether and chooses a new target instead. Once he actually goes for the kill he begins to hit a knife or other metal object against his watch to emulate the ticking sound of time running out. His victims are usually killed with as few precise and lethal attacks as possible.>Location: Psychatric Ward>Hideout: Psychatric Ward
>Sanity: 100/100>HP: 100/100>Notoriety: Unknown>Inventory: No.1115
| Rolled 29 (1d100) |
>>1109(Meant to elaborate on post)
Seeing the runaway sent a spark mixed spark of hate, anger, and understanding through Kelen. Maybe she had runaway because her life was terrible, maybe she had runaway because she was a hormonal teenager. Neither of these mattered to Kelen. Chances are she has a far easier time at home then he ever did, and if she doesnt then oh well she pull herself together! But then Kelen thought about his father, and how he wasnt that man. Kelen wasnt going to waste his life away on drugs and drinking, he was going to make it mean something through bullets and blood. But he needs help, his legacy needs to live down through the ages either in public or in secret, and he wasnt one to have love. Kelen walked over to the runaway with his weapons hidden and hands in his pockets. If she didnt run then he already knew what he was going to ask. "Why are you in a alley, and not at home kid?" If she did run…then it was simple. He guns her down, cuts her head off, and lays it neatly next to her body. He walked over to her, scenario going through his mind, and attempted to talk to her in hopes that she wouldnt run. If he liked her answer, he would try to train her, if he didnt he would kill her. Its all simple as that.
No.1142
>>1113Inventory: [PocketWatch]
The Click was born with a watchmaker as a father. Pondering whether Click's mental issues prompted the beatings or the beatings prompted the mental issues is somewhat of a chicken or the egg question, but one thing is for sure: each exacerbated the other. When He developed an imaginary friend named 'Howie' at the age of three his mother thought it was cute and his father was content to ignore it. When Howie told Click to burn his preschool down, they suspected that there was a problem. Unfortunately, Click's father could not afford the assistance of a psychiatrist, and determined that extra helpings from the belt would have to do to contain Click. Click grew up in constant trouble thanks to Howie, and soon, Howie was joined by several others. The imaginary friends came and went, but Howie remained. When he was 15, Howie told Click to start breaking the clocks in his father's shop. When his father walked in to Click holding a hammer prepared to strike the last working pocket watch, he beat him so hard that Click still has the scars to this day. His father, on the other hand, did not count on the strength of his now enraged teenage son. Click gave his abusive father 2 cuts to the neck using the broken glass from the broken clocks, killing him. Three hours later, when his mother discovered him and his now late father, she ran to call the police. Click didn't run, against the ravings of Howie. He just sat in one place, rocking back and forth, staring into the one unbroken pocket watch he clutched. Even the police could not pry it away from him no matter what methods they tried. State Psychiatrists theorized that something about the way it ticked soothed him during his swift trial, in which he was convicted of criminal insanity. He was taken to a State Psychiatric hospital. Howie screamed at him to escape. For 7 long years, Howie listened and did nothing, just clutching the pocket watch. But today he bolted. He saw an opportunity during a food delivery and took it. He crossed his town to an abandoned Psychiatric Ward: Something about the familiarity sat well with him. As no one thought to look for the insane man who escaped here, he was able to set up a hideout.
No.1145
>>1108You manage to unlock and open your door, despite your shaky hand. You stumble into your foyer and call for Jenkins. He comes to find you in this grizzly condition and fetches some towels right away. "That whore stabbed me Jenkins!" You gasp. "Yes, sir. Ladies of the night have been known to carry blades for protection." "You've got to help me kill her," you tell him. "Sir, it is my pride to aid you in any way I am able except in this endeavor. While I believe in your cause, it was your calling, and the actions must be yours to carry out."
-1 HP
-9 Sanity
>>1109>>1115You sit in your car across from the alleyway for a some time, contemplating what to do about the teenage girl. Finally, you make your move. You walk up to her and ask the question that has been plaguing you, the one that she'd better have a damn good answer to. "Why are you in an alley, and not at home kid?" you ask. "M-my dad…" She starts, and looks away from you. "I don't know why I'm telling you this, but my dad beats me. Last night he got really drunk and came into my room in the middle of the night…" She trails off, and you can see where this story is going. Looking at her closer, you can see she has a black eye, torn clothes, and red hand prints around her neck. "Look, let's just say that anywhere would be better than being under the same roof as him. Besides, what's it you you?"
-8 Sanity
>>1110You go to the store across the street and grab 2 slices of pizza and a large coke from the fountain. No sooner does the door of the store close behind you on your way out than you see 3 SUVs carrying 6 mobsters apiece pull up to the house you just cleared. Just then, you get a text. You shift the pizza and coke into one hand in order to check it:
Don't forget to clean up any messes my kids may have left behind! Thanks so much for your help.
-4 Sanity
Inventory:
[-$7.50]
[2 slices of pizza]
[Large coke]
>>1112You begin to wander. The untrained eye may see it as purposeless meandering, but you know where you're going. Eventually, you end up in front of the town's Planned Parenthood. Looking inside, you can't believe your luck: the same bitch from earlier is sitting inside, her arm around a clearly pregnant and sobbing woman sitting in the lobby, rubbing her shoulder. A lesbian abortionist will make the perfect first target for your cleansing of the country. You can hardly contain your excitement as you go to the cafe across the street and request a patio seat. The hostess sits you at a table where you can see into the lobby perfectly. You sit there through the dinner hour, and the cafe begin to close around you. They're still in the lobby: The pregnant woman must have the last appointment of the night. You leave the cafe and move to the roof of the building next door, still watching, still waiting. Finally, The pregnant woman gets called to her appointment, and you move down the stairs. You decide to take a position near the side door of the clinic, as it is near the parking lot. From here, you'll be able to see which car she drives and get some further information on her when she comes out.
-8 Sanity
No.1146
>>1145>>Fill this out:>>Name: Dapper Don John Johnson >>Background:There's corruption in London whores allowed to thrive in the city, thieves go unpunished while they steal from hard workers, and the heathens allowed to tread on good christian values. The victorians have became a heathen parody of themselves. I'm the dapperest of all the heathens they mock people and god himself soon they will all pay one street at a time. I'm Dapper Don John Johnson formerly Leroy of London,UK and god wants the world to become victorian >>Methodology:Lure hookers and thieves then trap them in the basement to make them ammit any sin they committed then kill them with a cane blade >>Location:London,UK>>Hideout:A restored victorian house
>>–Don't fill this out–>>Sanity: 89/100>>HP: 74/100>>Notoriety: Unknown>>Inventory:[Top Hat][Sword Cane]1.I want to find a whore while in this condition it might not be well and wise so I must find one of the night Jenkins hand me my coat and a vest now drive me to the nearest brothel
No.1147
| Rolled 7 (1d100) |
>>1146Can't see it
No.1148
File: 1429241113101.png (202.39 KB, 719x1111, 719:1111, hotline_miami__jacket_by_g….png)
| Rolled 100 (1d100) |
>>1145>Name: Richard Fritz>Background: Fought for years in a losing, one-sided war as part of a Special Forces unit of four men off in Russia, nicknamed 'Ghost Wolves', renowned for almost single-handedly turning the tide of the war with nearly five hundred kills between the four of them over the course of two years. In time, the Russians managed to take them down, killing off one of them in a set detonation and near-fatally wounding Richard, carried out of the zone by Ben and Daniels, the other two of the squad. Shortly after, the war was lost, and the three were sent home. Richard kept in close contact with Ben, who he considered his best and only friend, until a section of the Russian Mafia blew up his quiet store after learning his backstory, obliterating him and half a block. Richard had always had sociopathic tendencies, barely ever speaking and being totally unfazed by killing and gore, so long as he felt it justified. Joining a patriotic, anti-Russian organization, Richard started doing the only thing he ever knew - taking orders.>Methodology: ….>Location: Miami, Florida>Hideout: A small, neat apartment in south Miami.>Sanity: 96/100>HP: 100/100>Notoriety: Unknown>Inventory: [Cell Phone], [992.5 Dollars], [2x Pizza] [Coke]1. Take a bite of the Pizza. Might as well, since it's about to be ruined. Rest of it, and the other slice, get thrown out of the way after that. Coke gets put down on the counter. They sell knives near the back of the store. Take one. No need to pay, it'll be on the house. The mask's still right with me. A simple civilian knife isn't so different from a combat knife, and put in the right place, it'll kill with no noise or wasted time, so I can smoothly move from one to the next, swapping it out as I need. Put the mask on as I walk out of the store. Russian bastards made a real mistake in checking it out. Gonna let them meet their friends in whatever hell the scum get sent to.
No.1150
| Rolled 59 (1d100) |
>>1107>Name: Benjamin Ron>Background: Miami born. Used to love biking, cooking, always loved steak. But it was boring.He started doing stunts, flipping his cleaver around as he cut, using a motorbike on the public halfpipes, but it was boring.
He delved deep, joined organization after organization in search of a thrill, but none provided them.
Until he joined one.
The one with the messages on his phone.
Once he got a taste of the blood price they were sending him to collect, he never looked back.
>Methodology: Meat cleaver those fucking Ruskies.>Location: Miami, Florida>Hideout: Some rat's den of a flat.–Don't fill this out–
>Sanity: 96/100>HP: 100/100>Notoriety: Unknown>Inventory: [Cellphone][Poisoned Darts]
[Cleaver]
[Throwing Knives (3)]
And here we are.
Some dumbass obviously pissed off the wrong guys, or I wouldn't be here, would I?
Walk up to the door.
And bust in.
It's game time, baby!
No.1151
No.1162
| Rolled 94 (1d100) |
>>1145>Name: Kelen Menel>Background: Kenel is the son of a gangbanger who won the lottery right after Kelen's mother died birthing him. The gangbanger moved out to Las vegas, and proceeded to live a seemingly comfortable and fancy life. On the contrary, he was quite mad and cruel, beating Kenel daily, teaching him how to kill, and constantly drinking or doing drugs. Kenel had a real hard life that took its toll on his mind. He started seeing killing and hurting people as alright, found torturing fun after he did some of it with his cruel father, and absolutely loved the thrill of seeing people afraid. Around the age of 23, after years of abuse and torture, and finally a slash across his left eye, he snapped. Kelen tied his father up in the mansions hidden torture room, and pumped him full of lead. Seeing his own father bleeding gave him a rush of satisfaction unlile any other kill, and now he uses his money and resources to find ways to achieve the perfect high.>Methodology: Anyone will do as long as he can stalk them, shoot them, or carve them up. He especially likes multiple targets, and prefers to make them paranoid>Location: Las vegas, Nevada>Hideout: His mansion–Don't fill this out–
>Sanity: 92/100>HP: 100/100>Notoriety: Unknown>Inventory: [2 PP-Bizon: 64 Rounds Each][Woldo]1. Her father is beating her? Thats something i can surprisingly relate to, but unlike her i didnt run, i took matters into my own hands. But then again, in both body and mind, everyone is different. I look at this girl and almost feel what could be called happiness for the first time in years. Two fathers to kill in such a short time. Not only that, but this girl could carry on my legacy. If there is one thing i dont need its a girl, or else ill end up like the rich scumbag i called father. I open the door, tell her to get in, and ask where her house is. If she tells me, i take her there, cause she is going to need to lose some restraint before she ends up better than me.
No.1164
>>1146Sir, I'm afraid that I can't let you do that. You sincerely need to get to a hospital and get the hole in your side stitched up. I'm afraid these temporary measures we've instituted simply won't hold up for very much longer. Come now, lets get in the car and drive down to the Hospital.
-1 HP
-6 sanity
>>1148You go back in the store and grab a pocket knife. The clerk was in the back at the time, so you got away with it scott free. You put your mask out. By the time you get back out, all the Russians are all inside the house you just got done clearing out. You break down the door just as one is pulling out his phone. Once again, you take the gangsters by surprise. You start by sticking the pocket knife in the back of the neck of one right in front of you. From there, you grab his brass knuckles and hit the next man in the back of the head. After that, you pick up a bat and proceed to beat every one of them to a bloody pulp.
+4 sanity
>>1150You break down the door to an old factory. Inside you see some sort of white powder being packaged into crates, and there are 18 wheeler trucks outside that the crates are being loaded into. A nearby guard shouts something at you in Russian. You respond by throwing a poisoned dart into his neck. He stiffens up instantly and goes down. The guard next to him shoots at you, only grazing your shoulder. You put a throwing knife into his forehead in retribution. The workers in the plant, having watched this all unfold, begin to scramble around in an attempt to escape. You chase some of them and manage to hack them down with your cleaver. You receive a text to check the cab of the truck closest to the exit of the building. You find an envelope with $1000 inside.
Inventory:
[$1000]
>>1162You tell her to get in the car. She does so, mostly because she's afraid of what you'll do if she doesn't. You ask her where her house was. "I'm not going back there. You can forget it," she says hastily. "I think you'll like the message I've got to give your father," you tell her coolly. After 15 minute of convincing, she finally gives you an address. You go to the house and knock on the door, with her standing sheepishly behind you. Her father opens the door, drunk and holding a 1/4 full bottle of tequila. He sees her before you and says, "Oh good, back for more? I was jush shtarting to get *hick* horny." Then his eyes move to you. Before you can speak, he says, "Whoever the fuck you are, ya gotta go. Get off my *hick* property before I get you off myshelf." You fly into a blind fury, kicking him in the chest. He stumbles back into the house and on the ground. The runaway just stares, mouth agape, as you proceed to beat the ever loving hell out of her father. Finally, you pull out your PP-Bizons and shoot him four times, and finally pull out your Woldo and decapitate him, putting him out of his and the runaway's misery.
+3 sanity
-4 rounds for PP-Bizon
No.1167
| Rolled 79 (1d100) |
>>1164>>>Fill this out:>>>Name: Dapper Don John Johnson >>>Background:There's corruption in London whores allowed to thrive in the city, thieves go unpunished while they steal from hard workers, and the heathens allowed to tread on good christian values. The victorians have became a heathen parody of themselves. I'm the dapperest of all the heathens they mock people and god himself soon they will all pay one street at a time. I'm Dapper Don John Johnson formerly Leroy of London,UK and god wants the world to become victorian >>>Methodology:Lure hookers and thieves then trap them in the basement to make them ammit any sin they committed then kill them with a cane blade >>>Location:London,UK>>>Hideout:A restored victorian house
>>>–Don't fill this out–>>>Sanity: 83/100>>>HP: 68/100>>>Notoriety: Unknown>>>Inventory:[Top Hat][Sword Cane]1.Oh alright Jenkins I need to go now to the hospital drive me please
No.1168
File: 1429355193117.jpg (117.59 KB, 900x691, 900:691, freedom_by_secret_fantasy-….jpg)
| Rolled 39 (1d100) |
>>1142>Name: The Click>Background: It is uncertain how the Click became the way he is today. A man torn apart by schizophrenia he has lost almost all touch with reality and is mostly seen strolling around the psychatric ward talking about 'the time running out' and 'the ticking clock'. While he is not deemed especially dangerous in any way the Click escapes the Ward in random intervals, building masks and hunting down people only to return to the ward before dawn.>Methodology: The Click wears self made masks and often follows victims around for days, unafraid of being seen when spotted he often gestures to his watch. Sometimes he just aborts hunting a person alltogether and chooses a new target instead. Once he actually goes for the kill he begins to hit a knife or other metal object against his watch to emulate the ticking sound of time running out. His victims are usually killed with as few precise and lethal attacks as possible.>Location: Psychatric Ward>Hideout: Psychatric Ward
>Sanity: 100/100>HP: 100/100>Notoriety: Unknown>Inventory: Pocket Watch1. The Click looked around the broken down surroundings this was homely, he still needed to make a mask and he still needed to find some knives. But how would he do it? Certainly he could figure something out. Time was running out.
No.1169
File: 1429368493004.png (1.11 MB, 1024x1638, 512:819, hotline_miami__jacket_by_d….png)
| Rolled 91 (1d100) |
>>1164>Name: Richard Fritz>Background: Fought for years in a losing, one-sided war as part of a Special Forces unit of four men off in Russia, nicknamed 'Ghost Wolves', renowned for almost single-handedly turning the tide of the war with nearly five hundred kills between the four of them over the course of two years. In time, the Russians managed to take them down, killing off one of them in a set detonation and near-fatally wounding Richard, carried out of the zone by Ben and Daniels, the other two of the squad. Shortly after, the war was lost, and the three were sent home. Richard kept in close contact with Ben, who he considered his best and only friend, until a section of the Russian Mafia blew up his quiet store after learning his backstory, obliterating him and half a block. Richard had always had sociopathic tendencies, barely ever speaking and being totally unfazed by killing and gore, so long as he felt it justified. Joining a patriotic, anti-Russian organization, Richard started doing the only thing he ever knew - taking orders.>Methodology: ….>Location: Miami, Florida>Hideout: A small, neat apartment in south Miami.>Sanity: 92/100>HP: 100/100>Notoriety: Unknown>Inventory: [Cell Phone], [992.5 Dollars]1. Man, the feeling of beating a Russian piece of shit to a bloody pulp with a bat is something else. Eighteen more of these mobster fucks off to hell, delivered by force. Guess I can actually take some damn well time off now. Hmm. Seeing all the dead assholes here makes me think, though. I remember something about 'no witnesses' being pushed again and again in their thinly veiled bullshit in the messages and pamphlets, but does that mean I'm expected to kill every non-aligned hooker and bum I come across who's in the wrong place at the wrong time? Because I'm not doing that if it is. Killing's a graceful, beautiful thing when it's justified, and I got a whole mob full of justification. No more speculating. I don't feel like going back to the store. I'll just get in my car and drive back to the apartment, I think. Hang out for a while like I wanted to, order some pizza, play some video games, take a shower. Maybe I should get a girlfriend or something. Wonder where I could pick up one who wouldn't mind washing my bloodstained jacket every week.
No.1170
| Rolled 18 (1d100) |
>>1164>Name: Kelen Menel>Background: Kenel is the son of a gangbanger who won the lottery right after Kelen's mother died birthing him. The gangbanger moved out to Las vegas, and proceeded to live a seemingly comfortable and fancy life. On the contrary, he was quite mad and cruel, beating Kenel daily, teaching him how to kill, and constantly drinking or doing drugs. Kenel had a real hard life that took its toll on his mind. He started seeing killing and hurting people as alright, found torturing fun after he did some of it with his cruel father, and absolutely loved the thrill of seeing people afraid. Around the age of 23, after years of abuse and torture, and finally a slash across his left eye, he snapped. Kelen tied his father up in the mansions hidden torture room, and pumped him full of lead. Seeing his own father bleeding gave him a rush of satisfaction unlile any other kill, and now he uses his money and resources to find ways to achieve the perfect high.>Methodology: Anyone will do as long as he can stalk them, shoot them, or carve them up. He especially likes multiple targets, and prefers to make them paranoid>Location: Las vegas, Nevada>Hideout: His mansion–Don't fill this out–
>Sanity: 95/100>HP: 100/100>Notoriety: Unknown>Inventory: [2 PP-Bizon: 62 Rounds Each][Woldo]1. Putting his Woldo back in his coat, Kenel looks down at the frozen girl. "There is only one way to deal with people like him, and thats by ridding of them. Your coming with me, ill teach you the rest when we get to my mansion." Kenel then walks by the girl, making sure no one saw them as he gets in the car.
No.1190
| Rolled 84 (1d100) |
>>1169>>1107>Name: Toran "The Tank" Gordon>Background:Once, he was captain of a Swat Team. A brick house of a man towering over others a full six feet and 11 inches.
Decorated, experienced, respected, having served the force for years.
And then one day he snapped. For reasons unknown. Just like that, one day on an operation turned on his m8's an killed them all in 3 minutes, and then he killed the hostages and the bank robbers.
After that, he left. You would think a tall man with more muscles than a bull would be easy to find, but that's the problem.
He knows their methods. And this is where things get nasty. He specifically targets police stations, and officers. Video footage shows him to be wearing some kind of modified body armor tailored to his height and size, and carrying around enough ammunition and weapons for three men. His favored method seems to be ambushing officers up close with a large short sword, cleaving men in two and even swung at a police car cutting it in half.
>Methodology: Killing officers. Meeting Brute Force with Brute Force.>Location: Los Angeles (round thereabouts)>Hideout: An abandoned cold war silo
>Sanity: 96/100>HP: 100/100>Notoriety: UnknownInventory: [Body Armor]
[Short Sword]
[Desert Eagle 50cal: 15 rounds]
[Box of 50cal Ammunition: 75 rounds]
[Mossberg 500 HS410: 6 Shells]
[Box of .410 Shells: 50 Shells]
[Armalite M-15 Law Enforcement Carbine: 30 Rounds]
[Box of .223 Ammunition: 100 rounds]
1. Do some research then, on officers domestic lives. How much easier to kill them at their homes, with their families, unarmed and unarmored. Ah, but to find out. Names, adresses, habits.
No.1191
>>1167"As you wish sir,"Jenkins replies. You get in the car and Jenkins gets in the driver's seat. When you get to the hospital, there are many people ahead of you. You ask Jenkins if there's anything he can do, so he goes up to the reception desk. "Excuse me miss, my employer, one Dapper Don John Johnson, has been stabbed. If there's anything that you could do to speed his treatment, I'm sure that the Johnson family would be especially grateful." At that, medical staff hurriedly whisk you away to get your wound stitched up. You've lost a lot of blood, they tell you, but if you drink plenty of water and take it easy for the night, you'll be fine. You stay the night in the hospital.
-9 Sanity
>>1168You look around your surroundings for things you could use for a mask. Most of the fabric in the place is gone, and the wood is all rotting. This place has been abandoned for a long time.
-3 sanity
>>1169You go back to your car and go back home without incident, playing video games and order a pizza for the night. When you wake up the next morning, you have a text:
"Hey, I really need you to go and post bail for my wife. She's at the downtown police station."
-$20
-4 sanity
>>1170She sit there for a moment, staring blankly in the door at her now ex-father. Then she shrieks. All the neighbors begin coming out of their houses and whispering to each other as she continues to scream about what she has just witnessed. You get the impression she didn't actually hear anything you just said.
Notoriety: Person of Interest
-1 Person
>>1190You go an the internet to look at some of the officers. Luckily, information on police officers is a matter of public record. It doesn't take too long for you to find out the names and addresses of several police officers:
Zachery Jefferson
Francis Adams
Julio Martinez
William Patterson
From here, you cross check the names with their social media accounts to find out about their lives and families a bit.
-1 Sanity
No.1193
| Rolled 26 (1d100) |
>>1191>Fill this out:>Name: Dapper Don John Johnson >Background:There's corruption in London whores allowed to thrive in the city, thieves go unpunished while they steal from hard workers, and the heathens allowed to tread on good christian values. The victorians have became a heathen parody of themselves. I'm the dapperest of all the heathens they mock people and god himself soon they will all pay one street at a time. I'm Dapper Don John Johnson formerly Leroy of London,UK and god wants the world to become victorian >Methodology:Lure hookers and thieves then trap them in the basement to make them ammit any sin they committed then kill them with a cane blade >Location:London,UK>Hideout:A restored victorian house
>–Don't fill this out–>Sanity: 74/100>HP: 68/100>Notoriety: Unknown>Inventory:[Top Hat][Sword Cane]1.I hate whores so much maybe theres a pimp among the patients or a low life chav I must find a person that look likes he can audition for the Jeremy Kyle show and wait until they go to the bathroom then kill them with my cane
No.1194
File: 1429412633971.jpg (65.18 KB, 700x849, 700:849, 5f03761da47fa9474e37c9c165….jpg)
| Rolled 84 (1d100) |
>>1191>Name: Richard Fritz>Background: Fought for years in a losing, one-sided war as part of a Special Forces unit of four men off in Russia, nicknamed 'Ghost Wolves', renowned for almost single-handedly turning the tide of the war with nearly five hundred kills between the four of them over the course of two years. In time, the Russians managed to take them down, killing off one of them in a set detonation and near-fatally wounding Richard, carried out of the zone by Ben and Daniels, the other two of the squad. Shortly after, the war was lost, and the three were sent home. Richard kept in close contact with Ben, who he considered his best and only friend, until a section of the Russian Mafia blew up his quiet store after learning his backstory, obliterating him and half a block. Richard had always had sociopathic tendencies, barely ever speaking and being totally unfazed by killing and gore, so long as he felt it justified. Joining a patriotic, anti-Russian organization, Richard started doing the only thing he ever knew - taking orders.>Methodology: ….>Location: Miami, Florida>Hideout: A small, neat apartment in south Miami.>Sanity: 96/100>HP: 100/100>Notoriety: Unknown>Inventory: [Cell Phone], [972.5 Dollars]1. Jesus Christ, a single day of rest. I didn't sign up to be killing people every fucking day. We had a week or two between missions nearly every time in the army. Whatever, I guess - wait. The police station? The fuck is this shit? I'm not a cop killer. I signed up to kill Russians. I'll go down there and see what the situation is like first, mask off. Go up to the front desk and stand there until whoever's manning it looks at me. "Are there any Bratva here?"
No.1197
>>1083
>Name: Michael "Hell's Rider" Booth
>Background: Speed, the one true love of Michael Booth has always been speed. Born to a mechanic and a waitress he has always been fascinated by cars and how fast they can go. Learning how to take care of and fix cars from his father he took his love of speed and began street racing. Finding himself disgusted by the pathetic wastes that trafficked the racing circuits he has declared that the only people who would live would be those who loved speed as much as, or more than, he did, and the way to prove that was by beating him in a race. Win and you get to go free, loose, and you shall become a sacrifice to that which Hell's Rider loves.
>Methodology: Races other drivers and either runs them off the road to their deaths, or kills them after beating them in a race
>Location: The European Highway
>Hideout: Old Warehouse turned into a mechanics shop
–Don't fill this out–
>Sanity: 100/100
>HP: 100/100
>Notoriety: Unknown
>Inventory:
No.1204
>>1193
You look around the lobby for anyone fitting that description. You think you see someone outside the hospital, but when you dash outside, there's no one there. Must have just missed them. Jenkins follows you, saying, "I'll get the car then, sir." On your ride home, you see some construction being done on the street. You see some of the construction workers laughing, and you're almost sure that they're mocking you.
-7 sanity
>>1194
You walk up to the receptionist at the police station. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this," she says in a barely audible voice, "but we did just score a huge drug bust, and we're holding the mobsters here until we can ship them off to a more secure location." You thank her for the information. "Please don't tell anyone I told you though," she adds. "I could get in a lot of trouble for telling anyone that."
-4 sanity
>>1197
You're tired of all the shit drivers. Clogging up the roads, going 20 in the fast lane. You'd think that, having made such a large investment in a machine, one would learn to operate the damn thing. But the worst are the wannabes. The kids that slap a spoiler and an exhaust kit on their parent's honda and wanna think they can hang with the big boys. Well it's time someone showed them how the big boys play, and if no one else is gonna do it, I guess it's down to me.
Inventory:
[Car Keys]
No.1205
| Rolled 46 (1d100) |
>>1204
>Fill this out:
>Name: Dapper Don John Johnson
>Background:There's corruption in London whores allowed to thrive in the city, thieves go unpunished while they steal from hard workers, and the heathens allowed to tread on good christian values. The victorians have became a heathen parody of themselves. I'm the dapperest of all the heathens they mock people and god himself soon they will all pay one street at a time. I'm Dapper Don John Johnson formerly Leroy of London,UK and god wants the world to become victorian
>Methodology:Lure hookers and thieves then trap them in the basement to make them ammit any sin they committed then kill them with a cane blade
>Location:London,UK
>Hideout:A restored victorian house
>–Don't fill this out–
>Sanity: 67/100
>HP: 68/100
>Notoriety: Unknown
>Inventory:[Top Hat][Sword Cane]
1.I must get some rest right now I fear I might be going off the deep end
No.1206
| Rolled 85 (1d100) |
>>1204
>Name: Richard Fritz
>Background: Fought for years in a losing, one-sided war as part of a Special Forces unit of four men off in Russia, nicknamed 'Ghost Wolves', renowned for almost single-handedly turning the tide of the war with nearly five hundred kills between the four of them over the course of two years. In time, the Russians managed to take them down, killing off one of them in a set detonation and near-fatally wounding Richard, carried out of the zone by Ben and Daniels, the other two of the squad. Shortly after, the war was lost, and the three were sent home. Richard kept in close contact with Ben, who he considered his best and only friend, until a section of the Russian Mafia blew up his quiet store after learning his backstory, obliterating him and half a block. Richard had always had sociopathic tendencies, barely ever speaking and being totally unfazed by killing and gore, so long as he felt it justified. Joining a patriotic, anti-Russian organization, Richard started doing the only thing he ever knew - taking orders.
>Methodology: ….
>Location: Miami, Florida
>Hideout: A small, neat apartment in south Miami.
>Sanity: 92/100
>HP: 100/100
>Notoriety: Unknown
>Inventory: [Cell Phone], [972.5 Dollars]
1. "Thanks." I manage a genuine smile at the woman, scribbling down my number on a piece of paper and throwing it to her. "I'm Richard. Text me sometime." They've got batons in here. I don't want a confrontation with the police, but I'm not letting anything get between me and those Russian pieces of shit. And I don't think I know how to hold back. Get inside, first off. Past their staff only areas, straight for the cells. Grab a baton on the way, I'll need it. I've got the mask with me, of course - goes on now. I won't lay a finger on the officers unless they attack me, but they aren't going to stop me. Find out who has the keys, get them, get in the cell, beat every scumbag inside into a bloody pulp. Some might not be Russians. They're still scum. Then, just get out. Feels fucking exhilarating, you know. All of this. But I'm doing it for Ben. These fucks hurt someone I cared about, and I'm making them pay back every drop of his blood they spilled a million times over. Maybe a billion. I'm not stopping until I've killed every last one with my own hands and put a piece of lead through their bosses's heads. You know what? The day I do that, I'm gonna smoke. Haven't in two years. I think it's a fitting reward. Right now, I have some cooped-up Russians that need the justice they deserve.
No.1211
| Rolled 49 (1d100) |
>>1191
>Name: Toran "The Tank" Gordon
>Background:
Once, he was captain of a Swat Team. A brick house of a man towering over others a full six feet and 11 inches.
Decorated, experienced, respected, having served the force for years.
And then one day he snapped. For reasons unknown. Just like that, one day on an operation turned on his m8's an killed them all in 3 minutes, and then he killed the hostages and the bank robbers.
After that, he left. You would think a tall man with more muscles than a bull would be easy to find, but that's the problem.
He knows their methods. And this is where things get nasty. He specifically targets police stations, and officers. Video footage shows him to be wearing some kind of modified body armor tailored to his height and size, and carrying around enough ammunition and weapons for three men. His favored method seems to be ambushing officers up close with a large short sword, cleaving men in two and even swung at a police car cutting it in half.
>Methodology: Killing officers. Meeting Brute Force with Brute Force.
>Location: Los Angeles (round thereabouts)
>Hideout: An abandoned cold war silo
>Sanity: 96/100
>HP: 100/100
>Notoriety: Unknown
Inventory: [Body Armor]
[Short Sword]
[Desert Eagle 50cal: 15 rounds]
[Box of 50cal Ammunition: 75 rounds]
[Mossberg 500 HS410: 6 Shells]
[Box of .410 Shells: 50 Shells]
[Armalite M-15 Law Enforcement Carbine: 30 Rounds]
[Box of .223 Ammunition: 100 rounds]
Time to pay one of these assholes a home visit.
>Go to their home and kill them
No.1214
| Rolled 60 (1d100) |
>Name: Kelen Menel
>Background: Kenel is the son of a gangbanger who won the lottery right after Kelen's mother died birthing him. The gangbanger moved out to Las vegas, and proceeded to live a seemingly comfortable and fancy life. On the contrary, he was quite mad and cruel, beating Kenel daily, teaching him how to kill, and constantly drinking or doing drugs. Kenel had a real hard life that took its toll on his mind. He started seeing killing and hurting people as alright, found torturing fun after he did some of it with his cruel father, and absolutely loved the thrill of seeing people afraid. Around the age of 23, after years of abuse and torture, and finally a slash across his left eye, he snapped. Kelen tied his father up in the mansions hidden torture room, and pumped him full of lead. Seeing his own father bleeding gave him a rush of satisfaction unlile any other kill, and now he uses his money and resources to find ways to achieve the perfect high.
>Methodology: Anyone will do as long as he can stalk them, shoot them, or carve them up. He especially likes multiple targets, and prefers to make them paranoid
>Location: Las vegas, Nevada
>Hideout: His mansion
–Don't fill this out–
>Sanity: 95/100
>HP: 100/100
>Notoriety: Person of interest
>Inventory: [2 PP-Bizon: 62 Rounds Each][Woldo]
1) Kelen watches her scream, his face unchanging as she howls her grief and sadness. He isnt affected by her screams, he has heard more than his share since he was a child. He sees people coming out of their houses to see what happened, and decides to go now. He didnt kill her father so she could scream and be sad, she will get over it soon enough. Kelen picks her up easily, puts her in the car, gets in and drives home. She will have alot of changing to get used to, especially if she is to help him start a legacy.
No.1231
File: 1429616441864.jpg (175.77 KB, 731x1092, 731:1092, bed_fears_by_illustratedey….jpg)
| Rolled 26 (1d100) |
>>1191
>Name: The Click
>Background: It is uncertain how the Click became the way he is today. A man torn apart by schizophrenia he has lost almost all touch with reality and is mostly seen strolling around the psychatric ward talking about 'the time running out' and 'the ticking clock'. While he is not deemed especially dangerous in any way the Click escapes the Ward in random intervals, building masks and hunting down people only to return to the ward before dawn.
>Methodology: The Click wears self made masks and often follows victims around for days, unafraid of being seen when spotted he often gestures to his watch. Sometimes he just aborts hunting a person alltogether and chooses a new target instead. Once he actually goes for the kill he begins to hit a knife or other metal object against his watch to emulate the ticking sound of time running out. His victims are usually killed with as few precise and lethal attacks as possible.
>Location: Psychatric Ward
>Hideout: Psychatric Ward
>Sanity: 97/100
>HP: 100/100
>Notoriety: Unknown
>Inventory: Pocket Watch
1. Bah! Nothing a good home improvement session couldnt fix! Of course he would need some color. He could probably break into some place at night to steal it, but he still needed a weapon in case he ran into someone. Now what color would he want the walls to be? Something warm, something comfortable. Perhaps orange or red? Every floor should have it's own color!
But time was running out, he needed to find his materials to make a mask and a knife, who knew, perhaps he could even buy some paint with the money he got off whomever's time was running out!
No.1239
| Rolled 15 (1d100) |
>>1204
>Name: Michael "Hell's Rider" Booth
>Background: Speed, the one true love of Michael Booth has always been speed. Born to a mechanic and a waitress he has always been fascinated by cars and how fast they can go. Learning how to take care of and fix cars from his father he took his love of speed and began street racing. Finding himself disgusted by the pathetic wastes that trafficked the racing circuits he has declared that the only people who would live would be those who loved speed as much as, or more than, he did, and the way to prove that was by beating him in a race. Win and you get to go free, loose, and you shall become a sacrifice to that which Hell's Rider loves.
>Methodology: Races other drivers and either runs them off the road to their deaths, or kills them after beating them in a race
>Location: The European Highway
>Hideout: Old Warehouse turned into a mechanics shop
–Don't fill this out–
>Sanity: 100/100
>HP: 100/100
>Notoriety: Unknown
>Inventory: [Car Keys]
1. Get a pipe or bat or some sort of weapon and put it in the trunk.
No.1294
>>1205
You go to get some sleep, shaking off the earlier feelings, attributing them to blood loss.
-8 Sanity
>>1206
After you toss your number to the receptionist, she bites her lip a little. Just as you sneak a baton and are about to go back there, she calls to you. "Wait! There's a back entrance you can use if you're looking to talk to them with a little more privacy…" You thank her for the information and circle around to the back, baton still hidden in your pocket. You sneak through the back door she told you about; it's a fire exit for the row of cells. There are no guards in the row, so you have free reign over the place. You find a keyring on the wall opposite of the way you entered, and all the cells are full. You move from cell to cell, beating each of the prisoners they are holding to death, their blood overwhelming the drains they have on the floor and pooling. Just as you shut the door that you came in, you hear someone enter and scream for backup.
Noteriety: Person of Interest
+8 Sanity
>>1211
You go to the house of one of the men you found on-line. Luckily, he's off duty. Unluckily, he would appear to be a believer in the second amendment. You have your body armor, but he manages to get a round into one of the joints in your armor before you pull out your Mossberg and pump a shell into him. You run outside, your mission being complete.
+4 sanity
[Mossberg 500 HS410: 5 Shells]
>>1214
You scoop her into your arms and she clutches your chest. Her screams have softened into a somewhat relieved crying, and you set her gently into the front seat. You begin to pull off just as the police pull up and get out of their cars. You don't believe they got your license plate numbers. You get home and she asks in a soft voice to use your bathroom.
-8 sanity
>>1231
You continue to rummage through the old mental institution, but find nothing of value to you.
-2 Sanity
>>1239
You go into your shop and grab a hammer and put it in your trunk, ready to do what you must.
-1 Sanity
No.1297
>>1294
>Fill this out:
>Name: Dapper Don John Johnson
>Background:There's corruption in London whores allowed to thrive in the city, thieves go unpunished while they steal from hard workers, and the heathens allowed to tread on good christian values. The victorians have became a heathen parody of themselves. I'm the dapperest of all the heathens they mock people and god himself soon they will all pay one street at a time. I'm Dapper Don John Johnson formerly Leroy of London,UK and god wants the world to become victorian
>Methodology:Lure hookers and thieves then trap them in the basement to make them ammit any sin they committed then kill them with a cane blade
>Location:London,UK
>Hideout:A restored victorian house
>–Don't fill this out–
>Sanity: 59/100
>HP: 68/100
>Notoriety: Unknown
>Inventory:[Top Hat][Sword Cane]
1. Try to mercy kill the painents make sure that that their pain is ended
No.1298
No.1299
| Rolled 17 (1d100) |
>>1298
No.1300
| Rolled 17 (1d100) |
>>1294
>Name: Richard Fritz
>Background: Fought for years in a losing, one-sided war as part of a Special Forces unit of four men off in Russia, nicknamed 'Ghost Wolves', renowned for almost single-handedly turning the tide of the war with nearly five hundred kills between the four of them over the course of two years. In time, the Russians managed to take them down, killing off one of them in a set detonation and near-fatally wounding Richard, carried out of the zone by Ben and Daniels, the other two of the squad. Shortly after, the war was lost, and the three were sent home. Richard kept in close contact with Ben, who he considered his best and only friend, until a section of the Russian Mafia blew up his quiet store after learning his backstory, obliterating him and half a block. Richard had always had sociopathic tendencies, barely ever speaking and being totally unfazed by killing and gore, so long as he felt it justified. Joining a patriotic, anti-Russian organization, Richard started doing the only thing he ever knew - taking orders.
>Methodology: ….
>Location: Miami, Florida
>Hideout: A small, neat apartment in south Miami.
>Sanity: 100/100
>HP: 100/100
>Notoriety: Person of Interest
>Inventory: [Cell Phone], [972.5 Dollars]
1: Drop the baton and leave the way I came from, my car's out front. Beautiful, sleek sports car, most valuable thing I own by far. I'm not attacking anyone unless they attack me first, and I'll be outta here and at my apartment before anyone realizes a man in a rooster mask and varsity jacket just turned a whole row of mobster's heads into mush. Like I said, I don't kill innocents. I'm doing the right thing here, a good thing, no matter what anyone else thinks, and people are gonna realize that. Lock and barricade their doors when they see my mask, sure. But when there isn't a Bratva left in the whole of Miami… yeah. Time to get out.
No.1312
| Rolled 47 (1d100) |
>>1294
>Name: The Click
>Background: It is uncertain how the Click became the way he is today. A man torn apart by schizophrenia he has lost almost all touch with reality and is mostly seen strolling around the psychatric ward talking about 'the time running out' and 'the ticking clock'. While he is not deemed especially dangerous in any way the Click escapes the Ward in random intervals, building masks and hunting down people only to return to the ward before dawn.
>Methodology: The Click wears self made masks and often follows victims around for days, unafraid of being seen when spotted he often gestures to his watch. Sometimes he just aborts hunting a person alltogether and chooses a new target instead. Once he actually goes for the kill he begins to hit a knife or other metal object against his watch to emulate the ticking sound of time running out. His victims are usually killed with as few precise and lethal attacks as possible.
>Location: Psychatric Ward
>Hideout: Psychatric Ward
>Sanity: 95/100
>HP: 100/100
>Notoriety: Unknown
>Inventory: Pocket Watch
1. Perhaps he needed to search further? Certainly there had to be some rustical charm to this old place and he could make it even more homely! Nothing wrong with doing a little home improvement. Go on, keep searching.
No.1316
>>1297
>>1298
>>1299
You wake up in the middle of the night, cold sweat dripping down your face and moonlight streaming through your window. You are still dressed in the clothes that you wore yesterday. Why aren't you in your night clothes? This makes no sense to you. You decide that you should go back to the hospital. Some of those people must be in pain. It will be good for them to die. A gift, even. Yes. You consider waking Jenkins, but decide not to bother him with this. The man needs his sleep, after all. You walk down the street, thinking about all the good you are about to do for the people in the hospital. It'll be great. They'll love it. However, you tire out about halfway there. Someone has stolen your energy. You don't even know how someone would accomplish such a feat, but you know they did it. You sit on the curb to rest a bit.
-5 Sanity
>>1300
You drop the baton on the ground, and just as you are leaving, you hear an officer burst out of the door behind you, coughing. He looks up at you, trailing a blood set of footprints behind you and with blood stains on your coat. "HEY!" He screams. You turn to see him pick himself up and call for backup, giving your description into his radio. You book it about half a second after he shouts, jump into your car, and head home. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to give your number to that receptionist…
Notoriety: Suspect
-9 Sanity
>>1312
Finally, after searching for what seems like an eternity, you come to where the kitchen used to be. Inside the large pantry, you find a large burlap sac that could easily be fashioned into a hood or a mask of some fashion. You pick up a piece of broken class and cut two holes for your eyes. It's nothing fancy, but it'll have to do.
You don't find any knives, but they did leave the larger appliances, which you could rip a pipe off of if you wanted. Knives are so much more clean, but sometimes you have to make due in a pinch…
-6 Sanity
No.1317
| Rolled 9 (1d100) |
>>1316
>Fill this out:
>Name: Dapper Don John Johnson
>Background:There's corruption in London whores allowed to thrive in the city, thieves go unpunished while they steal from hard workers, and the heathens allowed to tread on good christian values. The victorians have became a heathen parody of themselves. I'm the dapperest of all the heathens they mock people and god himself soon they will all pay one street at a time. I'm Dapper Don John Johnson formerly Leroy of London,UK and god wants the world to become victorian
>Methodology:Lure hookers and thieves then trap them in the basement to make them ammit any sin they committed then kill them with a cane blade
>Location:London,UK
>Hideout:A restored victorian house
>–Don't fill this out–
>Sanity: 54/100
>HP: 68/100
>Notoriety: Unknown
>Inventory:[Top Hat][Sword Cane]
1.Ahhh time to awake I must cure of these people I shall go to the streets and look for some sick beggars wanting to die or some downtrodden whore who needs to be put down so I shall go to the streets and kill some downtrodden people who need it
No.1318
| Rolled 17 (1d100) |
>>1316
>Name: Richard Fritz
>Background: Fought for years in a losing, one-sided war as part of a Special Forces unit of four men off in Russia, nicknamed 'Ghost Wolves', renowned for almost single-handedly turning the tide of the war with nearly five hundred kills between the four of them over the course of two years. In time, the Russians managed to take them down, killing off one of them in a set detonation and near-fatally wounding Richard, carried out of the zone by Ben and Daniels, the other two of the squad. Shortly after, the war was lost, and the three were sent home. Richard kept in close contact with Ben, who he considered his best and only friend, until a section of the Russian Mafia blew up his quiet store after learning his backstory, obliterating him and half a block. Richard had always had sociopathic tendencies, barely ever speaking and being totally unfazed by killing and gore, so long as he felt it justified. Joining a patriotic, anti-Russian organization, Richard started doing the only thing he ever knew - taking orders.
>Methodology: ….
>Location: Miami, Florida
>Hideout: A small, neat apartment in south Miami.
>Sanity: 100/100
>HP: 100/100
>Notoriety: Suspect
>Inventory: [Cell Phone], [972.5 Dollars]
1. 'Tall, buff guy in a varsity jacket and rooster mask.' What a description. I'd hope the police don't come to me, for their sake. Take some time to relax, order some food, check my phone and see if I got any texts back, I guess. I mean, who knows? Maybe she likes dangerous men. If I don't get any police knocking down my door or texts, I think I'll take the next couple of days to myself, through. I need some time to just sleep and fuck around.
No.1333
| Rolled 49 (1d100) |
>>1316
>Name: The Click
>Background: It is uncertain how the Click became the way he is today. A man torn apart by schizophrenia he has lost almost all touch with reality and is mostly seen strolling around the psychatric ward talking about 'the time running out' and 'the ticking clock'. While he is not deemed especially dangerous in any way the Click escapes the Ward in random intervals, building masks and hunting down people only to return to the ward before dawn.
>Methodology: The Click wears self made masks and often follows victims around for days, unafraid of being seen when spotted he often gestures to his watch. Sometimes he just aborts hunting a person alltogether and chooses a new target instead. Once he actually goes for the kill he begins to hit a knife or other metal object against his watch to emulate the ticking sound of time running out. His victims are usually killed with as few precise and lethal attacks as possible.
>Location: Psychatric Ward
>Hideout: Psychatric Ward
>Sanity: 89/100
>HP: 100/100
>Notoriety: Unknown
>Inventory: Pocket Watch
1. Oh well! Sometimes a pipe is a knife on it's own! But the ward was in a horrible state and the Click needed money to pay for paint. The sand was slipping through the glass. The clock was ticking. He had to find a victim. Time was running out.
No.1347
| Rolled 66 (1d100) |
>>1294
>Name: Kelen Menel
>Background: Kenel is the son of a gangbanger who won the lottery right after Kelen's mother died birthing him. The gangbanger moved out to Las vegas, and proceeded to live a seemingly comfortable and fancy life. On the contrary, he was quite mad and cruel, beating Kenel daily, teaching him how to kill, and constantly drinking or doing drugs. Kenel had a real hard life that took its toll on his mind. He started seeing killing and hurting people as alright, found torturing fun after he did some of it with his cruel father, and absolutely loved the thrill of seeing people afraid. Around the age of 23, after years of abuse and torture, and finally a slash across his left eye, he snapped. Kelen tied his father up in the mansions hidden torture room, and pumped him full of lead. Seeing his own father bleeding gave him a rush of satisfaction unlile any other kill, and now he uses his money and resources to find ways to achieve the perfect high.
>Methodology: Anyone will do as long as he can stalk them, shoot them, or carve them up. He especially likes multiple targets, and prefers to make them paranoid
>Location: Las vegas, Nevada
>Hideout: His mansion
–Don't fill this out–
>Sanity: 95/100
>HP: 100/100
>Notoriety: Person of interest
>Inventory: [2 PP-Bizon: 62 Rounds Each][Woldo]
1. "Course you can girl. Ill be waiting for you when you get back so dont take to long." As the girl heads off to the bathroom Kelen walks off to his armory and grabs some guns and weapons. She is going to need to take her pic before he trains her after all. Also when she comes back he ask her name.
No.1365
>>1317
You go down the nearest alleyway, keeping well sure to avoid the shadows. Never know what could be lurking in the shadows. You see a vagrant in the middle of the alley. Surely he'll want to die. I mean, who doesn't want to die, really? No one, that's who. Of course he'll concede that life is a miserable shit hole when confronted. As you approach him with your sword cane, he sees foresees what you have planned and bites you on the ankle and runs away. His loss anyway, he just lost his best chance to die today. But that's okay. Your gift for him will just have to wait for another day. He's only delaying the inevitable, of course. They're all just delaying the inevitable.
-8 sanity
-1 HP
>>1318
You turn your cell phone off. You need some time to relax and unwind. Besides, you've got the police to worry about now, not just Russian Retaliation. No one knows where you live though, so you should be fine. You take a shower and head to your bed for a few days of well deserved rest.
-16 Sanity
>>1333
Click went out into the street, looking for people who's time was about to expire. Four people catch his eye: An Elderly Woman shuffles slowly down the sidewalk, A young man in a beat up car parks and walks into a shop, a fashionably dressed young woman is standing at the bus stop down the street, and a middle aged man has just stopped his bike at a restaurant to get some food.
-2 Sanity
>>1347
She goes to the bathroom in a cold sweat. You hear her talking to herself in the bathroom, although you can't make out what she's saying. She even throws up a few times. When she finally comes out, she says, "Thank you, that actually really needed to be done." When you ask her for her name, she tells you it's Rachel. You then present your plan to her, and show her some weapons to pick from. She replies, "That's a lot to take in, do you think I could sleep on it for a night?"
-10 Sanity
No.1366
| Rolled 74 (1d100) |
>>1365
>Fill this out:
>Name: Dapper Don John Johnson
>Background:There's corruption in London whores allowed to thrive in the city, thieves go unpunished while they steal from hard workers, and the heathens allowed to tread on good christian values. The victorians have became a heathen parody of themselves. I'm the dapperest of all the heathens they mock people and god himself soon they will all pay one street at a time. I'm Dapper Don John Johnson formerly Leroy of London,UK and god wants the world to become victorian
>Methodology:Lure hookers and thieves then trap them in the basement to make them ammit any sin they committed then kill them with a cane blade
>Location:London,UK
>Hideout:A restored victorian house
>–Don't fill this out–
>Sanity: 46/100
>HP: 67/100
>Notoriety: Unknown
>Inventory:[Top Hat][Sword Cane]
1.Kill him charge at him then kill him with my sword cane
No.1370
| Rolled 66 (1d100) |
>>1365
>Name: Richard Fritz
>Background: Fought for years in a losing, one-sided war as part of a Special Forces unit of four men off in Russia, nicknamed 'Ghost Wolves', renowned for almost single-handedly turning the tide of the war with nearly five hundred kills between the four of them over the course of two years. In time, the Russians managed to take them down, killing off one of them in a set detonation and near-fatally wounding Richard, carried out of the zone by Ben and Daniels, the other two of the squad. Shortly after, the war was lost, and the three were sent home. Richard kept in close contact with Ben, who he considered his best and only friend, until a section of the Russian Mafia blew up his quiet store after learning his backstory, obliterating him and half a block. Richard had always had sociopathic tendencies, barely ever speaking and being totally unfazed by killing and gore, so long as he felt it justified. Joining a patriotic, anti-Russian organization, Richard started doing the only thing he ever knew - taking orders.
>Methodology: ….
>Location: Miami, Florida
>Hideout: A small, neat apartment in south Miami.
>Sanity: 84/100
>HP: 100/100
>Notoriety: Suspect
>Inventory: [Cell Phone], [972.5 Dollars]
1. I'm confidant I'm doing the right thing. I know I am. I don't hurt anyone who doesn't deserve to be. If the Police show up, I won't be held responsible for anything that happens. I'm making sure every Russian in Miami knows the name 'Ben' before they fucking die. Nobody hurts someone I care about. I'm gonna order some pizza, work out a bit maybe, play some video games, practice my shooting. Who knows. Wonder what their fucking bossman is gonna think when he gets the reports a guy in a rooster mask and varsity jacket's killed off fifty of his goons. Three days should be enough time before I check my phone. Gonna see if that woman said anything too. Wonder what she's thinking. If she's not a complete idiot, she'll have figured out that the blonde guy in the varsity jacket was the same one who killed half their prisoners. Fact that the police didn't instantly hunt me down might mean that she's thinking, might mean she's an idiot. Thoughts to ponder, s'ppose. Maybe to understand if she's texted me.
No.1393
>>1366
HOW DARE HE BITE YOU! Does he have rabies? You'll have to get checked now. And you know the doctors are against you. Everyone's against you. You draw your sword in a rage and charge the vagrant, running it through his liver. Blood drips down your blade as you withdraw it from his torso and insert it through his head. You feel quite a bit better now, and you run away from the scene.
+10 Sanity
>>1370
You spend the next couple of days relaxing, practicing your shooting, and over all kicking it. When you turn on your phone, you have 4 messages:
1.
Hi, this is Miranda, we met at the police station? Just thought I'd give you a text so you had my number too.
2.
Holy shit, they're saying that some guy wearing a rooster mask, a varsity jacket, and some jeans just slaughtered all those Russian prisoners we had. Was it you? Please tell me it wasn't you Richard…
3.
Thanks for posting my wife's bail man, you're a lifesaver. I was wondering if you'd let my repay you by letting me take you to Ivan's Pub later on tonight? Drinks are on me man!
4.
You know, I've been doing some thinking, Richard. Today, the lawyer for those Russian guys showed up, and he was one of the most expensive ones in the city! Those assholes would have walked for sure. Maybe we need someone to do what you're doing. Whatever it is, I kinda want to be apart of it. Please, just text me back…
-4 Sanity
No.1394
| Rolled 66 (1d100) |
>>1393
>Fill this out:
>Name: Dapper Don John Johnson
>Background:There's corruption in London whores allowed to thrive in the city, thieves go unpunished while they steal from hard workers, and the heathens allowed to tread on good christian values. The victorians have became a heathen parody of themselves. I'm the dapperest of all the heathens they mock people and god himself soon they will all pay one street at a time. I'm Dapper Don John Johnson formerly Leroy of London,UK and god wants the world to become victorian
>Methodology:Lure hookers and thieves then trap them in the basement to make them ammit any sin they committed then kill them with a cane blade
>Location:London,UK
>Hideout:A restored victorian house
>–Don't fill this out–
>Sanity: 56/100
>HP: 67/100
>Notoriety: Unknown
>Inventory:[Top Hat][Sword Cane]
1. He's just a Vagrant no one will miss him next on the list is murder of a prostitute and I'm ready to commit it
No.1398
| Rolled 52 (1d100) |
>>1393
>Name: Richard Fritz
>Background: Fought for years in a losing, one-sided war as part of a Special Forces unit of four men off in Russia, nicknamed 'Ghost Wolves', renowned for almost single-handedly turning the tide of the war with nearly five hundred kills between the four of them over the course of two years. In time, the Russians managed to take them down, killing off one of them in a set detonation and near-fatally wounding Richard, carried out of the zone by Ben and Daniels, the other two of the squad. Shortly after, the war was lost, and the three were sent home. Richard kept in close contact with Ben, who he considered his best and only friend, until a section of the Russian Mafia blew up his quiet store after learning his backstory, obliterating him and half a block. Richard had always had sociopathic tendencies, barely ever speaking and being totally unfazed by killing and gore, so long as he felt it justified. Joining a patriotic, anti-Russian organization, Richard started doing the only thing he ever knew - taking orders.
>Methodology: ….
>Location: Miami, Florida
>Hideout: A small, neat apartment in south Miami.
>Sanity: 80//100
>HP: 100/100
>Notoriety: Suspect
>Inventory: [Cell Phone], [972.5 Dollars]
1. There we go. I'll text her back first, to meet at some sports bar on the other side of town, for the irony, in an hour or so. That's more than enough time to burn a bar to the ground. Speaking of, I've got my lighter around here somewhere. I don't smoke anymore, but it's got good memories, and something to set things on fire with is always useful. I've got a bar to get to and some Russians inside. Wonder just how flammable Vodka is.
No.1478
| Rolled 89 (1d100) |
>>1365
>Name: Kelen Menel
>Background: Kenel is the son of a gangbanger who won the lottery right after Kelen's mother died birthing him. The gangbanger moved out to Las vegas, and proceeded to live a seemingly comfortable and fancy life. On the contrary, he was quite mad and cruel, beating Kenel daily, teaching him how to kill, and constantly drinking or doing drugs. Kenel had a real hard life that took its toll on his mind. He started seeing killing and hurting people as alright, found torturing fun after he did some of it with his cruel father, and absolutely loved the thrill of seeing people afraid. Around the age of 23, after years of abuse and torture, and finally a slash across his left eye, he snapped. Kelen tied his father up in the mansions hidden torture room, and pumped him full of lead. Seeing his own father bleeding gave him a rush of satisfaction unlile any other kill, and now he uses his money and resources to find ways to achieve the perfect high.
>Methodology: Anyone will do as long as he can stalk them, shoot them, or carve them up. He especially likes multiple targets, and prefers to make them paranoid
>Location: Las vegas, Nevada
>Hideout: His mansion
–Don't fill this out–
>Sanity: 85/100
>HP: 100/100
>Notoriety: Person of interest
>Inventory: [2 PP-Bizon: 62 Rounds Each][Woldo]
1. "Of course you can. Second floor, third room on the right, plenty of warm sheets." After telling her where to go Kelen turns and prepares to leave. "There's food in the fridge, and if your really hungry you can order some food with my card. Dont worry about the price, just leave some for me. Im gonna go take a bath." Kelen then walks upstairs and takes a long shower. He then changes into some house clothes, and goes downstairs to make sure she is alright.