Welcome to Bedlam

[Anonymous]

It was late at night, and the outskirts of Tynova were, for the most part, empty. It wasn't a happy, family-friendly area. But it wasn't really a crime-ridden cesspool. It was just... empty. But not to Proust. Oh, no, not to him. For he had many friends with him. Many friends for him to talk to. Even now, he was in deep conversation with his good friend; The 'Two cheeseburgers for the price of one' poster.

"But I don't WANT to buy a cheeseburger!" Proust exclaimed loudly at the poster. It remained motionless, attached to the outer wall of a large dark warehouse. There was many warehouses surrounding him. He was in a warehouse district, after all.

".... NO! NO, NO, NO! I don't care, you could give me two HUNDRED for the price of one, I still don't want them! Stop asking me! Can't we please talk about something else?"

Proust stood, staring with his wide maddened eyes at the cheerfully-illustrated poster. His long black coat flowed along with the wind as it passed by. He continued to stare at it in silence, though his shattered psyche was anything but silent. Constant voices and images, fantasies and nightmares, thoughts and visions, all of which danced relentlessly throughout the ever-broken corridors of his mind.

There was a long pause between Proust and the poster. Everything was still. Quiet. Tense. He couldn't take it anymore, though, so he smashed his face against the poster for no reason at all other than to make something happen. And something did happen. He made his nose bleed.

[Anonymous]

The journey to Mars was, and would probaby be the only, easy part. Psychics... A troublesome lot. Half the time, you never knew if they knew what you were thinking...or, if they just knew what you were gonna do next. There were as many varieties of psionics as there were races running around on the Earth. Still, easy jobs didn't pay as good. And, he was the Retrieval Expert. The small craft entered Mars orbit late in the Martian afternoon.

Reading from the man's Dossier, he was not only a Psychic. He was Psycho. Which meant a bit of preparaton was needed for this one. No point in letting this one have his way inside Halo's noodle. Before leaving Earth, he'd managed to find some neural inhibitors nodes; small vials full of a psycho-biotic agent that temporarily decreases brainwave activity. Not somethng most would want to have happen to them, save to knock a body out cold... or calm down a frantic cerebelum...

After carefully mingling with society, Halo moved among the masses, sniffing the air. Though this was subtle and unnoticable by the common passerby, each inhale gave him dozens of stories, from countless bodies. He walked along for nearly a half hour, moving around the city in no conscience pattern, until... until the moment he would stop on a dime, his whole body coming to an absolute stop.

Moments later, he snapped his head back. Then left. And stared down a long stretch of road. His torso and legs turn, aligning with his gaze. A little after that, he begins traversing the avenue. Little by little, he was closing in...

(OOC: Yo, bro, thx for the avatar hook up! wH00t!)

[Anonymous]

He staggered backwards until his back slammed against the warehouse adjacent to the one he had been standing in front of. He clutched at his bleeding nose with both hands, which also muffled his cursing at the poster for causing it to bleed, even though it was was him who smashed against it in the first place.

The lunatic pushed himself off of the wall, muttering to himself incoherent, psychotic babblings, and began shambling up the alley that he had hid himself in. He had no reason for being there in the first place. He had no reason for anything, truthfully. No reason, no goal, no purpose. Except one. Chaos.

Proust wiped his face clean of blood as he wandered past another warehouse, then buried his hands in his pockets. He knew that he should be concerned about Thanatos Inc., who had tried many times to capture him before. For what, he had no idea, but he did know that he was not going to go back into captivity again, and that he'd gladly kill whoever he needs to to make sure that he doesn't. He grinned sadistically at the idea.

((OOC: No worries, and nice job on it, btw))

[Anonymous]

Sometime later, when all that remained in that alley were stale scents too weak to be detected by normal senses, Halo arrived at that poster. He too would stare at the bargain, almost as intently as the last man had. In silent consideration, he allowed the first two fingers to scrape against the area where the criminal's head impacted against it. The subtle warping of the wall behind the poster felt among the otherwise flat wall.

"......."

Was he arguing with someone? Or, just himself. Tracking a psycho was also a game of guess-work, as they tended not to plan. Rather, just do. Gleefully. And, there was the whole thing of him actually knowing Halo was coming... These thoughts were pushed aside a moment, as he notices a heavier scent. Looking down, lowering his form to a kneel, and pressing fingers to ground.

"....Blood..." Life-liquid. And, this one's first mistake. Halo brought fingers to nose, inhaling the hemoglobin stew. Drying them against each other, and on his pants, he rose, snarling gently. Blood was...a touchy thing to a Werewolf. It was like Sex to a virgin. Somewhat difficult to....ignore. Yet, he managed to hold on.

He had work to do.

Now that he had this one's unique scent in his nose, the area became an arena of aromas. One, in particular, was not too far off. With an animal's bark, he leapt, taking to roof tops with agility and grace uncommon for one his size and build. Speed fused with stealth, and he swept across the city after the aroma. Making short work of the trial, he found himself a roof ledge away from it when... gazing down he sees a literal mass of people, the scent mixed with the others on the street below. The target was down there. But, with some many people, even with his eye sight, it was a needle in a haystack. "...Fuck...

(Thx! Everyone should get one, and we can have Avatar Games! LOL)

[Anonymous]

People.

People, people, people. Proust liked people. Well, no, not realy. What he really liked was what people do. Especially under... special circumstances. Proust whimsically strolled into the crowd of the fleshy mobile meatsacks, each with their own delicious little portion of grey matter, full of untouched emotions and other frightfully fun wonders, all just waiting for Proust to unleash the pandorum inside of them.

He grinned, also knowing that Thanatos Inc. would never send any of their own men into a large crowd and make a scene of capturing an 'innocent' man against his own will. But there was, of course, the possibility that they enlisted the help of someone who had no problem drawing attention to himself while hauling someone else away. But Proust wasn't really sure that Thanatos Inc. would stoop so low as to do that.

Then again, Proust was a 'danger' to society. Maybe that would motivate them to going to such measures. Oh, well. More fun for him.

He walked foward, brushing past people as he walked past them, with no real destination in mind. An ill-tempered woman called back to him after he pushed through them.

"WATCH IT!! Are you blind or somethin'?"

Proust looked back at her with a big, sheepish grin.

"Oh, a little bit. That's why I wear glasses. Are you blind? After all, you didn't see that three-headed monster you just bumped into." His grin widenend as his eyes glowed a faint purple. Hardly noticable to anyone with regular sight, but unfortunatly for the poor woman, whom the glare was sent straight towards, she had now choice but to turn around and face a horrendous three-headed beast, skinless and bloody, each eyeless head with teeth the size of a man's arm.

The woman shrieked, her face turning pale-white. She fell backwards and scrambled around. People around her turned to face her, wondering what the hell her problem was. In truth, it was an illusion, a terrifying nightmare that only she had the misfortune of witnessing.

"NOO!! HELP, KEEP IT AWAY!! SOMEBODY, PLEASE!! AHHHHGGHH, IT'S GOT MY LEG!! PLEASE, MAKE IT STOP!! PLEASEMAKEITSTOPGOD PLEASEHELPMEE!!! The woman had been flailing about on the ground, her fingernails sunken deep into the skin around her eyeballs, and her screaming so loud and throaty that blood and vomit had been forced out of her mouth.

Some people watched her in horror, others in confusion. Some teenagers laughed, and some children cried. Some called the ambulance, though by the time they'd have arrived the poor woman would've died of cardiac arrest, or at least have gone completely psychotic to the point of catatonia. And as for Proust, well, he was nowhere in sight.

He had disappeared down another street, where a market was being held. A particular caravan caught his eye, one that was selling miniature sculptures of cute little dogs. Proust stopped and smiled adoringly at them. The man who had been selling them was looking a bit concerned. "What's all that noise up there?" Proust shook his head. "Someone was bitten. By a dog. How much for the little dauchshund sculpture?"

[Anonymous]

Like stone gargoyles. Hunched like a vulture. Attentive as a hawk. And, with the agility of a spider, he peered down from the ledge of the structure. The crowd's mass challenging even his discerning senses, when, off to the moderate right, a hellish caw erupted from the sea of humanity below. Snapping eyes thither, the parting of said sea allowed a clear view of a hysterically panicing woman. '....." Halo leapt off the edge like a thing of death and quickness.

The crowd never saw him land. Their eyes too well cemented on the woman's frantic throes. Halo rushes through the crowd, risking self in kneeling besides her, cradling her head. A deep glare into her retinas revealed the rapid motion of her eyes. Clearly, she was focused on something else. Something he and the rest could not see. Something...in her mind. "....Damn this fool..." Before it was a job, and he seldom got morally aligned with a side, but after seeing this display, had to admit, taking this creep down would feel good.

Real good.

A menace, and nothing more it seemed at this point. But, this 'menace' would not claim this woman today. A gloved hand reached into a pocket to retrieve a small vial, made to instantly eject its payload directly into blood, skin, muscle, whatever the user wished. Pressed to her neck, the Pyshco-Biotic agent fills her veins, rushing to her brain, where it would dim the excessive brain-wave activity, effectively shutting her mind down for a while. A little precaution he brought along just in case he fell vitcim to this; he never thought he'd have to use it on an innocent bystander. He figured this guy would just run. Not hit and run.

He rose, watching to woman calm down and pass out, the crowd murmured and buzzed about these events. Halo's rather gazed off in the direction her attacker opted to follow. A sniff of the air... Eyes narrow in anticipation. And he starts off again, moving further into the bazaar. Exactly how he would broach taking this one on... was a plan in progress. He was just glad he had those vials, though, having used one already, he had only four left... And was sure one of those was meant for him...

[Anonymous]

Proust had just finished paying the caravan owner for his new little dauchshund sculpture. "I'm gonna take you home and call you Lassie. Get it? It's funny, cause you don't look a thing like Lassie! Ahh... Well, I thought it was funny." Proust had been in deep conversation with his sculpture, much to the caravan owner's discomfort, when suddenly something wiped the stupid grin off of his face. Something wasn't right.

He couldn't sense chaos anymore. Amongst the minds of the crowd, not one of them was off the scale of elevated stress. Did the woman die? It wouldn't have happened that quick. She might've prematurely entered catatonia...

Proust rubbed his head. Reasoning always made his head hurt. He set the dauchshund sculpture back from where he picked it up and glared at the man. "Do NOT let Lassie out of your sight. I'll be right back." His cracked mind was racing, thought after thought. He considered hiding again. Something just didn't feel right, like he was being set up. Scanning the minds for possible threats would be useless, as there were so many.

He decided to walk back to where the woman was. He just wanted to see her. Maybe she was just taken away, out of his range of psyhic empathy. As he made his way to the entrance of the market, he looked up and noticed a dark-skinned man who had just came into the market.

Proust didn't stop walking.

Something about the man seperated him from the other persons walking out and about this late at night.

Proust still didn't stop walking.

He didn't know why, but Proust just had a funny feeling. An impulse. To establish a brief empathic link with the man. Just to be safe. And he did. And Proust's forehead began to sweat.

Proust still did not stop walking. In fact, he was walking even faster. Only it was in the opposite direction.

[Anonymous]

Leaving the woman to the crowd, and her slow recovery, the hunter entered the market. The medley of scents less prevelant now that he wad upwind. A few sniffs, and he'd stop at the booth where the ceramic dog lie. Taking it in between his fingers, the fresh scent of Proust stunk upon it in such a way, Halo knew without doubt he was nearby... if he'd not already discerned that from the stricken women from before. No way his target could have gotten far...

The dog was placed down firmly, as eyes scan the crowd, and find the hind of a retreating man. Halo squinted, not from lack of sight, but from intuition. Just like Halo stood out, so did this man. He was a 'Runner'; Halo could always tell the runners. Slowly, at first, he pursued him, each step gaining slightly more speed than the last one taken, until he matched the other man's pace. He'd follow him until the crowd had dispered reasonably enough for him to call out. "....Robert. Proust... Stop moving. You come with me..." Knowing that words should be followed by swift action, he'd reach into his trench, drawing out Macbeth, and holding it gingerly but dangerous.

"...Now..." Or, else, Macbeth would have to go Shakespeare on his ass...

[Anonymous]

Despite being in dangerous situations, Proust always finds something to laugh about. As the man called out to him and ordered him to stop, Proust got this funny idea in his head. Instead of stopping, Proust broke into a sprint, pushing people out of his way as he ran for the intersection up ahead. It was funny, cause the man told him to stop, and instead he just ran faster. Ths made Proust grin.

He didn't have time to stop and fool about with his pursuer's mind. That might come later, but right now he had to focus on getting to a safe location. He headed into the intersection, then turned right and bolted towards a closed construction site. He managed to run up and over the gate, falling on his back and quickly scrambling to his feet as he headed further into the dark enclosed area, surrounded by machines and a massive, unfinished building, meant to be a skyscraper.

[Anonymous]

Ha. Ha. Apparently, Halo didn't share the man's sense of humor. As able with a firearm as any cop ought be [if not more, due to a Lycan's sight and accuracy], Halo quickly grasp the handle with his free hand, dropping the barrel, as well as his knee, as he steadied for a shot to the leg, or perhaps back... when the crowd panics at the 'gunmen', and a cascade of people started in every direction, allowing the fleeing Proust to elude his sights.

But, not his nose. What is it that's said of running from a Dog? They loved the challenge...

Proust had hardly slipped into the dark bowels of that unfinished skyscraper, as it hung open like seeping wound, that Halo's feet would land, and with stunning accuracy, atop that same girder, having tracked the man's scent to this exact location. Now, with the running came heavier breathing... and even a brushed mouth stunk to a dog... He was on the man's tail, and fatally so.

Like it or not, Prousts' reckoning was nigh. He slipped off the metal before the dust could settle from the Psychic's fall, happening to step in the slight indendation of his spine. A snarl, as eyes shift to pure onyx, a black so black, it was almost purple. He'd stalk into the construction site, brandishing Macbeth carefully. As he slip around huge pipes, and stacks of beams, he opted to absolve Proust of any self-esteem he might have garnished. "....Proust... You cannot hide from me... You cannot run from me... And, I don't mind killing you to end this... Give. Up. Now."

Halo pause, and turn sensing the man was near, as it was enclosed and empty save them. For a moment, he scan with the barrel of the gun, held close and primed, turning his back to the massive, 15,000 pound Sesmic Dozer behind him. A device capable of tearing down buildings in two's. Though one was enough to do most demolishing.

[Anonymous]

Proust knew that relying on his body to save him would be useless. He acrobatically ran up a wall of stacked metal railings and exposed himself to the hunter. Being the sick bastard that he was, Proust couldn't help but have fun with the wolf on his trail. With a disturbingly wide grin, Proust responded to him in a loud, almost playful voice, "But there's no fun in giving up! Come on, we've got this big, wonderful playground to ourselves! Let's have a little laughter before the slaughter."

Minutes before Proust decided to show himself, he had already entered the wolf's psyche. He hadn't learned much, other than his reasons for wanting to capture Proust, and that he was a lycanthrope. This didn't scare Proust, but only because he was too insane to know fear. Since he was already using his psychic ability to telepathically read the wolf's mind, a flowing purple aura surrounded Proust, one not normally visible to humans unless Proust was using strong psionic powers.

The aura suddenly grew stronger when Proust was finished speaking. And from it emerged several flaming bats, each the size of a car tire, all in flight and heading towards the wolf. All simple illusions, but very hard to ignore. Whether they were enough to distract the wolf or not, Proust used the oppurtinity to run along the wall and jump onto another, then he dashed along that one until he could jump off of it and land atop the dozer's tire.

With a sadistic chuckle, he slivered into the machines cockpit and worked out the controls. Luckily, the machine was computer-operated and didn't require too much knowledge to control. Proust established another telepathic link into the Wolf's mind, and this time projected his own voice into his head, which came out as an almost demonic version of his own. "I HOPE YOU DON'T MIND, BUT I NEED A NEW RUG. CARE TO MAKE A DONATION?"

[Anonymous]

An adept hunter, and fighter, the realm of the mind was unfamiliar terrain to him. He'd have hardly any defense against Proust's mental assaults. It was important then, for not only his own welfre, but that of those around them that this end quickly. Apparently, Proust felt the same way.

Purposelly placing himself where Halo could see him, the wolf set eyes on him, while he rant. Almost about to vault and pursue the man, the implanted reality of those winged daemons rushes him. Halo had seen alot in his days. Been while since he saw bats fly outta someone's ass.

Or, wherever they came from. Because, at present moment, they were headed straight at him. Without time to fire, he was forced to dive into a roll in order to 'evade' them, which he did, however, while doing so, the psycho had opted to relocate to the dozer, and man it much to the wolf's shagrin. "....Phuckin' Phuck..." He grumbled to himself seeing how this the only possible outcome. Barrel raised, he fired a shot that hit high, but wasn't able to reach to driver.

Not with those bats in his way. He knew they weren't real, and tried to ingore them, as best he could, while quickly backpedaling. "Never figured him for a seamstress..."

[Anonymous]

With mad, almost eeriely childlike laughter, Proust slammed on the illuminated computer screen with his outstretched hands in the order that the machine told him to. Within seconds, the macine roared to life, and what a roar it was. For a moment, he had forgotten that he was trying to kill (or play with) the wolf-hunter, since he was having so much fun playing with the dozer, had Halo not just shot at him with his gun, barely missing. "WOAH!! AHAHAHAA, YOU ALMOST HAD ME! YOU CAN TRY AGAIN LATER, BUT RIGHT NOW IT'S MY TURN!"

Proust allowed the 'Bat' illusion to disperse, growing tired of it, and with a sinister grin, he commanded his dozer to advance. It jumped foward, then stopped suddenly. "What the...?" Then jumped foward again. Then stopped suddenly. "Rrrrgh! Stupid dozer, I said PULVERIZE him!!" With a enraged stomp, Proust used his foot to smash on the screen. He clearly wasn't thinking about the consequenses. Suddenly, the dozer began to move foward again, at an incredibly high speed, smashing against all in it's path and heading straight in the hunter's direction. What Proust was now worried about was that he had completely destroyed the breaks and steering. "Wheeeee!!! HAAHAHAHAAA!! DESTROY, ROBOT, DESTROY!!!"

Well, okay, maybe he wasn't that worried.

[Anonymous]

The bats vanished, having been removed from his psyche by the one who put them there. That much was good; yet, it was short lived the moment that huge dozer began lurching towards him. This man really was a psycho. Luckily, what he was not was a construction operator. Halo relaxed a bit when he saw the machine stall each time it started. "....Heh. Looks like yer all outta gas, Proust..." Halo tucked his gun in, thinking he could do this without the party favors.

That was, until the man's foot somehow activated the machines motors and it sped ahead, directly towards him. Which decidely was not good. "Aw, why doesn't this shit have an alarm system...?" A futile question asked futilely. Back-pedaling quickly morphed into full-on running, the dozer on his ass like that boulder was after Jones. Lucky for Halo, he had something Jones didn't. Werewolf D.N.A.

The wolf sped ahead, his own speed keeping him ahead of the dozer long enough to make to a steel beam that was to be a support beam for the skyscrapers infrastructure. Not something that should pose a threat, yet he headed its way, proceeding to rush up along its surface for a few feet, bending knees while the friction allowed him enough of a grip to do so, and pushing off it into the sky as the machine would pulverize the much thinner metal beam. Halo's form twirled head over heels, coming around mid-spin, so that he fell feet first on the hind and second of two engines the Dozer, placing him now behind the psycho, and well within 15 feet or less. Which would be good news...

...If they weren't heading for a rather wide pit, not capable of fully engulfing the dozer, but still, you wouldn't wanna be operating it when it went into it. Halo crouched and swore. "...Phuck..." This was becoming a real job.