#wingcdmedic

When the clock hits twelve, the Devils dance.

Murders have never been absent within the lives of mortal beings, a cruel routine facing for centuries. But as the latest years went by, the number of them kept increasing to ludicrous degree, almost alerting. Of course, no one remained with hands crossed. As the number of mysterious entities kept increasing, the same was bound to occur to hunters as well.

Many had the guts to take the job, few of them the true strength. The lust for fame and wealth, you see, can blind.

One of the few exceptions to this tragic rule would be a French widow, under the alias of The Huntress. Simple one, but you see, Amélie Lacroix’s fame was always engulfed in humbleness and simplicity.

Unless someone had the audacity to question her sniping, abilities of course.

Then again, this would be a ludicrous thing to perform and the line of clients of clients speak volumes. More or less, she was one of the few snipers who were dealing with creatures of great danger.

Speaking of which, her current mission demands her to investigate a place where according to rumors, it is about to suffer the presence of an unknown threat. But alas, apparently she is far too late. The grip upon her faithful companion, the sniper rifle, grows strong each passing second, her crimson eyes fighting to witness the identity of the threat at the far end of the large room. Due to dim light, this task is tough and a bit risky, so she keeps her distance, the very scent of fresh blood filling her nostrils and informing partial failure so far.

Fareeha had stepped out of the doorway just in time to dodge a rotting carcass of what she assumed was a rabbit thrown her way. A frown marring her features as she stepped back letting the door close behind her. She stood in front of the tavern for a while, brushing her shoulders idly before the red face of the innkeeper showed up in the window. Probably ready to holler for the guardsmen. 

 It wasn't like she started a fight.                                No.                        It was because she was an anomaly to the northern kingdoms. 

So she just stared at the man before flipping him off and cursing at him in her native tongue. They stared at each other before she adjusted the belt across her chest and turned on heel, taking her horse by the reins and leading him away. It was always like this when she found inns or taverns ran by men. It always makes her wonder why she even bothered leaving her kingdom in the first place.

Huffing to make sure her swords were still strapped to her saddle and that someone didn’t think to try and make off with them she trotted up to the notice board, quickly going over the yellowed flyers nailed on the worn wood. Some of them had wax seals, most of them were just scrawl of the townsfolk. One stood out however, the writing neat, clearly done by a well practiced hand. A woman’s without a doubt, looking for a protective guard.

Not really her calling, Fareeha was a professional monster slayer, but with her coin purse weighing just a little too light and jobs far and few between, maybe it was worth checking it out. Pulling the notice from the board and shoving it in her saddlebag before climbing onto her horse she would set off to the house written on the notice.

     he’s always hated hospitals, medbays, clinics. the smell of alcohol and latex, how the doctors poke and prod at you even when you tell them where you hurt. really, the only good thing about the good doctor zeigler is that she knows she’s dealing with what can only be described as a handful of lunatics; she steps lightly.

     but not always light enough. he leans away from her, his mask just out of reach.

[ now i want genji doing a DDR demo ]

[ 竜 ] –         Consciousness ignited behind the confines of his eyelids like a spark to dry brush. It started small, a flicker of smoke that blurred the edges of the world, but enough to kick his brain into some form of cognition. Awareness was a slow burning flame, growing brighter, brighter, until it was white, blinding, and consuming.

Pain. That was the next thing he felt. It was a strange, hollow sort of agony that stretched over and through him, but didn’t have a source. It was as if he were nothing but, and but nothing.

Air moved in and out of his lungs in a thick, ugly syncopation of force, and of his brain’s own volition. It rattled past his teeth, from a mouth that was parched. His tongue was dry, and rough as sandpaper. It felt foreign and heavy as it lolled against his lower jaw, like it didn’t belong. The taste was metallic, and stale.

Genji tried to move, or so he swore. But only emptiness greeted him. It was a numbness that was vague, and disorienting. He was here, but not.

He couldn’t feel his legs.

He couldn’t feel his arms.

He couldn’t feel his body.

What the hell was happening to him?

Where was he?

A sudden realization gripped him, and something akin to terror flooded through what disembodied pieces of him that remained. His brain was now a full fledged flame. And it seared.

His mouth moved. The sound that came out was hoarse, strained, and nigh inhuman. It gargled its way out of him, while his eyes darted wildly at things they couldn’t see. Shapes and colors slowly started to take form. What is happening to me?

[ YOU’RE ONLY TWO HOURS AWAY FROM ME!!!! HELLO FELLOW PACIFIC REGION-ER ]

In traditional belief, a ghost is a manifestation of the dead. They remain in the physical realm to avenge, help or punish the living

She knew it would only be a matter of time. After all it is the life of a soldier, one just never knows if they are going to come home. Overwatch was no different. they treated everyone like family, at least, from what she could remember from when she was a child.

Hell, that felt like a lifetime ago.

Fareeha Amari would be silent as she sat alone, adorned in her dress blues, in the middle of a cemetery. A small stone bench between two cremation monuments. It was the Amari family plot; the last two... now three, generations of her family now buried here. A prayer fluttered on her lips, more out of practice rather than belief. If she was to be honest with anyone, she had expected herself to be killed in action long before her own mother. While Overwatch was everyone’s hopes and dreams, it was still the nations’ militaries taking the bullet long before Overwatch boots even hit the ground.

One minute,

Five minutes,

An hour passes.

That’s how long it had been since the service had ended, how long since everyone had left, leaving the daughter of the diseased on her own. Her Commanding Officer had shared his condolences, there was not a single officer in the Egyptian Military who did not know of Ana Amari.

Fareeha ‘Pharah’ Amari, one of the four ‘Hunter - Ghosts’ of the Egyptian Special Forces. The best sniper the military had seen since Ana Amari herself.

The prime candidate to replace the beloved sniper Overwatch had just lost.