Nightshade's authorization thread

[Nightshade]

Disclaimer: Recently items and presumably flags have become a hot-button topic. Some of you may find it unnecessary for a founding member to have to apply for these things, however, I do this for the sake of fairness. Most if not all of these things were acquired ICLY previously, but if players aren't allowed to transfer things without authorization, then neither am I. Nor should I be.

  Steam Name: Nightshade
 
   Steam ID: STEAM_0:1:14989309
 
   How long you've been playing HL2RP: Three to four years.

  How long you've been playing on our server (if unsure, use /playtime in game): Since it started. 4 days, 1 hour and 2 minutes to be exact.

  What you're applying for: MPF Apex armor, v flags, as well as a Mossberg 590 shotgun with a box ammunition.
 
   Which of your characters will receive or be affected by what you're applying for: Rick 'Deimos' Thompson

  How what you are applying for will benefit our server in terms of RP quality: People would have a legitimate vendor to get supplies from, meaning a difference in economy as well as the movement of new items from person to person. This would make the rp experience more varied and give a means of self protection for myself and others in the hostile conditions of the outlands. Whether or not survival would be easier or harder would simply be up to the customers of the day.
 
   Please type out a well-detailed back story on how your character gained these skills or items that you are applying for. Use the post mentioned above to determine the length of your back story:

Apex uniform:

Rick 'Deimos' Thompson is a mysterious man. Most people who come into contact with him don't even know the name and the nickname are even attached. His identity is so buried under aliases, stolen CID cards and a healthy assortment of lies that his being found depends on his will to be found. Even then, most people who find "Rick" find a normal citizen, and those who find "Deimos" don't find out much at all. Most of the time, the only physical identification anyone gets is the fact that "Deimos" usually wears a battered and stolen Apex uniform.

How it was taken:

Rick had enough of the usual citizen life. Too many inspections, too many beatings that were either witnessed or felt, a little of this, a little of that. He was through. He and some of his now dead-for-a-year friends had gone off to the slums to do the usual. Unfortunately, another crew of folks in the area, led by a friend of a friend had much more presence than his crew did. This led one too many hideouts being found, "Deimos" getting sold out by his friends... And then the amputation of all but one of them at the hands of the Union Civil Authority. "Deimos" was never found and slowly had been forgotten about and his friend had left the city entirely.
He had retired after that, tossing aside what little equipment he had and living in a storage closet in an abandoned building that he converted into a living space.

A year later, and the only other surviving member decided to go looking around for him. After meeting, they had both agreed to enter back into the city. They had both been through horrifying things in the past year, both had silently agreed to put aside their lives of crime and try to live out their last days outside of the view of civil protection or the citizen population.  Well, Rick wanted that, but it turns out his friend had other intentions. With haste, they went into the plaza's cafe, the cafe Baltic.

He and his friend sit down at a booth in the back.
"So, now that you've come out of the closet, Rick, how'dya feel?" His friend jokingly prodded.
Rick puts his head in his hands, stifling a laugh.
"Wh... How'd you find me? Thought I made myself pretty scarce."
"You did." His friend says after a chug of coffee "But, uh... Oddly enough, I saw you in the shops the other day. Followed you back to... Your 'home.' If you want to call it that"
Rick gave a slightly tilted glance.
"Under normal circumstances, I'd say that's creepy. But eh... Hey, I'm sorry for disappearing. I just couldn't deal with it... It all anymore, y'know?"
Rick's friend fell silent before sighing.
"So, that's why you left?"
"Not like there were that many pieces to pick up after all we've seen..." Rick replied with a destroyed tone.
"I get it but when you're in, you're..." His friend replied, but gets cut off by a near immediate response:
"Yeah, yeah. I get it. I get it. I really do..."
His friend in turn interrupts him mid sentence with:
"Okay, good. So you're back in then. Look, there was a reason I looked you up again."
Rick sighed, but says back in reluctant compliance: "And what might that be?"
His friend gives somewhat of a smile before returning to a serious look.
"I got mugged a couple of days ago and..."


An announcement cuts the conversation short as a voice plays over the city informing everyone of a work cycle.
The two split up, went outside, got their gear on and did their first work cycle in either of their recent memories.
It came as some surprise once he saw the citizen behind a black and yellow uniformed unit.
The work cycle had ended just minutes before
The unlucky 04 unit was the only thing standing in between the pipe wielding citizen and a potential prize of hundreds of tokens on the black market. No one told the 04 this until it was too late.

"You, citizens. Get these things into the-" BANG, the citizen behind the unit had bashed the back of his head as hard as he could as he was walking towards the gathering of citizens, ironically, they were all glancing and pointing behind him.
His helmet's back plate absorbed most of the shock, but he still hit his head into the concrete face first.
The man quickly dragged the unit away as the citizens yelled at him to stop.
Rick wasn't one of those people, but he and his friend watched.
He then shouts out aloud "That's the guy who mugged me! Get him!"
They both then charge forward. The citizen hurriedly drags the body of the unit, not noticing that he dropped his pistol in the process.


Whether the citizens cared about this fact or not, they charged along with them. Rick picking up the pistol in the hustle.
The man hid, but was soon found carting the body off into the slums. Finally, he dumped the body in a ditch full of pebbles.
He then took the unit's pistol. Obviously scared, he aimed and shot in the general direction of the crowd that was starting to form.
Feeling threatened, Rick aimed the pistol at the kidnapper who was poking out of the cover the pillar he was near provided.
Memories flooded back. Dead friends, dead bodies. Lifeless and hollow. He stopped but his partner in crime took the gun from him.

A gunfight broke out, three shots on one side, five on the other. Finally, the assailant went down, bleeding out and doubling over in pain from a fresh neck wound.
The crowd that had so quickly gathered had faded by now. No one was watching.
"You know, you turned the safety on when you were running to catch up with the guy. You've still got it in you and you know you do."
Rick looked back at his friend with a concerned look that melted away. He did have it in him. And he remembered it.
Whether or not he got over his previous wants to get out of the life he had made for himself came from lack of sanity or a desire for freedom isn't known.

"Hey, take what's on that body. I doubt that was quiet."
Rick nodded at the suggestion. He darted past the fence and down into the ditch, moving over to the unit to investigate.
Interestingly enough, the unit hadn't moved during that engagement, or even after. Rick removed the unit's face mask to figure out the situation.
The unit had been killed. Blunt force trauma with a rock that the citizen must have picked up when he had disappeared.
The suit itself remained undamaged. Rick dragged the body around the corner and stripped it from its previous owner.

By the time he had walked around the corner, he was wearing the suit, blood still leaking from the side of the mask from the previous owner's head wound.
Other than that, he was pretty much back to himself. Either he mentally snapped, or he never really wanted to leave everything behind to begin with.
The two didn't get much time to analyze the situation as alarms sounded. Forcing them to leave as soon as possible.

How it got into the outlands:

No one had really been to Shell beach in a year since it was discovered to be a hideout for varous anti-citizens. It had been closed off more recently for construction purposes.
Planned for construction was a dockside bar of some sort for the sailors that hauled supplies. The beach however was completely closed off. The only way in was the access way through the sewers.
Given that, no one could really use it for a port. The bar seemed fairly pointless at this rate. That's probably the concept was abandoned.
The best part about this however is that it meant new supplies.
The most useful of which was the gasoline spotted near the generator the construction crews used.
The boats may have been out of use for a year, but the fuel was new.
Both men refueled a rusted boat and began to sail away.
The combine lack coast guard units or vehicles that travel over large bodies of water. Their regard for the potential maritime hazards is ultimately Nil.

The boat didn't travel very far, however. They eventually stopped at another dock that lied before a forest like area with trees all around.
They disembarked. The area was desolate. Just as abandoned as the beach's docks.
Miles of road stretched ahead of the two as soon as they left the small town. The only thing that dotted the road were broken down cars and patches of dirt.

Carrying the few supplies they had left, suit included, they wandered the land until they finally found a town that looked like it was populated.
They decided to stay. The story continues. City 17 is a memory.

Mossberg 590 shotgun:
In the small port town, things had apparently gotten bad. At first the place was somewhat peaceful. Trees served as a backdrop to what was once thought to be serene.
Unfortunately, that was just the docks. Bodies, garbage, disabled vehicles and makeshift shelters with foxholes dotted the new found area. It was fairly certain there were no survivors.
The positioning of the bodies and the chaos, as well as scattered bullet casings makes it fairly clear that something very bad happened.
The only real question at this point was "Why?"
Light from the sun bleached the concrete of the docks and the buildings, baking the bodies and suffering in an open oven. The area remaining a damning diorama of decay.
Deimos entered the first building he saw. A visitor's center. Stained and broken glass paned double doors with a metal infrastructure were the gates to the hellish sights.
There was a waiting bench to the left. Scattered pamphlets detailing the who's who and what's what of the area were scattered all over it and the floor beneath.
The receptionist's area to the right of it wasn't in much better condition. The wooden counter now held a few bullets in it, as did the glass of the window behind it. Accompanied by some blood.
Behind the counter, a woman in her 30's with long curly hair laid wide eyed, mouth agape. Forehead agape, too.
Bullet holes indicated the basic 9mm rounds. Anyone out here could have them.
Further down, past the foyer was a wall, left of a hallway entrance. On it, over the cracking plaster was an orange lambda.
A scuffle between groups, perhaps? Did it matter?
Deimos pressed onwards, looking up and noting the stairs. A body leaning over a railing, head first. Old blood on the floor. It had been dripping.
Turning left around the corner and through the hallway, he noticed various offices. All looking like a struggle took place in them. One had a hole blown clear through a wall.
Standard weapons couldn't do that. Something must have really happened here. That or someone just didn't want to leave.

He turned around and moved towards the stairs. Still noting the body. Slightly paranoid it might fall and scare the shit out of him. Even if he did feel silly for thinking about that.
He climbed the stairs, and got behind the body. He himself pushed it off the railing. A loud crack of the skull as it fell, accompanied by a blood splatter, although not as impressive as he had thought it would be.
Looking to his right, he noted a security door at the end of a hallway. Then he noted the crack was accompanied by the clattering of plastic.
Sighing, he went down the steps. Looking at the body, he moved it over and took a small key card that had been clipped to the jacked of the corpse.
Back at the door, he swiped the key card through the slot, a loud hum let him know he did it right.
Moving through, on his left he noticed a metal table with a man's body slumped over it. More bullet casings littered the ground. 5.7s this time. Whoever did this was serious.
The table's purpose was unknown. Could have been another receptionist's desk for the blocked area, but the body had bled on the papers. No way of telling.
Further past that was another double door set up leading to the local Sheriff's office.
The buildings were oddly connected. Security must've been a top priority for these people. Didn't entirely have the largest payoff, it seems.
The hallway past the doors led to the offices section of the Sheriff's office. Nothing that interesting beyond the signs of conflict that were pretty much normal at this point. And were before.
Across from him were the personal office rooms of the higher ranking members. The most interesting of them had the lights off. The only illumination being that of an old CRT monitor well past its prime.
It illuminated a corpse, sitting in an office chair deep-throating a 12 gauge shotgun.
He entered the room. Things were dead silent, other than the faint hum of the computer's fan.
He then turned and peered at the screen. An email window, or an equivalent of depending on if the town was on the combine's good side or not, was open.
It was a strange read. The only thing it said was:

"God dammit Rachel, that kid you brought in last week was one of them! You told them where we were, you led them straight for us!
And because of it, we're dead. They'll be here in an hour. We're getting ready here and you better get here, too. Don't act like you know anything.
If he finds out, he'll alert the others and we'll have a full scale war on our hands. Best we handle this with care."

Rick removed the shotgun from the dead man's mouth. Interestingly enough, suicide wasn't his cause of death.
This wasn't a case of a person thinking it would be better to die than be killed. Bullet holes, many of them, punctured his chest, some going through the chair. Some staying in.
The shotgun was fully loaded. Not a single shot got off. He probably saw whoever did this coming and decided to off himself before they could do the same.
Looks like they beat him to the punch.
On the desk, there was a full box of shells. 12 gauge. He took both and loaded the box into his bag of random goods he had scavenged. The mossberg would prove to be the most useful find, but the town would be the most interesting.

To this day, Rick never figured out what had happened to those poor souls or who the supposed "kid" was with. And he hoped it stayed that way.

v flags:

In the town, a major landmark happens to be a large warehouse. Few can pronounce the name or the company who owns it but most know about the location. If they don't, they're blind.
Regardless, despite rumors of abandonment, it still functions as an actual warehouse and factory. It just stopped functioning under official channels.
Many supplies are moved through there by way of smugglers or corrupt CWU employees that just happen to be overseeing the areas near it at that time.
Interestingly enough, a few former, or unofficially current, employees decided to live in the area as well.

Rick was doing a standard supply grab when he noticed that one of the doors was open. The doors hadn't been open at any other time. He had assumed that no one went into it for the same reasons he didn't. It was a bigger target.
"Oh hell" he thought. "May as well go in and check it out."
It was there, in the warehouse area he discovered two people attempting to beat an old man. They were shouting obscenities and various threats at him. As their target cowered in a corner.
Rick ran up to the group, weapon drawn and ready to fire. The two others quickly scattered. Not before shouting more colourful words his way.
"You saved my life..." The old man said, getting up and brushing himself off as best as he could.
"I don't know what those two kids were up to, but I've seen em' around these parts and I don't think they know what they're getting into." He then said.
Rick looked at him knowingly and replied "Yeah, well. Stupid people rarely do. They're just lucky I didn't have to use this. Not exactly a stranger to it. Or people like them."
"Ah, in that sort of business, I see." The man replied somewhat nervously. "Look, come up to the office. I've got an idea on how I can repay you."
Rick complied and walked up the stairs before entering the dingy interior.
"Look, uh... I lied" The old man said. "I know what those two are after. They think they can get a cut of my dealings."
"Dealings?" Rick prodded, looking intrigued now.
"I'm a bit of a smuggler. I... I got into a business of moving supplies around for people. I said I didn't care about the cargo being moved as long as upkeep was kept. People stopped giving a shit about this place a long time ago."
He trailed off and then continued. "The thing is, I said that, and meant it, because I knew the workers union wouldn't find out. They don't give a damn. Problem is, some people found out. I got cocky and that means I got suspicious."
Rick glanced at him and asked "So... Why don't you just quit, then? Things look they aren't turning out like you wanted."
The old man looked at him with a very similar look and replied "You see, I wish it were that simple. But I'm still technically under union contract. And they don't pay enough. Especially with how disused this place is. The only way it would get worse is if they payed on commission."
Rick nodded, both to signify agreement and to let him know to continue.
"Look, you saved my ass back there. Those kids would've killed me if you hadn't showed up when you did. So here's my idea. I let you take a cut of the business. Place some orders. Small things first. People need to let others know if they can be trusted, ya know?"
Rick's intrigue grew, he looked the man in the eyes and agreed to his offer.

Pros:
Method of self defense in both defense and offense.
Ability to make extra money and get extra equipment and either keep them or give them to other players.

Cons:
High value target.
Easily intimidates others through the outfit.

[MarlonTehOne]

Solid writing. The logic and circumstantials are a bit sketchy, but oh well.

+Support

[Venomrider]

+Support; Writing's good, good role-player, I'm positive he won't abuse the items given to him. 8:05 PM - Venomous Cat: 8:01 PM - Nightshade: I guess I'm gonna test out that Freddy Fazbear's fuck shack map or something.

[A_Strategy]

]8:05 PM - Venomous Cat: 8:01 PM - Nightshade: I guess I'm gonna test out that Freddy Fazbear's fuck shack map or something.

Confused by that one...

Anyway, I +SUPPORT
I just don't get the whole HVT thing.

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