Post by kanonite on Apr 19, 2017 0:02:09 GMT
She shot awake in the earliest of morning from an extremely audible bang, followed by trying to hold onto something as an earthquake shook the ancient police precinct, mountains of dust falling from the shelves and the station's alarm system being sounded off by one of the other gang members.
It was not the worst surprise wake up the crocodilian woman had, the worst was four years ago in a dark basement. What happened there she wished she could repress entirely.
The shaking lasted for quite awhile, the combination of it and the blaring alarm doing nothing for her pounding headache. All she could do was groan and moan in pain until one or the other finally stopped.
And mercifully, the shaking eventually stopped, though her head still rang for awhile as she tried to construct even a basic thought, a bit difficult with the now seemingly even louder alarm, which soon ended aswell.
Feeling like crap, she slowly lifted herself off the mattress she slept on, staggering backward a bit as she stood up.
“Fuck…” she muttered, rubbing her tired slitted eyes as she came to her senses.
Her “bedroom” was in-fact an office with the chair removed and a mattress put in its place, the wooden cubicle keeping the fact that she had no clothes on during sleep away from prying eyes.
She sat herself down on the well-maintained wooden desk to put herself back together, closing her eyes and taking several deep breaths. That was an awakening she would REALLY not like to experience again.
Standing up, she squatted over to and opened up a small footlocker stashed and bolted underneath the desk. Inside was her uniform, a ballistic leather raincoat, shirt, pants and boots, along with a gas mask for both function and intimidation.
Taking the ensemble out, it was notable that the raincoat had an antique “Policia Federal” badge sewn onto the right sleeve, its gold and red color clashing with the all black.
She got her muscular green body covered quite quickly, having worn this outfit for several years now, it feeling like a second skin to her at this point, then opened up a drawer by the same desk. Inside it was a slick, silver outsider pistol, an extremely valuable possession of hers, along with two spare magazines and a deactivated nerve club.
After having loaded up, she began walking her way out of her “Bedroom” only to hear the intercom come on and the “Police Chief” Calisto Severino, begin speaking.
“Good morning men! Apparently, a big fucking outsider building of some kind fell from the sky and left City Centre a smoldering wreck! Meet me in the conference room once your hangover’s gone, we gotta plan for the day.”
That was Severino alright, not letting small things like an outsider structure crashing into the city distract him from running FedPol. Some say he was a corporate from the outside who somehow ended up in Favella City. Others say he used to be a big shot in one of the syndicates before having to assume a new life after a betrayal or such. Regardless of what his story might be, he became the boss of this vigilante gang, and a damn solid one at that.
Letting out more groans, she stepped out of her office bedroom place and stretched herself before going to the cafeteria for some of that SoyCaf they swiped from the syndicates two weeks ago.
On her way she encountered a friendly face, Osvaldo Jeremias, a somewhat idealistic green lizard notable for his cornrow ponytail and optimistic attitude that keeps a lotta teams afloat. To the croc woman, he was also her “late night entertainment” that toned and slick body of his quite hard to resist, even with the stupid hairdo. At the moment he seemed dressed in riot gear with surf shorts and a tank top underneath in a bizarre contrast, with the FedPol badge sewn into the non-Newton vest
“Hey Osvald!” She shouted at him with left hand raised.
“Oh hey Ofisa. That crash is really something, yes?”
“It is. I bet every raider close and far’s gonna try and sack it. No way we can police that.”
“Hmm…what if the outsider’s want their building back?”
“Then it’s best to stay outta their way.”
After a bit of silence, Osvalodo could not help but ask. “SoyCaf?”
“You know me so well.”
And so, the two made their way to the floor below to where the cafeteria was. The old precinct the gang was based in looked downright comfortable compared to some of the other, vastly more cramped spaces in Favella City, even with its wallpaper heavily peeled and its windows and doors reinforced to stop projectiles.
The two reached the cafeteria, its status as one now written in crude Portuguese on a wooden board with red paint…
It was not the worst surprise wake up the crocodilian woman had, the worst was four years ago in a dark basement. What happened there she wished she could repress entirely.
The shaking lasted for quite awhile, the combination of it and the blaring alarm doing nothing for her pounding headache. All she could do was groan and moan in pain until one or the other finally stopped.
And mercifully, the shaking eventually stopped, though her head still rang for awhile as she tried to construct even a basic thought, a bit difficult with the now seemingly even louder alarm, which soon ended aswell.
Feeling like crap, she slowly lifted herself off the mattress she slept on, staggering backward a bit as she stood up.
“Fuck…” she muttered, rubbing her tired slitted eyes as she came to her senses.
Her “bedroom” was in-fact an office with the chair removed and a mattress put in its place, the wooden cubicle keeping the fact that she had no clothes on during sleep away from prying eyes.
She sat herself down on the well-maintained wooden desk to put herself back together, closing her eyes and taking several deep breaths. That was an awakening she would REALLY not like to experience again.
Standing up, she squatted over to and opened up a small footlocker stashed and bolted underneath the desk. Inside was her uniform, a ballistic leather raincoat, shirt, pants and boots, along with a gas mask for both function and intimidation.
Taking the ensemble out, it was notable that the raincoat had an antique “Policia Federal” badge sewn onto the right sleeve, its gold and red color clashing with the all black.
She got her muscular green body covered quite quickly, having worn this outfit for several years now, it feeling like a second skin to her at this point, then opened up a drawer by the same desk. Inside it was a slick, silver outsider pistol, an extremely valuable possession of hers, along with two spare magazines and a deactivated nerve club.
After having loaded up, she began walking her way out of her “Bedroom” only to hear the intercom come on and the “Police Chief” Calisto Severino, begin speaking.
“Good morning men! Apparently, a big fucking outsider building of some kind fell from the sky and left City Centre a smoldering wreck! Meet me in the conference room once your hangover’s gone, we gotta plan for the day.”
That was Severino alright, not letting small things like an outsider structure crashing into the city distract him from running FedPol. Some say he was a corporate from the outside who somehow ended up in Favella City. Others say he used to be a big shot in one of the syndicates before having to assume a new life after a betrayal or such. Regardless of what his story might be, he became the boss of this vigilante gang, and a damn solid one at that.
Letting out more groans, she stepped out of her office bedroom place and stretched herself before going to the cafeteria for some of that SoyCaf they swiped from the syndicates two weeks ago.
On her way she encountered a friendly face, Osvaldo Jeremias, a somewhat idealistic green lizard notable for his cornrow ponytail and optimistic attitude that keeps a lotta teams afloat. To the croc woman, he was also her “late night entertainment” that toned and slick body of his quite hard to resist, even with the stupid hairdo. At the moment he seemed dressed in riot gear with surf shorts and a tank top underneath in a bizarre contrast, with the FedPol badge sewn into the non-Newton vest
“Hey Osvald!” She shouted at him with left hand raised.
“Oh hey Ofisa. That crash is really something, yes?”
“It is. I bet every raider close and far’s gonna try and sack it. No way we can police that.”
“Hmm…what if the outsider’s want their building back?”
“Then it’s best to stay outta their way.”
After a bit of silence, Osvalodo could not help but ask. “SoyCaf?”
“You know me so well.”
And so, the two made their way to the floor below to where the cafeteria was. The old precinct the gang was based in looked downright comfortable compared to some of the other, vastly more cramped spaces in Favella City, even with its wallpaper heavily peeled and its windows and doors reinforced to stop projectiles.
The two reached the cafeteria, its status as one now written in crude Portuguese on a wooden board with red paint…