[Basic]

“The suffering of strangers, the agony of friends. There is a secret song at the center of the world, and its sound is razors through flesh. I’m here to turn up the volume. To press the stinking face of humanity into the dark blood of its own secret heart.”

#1
#2
#3

#1 and #2 were edited using image manipulation software. #3 is the original download from HM3.

[Basic]

Paragon

“Time travel makes everything more fun.” – ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇, shortly before re-assassinating the future Supreme Leader of the Democratic Republic of America, John. F Kennedy.

[Basic]

Target Acquired

[Incomplete transcript call log recovered from charred wreckage of [CLASSIFIED], June ’59.]
“a̎ͪ̈͛͘̕҉ͅv̰̭̪ͧͥ̉̚k̨̙̼̋̽̕d͎̬̟͍̯̲͔̻ͬ̎͒ͣͬ̓͑͡j̭͓̦͙͖͍̤̤̬̊̅͠v̶̗̥͇͖͍͑͊͐ͬͤͣ̆ͯ͒
ḧ͋҉̴̪̤̼̳̦̺͍̭͍͟k̶̨̧̦͌̓̿ͯ͌́̐j̢̜̮͕̗͍ͥͫͩ̔͒͝ͅn̰̲͈̻͈̆̇ͯ̌ͩ͂̾́j̧̡̠̪̘̐͛ͬ̄́̉k̢̹̞̥̱͕̖̯ͤ̌
esting was for the most part a resounding success, though you might want to have a word with the boys in the combat programming department, as there are some minor issues with the threat assignment systems. Moving onto the tactical antimatter cyclic fusion cannons
a̎ͪ̈͛͘̕҉ͅv̰̭̪ͧͥ̉̚k̨̙̼̋̽̕d͎̬̟͍̯̲͔̻ͬ̎͒ͣͬ̓͑͡j̭͓̦͙͖͍̤̤̬̊̅͠v̶̗̥͇͖͍͑͊͐ͬͤͣ̆ͯ͒
ḧ͋҉̴̪̤̼̳̦̺͍̭͍͟k̶̨̧̦͌̓̿ͯ͌́̐j̢̜̮͕̗͍ͥͫͩ̔͒͝ͅn̰̲͈̻͈̆̇ͯ̌ͩ͂̾́j̧̡̠̪̘̐͛ͬ̄́̉k̢̹̞̥̱͕̖̯͓ͤ̌ͅ”

[Basic]

Wrath
Wrath – Headshot

[Transcript begins.]
Subject 1: [expletive deleted] killed them all. Jesus. What do we tell them?
Subject 2: As little as we can afford to. If the press get a whiff of the truth, the entire department’ll be crucified.
Subject 1: He even killed the little ones. I thought he was supposed to be stable.
Subject 2: He is stable, compared to how he was before.
Subject 1: I don’t know if I can deal with this. It’s too much.
Subject 3: Shut it, Hallorann. Collins, check the exits, make sure we’re secure.
Subject 2: Yes, sir.
Subject 3: Is he awake yet?
Subject 1: Wha… I…
Subject 3 (shouting): Is he awake yet?
Subject 1: No, no sir. He won’t be… Oh [expletive deleted]. There’s no way.
Subject 3: Tranquilize him. Now.
Subject 1: But we used enough to kill an ordinary man!
Subject 3 (shouting): Do it now!
[Heavy breathing and moaning is heard in the background]
Subject 1: Jesus. C’mon, c’mon-
[Screaming]
[Snapping sound]
[Screaming]
[Gunshots]
Subject 3: Die, you motherf-
[Crashing sounds]
[Muffled screaming]
[Single gunshot]
[Silence]
[Heavy breathing]
[Silence]
[Transcript ends.]

[Basic]

Avatar

To make the lesser races feel more at home, the Yaan-Topeth adopt mechanical bodies; simple machines infused with a portion of their essence. Through these machines they communicate with the younger species, educating and guiding them towards a brighter future.

[Basic]

Operative 001

They killed him. They cut him up, pried him open with cold metal and burning light, then fitted machines in his innards and batteries between his ribs. They upgraded his muscles, replaced his bones, sewed a metal skin over raw flesh. They armored him in exotic metals, cut off his hands and replaced them with blades, changed his eyes and his ears to mechanical duplicates, lobotomized him, programmed him, conditioned him. Then they set him loose and watched the carnage.

[Basic]

Archetype

She dives off the balcony, half a mile up. The floodlights trail her all the way down. Twenty feet from the concrete, she vanishes with a green flash, re-appearing behind the barricades and landing with feline grace. As the troopers swivel round, she draws and fires in a single fluid motion, a beam of searing light reducing half-a-dozen of Internal Security’s finest to a fine mist of charred amino acids. Before the rest can blink, let alone recover from the shock or aim, she’s running, covering a hundred meters in just under six seconds. The highway blurs past. Sirens blare, far away. She vaults over a truck, bounds onto the roof of a gas station and crouches, murmuring into her headpiece. The searchlights find her, helicopters painting her with stark white floodlights and the flickering beams of scanning lasers. Snipers lock on as she stands, hands up, still holding the gun. A voice tells her to put the weapon down. A smile creeps across her face, and she shakes her head slowly. A blue light from nowhere glows around her, outshining the floodlights. Sparks crawl across the roof.
One moment, the mystery thief stands tall. The next, there is nothing. Sniper fire pings uselessly off the empty roof.

[Basic]

Nope. They’re pretty huge files, and I don’t have them saved other than as pictures. Just right-click then press “view image”.

[Basic]

..when you put on the suit, it’s like being freed. All the worries and doubts that clouded your mind since you first thought: “I want to do this. I want to be a hero.” vanish like smoke on a chill breeze.“
-Quote attributed to Captain Arctic, though many historians assert it was actually written by his P.R manager.

Nightwave
Guerilla
Dreamer

[Basic]

There is no fate, no free will. There are patterns left from the unexplained expansion of an infinitely tiny dot that reverberate throughout the cosmos. We are of them.

[Basic]

The Endless? The Endless are merely patterns. The Endless are ideas. The Endless are wave functions. The Endless are repeating motifs. The Endless are echoes of darkness, and nothing more. We have no right to play with their lives, to order their dreams and their desires.
-Destruction, from Neil Gaiman’s Sandman.

[Basic]

From the diary of Samuel Frobisher, (Vol XIV, 1889-1892), published with the kind permission of the Frobisher Estate:
…whilst walking over the moors today, I encountered a large blue head encased in a strange mechanical armour. The head attempted to talk in several languages, before settling on English, greeting me in an oddly familiar manner. We discussed the unseasonably wet weather, whereupon he prevailed upon me for the date. Upon hearing the year, the head began to chuckle and inquired towards the health of the Queen and the state of the Empire. After a short but spirited discussion on the merits of colonial rule, the head thanked me for my company and apologised for having taken up my time. He then vanished in a flash of green light, leaving me to finish my excursion. On the way home, I discovered something truly fascinating: an unusual specimen of taraxacum officinale, (or the common dandelion) the properties of which I have described in “Frobisher’s Compendium of Aberrant Species with Particular Regard Towards Common Flowering Plants of Britain”…

[Basic]

for the contest

[Basic]

Thanks. I have a soft spot for faceless characters for some reason. Who knows, I may reuse the pose at some point.

[Author]

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