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Ok, I have Killer of Lawyers taken care of. Little Mac, you get some free games! If I owe you games, get with me!
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Mar 5, 2015 03:09
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| # ? May 30, 2024 11:45 |
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Winners and HM's get to pick from my Prize Vault this week as well as their normal selection of games! Keep on writing people.
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Mar 5, 2015 19:49
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An old man stumbles in a dark alley, his arm clutching his side. He grabs for a decrepit bin, trying to steady himself but instead falls. He looks at himself in a dirty puddle, his face only inches away from the dark oily water. He looks different now, but maybe that is just the darkness of the night or the darkness he feels ebbing from him like waves, moving forward to knock bins and people aside. His side throbs now, he should move. He struggles to push himself to his feet, by strength of will more so than strength of body. No, his body won’t carry him much further, it is failing him finally. Perhaps it is for the best. That morning, he had run through his usual routine of exercises and stretches, flexing and buffing his body as he had done for many years. He was proud of that body, it was the envy of many a younger man and had more than once gotten his a much younger woman. He had never looked his age, first looking older and wiser than his teenage friends and then, later, maintaining that youthful boyish face and well-worked body. His wife commented that he never aged while the world around his constantly changed and shifted. “Ah Maggie, what have we done?” A man kneels before a puddle in a dark alley, speaks to his reflection in the murky water. His side is leaking dark drops onto the ground where they mingle with the wetness from a late summer rain. It would be so easy to let go now. The shadows in the corners of the dead-end street seem to grow towards him and he panics for a moment. No, it is not time to die, there is more to be done before the night is over. He raises himself first onto one knee, then both, then heaves himself vertical, fighting the spinning world. Getting breakfast was a pleasure he always took time to enjoy. The smell of the freshly roast coffee was something to be savoured, the bowl of muesli with extra raisins for sweetness was to be eaten slowly. Simple things, he liked to think of himself as a simple guy. He had picked up the local newspaper the night before and now he had time to scan it, checking for signs or special notices. And there it was, buried in the text advertising new lawnmowers, a few letters placed just where he would be able to find them. They were hidden in the other mundane words, only he knew where to look. It was a time and a place, no name. As usual. He turned to the next page and continued to read. It was important to be nonchalant with these things, no reason to get excited. An old man falls again to the tarmac, his expensive suit tearing at the knees. He clutched at the ground, willing it to push back at him but it remains implacable. He feels futile, weak, wasted. He begins to crawl then, returning once more to that state of helpless children. He speaks to himself, a favourite quotation coming back to him “An aged man is twice a child”. Was that how it went? He couldn’t remember it clearly. It didn’t sound so pleasant to him anymore, him crawling through refuse and mud, towards the light of the street, him at the mercy of strangers. After reading the paper thoroughly, he folded it neatly and left if back beside the coffee machine. He poured himself a second espresso. This one was drank while looking over the street map he had bought when he came into town. He located the place quickly, it was a good spot, far from any busy neighbourhoods. That done, he leaned back and adjusted his tie. He liked to look his best while working. His tie pin was straight and his shoes polished. Maybe when he retired he could bring Maggie somewhere warm and they could spend their days wearing those Hawaiian shorts and strolling on a beach. The thought made him feel good about himself, made him feel better about not calling her. He’d make it up to her. Slowly he moved down the alley, giving up on standing but not giving up on everything. He moved steadily now, ignoring the stones sticking into his palms and knees and concentrating on the ground under his eyes, counting the steps he had travelled. Twenty four, twenty five, twenty six, it couldn’t be much more, twenty eight, twenty nine. He paused, finding the walls closer than he had expected. He couldn’t even move in a straight line. Fool of an old man, pig-headed foolish old man. He breathed heavily, hearing his own rasping breath. One hand clawed at the wall and found a grip. He rested there, hanging onto the building like a spider or cocoon. He risked a look ahead and saw that he was nearly there, nearly at the end of the street. There he could hail a taxi and be gone from this place, from his shame and agony and the endless darkness that was creeping closer. He had several hours yet to wait before the allotted time. How he spent that time was entirely up to him. He wasn’t being paid by the hour. As long as the job was done, he would be compensated. He wondered what attractions there were in this city. He took out the same street map and scanned the back of it, finally settling on a visit to the zoo. He always enjoyed zoos. Some people found it difficult to see animals caged but he never had any issues with that. Many of them he knew would never survive poachers or habitat destruction, many of them needed to be reared in captivity, as unnatural as it was, to survive at all. Maybe a part of him connected with that aspect, animals out of place and freedom a lie. He shook that thought from his head, there was no need for self-analysis so soon after his breakfast. The wall supported him as he lurched down the alley. He moved quicker now that he was standing, though he knew he must look ridiculous. He almost laughed at himself then, acting the drunkard or fool. His vanity hoped that no one was watching but his survival instinct hoped someone was nearby. He could hear voices but he wasn’t sure from where. A window above him, yes, but only voices from a TV. He kept on moving, nearly falling over bins and piles of rubbish. He scraped his hand on some pipe-work that stuck out of the wall and the pain brought some of his senses back. He stopped, watched as the cut started to bring blood from his hand. It was what he deserved. The sun was warm on his shoulders as he walked jauntily through the zoo’s park. He had spent an hour admiring the large cats, as one predator to another he mused. Then about 30 minutes looking at the reptiles. He had never cared for them so much. He noticed that the python was shedding however, a new skin and new stage just days away. Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to do that. At times he felt that, despite his fitness, the onset of old age was starting to show. He didn’t feel as fast as he did, he didn’t feel as smart as he once did. Once, on a bus he had been spoken to by a young multi-colour haired boy. He didn’t understand a word of what was being said. The world was changing and maybe there wasn’t a place for him anymore in it. He would have to start looking into that retirement soon, that beach-house away from the world and all the noise and activity. He had worked enough. Maggie would be glad too. She often complained that she never saw him, or that he was too distracted when home. It would be good to move on to the next stage. He watched the large python wriggle some more before he left the reptile cages. He is at the edge of the pavement, trying to get the attention of a taxi. People pass him by, staring at him, scared by him. He knows he must look a mess. There are still no sirens so he might be ok. What is he thinking? Ok? He will never be ok. Oh Maggie, why...? The future was ours! After the zoo, he sat and ate a small lunch. The restaurant was an Italian one, it seemed authentic enough. The owner was loud and energetic, the waiting staff were Italian looking and while they didn’t speak Italian to each other, they were able to understand him when he ordered his food in that beautiful language. The wine was a good one, from Tuscany. He had settled on a Masseto Merlot, mild enough for that time of the day. It complimented the food well and he was glad of his choice. The wine was more expensive than he had expected but it was worth it in the end. A waitress gave him admiring looks. He smiled at her and left a large tip as he was leaving. He pushes himself off from the lamppost and towards the waiting taxi. He has to look together, to look sane. He sits in the back. It takes him a minute to realise that the taxi-driver is talking to him. “Where are you going mate? Hey, I said, where are you going to?”. The old man, still holding his side, just tells the foreigner to take him to a bar. The red taxi jerks forward and the journey, short though it is, is spent with one man in the back looking out at the people outside, the other looking in his mirror scowling. He decided to get a bus to the spot. He liked buses, they allowed him time to think, to let his mind wander as he watched the other passengers. A simple pleasure, one of many simple pleasures. He pays the taxi-driver, blood staining the money. It is not refused. Another scowl follows him as he leaves but the small foreigner has enough experience to know not to push the point. An old man enters a bar, his expensive tailored suit torn and scuffed, his broad frame stooped and bowed. A seat is taken at the bar. “Whiskey” he coughs. The bar-tender leaves the bottle. Sensible man. As he walked the short distance, he stretched further and checked himself. He had brought a knife for this, a sharp stiletto of a blade. The feel of it in his hand was reassuring and familiar. There she was, under the street corner, half-hidden in shadow, as foretold. A woman, scarf around her head, facing away from him. He walked quickly to her, better to get it down sooner rather than delay. He took long strides to reach her, his steps making no noise, leather soles on cool tarmac. She starts to turn as he reaches out to her. The whiskey burns his throat, making him cough again. A drop of blood colours the dark brown of the whiskey, turning it a darker shade. Blood in his lungs. He is still holding his side too. He looks down and sees dark blood on his hands. Vertigo, dizziness. He steadies himself. No one is watching though he can feel everyone is aware of him. The TV is on, some game. He forces himself to look at it. “Maggie”. “Hello Charles” “But Maggie..” “I know Charles, I know.” She was holding a gun, pointed at his chest. His knife, still by his side, was ready but shaking in his grip. He paused, looking into her eyes and seeing the betrayal there. “Why Maggie?” “All things must end Charles, you know that. You taught me that.” He nodded then, and drove the knife into her heart just as she pulled the trigger. They slump together, a final embrace, sliding to the ground as one. His vision is going blurry now, and not from the bottle he is trying to finish. He looks up at the screen. It is difficult to see what is going on. He hears the commentator. “Oh that was just critical, that was a critical hit!” His last thought is of a beach somewhere as the glass falls from his dead hands and shatters on the ground.
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Mar 7, 2015 00:44
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Eye for an Eye Word count: 1,918 "Well, I can tell you that they died of massive head trauma." Chanterelle said sarcastically as she stood near the group of beholder corpses that decorated the corridor. She stalked back and forth, her encounter suit hissing and whirring as she took each step. Mireth bit her tongue and looked up and away from the fey. It wouldn't do her any good to argue with the pixie, and she didn't want to be distracted in case any more of the monsters showed up. Durin, however, wasn't so tact. "Calm your tits, lass. She was just asking." Durin said, glowering down at the fey as she stalked the corridor in her suit. Chanterelle paused, and turned to face the dwarf. Mireth couldn't see the fey inside the suit, but she could feel the woman inside glowering up at the dwarven engineer. Chanterelle's suit made a grinding sound as the pixie clenched her suit's grippers. "You overgrown oaf!" The pixie said after a few more agonizing seconds of heated silence. "They're beholders. They're dead. I'm not a thrice damned medical examiner, I'm a bloody xenobiologist! What do you want me to say?! They're horrifying, they attacked us, and now they're dead and filled with holes!" Durin sputtered, a retort forming in his mouth when Mireth put a firm hand on his shoulder. "Not now. Please. Both of you. Let's save the blame games for when we're back on the Celestial, eh?" The two continued to stare at each other, the dwarf staring right into the fey's optical sensors. Mireth gritted her teeth and checked her rifle before continuing. "I'm serious. I'll pick you both up and throw you down opposite ends of this ship if I have to." Durin and Chanterelle turned from each other and looked up at Mireth. The tall elf hefted her battle rifle over her shoulder with ease. She had a few feet on the dwarf, and at least four on the fey's encounter suit. They both acquiesced to Mireth's authority after a few moments. She smiled at the two. "We can have all the fights we want over drinks back on our own ship." "Drinks are good." Said the dwarf. "Yeah." The pixie agreed, her voice sullen. "The sooner we get off this ship, the better." "Well, let's get moving to engineering then." Durin said, as he started down the corridor. "We'll give the reactor a look over. No sense in passing up on a salvage op just because of a few beasties, eh? It's not far." Chanterelle reluctantly followed along. "I don't like beholders. My suits useless against them." "Yeah. What's up with that?" Mireth asked as she took up guarding the group's rear. "My optics failed during that fight." She said, tapping the side of her goggles as they walked. "Beholders snuff magic in their gaze. It's a problem since just about everything relies on at least a few enchantments." Chanterelle said in reply. "Well, that might explain why this ship is so primitive." Durin noted. "It would take a lot of beholders to disable a ship though, I mean, ships are big, and beholders are relatively small." Chanterelle said as she leapt over a beholder in her way, jets of compressed air shooting out of her suit to help her along. "Maybe there's a lot of them." Durin shuddered at the thought before stopping at a large hatch. He grunted as he lifted it upwards, revealing a set of narrow stairs down into the darkness below. He shined his flashlight in, and once satisfied that a swarm of toothy flying horrors wasn't about to leap out at him, proceeded down the steps. "It would make sense, at least. It might even explain why our ship's scrying link is down in this area." The engineering bay was cramped and dimly lit by a few emergency lights and a handful of dead consoles. A dark, ominous chamber took up much of the far end. Durin wasted little time, and quickly made his way over to a console. Chanterelle and Mireth followed downwards, the fey simply leaping down the hatchway and landing on the deck below with a metallic thud. Mireth closed the hatch behind them, and began to wander about the room, her flashlight shining in the various nooks and corners of the bay. "That's a funny looking reactor." Mireth said as her light fell upon it's strange, oblong shape. "Aren't they usually like a donut?" "Aye. This isn't a fusion drive. It's nuclear." Durin said, barely looking up from a console. "I thought they were all nuclear." "No. Well, yes. I mean, this is fission, the rest are fusion. Old design. Neat one though. They're more robust. You know, I'm starting to see a problem with this whole salvage op. I can respect the idea of a mundane ship, but there's not much here of value to anyone except maybe a museum, but this ship isn't really old, it's just-" "-Mundane. You said it best." Chanterelle said. "So, if it's useless, then we can go back. Why bother bringing the reactor online. Just radio the Celestial and tell them it's nothing more than a monster filled scrap heap, and we can leave this place behind, wiser, and none richer for our troubles." Durin held up a finger at the fey. "Just a moment. I don't think there's any more beholders around, and I don't think it'd take much to bring this ship back online. I'd be interested in taking the FTL drive apart, if nothing else, just to see if it's as mundane as the rest of the ship." "Chanterelle's right, Durin. I know that you don't like putting toys down once you've picked them up, but the less time we have to spend here the better. I'll radio the ship. Let them know that it's a wash. We can always come back latter with a bigger group if you can convince the captain it's worth the trouble." Mireth reached down and turned on her comms. The sound of static filled the air. "Celestial. Mireth here. Do you copy?" Static. "Celestial? Come in?" Mireth frowned and took a few steps away from the others as she continued to try and raise their home ship. "Chanterelle. Would you do me a favor and go over to the reactor. See this rod?" Durin said as he turned to shine his light on the top of the ship's reactor. "See how they're all pushed in up there? I need to hop up there and pull a few out." "Seriously?" "Come on, lass. It'd take me forever to scramble up there." "Alright, fine, but you're buying the drinks when we get back." "Deal." Durin said. The pixie made her way over to the reactor, and climbed her way up to the space between it and the top of the deck. Her encounter suit hissed and whirred as she maneuvered her way between pipes and up to the top of the oblong reactor. "That's it. Those right there." Durin said, shining his light on a few specific rods. Chanterelle's suit groaned and whirred as she started to pull the rods upwards, pushing them up into the ceiling over her head. Durin's console beeped, and the engine room was soon filled with the sound of klaxons and alarms. "Keep pulling. Don't mind the sirens." He said as he turned his attention to the cascade of lights appearing before him on one of the larger control units. Mireth retreated further into a corner, still trying to raise the Celestial on her comms. Durin silenced the sirens and alarms as they came, and the bay was soon filled with the hum of machinery. A cool breeze blew across the room as the air vents stirred to life. "You can come down now!" He called out in excitement. Chanterelle didn't need to be told twice. She quickly scrambled off the now humming reactor, anxious to put some distance between her and the hulking unit. "Oh good. The lights are back on." She muttered as she moved back over to the dwarf. "Aye. And everything else. Look." Durin smiled as he entered a few commands on one of the consoles. A large screen in the fore of the bay sprung to life, revealing a sea of stars. "Give me a few and I can fly this thing back home." Mireth turned off her comm unit and walked over to the screen. "Can you find the Celestial on this?" "Aye." The view changed, and the trio recoiled in horror as the screen was filled with a picture of a beholder. "That's uh, not the Celestial." "Nay. That's the right area." The beholder turned, it's many eye stalks fixating in the direction of the screen. Chanterelle cursed loudly as her suit ground to a halt. Durin and Merith stared in horror as the Celestial came into view, the ship set firmly in the beholders maw. "Fuuuuuuuck." The three exclaimed in unison. ########### "gently caress! Why aren't we jumping! Why aren't we doing anything?" Marvok said, yelling loudly over the sound of grinding metal on tooth as the mother of all beholders chowed down on his ship. Alarms and sirens blared intermittently as systems came on and off line. "Gods damnit, give me weapons, or something! Thrusters! Anything!" The orc bellowed at his crew. "Captain, I'm trying!" The weapons officer protested as she frantically pounded away on her console. "Get the god drat away team on the line. Maybe they can get away, at least." Marvok snarled. "Still nothing on long range communications, sir!" "Damnit!" Marvok yelled, slamming a fist down on his seat. "Does anything work?!" "Optical sensors do!" "Fantastic, we get to watch ourselves get eaten alive! Wait, is that?" Marvok leaned forward and stared at the bridge's view screen. "Reading radiation source. I think it's the derelict, sir!" Lances of energy flashed across the view screen as the static obscured derelict came into view. The sound of the hull being crushed grew louder with each hit. "Are they? Are they coming right at us? Tell the idiots to back off! They'll be disabled like we are!" "I'm trying!" The comms officer said frantically. "No response yet!" The captain and crew stared helplessly as they watched the derelict fly right at them. Larger and larger it grew until it took up most of the screen. The ship lurched, tossing everyone around like toys. The sound was deafening, a sickly combination of flesh and metal being rent apart. Marvok blinked in surprise as the static on the screen cleared. Space tumbled by the view screen, the stars streaking by as the Celestial flew free of the beholder's maw. The derelict flashed by, it's hull embedded deep in the beholders gigantic eye. A cheer rose up among the crew as unresponsive systems sprung back to life. "What are you waiting for!" Marvok said, rising to his feet. "Fire! Fire!" "Aye aye!" Lances of powerful atom ripping energy flew forth from the revitalized Celestial, searing away at the beholder's flesh! ############ "And that's why you will always be buying the drinks." Mireth said as she adjusted her sling. "And it's also why you are no longer allowed to fly anything." Chanterelle said as she worried over her suit's missing arm. Durin sighed and stared out the lounge window, watching a pair of suited figures as they worked to clear away the gore from the hull of the Celestial. "Well, at least I got that off my bucket list."
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Mar 7, 2015 08:35
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Um, low turnout this week? Kind of a bummer. Still, the show must go on! Rap Three Times wins for a really tense mystery even if the theme was a biiiit tacked on to the end. I really like your style and I wish there was more of this. Obviously this gives Killer-of-Lawyers the Honorable Mention. I thought your story was just as good and in the end it mostly just came down to genre preference with me. Science and magic is second only to modern day mysteries! Ramos is this week's loser. Normally people who don't submit get admonished, but in a week with THREE sign-ups, we couldn't at least get THREE submissions? C'mon, man. You could've written anything and it would've at least been something. I liked both pieces this week a lot. If you want a crit, I suppose, I can try to give one though I'm not sure I'm qualified. Rap Three Times, please PM me your steam name for your copy of Tabletop Simulator!
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Mar 7, 2015 16:23
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I'm always down for a crit, even if it's just a quick impression. Also really a shame about the turn out :/
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Mar 7, 2015 16:29
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Ah that's wicked, thanks a mil! I really enjoyed Killer-Of-Lawyers piece too, I thought he would have taken it honestly. I agree about the low turnout being a bummer. The word-count was high though and the theme was a tough one. Glad I entered though, I need the practise  http://steamcommunity.com/id/NevermindNev Ditto on the crit if you have time, every analysis helps! Rap Three Times fucked around with this message at 18:17 on Mar 9, 2015 |
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Mar 7, 2015 17:04
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So, given the low turn out, maybe we could restructure this into a general prompt writing? The real thunder dome has the most insane and intimidating prompts I've ever seen, and I'd hate to lose my creative outlet.
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Mar 8, 2015 16:08
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Yeah, sorry about missing a chance to turn in a prompt. Between the fact that there wasn't a weekend to work on it mixed with me getting hit with illness that knocked me out for two full days, I just wasn't able to get myself together long enough to put something into text that I was happy with.
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Mar 8, 2015 16:41
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Killer-of-Lawyers posted:So, given the low turn out, maybe we could restructure this into a general prompt writing? The real thunder dome has the most insane and intimidating prompts I've ever seen, and I'd hate to lose my creative outlet. While i've not contributed these last two prompts, i agree with this. ThunderDome-Lite would be appealing.
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Mar 8, 2015 18:39
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Killer-of-Lawyers posted:So, given the low turn out, maybe we could restructure this into a general prompt writing? The real thunder dome has the most insane and intimidating prompts I've ever seen you haven't seen very much, then
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Mar 9, 2015 17:55
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I like that this is a gamer-inspired prompt zone though, and the prospect of a prize is nice too. J.A.B.C. gets editorial practice and an uncluttered library, we get feedback and a chance to win something.
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Mar 9, 2015 18:13
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Oxxidation posted:you haven't seen very much, then No, I've just looked at the last few, and they all seem to be in the vein of 'write a story about some band's songs that are known for being nonsensical' or 'fairy tale mash ups' which is cool, but a lot more constraining of a prompt compared to general things like 'memories, bosses, teamwork, turning points.' The last prompts I saw gave me the distinct impression that people have been trying to come up with more and more unique prompts, and that over the years its lead to its logical result.
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Mar 9, 2015 20:50
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I don't think more general writing prompts all the time work. Back in art class at school, we would have generic titles like "Draw whatever you want," or, "Something green," and those were the hardest classes because there was no focus...especially if we had done it for 3 classes straight. Limits help push creativity...for better or worse. Sometimes everyone comes up with the same few ideas, it's just a thing that happens. Not saying there's no merit in more generic prompts every once in a while, it can be freeing. I just think there should be a mix of both through different weeks for variety's sake.
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Mar 12, 2015 03:09
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You've got a point. Moot anyways. This was fun while it lasted!
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Mar 12, 2015 03:40
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Do a straight-up "write fanfiction of your favorite videogame" prompt. It'll be funny.
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Mar 12, 2015 04:27
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I reached into my overalls for my piece. The door to my rats nest of a home was cracked open. I stepped inside and turned on the lights. The bastard who broke in was still on my couch, a bottle of my best burbon laying on the floor next to him. "Luigi! Pull yourself together!" I screamed.
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Mar 12, 2015 04:30
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My trembling hand curls into a fist as I desperately crush another pill into a fine, messy powder. I grit my teeth, feeling anticipation wash over me as I lift the straw to my nose again. "Come on, baby, come on..." I grumble to myself as I bring my shaky palm up to the straw and inhale through my nose, sending the crisp white powder deep into the back of my throat and before I know it the feeling is already pushing out my anxiety. I exhale heavily as a sudden calm washes over me, noxious and dangerous fumes clouding my brain. Flashing lights dance in front of me like a million brilliant stars. Over my head, a solid white '1000'. I shake my head to clear away the sudden red fuzz at the corners of my vision and my hands curl into fists again on their own. It's time to teach those fuckin' ghosts a lesson.
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Mar 12, 2015 04:36
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But really, do it though.
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Mar 12, 2015 04:37
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The madman had the controller in his hand and I knew that now was my only chance to strike. Now was my only chance to save London from nuclear devastation. I rushed forward from my perch, leaped over the balcony, and landed before Alec. With the speed of a cheetah, I delivered a powerful palm thrust to his face. He slammed to the tiled floor, the controller sliding across the room. "No guns, James?" he asked, wiping blood from his lips. "Slappers only," I replied.
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Mar 12, 2015 12:27
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It had been a long, gruelling journey in the dark. Horrors had assaulted my decent bearing sword, bow and fang but they were beaten back. My prize was to be sought through levels of earth and stone and lava, using the techniques handed down to me by the wise men of my world I dug and I dug and I dug until, at last, my luck paid off. Diamonds. Carefully I chipped away at the rock that imprisoned them, cautiously I moved ontop of them, digging them free. Of course, my error was a simple one. They always were. The cracking of earth and precious gemstones gave way to the molten death below me. "Thyr0rk tried to swim in lava"
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Mar 12, 2015 13:04
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I crouch to make my bow tremble less, to steady my aim. A scantily clad bandit is crossing the stream and is nearly out of my range but I know she will see me if I go further. I have made longer shots. I can do this. I hold my breath. My mind is clear as I release. Like a hawk my arrow flies straight, a beam of righteous light piercing the air like a finger of God, flying.. slightly to the left of the now running bandit and into the shop keeper who was standing curiously still behind her, now all but impaled on my stupid daedric arrow. I retreat backwards into the bush as people come running. I hope he didn't have any quests that I might need... 
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Mar 12, 2015 20:32
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Killer-of-Lawyers posted:I reached into my overalls for my piece. The door to my rats nest of a home was cracked open. I stepped inside and turned on the lights. The bastard who broke in was still on my couch, a bottle of my best burbon laying on the floor next to him. Plagiarism shall win you no noir prompts 
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Mar 13, 2015 05:14
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Alrighty everyone! Sorry for the absence, but I had some real world drama and planning to take care of. Long Story Short, I won't be able to keep running this contest. So this is the Final Prompt! Tell your friends, tell your fellow goons, tell everyone!  The prompt is THE FINAL BATTLE!!! Write your story about one last confrontation. Build-up, execution, climax, aftermath, whatever is fine. Word Count: UNLIMITED! Sign-ups close: Wednesday, March 18, 23:59 (11:59 PM) Central Time Submission Deadline: Friday, March 20, 23:59 Central Time Brave Warriors:
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Mar 15, 2015 16:33
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I'm in.
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Mar 15, 2015 19:33
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Count me in! Building for the final climax as we speak 
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Mar 15, 2015 20:52
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In. Been meaning to do this for over a month, finally have the time this week, glad I caught it in time.
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Mar 15, 2015 23:11
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I'm in.
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Mar 16, 2015 12:40
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Yes.
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Mar 16, 2015 13:34
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I'm in for one more for the road. "It was the best of times. It was the blurst of times."
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Mar 16, 2015 23:20
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I'm in.
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Mar 17, 2015 00:37
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EDIT: A bad kitchen leak means I couldn't finish mine in time as it's being fixed. Will probably post the story anyway once I finish the story and the repairs. Artelier fucked around with this message at 04:27 on Mar 21, 2015 |
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Mar 17, 2015 03:41
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Oh, what the hell. I'll most likely be snowed in with nothing to do tomorrow anyway. I'm in!
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Mar 17, 2015 15:50
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Thyrork posted:ThunderDome-Lite would be appealing. So sitting around sucking your own dick then? Cool.
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Mar 17, 2015 21:31
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crabrock posted:So sitting around sucking your own dick then? Cool. God i hope not, i dont want half my ribs removing. 
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Mar 17, 2015 21:46
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I should be in if I can clean up this one I started sunday in time.
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Mar 19, 2015 00:03
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Call me Intern (582 words) Phew! I did it! I finally beat that game! It took six months to complete, but what a fantastic ending boss fight. At first, I wasn’t sure I was going to keep playing that game. The early tutorial levels were really drab and boring: coffee fetch quests for everyone in the office, printing reports for each department (had to use the copy machine cheat), quick-time-events of stapling presentations together. Plus, I didn’t earn much money and barely received any experience points. Some other players disconnected early because they couldn’t take the boredom and low pay. Others were booted from the game for trying to cheat or use exploits. One time, this guy Ryan was playing the level where you have to resist using the Internet on company time, but he couldn’t take the challenge and was escorted out of the game by mods. Eventually, the game difficulty started to ramp up. There were a lot of levels where I had to answer phone calls from enraged customers (the voice actors did a solid job of pretending to be lunatics) and try to solve their puzzles. I found there were multiple ways to solve those puzzles. Some other players would spend hours and hours in frustration trying to figure out those puzzles. I couldn't believe how easy they were! My solution was to hang up the phone. Level complete! I kept playing because I wanted to see the game’s ending, and it did not disappoint. The last day of the game, I was called into the boss’ office. I was really nervous and wasn’t sure I was ready for the boss battle. Did I earn enough experience points to take him down? How many stages would there be? Would there be cutscenes first? I walked into the office and the boss asked me to sit down. Ah ha! The first attack. I dodged it by staying firmly on my feet. I could tell he wasn’t ready for my counter because he started to get red in the face. His next attack was to look at me strangely and ask why I kept hanging up on people during phone conversations. The boss knew my strategy for solving puzzles? What incredible A.I. from this game engine! I had to counter before he could hit me with another attack. I didn’t have any weapons in my loot pockets, so I had to find something in the office. I looked around and picked up an office chair. From my years of gaming experience, I knew the weak point to most bosses was their eyes. So I threw the chair as hard as I could into the boss’ eyeballs. It was a critical hit! He was immediately knocked out. I bet it would have taken lesser players weeks to figure out how to beat that boss fight. Spoiler alert: for as much fun as the boss fight was, the game’s ending lacked creativity. I was escorted off the game’s premises by the mods and was told never to play again. I wasn't allowed to gather all my weapons and tools I collected during the game, and I didn't see any credits for the people who made the game. I bet they feel unworthy! I think this game could've had a lot of replay value to it. I even wanted to speedrun it on the next go. That said, the realistic graphics, audio, A.I., and gameplay will surely make the reviewers fall in love with this game.
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Mar 20, 2015 22:21
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IT’S ALL ABOUT THE CHEESE Word Count: 2,747 “There” the great black rat said. “There lies our goal.” All nine pairs of eyes followed the steady point of the blade as it pointed into the distance. Not all of them could see but most could at least make out the ominous tower looming out of the far dark horizon. “Must we go that far?” a small voice piped up. Frank was the tiniest of the mice, young though not the youngest. The warrior rat nodded solemnly. “Aye, and to what end I know not. Methinks that is but the gate-house, beyond further lies our journey. Will thine strength last a while yet?” The other nine nodded earnestly, though one or two exchanged furtive glances with each other. They had already walked for many nights and were weaker and more tired than any of them had thought possible. Only that tall brave rat with the impossibly large sword seemed undaunted. His powerful frame stood as tall now as it had when they set out four evenings ago on that fateful day. Another voice suddenly piped up, just as they were about to sling much-lightened sacks onto their backs again. It was the shrew, Patrick. “What do you think we’ll see there, Derek? Will there be treasure? Maybe hay? Or.. or cheese even?” All the rodents tittered at this, as much in mouth-watering anticipation as the unlikeliness of it. Frank again spoke, clearing his throat first so his voice would be heard over the sudden din. “I wouldn’t mind some cheese actually. I’m not sure I can remember the taste though.” The other rodents nodded, the rotund guinea pig going so far as to pat little Frank on the back, nearly knocking him off his tiny feet in the process. Derek didn’t answer at first. His gaze was still fixed on the horizon, his eyes steady and his empty fist clenching and unclenching at his side. Then, his voice coming clear and true over the others’- “Aye, treasures there may well be. I most heartily wish for thine dreams to be true Little One, for my heart too yearns for the taste of cheese and the feel of soft hay under my back. Aye, and treasure too, fat coins of barley and precious glistening milk to sup on. Aye, this castle, if a castle it be, will be full to its brim of good and wholesome larder. A hard path we have walked, hunted from our homeland. But hear this! A new home shall we find, one to make our own.” The others, though missing the meaning of some of Derek’s words, squealed in delight at this and were soon prodding each other to move. Frank’s tail was shaking excitedly as the troop moved out, the last few rays of the day shining wanly through gloomy clouds. For four days more they travelled, the looming castle coming closer and closer. To their eyes, as they journeyed through the bland landscape, the castle itself seemed to be inching its way closer to them rather than the other way around. Their mood darkened as the building grew, it invaded their dreams and woke them in the middle of the bright light when they would rather be huddled together and sound asleep. Their sensitive eyes seemed to see the foreboding shape even when closed. No amount of encouragement from Derek could raise their spirits. Even Frank, emboldened by the thought of cheese, found that his voice no longer wished to sing those songs that he had sung with family. The gloom oppressed him and swallowed up his voice. The others just clutched their knapsacks closer to their shivering bodies and shuffled onwards in the seemingly endless journey. But of course, all things end and one day, the castle was finally reached. Behind and to their left and right, the sky and earth reached out for seemingly eternal distances but in front, the black walls reached ever upwards and towered above them threateningly. Being rodents though they found courage and reaching now for long stowed reserves of energy, they dropped their scanty supplies and prepared for whatever horrors, or wonders, lay ahead. In a long line they entered through a dark hole at the base of the wall, their eyes slowly adjusting to the light. Derek took the lead of course, his bravery pulled them along as much as the fear of being alone pushed them forward. Last in was the shrew who took a long breath of the open air before plunging headlong into the void after his mates. His eyes, weak and myopic, failed to see the shadowy form that slunk towards the wall behind them. Carefully, ever so slowly, it followed them, following their trail and tiny footsteps. A tongue licked lips and teeth alike. The narrow hole quickly opened up into a large ceilinged room. Each of them had at one stage been inside a building but here, Larry the House Mouse ruffled his brown fur and strode to the forefront of the group. He spoke, a little too loudly at first but at a very appropriate level thereafter. “I can find my way around any building, just you wait and see.” He looked expectantly at Derek, waiting for approval. He had never travelled more than ten metres from his home before, not many of them had besides Derek, but as a house mouse there were certain expectations upon him. Besides, being inside made him feel a little more confident. Larry looked at Derek, his eyes quietly pleading for acceptance. Derek begrudgingly nodded. These creatures were his wards, but the smaller house mouse had a point. Here, inside, this new building, Derek was at a disadvantage though pride dictated that he hide this fact. Once again, they moved forward, stopping and sniffing every few inches, rubbing fur against wood to mark their path. They stuck close to the walls at first, but then dared to move across the open floor. Small detritus littered where they were walking but they sidled past the smaller ones and carefully went around the larger ones. Strange scents assailed them and many a snout was quivering in fear. Everyone jumped when Barry, that’s the guinea pig, sent a pebble skittering across the floor. Frozen, they scanned the darkness for movement, ears pricked for any sound. They seemed to be alone in this huge dark cavern. The only sounds that reached them were the usual creak and shudders of a building. At least that’s what Larry told them, his confident squeaks giving them all a little bravery. Derek walked with unslung sword though, tense, ready. He was always prepared for the unexpected. They had been dashing forward across one open space when suddenly, Larry stopped so quickly that they all piled up on each other in a furry ball. Disentangling themselves they all looked where the terrified trembling mouse was staring. High above them, barely discernible in the leaden darkness, a pair of yellow eyes was watching them. Unblinking, it continued to watch them as they bolted for the darkest shadows they could find. Three of the smaller mice hid behind Barry alone! Derek was the first to poke his head out, his long snout quivering, his fierce eyes scanning the high vaulted ceiling for a face, a threat, anything. Yes, there were eyes up there, yellow eyes that watched them intently. Tightening his grip on his sword (which in reality was a piece of aluminium he had found with an elastic band wrapped around one end for a grip) he moved out into the open. The eyes followed him. Acutely aware that the smaller rodents were watching him (Frank had his face buried in Barry’s fur), Derek marched out, puffing out his chest. In a loud voice, he called forth the beast “I am Derek Bullbiter, so called because I bit the bull of Rancid Pass and scared him so much that he left forever. I, Derek Stoutheart, Derek Bullbiter, call out to you! Beist you a demon or beist you a defender of the weak and helpless?” The silence lay on the gathered rodents like a pall. Undeterred, Derek shouted out again. “I call you out in the name of the almighty Capybara Colin, whose bravery is known from the darkest sewers to the brightest trees, Colin who slew his foes in righteous rage and with his spear named Justice-Giver. Who are you, knave? Come forth and let these eyes see what monster you are, lest you fear my blade!” Lifting his sword arm high he let the faint glimmer of moonlight filtering in from some high place fall on his sharp sword and for a moment, he looked like a god. Every rodent there was transfixed by Derek’s speech, and they reluctantly lifted their little heads upwards to look at the beady yellow points of light way above them. Even Frank who had only barely heard Derek’s voice through the mass of Barry’s quivering fur was heartened enough to look upwards. Thus they all witnessed the horror that was to pass. But without having witnessed, how could any of them have done what they did next? A horrifying laugh washed over them like a nausea, those eyes widening in delight and a toothy grin appearing below them. Now, they could see features, now the creature was letting itself be known to them. In delight it rained words and horrible laughter upon them as it leapt from the high rafters towards Derek. Its voice called them cowards and its form made them just so. Claws grasped the mighty rat and a sword fell clattering dully against the floor. Blood-curdling screams joined hideous laughter as the weasel tore their guide, their soldier, their friend apart. It was so quick, so gruesome, nobody could move. Everything was frozen except for the whirlwind that was in the centre of the room. The long sleek monster spun and danced while Derek lashed out with fists and tail and jaws, but not enough, he was too small against that foe. His thrashings only delighted the fearsome evil that had stalked them and haunted them for days, biding its time, waiting like a predator for the prey. Now, it clamped its jaws on Derek and felt the life-force leave his body. Eighteen eyes looked on, aghast, as it tossed the broken body aside and started to preen. The beast spoke, its voice was ice and fire: “I have killed and tasted your kin, I have hunted them all and now I have hunted you. I am death and you are nothing but a meal to me.” Frank, shaking, looked at the others near him but they were all looking at the bloody scene before them. The monstrous beast was licking its paws, enjoying the moment. Then, call it mass hysteria, call it bravery in the face of sure death, for that is what it was, the rodents charged forward as one! Frank just watched as Barry pounded out at the surprised weasel screaming for vengeance. The tiny but fierce shrew leapt at the yellow eyes that were blinking away tears of laughter, Larry shouting a battle-cry that sounded like “For the attic” as he ran forward, his body a tiny blur of browny-grey. The others too ran out, small angry puffs of fur against the overwhelming monstrosity of teeth and claws. Such was the speed and ferocity of the defenders that the weasel had no time to retreat before they were upon it, surprised and surrounded as it was. The tired and weak forms found new strength and courage and tore at it, biting and scratching the huge ugly sleekness wherever they could find purchase. Frank watched from his hiding spot and found his heart leap. Yet, despite the ferocity of the rodent troop and the bravery of the smallest, nature has its own hierarchy and that’s that. The weasel, recovering from the shock of being attacked by its food, lashed out and with a single strike sent several small mice scattering. Its claws found Barry and he was sent tottering, clutching his chest where he was torn. The shrew held on tightly where his teeth had found flesh but was shaken off eventually before being held in place as other larger teeth found their way to his flesh. Bloodied but not beaten, the weasel tore and bit and returned every attack sevenfold. Rodent bodies flew everywhere but resiliently got back up, shaken, a little less whole, but determined. Rodents were brave, everyone knew that. Frank still watched, rooted to the spot, unable to flee or move to join his comrades in the doomed but beautiful end. He saw Barry eventually go down, a hundred cuts bleeding through his soft fur. Larry lay crumpled on one side, Frank couldn’t see if he was breathing. The shrew, the mighty shrew, his broken form lay still, next to... Derek’s sword. Suddenly, Frank’s mind cleared. A lightness spread through him, his head was tingling gently. He was small, smaller than the rest but he would do it, he must do it. His friends, they were dying, they were dying for a promise. Derek had been killed protecting them. Their leader, their courageous leader. Frank had lived a mouse but he would die a rat. He would die making Derek proud of him. Then he moved, impossibly fast. He had never moved so quickly, his little body a blur of anger and pride and righteous vengeance. Like a flash he ran forward, reaching the shrew in a moment and grasping the huge sword in a fluid movement. He leapt, soaring through the air like an angel, the light reflecting off the shiny smooth blade. His eyes were bright, his heart was pure and his aim was true. The blade pierced the weasel’s back and in that moment the world stood still. Heads were raised from wounded shoulders, mice and rats and guinea pig turned to look The great maw of the weasel hung open, shock in its eyes. Then, with a loud clamour, the weasel collapsed, dead, the sword piercing his heart. Frank shook himself and stood up from where he had fallen. He ran first to Larry who was lying just a few inches away but was even now getting to his feet. Barry was hunched over but breathing. He would be alright. Then he made his way towards Derek’s prone form. His chest was moving ever so slightly but what could a mouse do? He moved closer, then whispered in Derek’s ear “You’ll be ok Derek, you’ll be just fine.” Through a rasping breath, Derek responded, every word a struggle “No, Frank, but you did it. You saved everyone.” He waved his arm weakly, some of the legendary strength coming back for one last speech. “Here, here is Frank WeaselBane. Know him, for he is your leader now.” Then, in a quieter voice, he turned to Frank, blood on his teeth and a dimness in his eyes. “Take.. take my sword. It is yours now. Bring them... bring them to the end...I... I....” “Yes Derek, yes!” “I...always....believed.... in..... you....” With that, Derek Bullbiter faded from this world, a legend in his own time. A hush fell upon the gathered rodents, and the world became a bit darker. Then a small mouse turned to Frank. She looked unhurt but her eyes were full of fear and wonderment. “What.. what shall we do now?” Frank looked at her, his eyes level with hers. He looked around at all his friends, seven pairs of eyes looking expectantly back at him. “Now? Now we go on, now we rebuild. Now...” He looked at the broken shape of Derek and that brave shrew called Patrick. “Now we honour our friends and finish the quest.” Cheers erupted from all around him, rodents clapping him on the back. The large guinea pig, supporting Larry, laughing, managed to clap him on the back. Only this time, Frank didn’t fall over. This time, Frank stood tall. Looking at this, no, looking at his group of bedraggled and war-torn but bright-hearted refugees, Frank’s gaze drifted beyond the carnage and the still shuddering form of the weasel-beast. There, bathed in the first rays of a new dawn, a beacon was shining out of the dim gloom. Incomprehensible but yet beckoning, it read: CHUCK E CHEESE: ENTRY Slinging the sword over his shoulder, Frank looked back over his friends. They would win, together, they would win.
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Mar 20, 2015 22:36
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Mediafire. Google Docs. Against Goldmask Word Count: 3,022 The city of Mar Easterdam was dying a foul death. While noblemen and commoner fought in the streets, fires set by hapless looters ate away at home and business alike. In the middle of that chaos, Jean sneaked by. Separated from the rest of her team by the earlier madness and pushed by the flow of panicking inhabitants of the city she herself set to the torch. She felt the familiar tingle in her ear and Jonathan's voice whispered "Original exit's a bust Lead, we're going to the backup. The city’s main parks should be near you, look for any signs with a slashed eye on them. Books says we'll meet you at the gates." Jean reached up and pressed a finger to her lower ear. "Any sightings of Goldmask?" "None." She let off, saving Books the pleasure of a few of her venomous curses, and carried on into the city. The air grew steadily cleaner as she snuck by the empty homes of the nobility. Jean heard movement behind her. She spun around, levelling her pistol at the man who so carelessly tried to sneak up on her. He appeared to be unarmed. "Away!" she commanded, not wanting to kill the man, she didn’t have the rounds to spare. The man froze, eyes going from her, to the gun, to behind her. A lifetime of living at the bottom and fighting gave Jean good instincts and she lashed out behind with a kick. Something solid, a gurgle and a crash to the ground was her reward. "Any more of you hiding around?!" she shouted, heart racing and blood pumping at the exchange. When she was met with silence, she made a show of levelling the pistol at him. "Which way to the amusements, brother?" she said, tone turning cold. Now there was fear in his expression. "Fo- follow the road around the bend, stick to the left. It's all I know!" "Thanks, best hope we don't meet again." He whimpered in reply. Jean walked over to his companion, giving him a swift kick to keep him down. She gave them both one last looking over before quickly departing, heart like thunder in her ears. It remained quiet after that, the amusements were a place of cheap entertainment, a common space comprised of walled off pools, parks and pavilions. Anyone caught trying to sleep here would be quickly run out by the watch. With no fleeing mobs of panicked citizens and nothing worth looting, the only people she could see were small groups making their way out of the city. Jean took a moment to study the district from atop a vast staircase, looking down upon the gate that marked the start of the parks proper. Two guardsmen watched the burning city wearily, Jean knew sneaking by them would be impossible. They tensed at her approach, one levelling a evil-looking halberd at her, the other keeping a rifle handy. She held up her hands and tried her best to be pleasant. "Brothers, don't be hasty. I'm fleeing the city too." They eyed her carefully. "Well armed for someone looking to run away." Halberd commented. "Yes, I have a number of fellows with me who should be coming by soon and it would be wonderful if you would let us pass. You're more than welcome to join us in exiting this fine city, unless this post is so important you would risk your lives?" "What do you think." Halberd asked his companion, unmoving and watching her carefully. "I'm thinking we've done our job." he grumbled in reply. "Could be risky." "You could stay here, I'll go with her, you follow?" Halberd snorted at that. "You know you can't. I'll go. Maybe they can help you with that leg." Jean hadn't noticed that, Rifle was leaning against the gate heavily, his leg in a rough splint. "I have a doctor who can help with that." she offered. Rifle's eyes narrowed, then he sighed. "Fine, go with her. How will I know the rest of your fellows, Lady?" "You'll know. Ask for the Copperknives to be sure." They both flinched at the name. "I... shouldn't have told you that." Jean muttered, more to herself, as Halberd burst into laughter. "What'd be the use in arresting you now, Lady Copperknife? The city's in flames, the nobles are dead, gone or fleeing. We couldn't stop you and we won't get paid." he said. She smiled somewhat sadly, "No point at all, brother, but I can at least get the two of you out of here, maybe get some help for that leg." Rifle's face hardened as he stared into the burning city again. "Go on Mac, I'll catch up." he told Halberd. "Thanks Harry." Jean nodded her own thanks to the rifleman before crossing the threshold at a quick stride. Mac quickly caught up and the two of them had barely stepped out of earshot when the sound of running coming from behind caught her attention. A yell from behind was quickly followed by the sickening crunch of metal against flesh. The snapping of a body crashing against the gates, accompanied by the dying gasp of the man formerly known as Harry. Jean turned around as the man, who had previously murdered one of her own, flicked the gore from his brass enhanced knuckles and rose from the kill. Goldmask. His face, much like his name, a mystery hiding behind a polished, featureless, cover. In that moment Mac roared in anguish at the death of his companion, Jean caught her mind taking in the details with an oddly detached insight. The mask had a number of openings where the eyes and mouth should be, yet the features they hid remained concealed. The brass armour he wore like a second skin over his ropy body was complemented by his rich trousers. The fine cloth was torn, revealing more brass underneath. It was that mask however, that damned mask that showed nothing. The smooth face giving no insight to his emotions. Was he ecstatic at the kill? Was he afraid of her as she was of him? Paralyzed by information and fear, Jean watched in building horror as Mac levelled his halberd and attacked. To his credit, the blow struck true, even if it was because Goldmask made no effort to block or avoid it. His gaze, as the tip sank into his shoulder, seemingly fixated on her. His attention turned to the young guard who had realised the tremendous folly of his action too late and Goldmask swung at the weapon effortlessly, shattering it and causing the young man to fall to the floor before him. He raised a terrible, brass covered foot and slammed it down onto Mac's back. The sound was something that would haunt Jean till the end of her days, but she wasn't without her insight. Goldmask reached to the imbedded remains of the halberd and ripped it free of him, drawing blood before the armour flowed back into place like liquid. Some part of her mind made a note of that while the rest of it shrieked for her to run. She obliged. Goldmask gave chase but was blessedly slower than her and they both ran deeper into the maze-like structure of the amusement district. Jean ran blind. Ran until her lungs burned. Ran until her legs screamed, but she kept on going. Time had no meaning to her in that flight but she couldn't have been running for long. Dusk was settling in when she finally collapsed from her escape, chest heaving she collapsed near a well lit fountain, reaching into its waters and rubbing a handful into her face. It helped. She wearily turned around and waited. By the time he had arrived, she had worked out some kind of plan. No poisons or tripwire, she'd left that behind. Three throwing knives, seventeen pistol shots, one combat knife and one short sword. Mac's death had shown her one thing, Goldmask could bleed, the armour didn't make him invulnerable. A shot or a knife to the head might be enough to down him. She had her charms of steel and glass under her reinforced leathers, but she'd seen his handiwork, any hit would be very bad. She cursed herself for the umpteenth time for leaving the tripwire behind as the crunching strides of Goldmask announced his arrival. He stepped out of the twilight, breathing heavily. Jean eyed him as he collected himself. Stretching and rolling his neck, he was utterly indifferent to the rising annoyance of his prey. As he stretched out for the third time, Jean shot him, more out of irritation than anything. The sound of breaking glass confirmed her first fear. He had a glass charm somewhere. He stiffened at her gunfire and righted himself slowly. He chuckled at her and went back to stretching. Jean kept her tongue in her mouth and noticed the difference between shoulders. The charm was hiding away under his right arm, she hoped. She put away the gun, feeling the warm surge in her blood as she committed to this. No more running. She might have been faster, but he was obviously not as winded as she was. Another running spree like that and she'd not be getting up. He continued to stretch, she threw a knife at him. It sank into his leg and brought out an irritated shout before he pulled it free and discarded it. She smiled at him darkly and drew her sword. His charm wasn't modified. "Enough of your exercise! Did you think to kill me with flexing?!" she spat the challenge at him. The words could have been better, but the bravado cleared the fear from her mind. She had a plan, get that charm off. Goldmask simply chuckled then broke into a run at her. He wasn't as fast as she, but he moved with awful inevitability, like a boulder crashing down a mountain. The first swing she slid around, lashing out at his exposed side with her sword, careful in her strikes for fear of losing her grip. The blow loosened the armour but didn't bite into flesh, she spun around facing him again, his missed blow leading into a fearsome kick that she barely avoided. Stepping back a few, Jean reached down in one smooth motion and picked up the thrown knife from before. He closed again, punching low this time. It glanced off her armour, it splitting with a terrible ripping sound on her left and the sound of glass as it deflected the blow. She span and lodged the throwing knife in his shoulder, into the strap where his charm was held. It sank in with some difficulty and he howled in anger and swung at her. Nowhere to dodge, she brought the sword up to block the blow. It struck with such force that she dropped her weapon and staggered backwards, a deadly misstep. A second blow struck her right in the chest, the talon edged brass fist gorging into her armour. The screech of shattering glass agony in their ears as her glass charm exploded from absorbing the blow and the steel one flared into such heat as to be unbearable. Jean crashed to the ground, bounced and crashed again coming to a stop, her steel charm coming warm in warning. Goldmask rolled around, brass hands over his ears, the howl of broken glass dazing him worse than her. Jean struggled to her feet, reaching for her two remaining throwing knives. They both sank into his leg. With a snarl of pain and rage he pulled out all of the offending metal, crushing the three daggers into uselessness before getting back to his feet, favouring one leg over the other. "Down to just these then." Jean muttered, pulling out the pistol and combat knife she'd been saving. Her blood chilled, glass shattered into uselessness and armour no better than nothing, she was all but naked and getting so tired. Goldmask started towards her, she leapt backwards empty the remaining four shots at him, he grunted at the brief assault then froze. She smirked at him as he frantically felt for his missing charm then looked around , finally setting on its shattered remains alongside one of her ruined knives. It bought her enough time to reload and empty another six into him. It mostly just pissed him off, but there was an odd satisfaction to that. He charged towards her and in a moment of madness, she met the charge with one of her own, lithely dodging under his poorly thrown blow and smashing her combat knife into his arm. It buried through soft flesh, striking the brass cover on the other side and lodged itself there. She tried to pull it free but it held fast. Wide eyed in shock, Gold mask, unable to properly strike her, shoved her with all his might instead. She must have blacked out for a moment, noises and voices in her head impossible to understand. Her steel charm burned as it did its work, clearing her mind. She almost wished it hadn't. The sickening sound of the blade being removed over the agonized growling of Goldmask was an awful thing to come back too. Her senses cleared just as he tossed the broken blade aside, breathing heavily, living armour pulling itself back together. With shaking hands, she reached for her pistol and the last set of rounds. She couldn't find it. Desperately she searched again but nothing. "Must have fallen out." she laughed to herself softly, levelling the pistol at him anyway. His own movements were slow, a wet chuckle bubbling from behind that mask, Jean kept on giggling herself, some part of her mind snapping from the fatigue just as his did. "Hey, hey, how about we call this one a draw? Walk away with both our lives." He stopped at that. Looking away, head tilting as if thinking, seriously considering her offer. Then he shook and focused back on her. "No?" she sighed. "A shame." She threw the empty pistol at him, more out of defiance than anything, and resigned herself to whatever came next. A single shot of some faraway rifle broke over the background hum of Easterdam's self-destruction, the shot sinking into Goldmask's wounded leg. He went down onto one knee with an outraged sound and struggled to rise again. Jean scrambled away from him, looking for something, anything that might help. She found her sword. Twisting, Jean rose intent on finishing this and she nearly collapsed, catching herself on the sword as the pain of her steel charm flared, firmly reminded her that something was wrong. Jean hobbled away the best she could from Goldmask as he continued to rise and walk slowly towards her. Then, finally, blessedly, help arrived. The punch Fredrick landed was empowered by technology he had sworn to never use. The incoherent, angry tirade he spat at Goldmask while pummelling him Jean only caught parts of as she struggled to remain conscious over the pain. "Not another, never again!", "Robbed us already of someone, I won't let you take another!" and other words to that effect. In the end, Goldmask lay still on the ground, curled up, armour still trying to pull itself back together. Fredrick stepped back, breathing hard and glaring at the man who had taken Alex from them, daring him to rise. Jean sagged, leaning heavily against the sword as Marcus and Jennifer caught up. Marcus caught her and helped her down onto the fountain again, muttering reassurances. Her arm was on fire, she groaned against it. "Get this thing off me." Marcus ripped at her shoulder armour, carefully reaching for the burning brand of steel clasped around her arm. "Don't take that off her!" Jennifer snapped at him. "But its burning into her skin!" "Its also the only thing keeping her stable! Leave it!" Jennifer's features softened slightly as she came to Jean's side. "Lead, I know it hurts, all I can do for you is take the edge off until we get Sawbones here." Jean muttered something unkind, trying to reach for the charm herself. Jennifer took her hands. "No, Lead. Don't make me bind you." the steel in her voice shook some lucidity back into Jean. She nodded. "Sharp, get some water. She needs something to drink this down." Jennifer was already reaching into her pockets, pulling out a number of prepared remedies. She took it without protest and sat quietly as the pain faded to tolerable levels and her mind went into a blissful lull. Jean didn't remember much of what came next, details flowed into one ear and out the other as the rest of her crew reassembled. Goldmask was dead, the injuries he had suffered over the course of fighting her had more impact than the armour showed. The brute could throw a punch, and take a bullet, but he couldn't handle brawling. Her second, Lee, tried to recover the body of Alex but had no luck and in the end had to flee with Jonathan. They both arrived last. The rest of the crew arrived safely, Jean was tended to and the charm that kept her alive cooled enough to be safely removed. The scarring it would leave behind would be evil looking indeed, but better to be scarred then dead. Soon after removing the steel charm she blacked out from fatigue. The next thing she would remember was leaving the city in a litter, pulled by her crew, a flicker of regret coming to her over the fate of the two guardsmen. They all returned home, the right favours were called, people were bribed off, the mark on their heads was rescinded. Money was made from the whole endeavour, but money doesn't bring back the dead. That should have been the end of it. The end of this foolish crusade to rob a city blind while putting an old man's daughter, the only child who was worth a drat, in charge of it. Sadly, things rarely work out for the best.
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Past, President, and Future Book 8: The Revolutionary Warriors Chapter 64: In Medias Prez 1272 Words Google Docs “You can’t win,” said Agnew. “You know that, right? There’s a hundred thousand ways this can go but all of them end with you bleeding out. We’ve seen it.” Barack twisted his katana into Agnew’s stomach and then used it to flip him up and into the swirling purple void that surrounded him. He watched intently as Spiro Agnew’s body was torn into its base chronomolecules and scattered throughout history. “He’ll be back,” said Abe, placing his bloodied hand onto Barack’s shoulder. “That’s what they do now, and with the Vetoes of Time they could do it anywhen. We’ve lost, Barry.” Abe walked to the edge of the chunk of rock they were floating on and sat, his legs dangling over the side and into the early 1920s. “The Vices,” he continued, “they can do whatever they want. Dozens of us lie dead in any number of time periods. Dozens more of us were never even President at all. Andrew and the other traitors, the Cosmic Confederates, and behind every damned corner always that blasted Tainted One. It was always too much, Barry, from the very beginning, and with them having the Vetoes it’s all over.” Barack stared out into the ether and tightened his fist. He didn’t want to believe it, not after having fought so hard for so long. Still, Abe had a point. He had watched in horror as Aaron Burr had driven a gladius into poor Taft’s chest. He had been helpless to prevent Cyber-Jefferson Davis from deleting Bill Clinton from the timestream. He had been too late to stop The Tainted One from throwing Washington into the Infinity Collapse. It was always The Tainted One - always. Barack felt a burst of wind in this windless place and turned his gaze upon a crack in time. Through it, he saw a familiar face: JFK’s metal jaws gleamed that famous smile through the white light. Kennedy stepped onto the rock and quickly shook Barack’s waiting hand. Barack, for his part, was stunned silent. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he chuckled. “You guys look like someone poo poo in your cereal. Don’t worry, fellas. I’m up to speed. And I’m not alone.” From behind his portal stepped the remnants of Teddy’s squadron: Wilson, Truman, and Teddy himself. A scar ran from his right eye down through a now-missing portion of his famous mustache. He didn’t look as happy as John to be there. “The rest?” Barry asked. “Martin? The Cleveland Twins?” Teddy looked sullenly at the rocks below his feet. JFK broke the silence by creating a portal with his cyber-arm and motioned for the others to enter. “I told you, I’m up to speed,” he said. “I’m also sure of what’s behind all this. All of it: from the Vices, to the attacks on our legacies, all of it. I know who The Tainted One is and I know where he’s going. Er, um, up for one last ride, boys?” The others, beaten and broken, finally relented and headed for the portal. Abe was the last to come, finally standing and readjusting his S.T.O.V.E.pipe Helmet before leaping into the portal. The men found themselves in the middle of a vast field. The sky was black and yet at the same time seemed to be a fiery red. JFK’s timestream senses sent him to his knees in pain. He could hear the screams of everyone who would ever die at this location throughout history. This place was a killing field: from here, all things die. “You came.” The Presidents turned to see the familiar hooded figure of the Tainted One, his arms outstretched while the orbs containing the Vetoes of Time swirled around them. With a sudden jolt of rage Teddy rushed forth but a bolt from the Tainted One’s hands sent him to the ground, writhing in pain. “Now YOU have polio,” the Tainted One laughed. They’d never heard him laugh before. They’d barely heard him even speak. He was getting cocky. This was the end of all time, perhaps, so why, then, should he not? “You switched his history with someone else,” Abe grunted. “Doesn’t matter. You can’t do that to all of us. We’ll fight you to the last, you bastard! You wish for total destruction, to deny us our very right to life - to FREEDOM! Those who deny freedom to others deserve it not for themselves!” Abe hurled his psionic harpoon at the Tainted One who seemed somehow distracted, as if he were both in front of them and somewhere else entirely. The edge barely sliced through his dark purple robe and the others watched as his hood slid to the ground. “Sonuva-” started Obama. “The Tainted One… of course! It makes perfect sense! Richard-” A blast of some sort of eldritch energy sent Barack to the ground, holding his chest in pain. The others remembered their studies of history beyond their own times. They knew the Tainted One’s face well - the only one of their number to truly disgrace the office. He had been thought killed in the initial attacks, but suddenly all things became clear. “Stay where you are or die like Abraham Lincoln!” screamed Richard Nixon, his body fueled by the energies of deleted time itself. The remaining Presidents hesitated and that was all he needed: they could feel something, pain in their past, and then their bodies twisted and fell to the ground. He was making horrors of them all. Teddy Roosevelt screamed in pain as he felt his greatest accomplishments vanish. “You buncha idiots,” Nixon sighed. “You’ve all squandered the legacy were had as Presidents of the United States. It is our sacred duty to patrol the timestream for threats to America and beyond and yet none of you lifted a finger until I decided enough was enough. Do you know what my legacy is? A quitter. A fink. A crook. Well guess what, morons? I AM NOT A CROOK!” Lightning from his fingertips shot forth and caused the squirming Presidents to yelp. “I am THE crook!” Nixon laughed. “I am the thief of time! I turned our own Vice Presidents into the time-phantoms you’ve been fighting, I brought Jefferson Davis the technology he needed to distract you while I gathered the Vetoes of Time. This has ALWAYS been about ME! I’m not going to be the worst President of all time - all of YOU are! I’m stealing your accomplishments, one by one! Who won the Civil War? Nixon, that’s who! How about World War II? Who stopped the Commies or 9/11? Richard gosh-damned Nixon! They say you’re greater than I am? None come before Nixon! NONE!” A bolt from beyond time crashed from the heavens into Richard Nixon’s pulsating body and sent him sprawling to the ground. The Presidents, now able to see through the fog of Nixon’s meddling with their pasts, could only look up in awe and silence at their savior. He floated to the ground, his body cloaked in an all-white, almost luminescent, military uniform. He stared at Nixon, his eyes erupting with energy. He landed on the grass, which all now recognized as the future site of the Watergate Hotel, some millenia hence, and turned towards his troops. “Get up, men,” Washington smiled. “The fate of unborn millions will now depend, under God, on the courage and conduct of this army. Our cruel and unrelenting enemy leaves us only the choice of brave resistance, or the most abject submission. We have, therefore, to resolve to conquer or die.” George Washington drew his lasersaber. “So let us conquer.”
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Mar 21, 2015 03:58
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