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Edited by ROBOT JOSH: 6/22/2016 2:20:51 PM
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Hey there #Offtopic! What have you guys been up to? Did you eat lunch? Do you like anime? No. Well then let's begin! Now apparently you guys enjoyed my previous thread, and to be honest I did too. You guys are amazing authors. My personal favourite was [i]The Red Butterfly [/i] by LilHorsenuts. If you still haven't recieves your drawing, please be patient. I have a job and cannot pop art out of my butt. Now let's see... [https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/207332811/0/0 [b][i][u]NEW THREAD. PLEASE POST STORIES THERE.[/u][/i][/b]
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  • [i]Just An Echo[/i] As I stand here, I imagine you try to catch words I am trying to say. But they slip past, a whisper of wind on your skin that makes any person shiver. But won't you listen to my tale? You see, I've been so very tired. When the war came, I took up shields and arms like any respectable man would do. I had already been through many battles, scars like trophies marring my skin. If you were here, I would gladly tell you all the stories of my struggles. Point out each raised flesh on me, prideful of what I had to go through. But the war took that pride away, all I had vanishing from me. I can still picture it so well. Care to picture it with me too? I can always remember the sunshine of that day, the breeze a token of peace out here. The rocky mountain terrain was easy to scale, yet all I wanted to do was run my hand through the golden grass swaying peacefully. They were so eye catching, the patches they grew from between the grey rocks like unyielding warriors. I believed everything was a warrior in its own right. You just to have to look closer at what you see. Our lands were under our feet, the damn invaders claiming our home as theirs yet they have no proof. Did they ever farm such supple lands? Did they know of which rivers that wind and twist a man's life at whim? Did they think that they could take our home without battle? No one could wave such offense away. The peace before the storm, my brethren beside me chanted, eyes darting cautiously around us. I could never get him, how his eyes seemed to rove over every nook and cranny for any threat. My battle sister, eyes alight with fire and that unquenchable need to fight was behind, her iron clad boots clanging on the ground. Behind us, our own ragtag group followed. I believed we were all tired of this insufferable war by now. The way my scars itched made me think that way but I couldn't be so sure. Our giant frames held threat, yet out souls stayed small and flickering in our own hopes and dreams. Peace before the storm I heard once more. I told him to shut up, the best of silence after that like water in a desert. It was beautiful. Why did it have to be so beautiful? And then it all shattered in one fell swoop. I don't remember the details, not much anymore. It's been a while you see, my memory jaded yet I still can piece together what happened. There was a shout of surprise, the sound cutting whatever image I had at the time. I whirled around, just as one of my comrades fell, a large arrow through his chest. I still wished I could run to him at the time, to comfort as he lay gurgling in his own blood. I swear I heard that last echo of his fading heartbeat, my heart stuttering as well. I should have stayed next to him. I should have held his hand before he had passed. But I had turned around, a bellowing shout tearing from my throat as more arrows arched overhead. The barrage was met with undesired effects, my shield taking the brunt of the attack. Yet still, even when I knew that this battle was just beginning, I wanted to still run my hands through the grass. This part made it hard for me to keep going, but I shall continue. It is part of the story is it not? I fought uphill, the people hidden under the stones nothing but dead flesh under my boots as I treaded further upward. I swung my sword, deadly metal against bows and that sweet abyss a final greeting to my enemies. But all I could see what red. So, so much red. It was a brand on my mind, my body, my soul, the longer this battle waged. My brethren fought beside me, all wanting the sweet taste of victory. I wanted to taste that too, to finally have all this end. I just wanted this damn war to end. And somehow, the Gods above seemed to respond. I remember that one arrow that I never saw coming. I remember the tip slicing through my skin, that red I knew so much springing forth. I remember the pain, the agony as I tried to pry the little thing from my body. But my blood proved slippery, as if trying to stop me from what I was doing. I just wanted the war to end. I fell, angry at such a small weapon. Yet it stayed, lodged in like a warrior trying to fight to the death. It hurt. Everything hurt but I could still hear my own rapid heartbeat in my ears. Feel warmth spill from mouth, a choked cry as well at the sight of my brethren fought on ahead. They had left me. Just like I had left the first fallen one. Somehow, it didn't hurt as much. Still fighting, I lay on my back to catch my ever shallowing breath. I didn't want to remember my heart slowing, or my eyes filling up with tears. Tears were weakness, and I was not weak. I was a warrior. I was what to be feared. I was not going to fall here, like some helpless whelp. I was... I was so tired. I knew I had died that day, all my anger and sadness manifesting into what I am. Of course I was still there, my body and throat never reaching my comrades. It made me so mad, so weak, so desperate. I could only watch, rooted like the grass. Maybe it was to be my prison. Maybe I just didn't want to see what had happened. My body rotted away, became one with time yet I did not care. The war was still there, the war was still going. I was scared that I had been forgotten, terrified of what memory of me was still there. I was so angry. The years though took what was left of my shattered soul, smoothing it down to almost nothing I was before. But if I concentrate long enough, I can feel a throb of that ever trapped inferno in my heart. I still had fight in me after all. I was a warrior. But now I sit, still waiting for this war to end. The grass has passed, grown anew, passed, and continues that cycle. I still try to get your attention, feeble as it seems. Can you tell me if the war has ended? I just want peace. I just want to know if I had fought for a good cause. But you do not hear me. For I am just an echo of the past still trapped in time. I'll repeat it as many times as I can so that I will remember. I just want the war to end. Care to listen to my tale?

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    • He was there. There when the world began. There when the world began to peak. There when the world began to fall. The man had lived through it all, and, even when the earth was crumbling beneath his thin feet, he did not want to die. He knew that there would always be more, and that he would find it. And explore it he did. He stood up from the bus bench that he was sitting on, and began to walk through the crumbling city. He looked around the broken buildings of New York, remembering another time, one when the city was considered amazing by the mere humans, where the buildings could touch the sky, and were still built higher, for humans were beings filled with the Sins of wealth and greed. It was this wealth and greed that dried out the oceans, and reduced the world to a crisp. He looked around at the buildings remembering this, the burned and broken corpses, and chuckled slightly. They had learned their lesson. When would he?

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    • Once there was a very ugly barnical... he was so ugly everyone died.[spoiler]the end[/spoiler][spoiler] get the reference;)[/spoiler]

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      Once upon a time... [spoiler]If your imagination is good, it'll be a good story.[/spoiler] The end.

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    • Hey! How's the comic going?

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      • [i]Another day in the field of bones. The Scavenger wandered, and wandered, and wandered. He walked amongst the thousands of eternal corpses that lay scattered across the ancient battlegrounds, each decaying skeleton in a varying state of decay. The man stopped dead in his tracks when he got to the end. Thousands of lives lost decades ago, for what? Peace amongst two hellish lands, both slaughtering each other for land and power? That's what these skeletons represented - Death and destruction. One body caught the man's attention. It was a head, severed from the rest of the body, which was already sinking into the dirt beneath The Scavenger. But, this was the reason he was here. He crouched down, put his hand on its forehead, and thought back to the day his brother fell. [/i] --------------------------------------------- [i]The clashing of steel, a whirlwind of blood, and a rain of wood and steel was the only thing visible to the eye of man. One man stood on the field, his sword clenched in his hand, while his buckler was safely resting in the other. From nowhere, an arrow hit him in the back, forcing him to spin halfway and fall to the ground. His vision fades to black, becoming nothingness... [/i] --------------------------------------------- [i]The Scavenger felt a tear roll down his blue cheek. It was time to rest then. He lied down where the corpse was, gently sinking into the ground. He was his brother, he was his son, he was the Spectral Soldier, and he had his fun. The skeleton sat beneath the ground, with the Scavenger resting inside it, a spirit forever trapped in the skeleton. [/i]

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      • Edited by Thanatos: 6/18/2016 9:11:19 AM
        Gary McIntire was an ordinary man, a boring man. He was average height, average weight, had an average wife, and two fairly average children. Gary worked an average marketing job, and was only at the museum on Thursday because his most recent client was an art fanatic. Gary never really liked art. Sure, he appreciated the beauty of a good painting, but he never understood why one may sell for thousands of dollars at an exhibit while another would barely go for 20. Lost in his thoughts, Gary felt a tap on his shoulder. "Mr. Winter," he said, seeing his client behind him, "I'm glad you made it to the exhibit." "I'm sorry I'm late, Mr. McIntire. The traffic here was abysmal." "No problem, sir. It just gave me some more time to admire the artwork," Gary responded. "Ah. What do you think of this latest exhibit? I understand they recently bought a collection of paintings by Carl Dryfus." "Dryfus? No, I haven't seen that portion of the exhibit yet," Gary responded. Quickly reading the card on the painting in front of him, Gary said, "I've been admiring the Roscoe paintings since I got here." "I've never been a fan of Roscoe's later work. It's just a bit too similar to Roskinsky's early paintings. Come, let's see the Dryfus exhibit." Gary followed Mr. Winter into the next section of paintings, wondering to himself why he had to be stuck talking about artwork for the next hour with a client he barely knew. Mr Winter abruptly stopped, and Gary saw the painting he was being directed to. In front of him was an oil painting of the Alps. Gary recognized the mountains immediately, having vacationed to France during his honeymoon years ago. Over the mountains, he saw a marvelously accurate depiction of the night sky. He could even pick out individual constellations in the painting. To his right was another oil painting, one of a woman walking along downtown Rome. To the left was an abstract piece with light and dark colors somehow bleeding together to make something beautiful. Mr. Winter stood in awe of these paintings, talking on and on about how very few people could see the world like this, and how even fewer could convey it in such a fashion. Gary knew that he had no place in this discussion, so he told Mr. Winter that he needed to step out for a moment to make a call to his wife. Mr. Winter simply waved him off and told him that he'd meet Gary outside in just a few minutes, never looking away from the paintings. As Gary stepped around the corner, glad to be spared from the ramblings of an art fanatic, he bumped into a young man. As Gary began to apologize to the young man, he noticed something odd. The man had dark sunglasses, large headphones around his neck, and a long walking stick. Gary, stunned, asked the man, "Excuse me sir, but are you, by any chance, blind? I'm sorry if this seems blunt, but what would a blind man be doing in an art exhibit?" The man paused for a second, and then replied, "Yes, I am, in fact, blind. I was in a car accident about 6 months ago and lost my vision when glass shards flew into my eyes. Although I have been able to adjust in some ways, the greatest loss was when I could no longer see these magnificent works as I used to. The headphones, for all their description, cannot match the magic of seeing a painting in all of its beauty with your own eyes." Gary was astounded by this answer. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said, "and I hope that, someday, medicine will find a way to let you see again." The man nodded, and turned away, returning his attention to the description from his headphones. Ten minutes later, Gary saw Mr. Winter leave the exhibit. "Thank you for meeting me here, and tell your boss that I'm grateful for the tickets he gave me to see this exhibit," Mr. Winter said. "I'll call you tomorrow about signing the paperwork for our deal." After Mr. Winter left, Gary stood in front of the museum, waiting for the cab he called to arrive. As it pulled up, the blind man from the exhibit bumped into Gary. "I apologize, sir," the man said to Gary. "Is there any chance you may be headed to the Mariott? If so, I would be more than willing to split the cost of this cab." "Yes, I am, in fact. I'd be happy to split the fare with you. Before we leave though, could I get your name?" "Of course," said the man. "My name is Carl Dryfus."

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        • Is it too late to enter or is it the last day???

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          • Edited by Spooky Doggo: 6/15/2016 6:02:15 AM
            We made it seven summers before my before my boy started asking questions I knew I could not yet answer. I'd been a good father: put a roof over his head and food on his plate. Even started teaching him: he hated it, the lessons, the sitting, the learning, but I knew what he didn't. That school down in the valley didn't teach him a single truth. The teachers spoke only the lies of a prideful empire who has won a hollow victory. And really, that's all humanity was anymore. Of course, my son didn't know that: how could he, he was so young. All I could do was help him begin to understand. My first and most important lesson to him was this: "Question everything, but never aloud." Blend in in every way save the mind. Don't raise your hand in class, or question the teacher in any way. From an early age, my son was trained to bring his questions to me. And so the questions came, and for the most part, I was prepared. "Why is the sky blue, Dada?" "What are the bunnies running from, Dad?" "Father, why must we live so far from the village in the valley?" Simple questions with simple answers. Then the veil of innocence began to fall from my son's eyes. At first, I was proud, as he began to take note of the world around him, noticing for the first time the finer details of life. But then the real questions came, and I knew my son's time as a child was ending. I'll never forget the first of his unanswerable questions; his school had taken a trip up one of the neighboring hills for a meal in the outdoors, accompanied by several of the other children's parents. "Father, why do the other men spit?" A harmless question, yes? It would be, in another time and another place. My son was smart: he wasn't talking about the simple habit some men acquire of spitting on the ground at any given moment. No, my son was referring to the ritual adopted by the locals of spitting at the top of each of the valley's distinct hills. How could I explain that? He was still too young to understand the importance of the gesture. The hatred it carried. The history it entailed. I don't even remember how I responded: likely some mumbled response about unfortunate habits and the importance of keeping sanitary tendencies. I thought I was safe. Then, about a fortnight afterwards, my son asks, "Where do mountains come from?" I was drinking a glass of my wife's fine cider at the time, and nearly choked on the syrupy liquid. I had figured there would be a time when that damned school would put his head in some unwanted places, but I hadn't expected the moment to arrive so soon. Fortunately, I had a hastily prepared response about geological shiftings and the paths of nature, and whatnot. Thank god back in my day schools actually taught science. I felt a little bad about lying to the kid. I mean, of course, that is how mountains and hills are made. Just not [i]our[/i] mountains and hills. But for the time, his curiosity was sated, and I had again saved what was left of his innocence. Everything was fine until he came back from school one day with a black eye. I was furious, and my wife almost marched down to the school herself to confront the teacher and find the student responsible. Only it wasn't a student. It was a parent. My son was in tears. He wasn't much of a fighter, not like his old man; not yet anyway. I waited patiently for him to calm himself. Once his tears had dried, I inquired as to how he had received his injury. "All I did was say how hard it was to climb Brother Mountain every day to get back home, then Elder Davison punched me." It was my fault. I'd been stupid, calling it Brother Mountain around him. Every mountain and hill surrounding and within the valley has a distinct name: the one we live on is officially called Smourn Mountain, but I have given it a different name. A more suiting name. Given the circumstances, I am actually surprised my son was not given a more thorough beating. Time passed, the wound healed, and my son's questions eventually ceased. There were a few incidents over the years: "Where do the mountains get their names?" and "Where did Elder Böfern get his cool armor from?" I had reasonable enough answers for each of these questions, though I had to beg Old Man Bö to please keep his dangerous relics away from children in the future. Eventually, my son became more focused on school, friends, and women than the mountains he lived in. And I was thankful. Then an ultimatum was reached. My son was 16 years of age: almost a man, certainly no longer a boy. He went romping around in the mountains with a few of his comrades, I suppose; I'll never know exactly what happened. From what I can guess, one of the lads he was with must have placed a wager- or maybe [i]he[/i] was the one to place the wager -and the boys decided to take their chances in the forbidden Empty Mountains. I'll never forget the look on his face when he walked back in through the door to our home, because he wore the same face I wore when I saw Them for the first time. He was quiet. He took off his boots and coat slowly, methodically. He sat down. And he just... Stared. At nothing. His mind forming thoughts without start or end. After a time, he looked at me. I could hardly look back, because by then I knew. I knew what he had seen. "Dad," he said, the tremble of shock evident in his voice. "Where do mountains come from?" A tear ran down my cheek. I felt it, and I admit it without fear. I almost crumbled in that moment, but I knew I had to stay strong. The time had come for my son to learn the truth. "Dad," he started again, the tremble replaced by a wary confidence. "Do mountains-" his voice broke, and he turned his head in shame. "Go on, son," I responded, not lifting my gaze to his eyes. "Dad, do mountains have bones?" I shifted my eyes, finally meeting his. There were no tears streaking his face as when he was a child. My boy was a man now. And my boy was ready. I took a heavy breath, and paused, before responding. "Not all of them, son." I heard his breath catch. He didn't want it to be real. He wanted to be told that the colossal rib cage he had seen was a hallucination- a trick of the light. He wanted to be told that the skull bigger than our house was in fact just a dream. He wanted to be told that mountains were just mounds of rock, not tombs. But this was not the truth. Neither of us slept that night, he too disturbed by the day's revelations, and I too disturbed by the memories said revelations had excavated. When I grew up, there were no mountains around this valley. I vividly remember whining as a small child about how everything was "flat flat flat!" And then they came. Larger than anything we'd ever built. They changed everything, and they just walked right up to us. They were kind. Unmalicious. But they were different. And that made them monsters. So man started a war, unlike any before it. Unnecessary, uninstigated, and unceasing. We fought our new neighbors simply because we couldn't be bothered to share. It wasn't attrition; it was extermination. Millions of men died, more casualties than any war in the past had wrought. The destruction was unparalleled, entire cities being decimated in the span of hours. But we killed them all. I was not born into a land of Giants, and neither was my son. Humanity let their skill as exterminators shine, bringing a race to extinction in under 20 years. Eventually, the Giants decayed, and only bone remained. Then the Earth rose up to reclaim them. Some sooner than others. My son knows this now. He knows the bones of Giants line these hills. He knows of the war. He knows so much, and has become a fine young man whom I am very proud of. And as I lay here, writing this, he is outside, raising children of his own. And I have but one last thing to teach him. The schools teach of a great traitor to man, who sided with the Giants in the war. None know his face, but all curse his name. This traitor, though but a simple man, became so close to the enemy that he was kin to them, sharing in their traditions and lifestyle, and living as one of them throughout the war. He killed hundreds, perhaps thousands, of the most despicable, loathsome human beings alive. But that is not how history remembers him. In fact, it would be better if he were forgotten entirely. Lost to history. Buried in a nameless grave. And so I ask my son for one final gift. Bury me in Brother Mountain son, where you have lived your whole life. Bury me, that I may rest with my fallen brother at last.

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            • [i]"All warfare is based on deception. For years, the West's hypocrisy has made the world a battlefield. The corrupt talk while our brothers and sons spill their own blood. But deceit cuts both ways. The bigger the lie, the more likely people will believe it, and when a nation cries for vengeance, the lie spreads like a wildfire. The fire builds, devouring everything in its path. Our enemies believe that they alone dictate the course of history, but all it takes is the will of a single man.[/i]

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            • Bump for later.

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              • Edited by Seananagans: 6/18/2016 7:30:10 AM
                [spoiler]I like my writing to go with your picture.[/spoiler] "It's good to see you again, brother. Still can't get rid of those pesky crows? You should really do something about that; I can't shoo them away for you all the time. I don't know why they like you so much! Or at all for that fact... Look... I'm not actually here for small talk. We're going back to war. I'm sure you know this already, but I need to tell you. You know I must fight for our families and elders who fought before us. I must fight for a better future for our kin! You've managed to fight long enough to get out, but... You know me, I'm a great fighter. My instinct to survive is subconscious. And I've narrowly escaped every battle I've ever entered, with plenty of scars to tell the tale. Listen, I don't think I'm.... I'm going to suppress my instincts this time. I've fought for too long. Men bred to breed and fight for our offspring. What are we even fighting for anymore? I feel our motives are falsified now. I don't want to narrowly escape this time. I want to fight until it's over or until... It's over. Brother, I don't know how to say this, but I envy you; your freedom. And you don't ever leave here! You nor your neighbors ever leave here and I want that; I crave that. I'll be moving to my next battleground, and hopefully staying there. It's on the east side of the mountains. Hopefully you come to visit. And hopefully I'll be joining you soon, Brother. Farewell, for now, your younger brother 'Bubba.'"

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                • Edited by Will: 6/17/2016 12:42:07 AM
                  Funny how a city could make you feel small. I mean; I was human. Saying that I felt small doesn't make a lot of sense. But I suppose when you're 15 and an orphan, training to be the world's best swordsman, not a lot of anything makes sense. These are the random thoughts that went through my head as I ran the streets of New York. The towering skyscrapers, the constant rumble of engines, the crowds of pedestrians, they all made me feel like a pawn in some gigantic chess game that I couldn't even begin to comprehend. That day was a good haul; in the tattered and worn backpack over my shoulders I'd gotten plenty of money, food, and water. Alex would be proud. As the leader of our ragtag bunch, he'd sent me on a thieving and scavenging mission. Picking up anything I could get my sticky fingers on. Anything that would help us survive. Hailey and Ashley pulled guard duty, and I wasn't sure what Marissa and Jacob were doing. But Hell, if the whole swordsman thing hadnt worked out, I would've made a decent thief. Yet that wasn't what fate had in mind. If you believe in that sort of thing; fate. Me, personally? -blam!- that. No one or nothing decides what path I'm going to take and how my life will end up. I'm in control of me. Ducking into a rat ridden and trash scattered alley, I pulled the six-inch combat knife from my worn black jeans. The simple leather grip felt comfortable and worn in my hand, and the scratched steel blade held a sense of familiarity. We picked this route because it typically was the safest way to get to our hideout; but that didn't mean some wandering thug or drug dealer wasn't prowling in the shadows, waiting for a victim. Even if they were, I knew they weren't any match for me. I was a prodigy, as cocky as that may sound. Anything with a blade, I took to immediately. It was probably my dad that subconsciously drilled that into me. He was always at the dojo practicing and training. Swords, knives, you name it. After what happened to him, I was gonna be the best. The world's greatest swordsman. The burn scars that covered my back seemed to warm at the avenging thoughts. The black katana I had slung across my back seemed to hum in agreement. It was my dads, he gave it to me a few days before he... Yeah. It's name was Kira. Japanese, for something. My hand absentmindedly stroked the hilt of it comfortingly. It was all I had of mom and dad left. Several times thugs had tried to take it... Let's just say those thugs weren't sucking air anymore. The alley was clear as usual, the only visitors cockroaches and rats skittering in the dark. I came to what seemed like a dead end of brick wall in the run down alley; but there were a few tells. The first were the near invisible trip wires a few inches about the ground. Those were tied to cans inside, so if someone came wandering, they'd make quite the noise. The second and third were the two windows above the alleyway, on the wall that was the supposed dead end. This is where Ashley and Hailey would be keeping watch. Strange... They weren't there when I arrived. Consequently, I shrugged it off. I walked up to the brick and pushed on one stone in particular, that depressed into the wall. Half the wall started to rearrange itself into an opening, leading into the warehouse that was our hideout. I chuckled at the thought. Secret entrance into a secret hideout. There was nothing that you couldn't buy in this city. That was the last time I'd laugh, for a good while. I stepped through the opening, pressing a second stone to close the opening and into the dimly lit one story warehouse. I suppose I could blame the light for not seeing the horror scene in front of me. Flipping a second switch to trigger the lights on the ceiling, everything in the area hit me like a train. The small-ish area of stone walls and floor; was covered. In blood. Pools, spatter, drops, sprays of it everywhere. The crimson liquid assaulted my senses like a force of nature; the same time that my stomach, heart, and any other internal organs sank to my shoes. My hand went limp and dropped the knife I was holding, landing with a splash in a pool of blood. My eyes slowly scanned the room, my body seemingly forgetting how to function. Taking in the scene in front of me, I forced myself to take a few steps, waves of iciness travelled down my spine as my worn tennis shoes stuck against the floor. That's when I saw them. Off to the side, near the corner of the room, were my friends. Chained by their hands and hanging from the ceiling. Alex, Hailey, Ashley, and Marissa. All stripped down to their undergarments, and bleeding. Bleeding from hundreds of cuts in their skin, fresh and stale blood on their bodies. Their skin cut to shreds and all of their heads hanging against their chests, their hair matted with blood to their face. The realization struck me that the blood around the room, the blood that was sticking to my shoes and making it hard to breathe, was theirs. I wouldn't realize until later that Jacob wasn't with them. Just as I began to walk towards them, Alex struggled and lifted his head from his chest. Alex, the caring, kind, and leader of our group. Alex, my role model, mouthed one word to me. I could tell that even that small effort cost him what little life he had left. Run. His head slumped back down to his chest as the realization hit me. My friends, my comrades, my brothers and sisters of two years straight; were dead. The shock of it was enough to send me reeling, reeling backwards and scrambling, slipping in the blood of my friends, my running steps to the door imprinting in the crimson floor. I made it out the door and into the back alley before what little food I'd eaten that day decided to leave my body, via regurgitation. Wiping the back of my hand on the corner of my mouth, my body started to tremble and sobs began to rack my body. Tears flowed freely down my face; my medium length hair falling in my eyes. My back slid down the brick of the alleyway as I sat down, my face in my hands and my tears coating my palms. They were dead. Butchered like animals, and I wasn't there to help them. They died knowing that I'd live while they were cut to shreds. But who? Who did it? "Who?!" I screamed between gasping breaths and sobs that tortured me, screaming to the sky, to whatever deity that may exist and decided to let such a thing happen. Slamming my fist into the ground hard enough to stun the bones in my arm and my hand go numb from pain. They were dead. That's when I heard the footsteps; echoing off the alley walls a split second before the voice. "Who you ask? Well, your answer is right here." The voice was low and cold; with a hint of mocking in it. The tone sent waves of chills throughout my body, the sound like razors on ice. My constantly trembling body came to a complete stand still, and my tears stop flowing. Terrified to death at what I'd see, I turned my head to face the owner of the voice that sounded like death itself. ~~~~~~

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                • It's the year 3023 and man kind has conquered space. You probably have a lot of questions but I don't wanna explain a whole millennium and solar system to you I hope you know why but to give you a quick introduction the human race expanded over the almost the whole solar system. You are also wondering how we live without any atmosphere well this might sound weird but we live in giant bubbles I don't expect you do get it. Also to answer the question you've been all waiting for no Uranus doesn't deserve it name it's a nice place and also my home. So let's get back to me I'm Kyle Bentley but most people just call me Kyle. I work at the I.L.E.A that's the short version for Interstellar Law Enforcement Agency. It's basically the police just with a fancy name and cool space stuff. My job is to catch the bad guys or how I like to call them space pirates. Today my boss gave me a contract to catch a guy called Vaughn Hanson aka Stardestroyer, they wanna arrest him because he sells drugs it's just normal day business. So I went to Neptune a cold piece of shit. He was last seen in Gütersloh a little sphere on Neptune only for people without a future or outcasts. I felt dirty just by walking to his house I can't imagine living there. After half a hour of searching I found his house I was surprised it was even locked but it was not hard picking the lock as I entered I locked around he was probably buying some groceries because there where no shoes. As I proceeded I came into the kitchen the first thing I noticed was baby milk and dippers. At that moment I questioned whether or not I should arrest him I wouldn't be able to sleep knowing I have arrested a father. I looked down the floor there was only one room left I was a little nervous but I didn't know why it was just a baby I slowly opened the door and saw a crib with a little baby in it . I bend over the crib and saw a little girl judging by his pink clothing sleeping like a angel. The next thing I noticed was a gun pointed to the back of my head with the words "Who are you". I instantly knew it was Vaughn he was nervous his gun was shaking. I told him who I am and what I want he let me stand up to explain it a little bit more so I told him that I don't want to arrest him. He didn't believe me at first glance but I finally convinced him that I was not there to harm him. I said him that the I.L.E.A will find if he stays so I offered him to come with me he thought it was just a trick but he said yes because he had nothing to lose he just took a rucksack full with clothes and the baby with him as we traveled to Uranus I asked him where the mother is but he didn't answer so I didn't ask again. My flat was to small for three persons luckily my parents always liked the idea of a daughter so he and his baby stayed at my parents house. I didn't know what happened with me that day but one thing I finally realized my live has gone the wrong direction for a too long time

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                  • Bump for later, I just have to sleep before I start this :P

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                    • Story in the spoiler below \/ [spoiler]for many years the inhabitants of caltropolis lived under the protection of a massive skeletal warrior known only as the Templar. The Templar was an ancient creature, no one knew his origins, but occasionally they heard him mention a place called "the abyss". The Templar was a kind hearted Goliath who fed off of the energies of the evil that he vanquished in defence of the town. the people loved him, he asked nothing in return yet gave so much. Then one day, it all changed..... "Shut the gates! Keep the monsters at bay until the Templar arrives!!!" One of the guards screamed. The town was under siege again by an army of ghouls and demonic creatures, this was the tenth time that month, the town had just used the sacred trumpet to call the Templar and his foot steps could be heard in the distance. The towns guard was doing their best to hold the attackers off, then suddenly there he was. The Templar had ran into battle and began cutting through the hordes with ease, the towns people cheered. The hordes were swiftly cut down and the citizens gathered to thank the Templar for saving them, then suddenly a scream was heard. One of the townspeople saw a portal opening in the distance, the portal was enormous and through it came a warrior the size of the Templar. It carried a massive greatsword and wore hellish looking armour with a red glow coming from the faceplate, the Templar turned to face the warrior knowing that if he failed to defeat it the town would surely be destroyed. The two giants ran towards each other, each swinging their weapons which suddenly met causing a massive clang. The duel only escalated from there. Parrying, slashing and blocking the Templar put up an impressive fight, the warrior however, seemed completely unfazed. Then suddenly, more portals began to open on the horizon and hordes of monsters came from them rushing to the town in a murderous frenzy, then the warrior spoke "brother, why do you fight for these people? They are but worms." "I fight so they may live just as any other creature can!" The Templar responded. "It does not matter though, my hordes will over take the town then I will bring your head back home to show our people that the traitor is dead" the Templar realized there was truth in these words, even if he defeated his brother, the hordes would destroy the town before he could stop them at this rate, there was another way though. The Templar channeling all the energy he had gathered over his time with the people into his sword, the effort draining him of his life. "No! What are you doing, stop!" The warrior screamed. The Templar however slammed the end of his sword into the ground, releasing an enormous wave of energy, destroying all the monsters. he could see his brother fleeing back through the portal before his energies sealed it. The Templar collapsed to the ground, satisfied, he had stopped the demons attack and saved the town, but at a cost. Then as he lay there he saw a young girl who had ran out of the town looking up at him, she had a worried expression on her face. The Templar laughed reassuringly then said "do not worry, little one, I have imbued the lands with my energy, preventing the demons from ever setting foot here again your people are safe, now return to your parents they are probably worried about you." She was the last thing he saw before he died, though he died satisfied, his mission was complete the town would be safe forever. What he did not see however were the people gathering near him after death to write a legend about him on a rock nearby, a chronical of his exploits in defense of the town. And to this day, true to his promise the Templars energies still live on protecting the town from evil. Some say they have seen his ghost, and that he will return when the people need him most, but only time will tell.... [/spoiler]

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                      • Edited by Sardonyx: 6/16/2016 11:02:16 PM
                        [b] [/b]

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                        • Edited by Troy the Unggoy: 6/15/2016 7:04:50 AM
                          Kirk Hammond was down on one knee in the shop, changing the oil in Jeremy’s motorcycle. It was a hot day, blistering in fact, and even with the air conditioner running, everything just seemed boiling. Just then Kirk’s knee slipped and spilled the oil collection pan, it got all over Kirk’s jeans, and all over the floor. “Cock sucker!” Kirk shouted. “Brrrt CLACK CLACK CLACK, Brrrt CLACK CLACK CLACK!” It sounded like gunfire, that awful heart wrenching sound.Then Kirk was there again, in the Brazilian rainforest, on a blistering hot day, just like this one. All those people stood in front of them, in front of Kirks squad. They looked like concentration camp prisoners, nothing but bone and rags, as if they weren’t even human. They looked at Kirks squad, fear in their eyes, not able to understand what the Americans were saying, or why they had rounded them up in such a fashion. Kirk looked at his commander. “What are our orders?” he asked. “Our orders. Our orders are to kill these people.” Said the Sergeant. Kirk felt a shock go through his body. He had killed people before, but only because they were enemies. It was either them or Kirk, but it didn’t really make it easier, especially with the child soldiers. But these people are in need of help, not murder. “You’ve got to be -blam!-ing joking, sir.” Stated one of Kirks squadmates. “No, it’s a mercy killing. These people are beyond help, especially this deep. They were casualties before we even arrived.” The Sergeant said to them. The Sergeant aimed his weapon at the crowd. And they didn’t even flinch, didn’t even give a sign of any emotion. Except for one child, it was impossible to say if it was a boy or a girl, who began to cry. “You will follow orders soldiers!” the Sergeant shouted. “With respect sir, this is wrong.” Said Kirks squadmate. Despite the obvious rejection of orders, the soldiers raised their weapons, all except Kirk. One of the people fell to their knees, and raised their hands to the sky. And then automatic fire tore them to shreds, all of them. The rounds barely had anything to go through, and even ripped some of the people in half, leaving their devastated organs strewn about on the ground. Kirk just stood, baffled at what had just happened before him. The others moved forward, checking to make sure no one had survived. “We’ve got one over here, a kid.” Said one of Kirk’s squad mates. He began to aim his weapon. “No! Lower your weapon, Kirk has this one.” Said the Sergeant. The Sergeant pushed Kirk forward, and pointed at the kid. “Go ahead soldier, save this poor child from this awful war. From the starvation, the -blam!- and murder, the cannibalism. He deserves it.” Said the Sergeant. Kirk felt numb, like he wasn’t the one controlling his body. He seen his hands come up, weapon drawn. He didn’t need to aim, not when he was this close. He fought, he didn’t want to kill this defenseless child, but he wasn’t in control, and he seen his finger squeezing. And he seen the childs eyes, his big brown eyes welling up with tears, and he smiled a smile that yearned for its lost teeth. BRRT! Clack clack clack... Three casings hit the ground, and Kirk couldn’t take it. Blood had spurted onto his uniform. He bent over and vomited, and then he fell back, sitting in the dirt. He began to sob, he couldn’t take it, what he’d just done. And then he was back in the shop, covered in oil, not blood. He could feel the tears running down his cheek, and looked down to see his nails digging into his palm. “God DAMMIT Jay! What the hell have I said about using the air wrench when I’m in the shop!” Kirk yelled. “Shit kirk, I didn’t think you’d hear it. I’m sorry.” Jay shouted from across the shop. “Just go home, we’re calling it a day!” Kirk shouted at him. “But what about-” Jay began to say, as he was crossing the shop. “It’s a small town, they can -blam!-ing walk for once!” Kirk interrupted. He stood up and walked outside. Jay knew better than to bother him when he got like this. Kirk needed to get some fresh air. He thought the PTSD would have worn off by now, it’d been years since had fought in the Brazilian war. He decided to walk to Rosemary’s church. His daughter was expecting him, but Jeremy’s motorcycle was taking longer than he thought it would. But he knew she was with good people. He walked with his eyes on the sidewalk, attempting to purge the thoughts of war from his mind. He thought of his late wife, the love of his life. She had died during childbirth, but there daughter was a miracle that inspired Kirk to live. He seen the church aproaching fast, not more than a few blocks away. It layed on the outskirts of town, a good bit away from the other buildings. It was nothing too exciting, not much more than a steeple. The building was old however, older than most of the town. As Kirk drew near he thought he seen something on one of the windows. He is initial thought was that it was paint or something that had splattered on the window. "What the -blam!-." Kirk said as he drew near. His heart began to race as he made a dread realization, it was blood. He felt a surge in his body, one he had not felt since his time in the war. The church had seemed far to quiet as he had approached. He knew something had to be wrong. He ran for the doors and threw them open. What he beheld was something that startled even him. The pews were skewed this way and that. There were bodies strewn about, blood everywhere. Someone sat without a head in the pews. And there were people just sitting there in silence. Then Kirk heard a scream, one he knew all to well. He looked up to see his precious daughter being held in the arms of some sort of animal. It bore the head of a rooster, and seemed to have the body of a man. As he looked he realized it had a serpents tail. At this moment those sitting in the pews turned to look at Kirk, and did so with an eerie syncronisation. As they're heads came around he seen they had no faces, Kirk rubbed his eyes in disbelief. "Kirk Hammond! I am so pleased you could join us!" Shouted the vile monster. "My name is Abraxas, and I am ever so pleased to make your acquaintance." Kirk had one thought shoot through his mind. He needed to destroy this thing. He immediately ran outside, and slammed the door closed behind him. He seen some 2x4s sticking out of some bodies truck. He ran for them, and then used it to jam the door shut. "Daddy!" Pierced through the throbbing in Kirk's mind. He made the grim connection with what he was about to do. It reminded him of the child in Brazil, the one he shot. Without any control he ran back to his workshop, and grabbed a canister of gasoline, and some matches. He hurried back to the church, poured the gasoline on the front of it. He lit the match, and he wanted so bad to hold onto it, to find some other way, but Kirk was numb now. The next was a blur, Kirk remembers crying as he seen the fire trucks pull up, too late as the church was nearly cinders now. And he remembers when he couldn't hear his daughter screaming anymore.

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                          • Edited by Sieg of Catarina: 6/15/2016 2:48:36 AM
                            I don't like deserts. The heat. The sand. The emptiness. All of it. It's all irritating to me. Chudor is a much nicer place, colder weather. No place like home. Regardless, I shouldn't be thinking about home, but rather how I'm gonna deal with this -blam!-ing army charging for me. I can't seem to count them, but judging from the size, it's not worth counting. I know this is gonna get hectic. I lower my helmet visor, and I draw my Grand Broadsword, and my buckler. I get away from my dead horse, I snap off the arrow sticking out my thigh, and just wait. The army arrives, but... Wait... That's new. There was nothing. Like it was an illusion. What's that about? How did that happen? When di- [b][i]Drums. Drums. Drums.[/i][/b] "I've heard those before" I say. The drums aren't paired with any nation. If I know correctly, this is like in a book I've read many years ago. What happened in it... I think there wa- [i]Chills shoot through my back. I instantly feel cold and light headed. I feel terror. My eyes widen. I get goosebumps. I feel heavy[/i] I realized what those drums meant. I thought it was only a tale to scare me as a child, but I now I realize... [b]It's real.[/b] I begin to run. The sky begins to turn rapidly black. Screeches can be heard echoing through the land. My ears, eye sockets, and nose begin to bleed. I feel weak. I feel like I'm in the wrong place. I feel the need to turn around. When I do, the sound of a screeching and dissonance pierces the air. Then ceases [b][i][u]YOU NEED TO REMEMBER... SOLDIERS DON'T GO HOME WITHOUT SCARS.[/u][/i][/b] Says the jawless, pale, floating woman with black pits for eyes and tattered black hair and black robes, in a quiet but unsettling voice [b][i][u]I WARN YOU HERE AND NOW. YOU ARE ABOUT TO BE INTERTWINED WITH SOMETHING WAY OVER YOUR HEAD. I WONT BE THE ONE TO EAT YOU ALIVE. THEY ALL WILL.[/u][/i][/b] I blink and she disappears, and everything returns to normal. I feel a sharp pain etch into my palm. [i]26 days[/i] is etched into my hand. "I don't have much time to save Elana..."

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                            • Calvin lay in bed. Next to him was his sister Samantha. Sadly their grandfather had passed away and grandmother had to stay and sleep in Sam's room. Their grandmother was getting older and could no longer take care of herself. The family knew that the end was coming, but noone expected her husband would pass first. It was a cold rainy November night. Not at all how Calvin wanted to spend his birthday weekend. He was so excited for the weekend trip with his family. Sadly with grandfather's passing it would have to be cancelled. Calvin missed his grandfather. He loved him. He thought of their fishing trips, watching baseball together, games of catch at the park. The thoughts spinning in his head combined with his ruined birthday plans were to much. He felt the tears begin to roll down his cheeks. "Sam, are you awake?" Calvin shook his sister. He needed to talk. He suddenly felt an emptiness fill him. Loneliness and hopelessness crept up. He needed to talk. To know someone was there for him. "Sam please wake up..." Calvin placed his hands on his sister. Suddenly something just felt...right to him. He felt his sisters soft warm skin on his. Suddenly he didn't feel cold and empty. "Sam...." he whispered into his sisters ear. He leaned closer. He noticed how soft her hair was. The smell of her shampoo washed over him. He leaned closer, wrapped his arms around her. Stroking her shoulders and hair. Suddenly he felt an urge. Something was making his pants...tight. He didn't understand these feelings. What was happening? He looked under the sheets to see his pajama pants pressed forward like a tent. Confused he looked down his pants. He was horrified at what he saw. Yet it felt good. He pressed it firmly into his sister. It felt good. Real good. Suddenly Sam started to stir from her sleep. "Calvin...what are you doing?" "Shhhh....." Calvin continued to hold her firmly against him. Sam squirmed at first....tried to pull away. Then she relaxed. Calvin got the sense that she was enjoying it. They lay in bed embraced, her back to his front. Arms wrapped around each other. It was almost like Sam knew how much Calvin needed someone to be there. All of a sudden the lights turned on in the room. A horrified shriek pierced to quiet night. It was Calvin and Sam's mother. "What is going on in here!?!" Calvin pushed Sam away but his mother had seen enough. She knew exactly what was going on.... "How could you hold your sister while sleeping?! What we're you two thinking?!? With everything going on you two do this!" "Mom..." Calvin started but his mother cut him off. "No! Don't talk to me. Don't say anything. There is nothing to say to me! I can't allow this to happen under this roof! You're movin' with your auntie and uncle in Bel Air. I whistled for a cab and when it came near the license plate said "fresh" and had dice in the mirror. If anything, I could say that this cab was rare, but I though "nah, forget it, yo home to Bel Air"! I pulled up to the house at about seven or eight, yelled to the cabbie, yo homes, smell you later. Looked at my kingdom, and I was finally there, to sit on my throne, as the Prince of Bel Air.

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                              • NOW THIS ALL HOW MY LIFE GOT FLIPPED TURNED UPSIDE DOWN NOW LEMME TAKE A MINUTE AND SIT RIGHT THERE ANS I'LL TELL YA HOW I BECAME THE FRESH PRINCE OF BEL AIR! IN WEST /R9K/ I WAS BORN AND RAISED. AT THE ANIME CONVENTIONS I SPENT MOST OF MY DAYS TELLING PEOPLE THAT THEIR ANIME SUCKS WHEN SOME PEOPLE WHO WERE UP TO NO GOOD CAME AROUND IN OUR NEIGHBORHOOD. I UNSHEATHED MY KATANA AND SLAYED THEM ALL THEN MUMMY TOLD ME 'YOU'RE MOVING TO YOUR AUNTIE ANDS UNCLES IN BEL AIR"

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                              • [i]And his nose bled onto the rocks, black under the light of the sickle moon, and he let it run because it reminded him that he was human. The wind stirred the ferns and whispered ancient tales from within the undergrowth. Night owls flew silently overhead and he heard something die, distant and cold and alone. As he lay to rest, he dreamt only of blood that ran in pools of crimson and pools of black.[/i]

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                              • ◟꒰⌳̈ ꒱ Die die The end

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                                • [b]CHAPTER 1[/b] am an skul [b]CHAPTER 2[/b] am ded [b]CHAPTER 3[/b] teh burds b flyin [b]CHAPTER 4[/b] send b avrywere [b]TEH ND[/b]

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                                • Edited by Cyber_219: 6/16/2016 7:30:59 PM
                                  [u][b]Operation EOCA I, 29-D[/b][/u] [b]Mothership Foxtrot, Mount Olympus, Mars[/b] [i]01:58, January 24, 2071[/i] "The geothermal engine E is at 37% damage, Captain... Oh... But the whole West Wing B is gone, sir. Atomic generators were lost at 23:47 when 29-D impacted and destroyed West Wings B through I... But Operation Winter would!.. Oh.. I understand... I'll get to work..." [i]August 28, 2056 - September 14, 2060[/i] Private Noll wasn't much of an engineer. He never really paid attention in his classes. All he could think about was getting his school career over with so he could just relax. He never really was the active type. Right as he got his diploma, though, people were getting drafted. Drafted for top-secret missions, with big names like NASA written in all different places on contracts, that were under development by the governments of Russia, the United States, Europe, and even small countries. No one knew what this was for until they appeared at their Airports to be shipped of to the Kennedy Space Center. Months of training and long waits between phone calls with friends and family made every day more of a struggle, not just for Austin Noll, but for every other cadet with a degree in engineering, biology, astronomy, and mathematics. The first time each new recruit saw the Motherships, hulking masses of metal and mind made for beyond-earth exploration, they either fell in nervous breakdowns or sporadic bursts of excitement. They where assigned a Mothership based on their last code numbers. Austin's number was AN-6, for Austin Noll F, or Mothership Foxtrot. Each Mothership had a different destination. Alpha was Mercury, Bravo was Venus, Charlie was Luna, Delta was Deimos, Echo was Phobos, and Foxtrot was Mars. The Red Planet. Each ship was stocked with 10 Years worth of fuel, water, MREs, Freeze dried fruits and vegetables, and other assortments for sustaining life. All Motherships had 13 wings for each side, West and East. Each wings had a backup Atomic generator, for the situation of any geothermic generators in the main board failing. They also come equipped with a viewing dock, garden, solar array for electrical needs, and even Satellite Television for each participant in Operation E.O.C.A. EOCA stands for Exploration of Other Celestial Assortments. [i]12:04, June 11, 2067[/i] "10. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. We have liftoff. All systems check. 100% Functional. Liftoff successful." Motherships Alpha through India where launched at 12 hour differences. Motherships Juliet through Quebec need clearance from Motherships Golf, Hotel, and India that the asteroid belt has been cleared for takeoff beyond Jupiter. Private Noll has started his nine-month journey to the Red Planet. Nine months of making friends and ending rivalries between other space bound people on Mothership Foxtrot. [i]09:25, December 3, 2070[/i] "Captain Fulri, sir, our astronomers have located a nearby meteoroid from the asteroid belt. We need to do something." Meteoroid 29-D was a medium sized piece of something bigger, Asteroid 29-A, that got chipped off by another meteoroid, Meteoroid 24-A. Mars's atmosphere, even though it has low gravity, attracted the two space debris at an alarming pace. It could only be stopped by a missile, but a missile that sized would take months to build, when a mathematician estimated it would only take 60 or so days for impact. Luckily for Foxtrot, the Mothership was close enough for the over 1,000 drop pods - that can hold up to 50 people - to be able to be launched and make contact with the surface of Mars. They would be sent with a bio-dome, soil-fertilizer, and everything required to set up a permanent station on Mars. [i]24:08, December 21, 2070[/i] More than 3/4s of Mothership Foxtrots crew has colonized Mars with the supplies contained in the 600+ pods ejected from the main board. People still on board are saying goodbye to new and old friends, packing their belongings, and making haste to East wings A through I, which hold the remaining pods. Women, children, men, higher-ups were to be launched in that order. Only around 30 days until 29-D came into contact with Mothership Foxtrot. [i]20:05, January 23, 2071[/i] "Only 6 more hours until 29-D makes contact sir. Only 60 members are still on board. They will be launching soon." "I will stay with Mothership Foxtrot until that point. If you want you can stay with me, but you can leave if you want," replied the Captain. "Then I'll stay. After all, you'd go crazy by yourself." "Then stay." [i]3:56, January 24, 2071[/i] "I have received a transmission from a civilian on board that their pod was hit by West wing Gs Flap at 2:43. I have just now gotten a message saying they're okay and have touched surface safely." The Captain was in West wing Bs debris, scavenging for one of multiple black boxes strong enough to send a transmission back to Earth. If he didn't find it, though, he was sure they'd see the fireworks. [i]13:54, February 14, 2071[/i] The Captain had found a backup Atomic generator while looking for a black box. The front third of the main pod had an emergency hatch big enough to drop the Atomic generator to Mars for the colonists. He still had found no black box. [i]10:27, March 19, 2071[/i] Smaller, less fuel-consuming rockets for more civilians were headed to all the other planets and satellites ready for habitability. People zoomed passed Mothership Foxtrot thinking it was abandoned. Sometimes passers by would see flashes from the hull. Rumors appeared on how a ghost was there, but no one was gutsy enough to inspect. "A new city has appeared on Mars. Colonists call it New Orlando. Seems like they're really making a living." "We'll get there eventually, Private Noll." "Eventually."[spoiler]If I'm up to it I'll make part two, but for now thanks for reading![/spoiler]

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                                • Edited by Jolly Templar: 6/15/2016 1:39:59 AM
                                  Once upon a time ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) was walking through the forest. Then, out of no where, Hillary Clinton jumped out on the path! She started babbling nonsense about wage gaps and how women are better than men, when ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) told Hillary 'I am no longer voting for you!' Hillary than called Bill, who didn't care. Then she tried to assault. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). But luckily for everyone, ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) banished her to the moon. The end.

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