[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Cardenio [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Colonel Corbec Why thank you. Always good to be appreciated.[/quote] Whoa. I'll have to find some time to read the entire story. Credit goes to you for all your hard work.[/quote] What he^^^^ said!

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Colonel Corbec Why thank you. Always good to be appreciated.[/quote] Whoa. I'll have to find some time to read the entire story. Credit goes to you for all your hard work.

Why thank you. Always good to be appreciated.

Man....it's neat! Great job! *Saves thread for future examination*

Once they were done, and had pilfered whatever they could from the storehouse, the Floodians were ready to set off, this time heading North. But, before they could go, a Jeep bearing the white flag of peace drove up slowly to them. Corbec gave the order to hold fire, and the occupants dismounted. Both males, one, the driver, had a shaved head with a neatly kept brown goatee. The other had red, curly hair. They had no weapons, or body armour, so suspicion was kept to a minimum. “Emperor Corbec! Might I say what a pleasure it is at last to meet you in person!” Announced the red-head. He extended a hand to Corbec. After a moment’s thought, Corbec took the hand and shook it. “I appreciate your enthusiasm…” Corbec said, but not knowing who he addressed. “Just call me Osoona. And my friend here is Tedi Slayer. Very dependable.” “Osoona, if you are with the Forsaken then I must inform you we are operating a no-prisoners policy here.” Corbec said, unconsciously tightening his grip on the AK. “Trust me I know, I was watching. Is that really the stuff you want the public to see? I assume those cameras are for this year‘s Death Game.” “An eye for an eye, Osoona. But, as much as I am enjoying our talk, I want to be going before the Forsaken swarm us. So, say something useful or I shoot you.” Corbec said, flicking the safety off his rifle. “Pyroshark screwed me over in our last deal. I came to this island to sell some important merchandise, but the bastard won’t pay. I’m offering my help. In particular, three hundred fighters worth of help.” Corbec relaxed his grip on the gun. “We’re well equipped, determined and ready to kill Pyroshark. And considering there’s only about twenty of you against the two-thousand-odd fanatics he’s hiding with…” Osoona left the sentence hanging. “Why didn’t you say so!” Corbec laughed, relieving the tension. “Of course we’d appreciate your help. But we can’t talk now. Meet us again tomorrow, but about a mile North of here. OK?” The two would-be allies left the area with smiles and laughter, but their true feelings were concealed. The Floodians had no intention of staying on amiable terms with these criminals, but agreed they could use the cannon fodder they could supply. Osoona despised Corbec, especially for landing him in this situation in the first place. However, he had plans of capturing Corbec, and using him as a bartering tool for his safe passage through the blockade. Not to mention a substantial ransom payment. But Tedi Slayer was quietly furious that Osoona would try and be friends with the Floodians. He saw Corbec and his group of special commando-people as those responsible for the friends he’d lost at the hands of the war fleet on the way here. Yet now Osoona proposed they jumped into bed with them? Never. Tedi Slayer knew he shared this sentiment with at least a hundred others. Revenge on Corbec was more important than revenge on Pyroshark. And if it came to it, Tedi Slayer was prepared to lead his comrades against Osoona to get that revenge. [i]“We can only wish to see the likes of this great hero once again. It may not be in our lifetimes, but we can hope that one day, an equal to him will be born unto our nation, and lead us on to even greater glory.”[/i] [Edited on 07.25.2007 12:11 AM PDT]

…CORBEC WAS HERE. JS and Tartan 118 stood with weapons slung in the ruins of Way Station 7 and stared, amazed, at the words. Corpses were all around them, along with hundreds of spent shell casings. Burning vehicles dotted the area, as well as discarded guns and pools of spilt blood on the dusty soil. Surrounded by a chain link fence, Way Station 7 was situated on the side of a fairly wide dirt track heading North and South. And it was burning to the ground. All of the buildings were made of timber and thatched roofs, and someone had doused them with petrol before setting fire them, usually with corpses inside. Well, excepting this one. The last building not turning to cinders seemed to be a storehouse, packed with supplies and provisions. And, on one side, someone had taken a machinegun to work and blasted “CORBEC WAS HERE.” “So…” Tartan started, glancing around him at the carnage. “Yeah.” JS murmured. “It’s all kind of… Sort of…” Tartan said, trying to come up with the right thing to say. “Convenient?” JS asked. “I guess. But. Well. I dunno. You really think Corbec did this?” “I wouldn’t put it past him.” JS gave a nearby Forsaken corpse and experimental kick, then carried on talking. “On his own? No. With his team, then I guess they could have done all this.” “Certainly seems like the thing Corbec would do in a situation like this. Such is his flair for the dramatic.” Tartan pointed at the bullet-hole message adorning the wall. “You two! Hey! You two!” Yelled an urgent voice to their right. They turned, and a woman was running at full pelt toward them from along the road. But she wasn’t one of theirs. “You’ve got to help! It’s him! He’s here! Killing everything!” She gasped, out of breath once she had dashed over to them. She was a Forsaken terrorist, wearing an old pair of jeans and a dirty shirt, holding a pistol in one hand and pointing behind her with the other. Only once she got close did she realise that she was in fact talking to people which weren’t her friends. The body armour, professional combat fatigues, belts of ammunition, and Kevlar helmets with cameras attached to the side kind of gave it away. But by then Tartan had already shouldered his MP5 and blew the woman off her feet in a burst of magnum rounds. “Everyone, me and Tartan are taking the road heading south, repeat, heading south. Possible multiple enemy contacts. Follow the road, but stick to the cover and don’t take too long.” JS barked into his earpiece radio. He and Tartan had already broken out into a full-speed dash down the road. As they carried along, the smell of burning petrol became thicker, along with the reek of scorched flesh. They had barely taken five minutes when the two soldiers happened across the small settlement. Or its remains anyway, given that it all seemed to be one collection of fires. Confident that the rest of the team would be watching their backs soon, they moved into the settlement. It was the same situation as before. Corpses, shell casings and blood-the anatomy of a shootout. Moving on cautiously, JS and Tartan grimly noticed the bullet-riddled bodies of not only full-grown Forsaken troops, but children as well. Young little things clearly under the age of ten, and teenagers along with them. Needless to say, JS was horrified. The two troops emerged into some kind of square, surrounded by burning buildings. But there he was: Corbec, bold as bastardy, had once more survived another perilous situation, not lost his stride and just earned more style because it. He had a red bandanna tied around his forehead, keeping his hair off of it, and the sleeves of his jungle-camo fatigues had been rolled up to his elbows. His protective body armour, along with his helmet and ammo webbing had disappeared. And as they neared, they could make out more details. His fatigues were smeared with dirt, mud and blood, and he wore an old, large pair of sunglasses. He looked incredibly reminiscent of some war film hero, perhaps the one that said a line about the smell of napalm in the morning? He rested an arm on a battered AK47, held in place by a leather strap, and Tartan could see Corbec’s camera sello-taped to the barrel. But oddly, Corbec was reading, holding a book in his free hand. “Corbec?!” Tartan blurted out, deciding to screw operational procedure and run over to Corbec. “Oh! Tartan! So nice to see you!” Corbec smiled. He tossed the book over his shoulder and through the burning front door of the house behind him. “Sorry we’re so late, sir.” Tartan apologised. “Not to worry. I was only reading.” “What’s the story then?” “It's about an old man who catches a giant fish, but that's not important right now." Corbec pointed to the trees around the settlement: “I think some of them might have gotten by me and into the trees. How many people do you have?” “The whole team, no-one was injured in the drop.” “Excellent. Have some of them sweep the region. Now.” Tartan began distributing orders through his earpiece radio, while JS stumbled over to them, seemingly in shock. “What happened here? Did your team disobey orders? The kids…” He mumbled, staring at the mangled bodies of some Forsaken teenagers. “There was no team.” Corbec replied. “Only me.” “What do you mean, no team?” Tartan asked, finished with the instructions. “I mean, they all died when our Turpolev was shot down, and our Glider was still tied to the end. I shot out the canopy of the Glider and managed to parachute out, but they never made it.” Corbec said, almost boastful of his achievement. “What happened to your kit? Surely you‘re not serious you did this by yourself?” Tartan asked, concerned. “I had to ditch my kit. I landed in the sea, and the Kevlar and all that was weighing me down too much. I saved my Camera though, and stuck it to this rifle I nicked.” He patted the rifle barrel gently, so as to not break the camera and the built in microphone. “As for this?” He swept a hand around expansively. “It was indeed all me. On my own, I came up with a plan. I set up a few dozen traps overnight, then lured out a bunch of the Forsaken. I came back after killing them and wiped out everything here as well.” Corbec nonchalantly said, showing he had no qualms about gunning down children. “I’ve been burning down the buildings so that the enemy can’t use them. But I did leave the storehouse back there intact. Figured I might need stuff from there.” “You killed children!” JS exclaimed, going back to his original point. Corbec looked his Head Of Special Forces in the eye before answering: “Yes. I did.” “How!? They’re only kids! This is comple-” “Listen here!” Corbec snapped, silencing JS. “We still don’t know exactly how many died in the attack on Flondon, but we can be sure that around fifty children under the age of ten died in the blast. These people have been conditioned since birth to hate us, and unless we do something drastic, then they’ll grow up to kill some more of our own children! So don‘t go pitying them!” Corbec stepped forward, getting into JS’s face, but lowering his voice. “And since when did [i]I[/i] have to justify my actions to [i]you[/i]?” Corbec hissed. JS didn’t answer, and Corbec turned away. Corbec, inside his head, knew that he could care less about how many people had died in the attack, but it did give him a good reason for all of this. Besides, they all knew that they couldn’t take prisoners in this situation, and that included the children. But earlier, the impracticality of taking prisoners hadn’t entered his head. He’d just been enjoying killing everything too much to care. JS was utterly disgusted, but tried not to let it show. It had been bad enough before with the Death Games in general, but now… Now there were people not even through puberty being shot by Corbec in person. This couldn’t go on. JS knew that it was up to him to stop this callous monster, but he just needed to figure out how to do it without one of these blasted cameras watching. JS was certainly annoyed though that the plane crash hadn’t dealt with Corbec already. Tartan and JS’s group returned successful from their hunt for survivors, capturing ten in all. Five were teenaged males, who had apparently fled at the first sight of Corbec. Four were young women, all around the same age as the boys. Only one was of truly fighting age. Corbec had them lined up in the ruined Way Station, and organised a firing squad. He read out charges of terrorism, collaboration for the murder of the victims of the attack, and then the Prisoners were shot dead. JS barely bit back his anger.

[i]The Next Morning.[/i] “Found another two pitfalls over here.” Tartan told JS via the earpiece radio. “Understood, but look out for tripwires now. I’m being told they’re around and about right now.” JS replied. He took another glance above at the smudges of ominous, black smoke that loomed over the trees. He stood on the bank of a small stream with Mike D Halo King, Girly Spartan and two others. The stream was, surprisingly, not blanketed by the forest canopy as the trees kept a small clearing around the water. So, for the first time in quite a while, JS got to see the sky properly. It would almost be idyllic, what with the clear, blue blanket of blue above, the gently chirping forest birds providing a relaxing tune, along with the soft splash of the stream. That, and the visual feast that was the vibrant collection of tropical flowers congregated around the water, which sparkled like a crystal in the sunlight. Problem was, this whole area was filled with corpses and traps. In front of him now was a recently dug pit-fall, packed with sharpened wooden stakes at the bottom. Three Forsaken troops had apparently tumbled inside and met a gruesome end there. “Tripwires, pitfalls, log-traps and ambushes. Textbook Guerrilla warfare.” JS said, voicing his opinion. “So, I suppose this was the cause of al the commotion last night.” Girly said, craning his neck to get a better look at the contents of the pit. “But this must have taken ages to do.” She continued, making a good point. To make such well-concealed traps and actually have them work would have been quite a job. They themselves had already come across two other pitfalls, some kind of branch-whip that had presumably swung out from behind cover and impaled a Forsaken Terrorist, and several more enemies crushed beneath a tree trunk that had apparently been pushed form the top of a nearby hill. And it had to be said, it had been masterfully done. “Well, we’re not here to look at the scenery, or admire some bastard’s handiwork. We’re here to kill some Forsaken guys, so let’s keep going.” JS ordered. They were heading West, toward Corbec’s drop-zone to try and find him. Mike had thus far had no luck at all with the radio, so it had been decided for them to go and look for Corbec themselves. As an added bonus, the spy satellite imagery of the island that was constantly supplied and updated to their PDAs showed a small Forsaken base sitting between them and Corbec’s possible position. (Instead of using old-style maps, Corbec had decided to utilise handheld PDAs with a non-stop live transmission from orbital satellites.) Of course, the PDAs also showed that the base was now largely in flames, hence the columns of smoke. The group, spread out in a rough line, had been making good speed until these damned traps came along, and JS dreaded another arduous journey through the jungle… “I can understand, losing any kind of base on this island is a bad sign, but you just seem a little too worked up over this.” Pyroshark said, towelling his hair dry. “It’s not what happened that we’re so concerned about.” Squirrel Dude explained. “Way-Station 7 was as we all know, unimportant. But that really isn’t the problem here. Before we lost contact, Way-Station 7 reported that a significant number of their personnel were slaughtered outside of their base when they went after their attacker.” Snap017 continued, serving only to make Pyroshark a little more confused. Snap was another ex-competitor of the infamous Death Games, a pragmatic, blonde-haired survivor, born and bred. Born to a poor Undergroundican family, he’d survived a hard early life and those experiences helped him be merciless when it mattered. He was average in height, with an odd distinction: His left eye was blue, while the right was green. Just a genetic quirk, really. He too had a tan from his time on the Jacutan Archipelago, and like Squirrel Dude, enjoyed a certain higher status due to his distinction as a Death Game player. He, Squirrel Dude and Pyroshark stood on the sandy edge of a perfectly clear pool of water, rippling from a small waterfall pouring in to one side. Surrounded by leafy palm trees that cast plenty of cool shade, it was like a little bit of unspoilt paradise. On the opposite side of the pool to Pyroshark and his comrades, that beautiful woman who went everywhere with Pyroshark was sunbathing. Clad only in a pink bikini and a pair of sunglasses, Squirrel Dude and Snap were having a hard time concentrating on Pyroshark and not on the girl. The couple had been taking a relaxing morning swim when Squirrel and Snap burst in with guns and camouflage fatigues, much to their chagrin. “Look, you two aren’t making any sense here. Explain it clearly.” Pyroshark said, annoyed at being disturbed. “Way Station 7 has been wiped out, and we’re still not sure about the civilian settlement nearby.” Squirrel Dude said, getting exasperated. “The defenders there were drawn out and systematically destroyed by what seems to be a single person.” Snap finished what Squirrel Dude was about to say. “And we think we know who did it.” Back to Squirrel Dude again. “How?” Pyroshark asked incredulously, still not that clear on the situation. Snap nodded to Squirrel Dude and supplied the explanation while Squirrel Dude held out a freshly printed digital photograph. “One of our people did manage to escape the area, and brought his camera back with him to Way Station 6. He took this photo before leaving the Station behind.” Pyroshark took the photo and peered at it inquisitively. It displayed…

[b]Welcome To The Jungle.[/b] JS’s glider landed with a savage bump on the wide, sandy beach. The hardened underside ground a deep line through the sand as it hurtled along, and those inside were chucked around in their seats. Slowing down, the Glider took a slight swerve to the right, and the right wing lodged firmly in the dirt, arresting the Glider’s motion. There was a brief moment of pure relief onboard that they hadn’t died in the drop, then they got back into action. JS, sitting at the controls, got up and kicked the plastic windscreen off, then bounded out through the new exit he had just made. Other passengers smashed open the emergency exits on the wings of the craft, and left that way. Tartan 118 was the last man out, and threw a frag grenade inside after him. The explosion trashed the interior, and snapped the fuselage down the centre, disabling it in case the Forsaken intended to use it for their own purposes. Without saying a thing, the twenty-strong group dispersed into the thick jungle watching the beach, using night-vision goggles to full effect. With some of the best camouflage techniques available drilled into their heads, they blended into the scenery, becoming bushes, foliage and shadows to the untrained eye. There, with the now smoking wreck of their transport behind them, they waited in total silence for ten minutes, should any Forsaken attention be sent their way. Eventually, Tartan 118 and JS sent orders via their ear-piece radios for them to regroup at a set location. Within another five minutes, they’d all met at the tree-covered summit of a slight incline of the terrain. “Tartan, everyone here?” JS asked. “Just did a headcount, everyone’s shown up.” Tartan replied, his face smeared with camouflage paint. “Good, good. Do we know if Corbec’s touched down yet?” “Not sure myself.” Tartan said, then said into his earpiece: “Radio, to me.” In a few moments, Mike D Halo King scampered over, lugging the heavy, albeit compact main-gain radio set on his shoulders. He had a gaunt face, with a visible tan, brown hair and blue eyes. He’d been forced to take Laser Eye Surgery to be admitted into the Death Game, otherwise his poor eyesight would have rendered him unacceptable for the prolonged combat he would be going through. He was tall, and had left behind a loving girlfriend in Floodland for this. “You called?” “Call up Corbec for us, would you lad?” Tartan requested. Mike slung the radio pack from his shoulders and propped it against a tree trunk while he worked. He put a headset on, and after a moment or two, he announced: “No dice. They’re jamming us.” “Jamming us?” JS exclaimed. “Yeah, but not to worry. This thing’s carrying anti-jamming equipment.” Mike hit a button, and smiled as the equipment worked its magic. “Corbec then…” He said, thinking aloud. He hunted through the wavelengths, trying to find Corbec’s frequency. He eventually got onto what Corbec’s radio operator should have been working on, but nothing but a hiss of static answered him. “Nothing.” “Nothing at all?” Tartan asked, concerned. “Nope. Perhaps they’ve just come off the drop, and the operator hasn’t got everything running yet. Maybe the radio was damaged in the drop.” Mike supposed, taking off the headset. “Maybe.” Tartan said, then came to a decision. “Alright, we’ll wait here for the night. Mike, keep trying to patch through to Corbec. JS, organise sentry duties.” “What about tomorrow though?” JS said. “We’ll burn that bridge when we reach it, now get on with it.” Tartan snapped. Later that night, Mike, after hours of fruitless effort with his radio, eventually gave up. He’d run through every main-service band that Corbec’s operator should be on, checked and re-checked the back-up wavelengths, made certain that it wasn’t a technical error on his end, then triple-checked that the anti-jamming equipment was really working. He could only surmise that something had broken on their end, and didn’t even suppose that Corbec’s glider might have been shot down. Frustrated by failure, he stalked away from his radio set, then plonked himself down on the fallen remains of a tree. He was tired, having missed out so much sleep tonight. Suddenly, he heard a “[i]clack[/i]” and wheeled around, surprised. Was it an enemy attacker? A wild animal? “Don’t look so worried.” Girly Spartan whispered while assembling her Walther 2000 rifle. She’d just fitted the bolt-action of the weapon into place, resulting in the noise that had so disturbed Mike. “Oh, sorry.” Mike apologised, embarrassed. He had a girlfriend at home, but he couldn’t help but find Girly just a little bit attractive. What could he say? He was a healthy young man, such feelings were natural. “Sit down before you fall down, already.” She said, checking the scope’s optics, but patting the tree-trunk section next to her. Mike silently obliged her recommendation, flopping down beside Girly. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Mike started, then regretted it. Not exactly the best start. Girly smiled playfully. “Shouldn’t you?” “Nah. Been trying to get Corbec on the radio.” Mike replied, grateful to leave behind his dire first words. “Any luck?” Girly asked, screwing on the silencer to the Walther’s carbon-fibre barrel, which was attached to a custom-made lightweight frame. Having finished assembling the gun, she now started taking it apart again, starting by removing the scope. Her rifle was so specialised because each contestant had been allowed unlimited resources to customise a weapon of their choice. So, for example, Tartan 118 carried an MP5 outfitted with a scope, rail mounts, a laser sight, magnum ammunition, a silencer, improved grips and an altered trigger allowing for an even higher rate of fire. Girly, being one of the world’s best snipers, had selected a Walther 2000 sniper rifle then radically changed it to her personal suiting. “You look like that you could do that blindfolded.” Mike remarked, impressed. “Already have.” Girly chuckled at Mike’s amazed expression. “I do it to take my mind off things, you know?” She explained, taking a more sombre tone. “I suppose I do. Because of the attack…” Girly and Mike were in the same boat here, and had shared memories back in training. “Lost my whole family to those bastards.” Girly hissed, recalling seeing the two towers fall to pieces on the evening news-and knowing they contained her parents. She had no siblings, and no other living relations. She was on her own now. “Hmm.” Mike assented, sharing her anger. Girly and looked up. There was a gap in the forest canopy above, and that afforded them a window of sight to the night sky. It was perfectly clear, and a veritable carpet of twinkling, gently gleaming lights. It was beautiful. With no light pollution, and no clouds, they could really see everything. At that moment, a shooting star streaked across the sky. “You reckon there’s a heaven out there?” Girly asked spontaneously. She’d set aside the rifle. Mike thought hard for a moment. “Not really. Not after the Towers fell.” He sighed, then carried on. “If there was, I’d always imagined we wouldn’t have to be here right now.” Mike just realised that he and Girly still had their helmets-and cameras-on. “Come on.” He said reassuringly, putting a hand on Girly’s shoulder. “Best not get too emotional, what with us being on live TV and all.” The remark had the desired effect in that it cheered them both up. It was five minutes later, while Girly and Mike were still chatting, the gunfire and shouting started. At first, the group of volunteers was confused, but not panicked. They grabbed their weapons and got into their positions, waiting for an attack that never came. They stood ready though for another fifteen minutes, all the while bombarded with nothing but sound. It was, in its own way, more disturbing than being shot at. They could hear muffled curses, threats and promises of painful deaths along with the occasional rattle of gunshots, but even with Night Vision, the jungle foliage was too thick to see anything. But as abruptly as it began, it stopped, leaving the Floodians in an eerie, uneasy quiet. JS and Tartan sent a couple of people forward to investigate, but they came back having found nothing. The Floodians slowly drifted back to their sleeping bags, leaving the sentries alone again, not to be disturbed for the rest of the night.

*reads most recent addition* Awesome.

Yea you sent it, and I sent everything of significance back. xD

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Pyroshark Just so I know, how far did I get with putting it on Teh Tubez? -Pyroshark-[/quote] On the series of tubes, you got to [url=http://www.bungie.net/Forums/posts.aspx?postID=10123220&postRepeater1-p=1]here. (I still have it as a Saved Thread.)[/url]

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Colonel Corbec [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Pyroshark Yeah, you got Squirrel Dude to send it. And he sent it twice. Eejit. =P -Pyroshark-[/quote]Tell you what, Pyro, email me the documents you do have for Darkly and I'll deal with them. Otherwise, you could type the chapters up on an email, send it to me, and I'll deal with it from there.[/quote] Alright, I'll get working on that tomorrow. I lost all my previous Darkly write-up when my computer's hard drive went bye-bye, but I'll email you tomorrow or the day after with the newest chapter. Just so I know, how far did I get with putting it on Teh Tubez? -Pyroshark-

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Pyroshark Yeah, you got Squirrel Dude to send it. And he sent it twice. Eejit. =P -Pyroshark-[/quote]Tell you what, Pyro, email me the documents you do have for Darkly and I'll deal with them. Otherwise, you could type the chapters up on an email, send it to me, and I'll deal with it from there.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Colonel Corbec Funny stuff. Snap, did I send you that reply to your PM? I can't recall sending it, but I know I wrote it. (And thanks for the praise, all.)[/quote] Yeah, you got Squirrel Dude to send it. And he sent it twice. Eejit. =P -Pyroshark-

Funny stuff. Snap, did I send you that reply to your PM? I can't recall sending it, but I know I wrote it. (And thanks for the praise, all.) [Edited on 07.18.2007 11:03 AM PDT]

I like the story. You're a good author Corbec.

...isn't that what LimeWire is for? Downloading stuff, albeit illegally, for free? Just find it on there. That's how I got Photoshop on my XP.

You're kidding.

S'good, cant wait for the next one. Then the asskickery shall commence. Probably at my expense. =) By the way, remember I said I was gonna work on Darkly? Yah, turns out this computer now has no Microsoft Word or any kind of word-processing software [i]at all[/i]. So... that's me buggered =/ -Pyroshark-

What did you make of the latest chapter then?

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Colonel Corbec [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] js2096 I was under the impression that you weren't some immortal freak any more...[/quote] Nah. You're the freak. Who thinks he's immortal.[/quote] After all I've been through, I wouldn't be that surprised to find out that I'm immortal after all. Yet still subject to pain. Lots and lots of pain... -Pyroshark-

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] js2096 I was under the impression that you weren't some immortal freak any more...[/quote] Nah. You're the freak. Who thinks he's immortal.

Good job.

I was under the impression that you weren't some immortal freak any more...

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Girly Spartan [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Tedi Slayer Yay, I was mentioned. ...and made bald. 0_o .[/quote] *laughs at Tedi Slayer*[/quote] Well Tedi Slayer, thign was that picture you provided didn't really show hair on the head of that guy. It was more just some beanie or whatever they call it these days. And, I figured I should just make you a skinhead to give a stronger feel that you're some low-town criminal. [quote]Are you dead?[/quote] The Flood 4: Parallel Worlds. After I caught the rocket with my bare hands. Read.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Tedi Slayer Yay, I was mentioned. ...and made bald. 0_o .[/quote] *laughs at Tedi Slayer*