lol thanks guys. I was going to rascal but I'm not feeling so creative todsay otherwise I would have made that the main part of the story.
A little fight for creativity
- Thread starter Akuma
- Start date
Ok, I'll bite.
Here's my character. Big, brawny, muscled guy, with green skin and tusks for lower canines. He's an Orc. Cuz Orcs are cool! :eusa_danc His hair is pulled into a knot on top of his head, where it hangs back freely, and is a striking red. Standing 7 feet tall, at the shoulders, in a semi-stooped posture. In his hands are a giant axe with a blade that easily reaches 2.5 feet in length, and a handle reaching 4 feet in length wrapped in red leather bands.
In a forest, when suddenly, out of the trees jumps ninjas! But not just any ninjas, these are panzee ninjas. Panzee ninja elves. Cuz I hate's panzees! (panzee is orc for elf) Oi! and dens, deez panzees attacks, and they comes at me in swarms! Cuz panzees kant fight proppa, like us Orcs! So I grabs one by 'is 'ead, and throws his panzee arse at the nekst closer panzee. Dens I charge into dah fray with a mighty 'WAAAAAAAGGGHHH!!!!' hackin and krumpin deez no good gitz. Kuz panzees iz week, and dey'z dah utha white meat! I'z kutz wun down wiv my axe, and 'ee's screamin like a wee git, and I dens deseydes tah name mah axe 'Panzee-krusha!' Ands as I turns tah take anuva panzee down, he slashes intah my shoulda wiv 'is panzee litt'el pointee soord, cuz panzees ain't proppa like us Orcs! But alls 'is slash duz iz makes me mad, kuz I's orc, and I'z proppa! So wiv 'iz soord stillz stukk in meh, I reech outs, and grabz 'iz skrawnee panzee arse by dah 'ead, and hold's 'im up tah blokks da lil' pointee panzee throwin' blades dat looks like a star. I dens throws 'iz limp form intah da utha two's dat are sneekin up on me's, all sneeky like... kuz dey not proppa like me! Dey sneeky likes a no gud lootin' git! And den's I run ovah tah dem's when dey's all ons dah grownds, and finnish dem off wiv my axe, which splashes dere 'urty panzee bloodz alls on mah kilt. Ans dat makes meh madda! So I'z killz dem agains just tah make sher dey's deads... cuz dey's not proppa, ans dunt ree'lize dey's been beatens! So I'z getz up, looks at dah utha panzee gitz dat aar keepins dere dis'tanse... ans yellz 'Waaaaagh!' as I runs at dem, redee fer anuva go! Fightens... dis is da life!
-Waaagh, yo. Waaagh.
Here's my character. Big, brawny, muscled guy, with green skin and tusks for lower canines. He's an Orc. Cuz Orcs are cool! :eusa_danc His hair is pulled into a knot on top of his head, where it hangs back freely, and is a striking red. Standing 7 feet tall, at the shoulders, in a semi-stooped posture. In his hands are a giant axe with a blade that easily reaches 2.5 feet in length, and a handle reaching 4 feet in length wrapped in red leather bands.
In a forest, when suddenly, out of the trees jumps ninjas! But not just any ninjas, these are panzee ninjas. Panzee ninja elves. Cuz I hate's panzees! (panzee is orc for elf) Oi! and dens, deez panzees attacks, and they comes at me in swarms! Cuz panzees kant fight proppa, like us Orcs! So I grabs one by 'is 'ead, and throws his panzee arse at the nekst closer panzee. Dens I charge into dah fray with a mighty 'WAAAAAAAGGGHHH!!!!' hackin and krumpin deez no good gitz. Kuz panzees iz week, and dey'z dah utha white meat! I'z kutz wun down wiv my axe, and 'ee's screamin like a wee git, and I dens deseydes tah name mah axe 'Panzee-krusha!' Ands as I turns tah take anuva panzee down, he slashes intah my shoulda wiv 'is panzee litt'el pointee soord, cuz panzees ain't proppa like us Orcs! But alls 'is slash duz iz makes me mad, kuz I's orc, and I'z proppa! So wiv 'iz soord stillz stukk in meh, I reech outs, and grabz 'iz skrawnee panzee arse by dah 'ead, and hold's 'im up tah blokks da lil' pointee panzee throwin' blades dat looks like a star. I dens throws 'iz limp form intah da utha two's dat are sneekin up on me's, all sneeky like... kuz dey not proppa like me! Dey sneeky likes a no gud lootin' git! And den's I run ovah tah dem's when dey's all ons dah grownds, and finnish dem off wiv my axe, which splashes dere 'urty panzee bloodz alls on mah kilt. Ans dat makes meh madda! So I'z killz dem agains just tah make sher dey's deads... cuz dey's not proppa, ans dunt ree'lize dey's been beatens! So I'z getz up, looks at dah utha panzee gitz dat aar keepins dere dis'tanse... ans yellz 'Waaaaagh!' as I runs at dem, redee fer anuva go! Fightens... dis is da life!
-Waaagh, yo. Waaagh.
wow that's very cool putting it as though you are the orc *claps*
that so kicks **** compared to mine...*feels very silly now* LoL!
that so kicks **** compared to mine...*feels very silly now* LoL!
Lol. Thanks Night. It's easy to think like an Orc, as I'm an Orc at heart.
Friends don't let friends be elves.
Friends don't let friends be elves.
Very cool anyways ^.^ welcome to bash anyways as I don't think I've said it 
Gather 'round me chitlins and I be tellin' ya de story o' Billy Dean Beauregard! Now Billy he was a big ole boy, 'bout 6 feet and some three odd inches tall. He had them big ole muscles from workin' at Tim's auto parts, yep crankin' wrenches and slappin' on ole tires sho does put a man in the right state of physical humor. His white skin sparkled in the sun like a newly opened pack of sliced bologna, wit' his arms bein' tan on top but not on de bottum, dats a farmah's tan if ya be wonderin'.
Regadless, one day Billy Dean was at teh Piggly Wiggly lookin' fer a present for Pentunia the gal he was a courtin'. That was when he saw it. The biggest box of moon pies you ever set eyes on! Dey was the sweet ambrosial gold of banana flavorin', and well ole Billy just had to have this last box on the top row. Well it was about this time ole Curtis Jacobs stepped into the aisle, wretch up and done took that box o' moon pies! Needless to say ole Billy was miffed.
"What you doin' thar Curtis Jacobs?" Billy asked, pushing out his chest that was armored in an old Chevy Nova T-shirt and ripped flannel long sleeves.
"I just reckon I took this here box of moon pies," Curtis Jacobs said, likewise hoisting his imposing body straight up like a peacock.
"Dem moon pies is goin' to Petunia, and Curtis you hadn't ort take em!" Well now the talkin' was done and the fisticuffs was about to come forthwith, but before they did the two warriors took part in de ancient ritual of their ancestors. Each took out his round box of skoal tobaccay and started beatin' it on their knee like they was about ta charge each other. Well now they was fit to split, backey juice and mullet hair was about to fly.
Curtis made the first move, jumpin' on poor ole Billy and trying to throw him in a headlock like he saw on the TV rasslin. But ole Billy was a sly dog, he had a move of his own, and one purple nurple later Curtis was a hoopin' and a hollerin' like you jest wouldn't belive. Well ole Billy took advantage of this and picked up a pack of peanut M&Ms from the rack next to him and dumped them all in his mouth. Before ole Curtis knew what was happenin' a machine-gun like torrent of melts in your mouth was blasting his overalls from Billy's mouth. "Dem's my sundey overalls!" Curtis bellowed as he swung a haymaker at the side of Billy's gourd. Well ole Billy's head went this way and that from Curtis' punch, but he stood his ground and delivered a kick to the shin of his opponent with his grease-stained work boots. Both opponents, dazed sank to the ground, and then after a nictotine filled slurp of backey spit they was at it again. Well they humhawed around that there Piggly Wiggly for a while, fighting like it was one of them poems written by that Homer feller. Cans of Juicy Juice and boxes of King Vitamin were thrown around with a vengeance, but when it came down to it ole Billy Dean jest wanted it more. With a mighty grunt he pushed Curtis to the ground and pulled his jaw hard, now this prompted a hellish scream from ole Curtis, and he knew he was beat, cause nothing beats delivering the 'deliverance' to your opponent in noble warfare and such the like. Anyways, that's the story of ole Billy Dean Beauregard, and I'll be the first one to tell ya this: Pentunia sure as heck got her moon pies!:wave: Y'all come back now!
Regadless, one day Billy Dean was at teh Piggly Wiggly lookin' fer a present for Pentunia the gal he was a courtin'. That was when he saw it. The biggest box of moon pies you ever set eyes on! Dey was the sweet ambrosial gold of banana flavorin', and well ole Billy just had to have this last box on the top row. Well it was about this time ole Curtis Jacobs stepped into the aisle, wretch up and done took that box o' moon pies! Needless to say ole Billy was miffed.
"What you doin' thar Curtis Jacobs?" Billy asked, pushing out his chest that was armored in an old Chevy Nova T-shirt and ripped flannel long sleeves.
"I just reckon I took this here box of moon pies," Curtis Jacobs said, likewise hoisting his imposing body straight up like a peacock.
"Dem moon pies is goin' to Petunia, and Curtis you hadn't ort take em!" Well now the talkin' was done and the fisticuffs was about to come forthwith, but before they did the two warriors took part in de ancient ritual of their ancestors. Each took out his round box of skoal tobaccay and started beatin' it on their knee like they was about ta charge each other. Well now they was fit to split, backey juice and mullet hair was about to fly.
Curtis made the first move, jumpin' on poor ole Billy and trying to throw him in a headlock like he saw on the TV rasslin. But ole Billy was a sly dog, he had a move of his own, and one purple nurple later Curtis was a hoopin' and a hollerin' like you jest wouldn't belive. Well ole Billy took advantage of this and picked up a pack of peanut M&Ms from the rack next to him and dumped them all in his mouth. Before ole Curtis knew what was happenin' a machine-gun like torrent of melts in your mouth was blasting his overalls from Billy's mouth. "Dem's my sundey overalls!" Curtis bellowed as he swung a haymaker at the side of Billy's gourd. Well ole Billy's head went this way and that from Curtis' punch, but he stood his ground and delivered a kick to the shin of his opponent with his grease-stained work boots. Both opponents, dazed sank to the ground, and then after a nictotine filled slurp of backey spit they was at it again. Well they humhawed around that there Piggly Wiggly for a while, fighting like it was one of them poems written by that Homer feller. Cans of Juicy Juice and boxes of King Vitamin were thrown around with a vengeance, but when it came down to it ole Billy Dean jest wanted it more. With a mighty grunt he pushed Curtis to the ground and pulled his jaw hard, now this prompted a hellish scream from ole Curtis, and he knew he was beat, cause nothing beats delivering the 'deliverance' to your opponent in noble warfare and such the like. Anyways, that's the story of ole Billy Dean Beauregard, and I'll be the first one to tell ya this: Pentunia sure as heck got her moon pies!:wave: Y'all come back now!
hehe that rocks ^.^
Gotta do another one... Been thinkin on this for awhile: :D This is set in the SLA Industries universe. If you're not familiar with it... then oh well... Kinda long, so bear with me.
--
Flyck pounded down street in haze. Rain poured down from the upper sectors of Mort in thick inky globlets and sliding off his trade-mark weather-resistant jacket. The old archaic buildings of downtown were iconified by their dishoveled and run-down look, and looked depressive in the dark shadows of night. Despite the darkness, the streetlamps lit the sidewalk with occasional patches of dirty yellowish light, while neon shop signs provided spots of red, blue, and green color to the dark world. Flyck was not an impressive in sight. He was merely human... one of billions in a predominately human city. Just another face in a crowd. He stood at a slim 6'1", which was not much compared to the towering, impressive might of an 8' Shaktar. "Merely human..." such words echoed from a TV in a local SLA-Bucks, depicting the latest killings of 'GoreZone.' He had no time to stop and watch... he was in a hurry. All manner of foulness had hit the fan and his gang was in the thick of it...
The repetive racket of low-velocity CAF weaponry could be heard a block away, ringing through the night. It came in sporadic bursts as Flyck ran across the street, between the immobile cars stuck in the traffic jam. No one was getting anywhere in Downtown Sector 36B tonight, unless they were a fully equipped APC. The sound of small gunfire went quiet as the sudden sound of an explosion deafened it... Flyck stopped in his tracks as the orange light momentarily lit up his scruffy face, his long black hair with a white streak, and a red and black Bandanna covering his forehead. the light glinted in his eyes as he wiped the rain from his face "Feth... Dave brought in the off-world grenades!?" Despair was evident in his voice. "The last thing we need down here is a reason for the Shivers to get involved...". The orange light dimmed and turned into a flickering glimmer off the buildings. Sure enough, a fire had been started. "****..." With renewed vigor, Flyck continued his run.
The scene was anarchy. Sporadic gunfire blazed away and lit up the streets, while shouts and angry yells filled the void between the two groups. Between the rival groups, to one side of the street, was the small 3 story building that had caught fire. The light from the fire casted the scen in an pale orange glow... and briefly illuminated the logo of a club known as "The Pit" and it's 9 levels on the back of Flyck's black jacket. Flyck pushed through the throngs of fellow gang members, all wearing similar bandannas with their own iconography on each one. The Bandannas with the Red and Black theme marked this group as part of Crosstown. 30 seconds had passed since the fire had started. "What the hell were you thinking!?" Shouted Flyck towards a specific indivual.
"What?" Came the response from a haggard, brown-haired face with a scar across one milky-white eye.
"The grenade Dave! You know ****-well what I'm talking about!" Flyck had to yell to be heard over the chaos.
"Flyck! Man, you shoulda seen it! Those Carrion went straight into the 'Fat Jack's Shack of Clippo Lighters!' Dave had a twisted grin on his face, and a wound on his forehead.
"And now the fething buildin's on fi... " Flyck stopped. 1.5 minutes had passed since the explosion, and the whining of several sirens could be heard in the distance. The sound of several loud crashess 3 blocks down signified that they were plowing through the Traffic Jams. Everyone began to go silent as horror crept into their world. The carrion in their haphazardly salvaged weaponry and equipment turned and began to run. Flyck suddenly looked across his throngs of fellow gang-members who had taken up arms against the invading carrion... all several hundred of them...
Regaining his composure, stepped up on a parked car, and he yelled as loud as his voice could strain "Run! Get the Feth down the street" as he pointed in the direction of the large marauding mob of carrion. "If we stay here we..." The first Fire-Shiver APC came around the corner, smashed through a parked Battle-Taxi, and tossed it's shatterred frame aside like a rag-doll. "Run!" Flyck yelled as two more Shiver APCs came around the corner. The mob of gangers began to slowly move down the street, as the first APC smashed into the center of them and stopped directly in front of the building. The 2nd and 3rd APCs were not Fire-Shivers, but riot control. 1 full squad of Shivers in Blocker Armor stepped out with their Brow-Beaters primed and began unloading into the gangers. Hundreds of ball-bearing like projectiles smashed into them, sending people scrambling to get out of the way. Bodies of injured or dead littered the ground. Flyck ran with his gang down the street to escape the carnage, as the Fire Shiver crew in their armor, started spraying the building down with a foamy substance. Flyck and his companions slowed to a halt to watch.
The Shiver captain's voice could be clearly heard over the night... "Keep firing! I want every last one of these vandals in a bloody heap!" More Sprays of ball-bearings were launched in the ganger's direction. "Feth this..." Flyck muttered under his breath... He then yelled out across the street "Return Fire!" But the gangers were already firing back. CAF weaponry poured out of the mob and bounced harmlessly off the heavier armor of the Shivers, for the most part. 1 Shiver caught a CAF round through his chest plate, and went down spurting red into the blackish rain water. What the gangers lacked in equipment, they made up for in numbers and were slowly pushing the Shiver Squad back. The fires from the building went out and the street was cast once again in the shadowy night. The Fire-Shivers returned to their APC, but the Shiver squad stayed, intent to continue the bloodshed.
Jerrick, one of the gang-leaders of Sector 36B, yelled out with his stolen Chain-Axe in the air "We'll never win a fire-fight with them, boyz! CHARGE! Bring them down!" As one, the remaining Gangers, over a hundred of them, charged the position of the remaining 6 Shivers with a resounding yell. Flyck brought out his collapsed Flick-Scythe, and it sprang to full reach at the press of a button. A potent ****tail of fury and adrenaline pounded through his system. These shivers were going to pay! But the Shivers kept firing, as the mob advanced. Scores of gangers went down to more ball-bearings and were trampled by their comrades as the Mob continued. The gangers smashed into the besieged Shivers like a Gauss-Train and tore them down. Flyck cut through the armor of one of them with his pole-arm, hitting him in the upper thigh, dropping them to their knee. The Shiver made one last attempt to gun Flyck down with his Brow-Beater, only to find his hands empty and confusion filling his world. Flyck crash his left fist into the helmet, ignoring the pain, and sending the shiver to the ground. He looked up in time to see Jerrick's Chain-Axe cut into the Shiver Captain's chest, spraying blood and chunks of armor everywhere. Flyck looked back down at the Shiver he helped fell as his comrades were salvaging armor and beating the lifeblood out of them. His adrenaline calmed down, and he looked up as the third APC's doors were opening. A vision of doom stepped out, followed by 2 more of their kind, as the APC rocked back from the reduction in weight it felt. 3 fully Exo-Armored Enforcer Shivers stepped down from their APC, primed their Stun Batons and begand their methodical march towards the gangers in perfect unison. They stood in their armor over 8 feet tall, and no sound was issued from them except the hum of their weapons, and landings of their feet. Only one thought penetrated through Flyck's shock... What the hell were Enforcer Shivers doing at the scene of a fire?
The Enforcer Shivers in one fluid and synchornized motion, threw their first swing at the gangers who hadn't noticed their approach. Blood sprayed up and gangers went flying through the air as they cut a path of dread and destruction straight through the heart of the mob. Bodies flew everywhere and the all-out retreat order was screamed from Jerrick, before tbefore he took a Stun Baton to the back of the head. Flyck tried to run and had a momentary glimpse of Dave being thrown into the air before his world went black...
The light hurt his eyes, and Flyck squinted as he stared up at the bright light above him. He looked around in confusion. He was layed in a bed at one of the Crosstown hideouts. TV blaring in the other room. His head felt like a Chagrin had hit it. Dave sat in the other room watching the TV. Slowly, he tried to get up. Dizziness washed over him at first, but he was capable of standing. Dave looked back and said "Ahh! I see your up! You've been out for days!"
"What... Happened?" Asked Flyck.
"You were hit by a baseball-bat to the back of the head. The carrion came back and attacked in force. The Enforcers cut them down as well though. We lost alot of people that night. We've got over 60 comfirmed casualties, over 100 injured, and at least 50 that are unaccounted for. You're lucky we found you a room! The whole thing was a slaughter, and we were in it."
"Why'd you use one of your grenades?" Flyck asked.
"Grenades?" Dave's look was one of confusion. "I left them all at home! We don't know what caused the building to explode like that, but SLA's got that whole street on lock-down. The news showed the whole fight, minus the Carrion. And those SLA ****s are pinning the fire, and all the damage those carrion have been causing this week, on us. They're trying to label us as militant 'subversives', and are even sending Slops down to hunt us out. We've lost 3 Safe-Havens already and have had to go under-ground. Fething ****s..."
"Where's my Flick-Scythe?" Flyck asked suddenly as he realized it was missing.
"Gone. A carrion took it and proceeded to cut down Torque, Deraly, and Brandy before he was smashed by an Enforcer."
"****... that was my favorite weapon too..." Flyck reached into his jacket and pulled out a Brow-Beater. "Hmm... Wonder where I got this? You want it?"
"Feth, man! Hell yeah! Better than the stinkin CAF gun I been usin'! Davis responded, gladly accepting the stolen gun. Flyck continued digging into his pockets, and pulled out a foreign wallet. Looking through it, he found 87 unis, a couple of photos of some children, and a Shiver ID card. The card showed a relatively attractive red-haired female named 'Jendelle Burgesson'. SCL Rank 11.0. A slight pain in his left hand brought back flashes of him decking a Shiver... and full shocking realization of whose wallet this was washed over him... -Dowtown was hell.
--
Flyck pounded down street in haze. Rain poured down from the upper sectors of Mort in thick inky globlets and sliding off his trade-mark weather-resistant jacket. The old archaic buildings of downtown were iconified by their dishoveled and run-down look, and looked depressive in the dark shadows of night. Despite the darkness, the streetlamps lit the sidewalk with occasional patches of dirty yellowish light, while neon shop signs provided spots of red, blue, and green color to the dark world. Flyck was not an impressive in sight. He was merely human... one of billions in a predominately human city. Just another face in a crowd. He stood at a slim 6'1", which was not much compared to the towering, impressive might of an 8' Shaktar. "Merely human..." such words echoed from a TV in a local SLA-Bucks, depicting the latest killings of 'GoreZone.' He had no time to stop and watch... he was in a hurry. All manner of foulness had hit the fan and his gang was in the thick of it...
The repetive racket of low-velocity CAF weaponry could be heard a block away, ringing through the night. It came in sporadic bursts as Flyck ran across the street, between the immobile cars stuck in the traffic jam. No one was getting anywhere in Downtown Sector 36B tonight, unless they were a fully equipped APC. The sound of small gunfire went quiet as the sudden sound of an explosion deafened it... Flyck stopped in his tracks as the orange light momentarily lit up his scruffy face, his long black hair with a white streak, and a red and black Bandanna covering his forehead. the light glinted in his eyes as he wiped the rain from his face "Feth... Dave brought in the off-world grenades!?" Despair was evident in his voice. "The last thing we need down here is a reason for the Shivers to get involved...". The orange light dimmed and turned into a flickering glimmer off the buildings. Sure enough, a fire had been started. "****..." With renewed vigor, Flyck continued his run.
The scene was anarchy. Sporadic gunfire blazed away and lit up the streets, while shouts and angry yells filled the void between the two groups. Between the rival groups, to one side of the street, was the small 3 story building that had caught fire. The light from the fire casted the scen in an pale orange glow... and briefly illuminated the logo of a club known as "The Pit" and it's 9 levels on the back of Flyck's black jacket. Flyck pushed through the throngs of fellow gang members, all wearing similar bandannas with their own iconography on each one. The Bandannas with the Red and Black theme marked this group as part of Crosstown. 30 seconds had passed since the fire had started. "What the hell were you thinking!?" Shouted Flyck towards a specific indivual.
"What?" Came the response from a haggard, brown-haired face with a scar across one milky-white eye.
"The grenade Dave! You know ****-well what I'm talking about!" Flyck had to yell to be heard over the chaos.
"Flyck! Man, you shoulda seen it! Those Carrion went straight into the 'Fat Jack's Shack of Clippo Lighters!' Dave had a twisted grin on his face, and a wound on his forehead.
"And now the fething buildin's on fi... " Flyck stopped. 1.5 minutes had passed since the explosion, and the whining of several sirens could be heard in the distance. The sound of several loud crashess 3 blocks down signified that they were plowing through the Traffic Jams. Everyone began to go silent as horror crept into their world. The carrion in their haphazardly salvaged weaponry and equipment turned and began to run. Flyck suddenly looked across his throngs of fellow gang-members who had taken up arms against the invading carrion... all several hundred of them...
Regaining his composure, stepped up on a parked car, and he yelled as loud as his voice could strain "Run! Get the Feth down the street" as he pointed in the direction of the large marauding mob of carrion. "If we stay here we..." The first Fire-Shiver APC came around the corner, smashed through a parked Battle-Taxi, and tossed it's shatterred frame aside like a rag-doll. "Run!" Flyck yelled as two more Shiver APCs came around the corner. The mob of gangers began to slowly move down the street, as the first APC smashed into the center of them and stopped directly in front of the building. The 2nd and 3rd APCs were not Fire-Shivers, but riot control. 1 full squad of Shivers in Blocker Armor stepped out with their Brow-Beaters primed and began unloading into the gangers. Hundreds of ball-bearing like projectiles smashed into them, sending people scrambling to get out of the way. Bodies of injured or dead littered the ground. Flyck ran with his gang down the street to escape the carnage, as the Fire Shiver crew in their armor, started spraying the building down with a foamy substance. Flyck and his companions slowed to a halt to watch.
The Shiver captain's voice could be clearly heard over the night... "Keep firing! I want every last one of these vandals in a bloody heap!" More Sprays of ball-bearings were launched in the ganger's direction. "Feth this..." Flyck muttered under his breath... He then yelled out across the street "Return Fire!" But the gangers were already firing back. CAF weaponry poured out of the mob and bounced harmlessly off the heavier armor of the Shivers, for the most part. 1 Shiver caught a CAF round through his chest plate, and went down spurting red into the blackish rain water. What the gangers lacked in equipment, they made up for in numbers and were slowly pushing the Shiver Squad back. The fires from the building went out and the street was cast once again in the shadowy night. The Fire-Shivers returned to their APC, but the Shiver squad stayed, intent to continue the bloodshed.
Jerrick, one of the gang-leaders of Sector 36B, yelled out with his stolen Chain-Axe in the air "We'll never win a fire-fight with them, boyz! CHARGE! Bring them down!" As one, the remaining Gangers, over a hundred of them, charged the position of the remaining 6 Shivers with a resounding yell. Flyck brought out his collapsed Flick-Scythe, and it sprang to full reach at the press of a button. A potent ****tail of fury and adrenaline pounded through his system. These shivers were going to pay! But the Shivers kept firing, as the mob advanced. Scores of gangers went down to more ball-bearings and were trampled by their comrades as the Mob continued. The gangers smashed into the besieged Shivers like a Gauss-Train and tore them down. Flyck cut through the armor of one of them with his pole-arm, hitting him in the upper thigh, dropping them to their knee. The Shiver made one last attempt to gun Flyck down with his Brow-Beater, only to find his hands empty and confusion filling his world. Flyck crash his left fist into the helmet, ignoring the pain, and sending the shiver to the ground. He looked up in time to see Jerrick's Chain-Axe cut into the Shiver Captain's chest, spraying blood and chunks of armor everywhere. Flyck looked back down at the Shiver he helped fell as his comrades were salvaging armor and beating the lifeblood out of them. His adrenaline calmed down, and he looked up as the third APC's doors were opening. A vision of doom stepped out, followed by 2 more of their kind, as the APC rocked back from the reduction in weight it felt. 3 fully Exo-Armored Enforcer Shivers stepped down from their APC, primed their Stun Batons and begand their methodical march towards the gangers in perfect unison. They stood in their armor over 8 feet tall, and no sound was issued from them except the hum of their weapons, and landings of their feet. Only one thought penetrated through Flyck's shock... What the hell were Enforcer Shivers doing at the scene of a fire?
The Enforcer Shivers in one fluid and synchornized motion, threw their first swing at the gangers who hadn't noticed their approach. Blood sprayed up and gangers went flying through the air as they cut a path of dread and destruction straight through the heart of the mob. Bodies flew everywhere and the all-out retreat order was screamed from Jerrick, before tbefore he took a Stun Baton to the back of the head. Flyck tried to run and had a momentary glimpse of Dave being thrown into the air before his world went black...
The light hurt his eyes, and Flyck squinted as he stared up at the bright light above him. He looked around in confusion. He was layed in a bed at one of the Crosstown hideouts. TV blaring in the other room. His head felt like a Chagrin had hit it. Dave sat in the other room watching the TV. Slowly, he tried to get up. Dizziness washed over him at first, but he was capable of standing. Dave looked back and said "Ahh! I see your up! You've been out for days!"
"What... Happened?" Asked Flyck.
"You were hit by a baseball-bat to the back of the head. The carrion came back and attacked in force. The Enforcers cut them down as well though. We lost alot of people that night. We've got over 60 comfirmed casualties, over 100 injured, and at least 50 that are unaccounted for. You're lucky we found you a room! The whole thing was a slaughter, and we were in it."
"Why'd you use one of your grenades?" Flyck asked.
"Grenades?" Dave's look was one of confusion. "I left them all at home! We don't know what caused the building to explode like that, but SLA's got that whole street on lock-down. The news showed the whole fight, minus the Carrion. And those SLA ****s are pinning the fire, and all the damage those carrion have been causing this week, on us. They're trying to label us as militant 'subversives', and are even sending Slops down to hunt us out. We've lost 3 Safe-Havens already and have had to go under-ground. Fething ****s..."
"Where's my Flick-Scythe?" Flyck asked suddenly as he realized it was missing.
"Gone. A carrion took it and proceeded to cut down Torque, Deraly, and Brandy before he was smashed by an Enforcer."
"****... that was my favorite weapon too..." Flyck reached into his jacket and pulled out a Brow-Beater. "Hmm... Wonder where I got this? You want it?"
"Feth, man! Hell yeah! Better than the stinkin CAF gun I been usin'! Davis responded, gladly accepting the stolen gun. Flyck continued digging into his pockets, and pulled out a foreign wallet. Looking through it, he found 87 unis, a couple of photos of some children, and a Shiver ID card. The card showed a relatively attractive red-haired female named 'Jendelle Burgesson'. SCL Rank 11.0. A slight pain in his left hand brought back flashes of him decking a Shiver... and full shocking realization of whose wallet this was washed over him... -Dowtown was hell.
ooh, i wanna write one ill do it when i have a couple of hours free, mine will be about either a Troll shadow hunter, or a Dwarven rifle master
ill do it when i have a couple of hours free, mine will be about either a Troll shadow hunter, or a Dwarven rifle master
