@Drifting Pollen Random arena for me and Doc too.
DJAtomika Member
Second to Most
STATUS: To all I'm in RPs with: I apologise if my replies are sparse. Life isn't kind. 11 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 2 mos ago
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 3173 (0.75 / day)
- VMs: 1
-
Username history
- DJAtomika 12 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
SkyeOfStars
Status
Recent Statuses
11 yrs ago
Current
To all I'm in RPs with: I apologise if my replies are sparse. Life isn't kind.
11 yrs ago
BLUH
Bio
My name is DJ.
I am a roleplayer.
A roleplayer of roughly a good decade now.
I write a lot of things, and am able to roleplay a lot of things.
Random Things about me
- I run a small YouTube channel.
- I listen to a helluva lot of music. Love music.
- I'm from Singapore. It's a little island in Southeast Asia.
Anywho, I've not been RPing for a long long time, but here I am, hopefully to make a few friends and RP some.
I am a roleplayer.
A roleplayer of roughly a good decade now.
I write a lot of things, and am able to roleplay a lot of things.
Random Things about me
- I run a small YouTube channel.
- I listen to a helluva lot of music. Love music.
- I'm from Singapore. It's a little island in Southeast Asia.
Anywho, I've not been RPing for a long long time, but here I am, hopefully to make a few friends and RP some.
Most Recent Posts
@Skallagrim Uh
Ain't it funny how the thread gets really lively for the unimportant shit that composes arguments.
But when the actual content starts flowing, it gets real quiet.
That's something I've noticed.
A lot.
Also hear hear.
I'm still around. Thought I'd let maybe one other person get a reply in before I did mine.
@Drifting Pollen Are each of these fights considered ranked? Cause I do require an answer before I make the thread for mine.
why'd I get gonad
why'd I get gonad
@Drifting Pollen Thank you.
"This is as far as we'll take you, agent. Insurgent presence here's too great. You find your man and take him out, call for evac and we'll be here."
"Got it. Stay safe, lieutenant."
"You too, agent. Good hunting."
The city was in ruins. Ravaged. Tapped of all life. Torn apart by the very forces that were its supposed saviours. Bodies littered the streets like trash, forgotten and uncared for. It disgusted him to his core. How could a coalition reduce a thriving city to a mass grave in such a short time? All the warnings had gone unheeded; he'd heard from a friend in the CIA that the higher ups had wanted it that way. Sacrificing the lives of the few for the sake of the many.
They could cover their asses, of course. Plausible deniability. "Oh we didn't know there were actual civilians in the city", "the civilian casualty numbers of the Keshkaril campaign were within projected ranges", "we merely responded to provocation on the ground, by the time we realised what was going on it was too late." All bullshit, but it had to be done. Public relations. Politics. All the under-the-table shit that kept the world turning. Dirty, filthy shit that forever corrupted the men and women that dared dip their hands into the cesspit. Shit like his mission.
A certain warlord was holed up in the city. One of the leaders of the insurgency. For days the concentrated bombings had yet to touch him. But here he was, with intelligence suggesting a safe house in the slums. Only now had the DOD suggested a ground approach and minimal contact. An outside contractor was needed. So they found him. He'd been in this hellhole a week now, scavenging whatever he could, making contact with the locals and slowly tracking his target down. He'd adapted the dress of the locals refugees, donning ragtag clothes and pants. The only things that gave away any sense of true identity were his crisp, almost-clean sneakers and the grey pixelised camoflage cap he wore. From afar, he'd look like a lost scavenger. Nothing more.
Daniel lowered the brim of his cap and advanced across the street. The slum district was just the next block down. Bombing activity here was harsh; the craters in the streets and holes in buildings told the whole story. Decomposed bodies laid in some of those holes, left behind by the fleeing. The stench... Overpowering. The whole district was abandoned. Mostly. Yet he plugged his nose, held his breath and moved on.
He was close. Above the smell of death, blood and cordite, he smelled his target. A scent he'd been given as per request. For hours he'd studied it, memorised it, and now it was paying off. His nose knew the way, his legs followed it.
He stopped at the exit of the alley. Another wide open street awaited him, littered with debris, craters and burned shells of vehicles. Daniel looked around for cover, found it at a wrecked, burned truck, and readied himself. No doubt this guy knew he was coming. His lackeys would be watching.
He drew his 1911 from its holster and held it ready. The pistol, from an age gone by, shone in what sunlight there was. He gathered his strength, counted down from three, and then broke into a run across the street. Once across he ducked behind the wreck and caught his breath.
Nothing. Lucky break.
With pistol in hand he shifted to the other end of the wreck and peeked out. Nothing.
Hopefully on the journey up his luck would hold.
"Got it. Stay safe, lieutenant."
"You too, agent. Good hunting."
The city was in ruins. Ravaged. Tapped of all life. Torn apart by the very forces that were its supposed saviours. Bodies littered the streets like trash, forgotten and uncared for. It disgusted him to his core. How could a coalition reduce a thriving city to a mass grave in such a short time? All the warnings had gone unheeded; he'd heard from a friend in the CIA that the higher ups had wanted it that way. Sacrificing the lives of the few for the sake of the many.
They could cover their asses, of course. Plausible deniability. "Oh we didn't know there were actual civilians in the city", "the civilian casualty numbers of the Keshkaril campaign were within projected ranges", "we merely responded to provocation on the ground, by the time we realised what was going on it was too late." All bullshit, but it had to be done. Public relations. Politics. All the under-the-table shit that kept the world turning. Dirty, filthy shit that forever corrupted the men and women that dared dip their hands into the cesspit. Shit like his mission.
A certain warlord was holed up in the city. One of the leaders of the insurgency. For days the concentrated bombings had yet to touch him. But here he was, with intelligence suggesting a safe house in the slums. Only now had the DOD suggested a ground approach and minimal contact. An outside contractor was needed. So they found him. He'd been in this hellhole a week now, scavenging whatever he could, making contact with the locals and slowly tracking his target down. He'd adapted the dress of the locals refugees, donning ragtag clothes and pants. The only things that gave away any sense of true identity were his crisp, almost-clean sneakers and the grey pixelised camoflage cap he wore. From afar, he'd look like a lost scavenger. Nothing more.
Daniel lowered the brim of his cap and advanced across the street. The slum district was just the next block down. Bombing activity here was harsh; the craters in the streets and holes in buildings told the whole story. Decomposed bodies laid in some of those holes, left behind by the fleeing. The stench... Overpowering. The whole district was abandoned. Mostly. Yet he plugged his nose, held his breath and moved on.
He was close. Above the smell of death, blood and cordite, he smelled his target. A scent he'd been given as per request. For hours he'd studied it, memorised it, and now it was paying off. His nose knew the way, his legs followed it.
He stopped at the exit of the alley. Another wide open street awaited him, littered with debris, craters and burned shells of vehicles. Daniel looked around for cover, found it at a wrecked, burned truck, and readied himself. No doubt this guy knew he was coming. His lackeys would be watching.
He drew his 1911 from its holster and held it ready. The pistol, from an age gone by, shone in what sunlight there was. He gathered his strength, counted down from three, and then broke into a run across the street. Once across he ducked behind the wreck and caught his breath.
Nothing. Lucky break.
With pistol in hand he shifted to the other end of the wreck and peeked out. Nothing.
Hopefully on the journey up his luck would hold.
"Well then, looks like we have ourselves a little Mexican stand off. I need to go that way, but you need to go this way."
Daniel growled softly as he widened his stance and drew his katana. The ebony black blade slid noiselessly out of its sheath as he held it aloft in his right hand.
With practiced precision, he held it level with his face, blade pointing outward as he shifted his left foor forward and the right back. His left came up in a "come hither" gesture as he backed up a step and began to circle the strange man.
"Only one of us is gonna be standing at the end of this, youngster. You or me." And frankly? I'd prefer it be me."
Daniel growled softly as he widened his stance and drew his katana. The ebony black blade slid noiselessly out of its sheath as he held it aloft in his right hand.
With practiced precision, he held it level with his face, blade pointing outward as he shifted his left foor forward and the right back. His left came up in a "come hither" gesture as he backed up a step and began to circle the strange man.
"Only one of us is gonna be standing at the end of this, youngster. You or me." And frankly? I'd prefer it be me."
The Shredder tore through the warrior's torso and landed in the dirt.
Cho's speed wasn't bad, but this guy was no joke either. In the time it'd taken him to stop, spin around, shoulder his rifle and take a shot, he'd gotten straight in his face. A fist screamed for his chin as the recoil of the rifle hit his shoulder.
Instead of trying to dodge forward, Cho rolled with the recoil. As Tac's stock impacted his shoulder, he used the momentum to accelerate a backward lean, ensuring his evasion of the incoming uppercut.
The Viking was in close. Just to his advantage.
While the beefy fist screamed by his face, Cho took his left hand off Tac's grip and directed it towards Barr's sheath on his belt. Feid's swing was almost over as his hand came to rest on the combat knife.
This man was fast. But Cho could prove that he was faster.
With Barr in a backhand grip, Cho pulled him out of his sheath and swiped upwards as fast as he could while taking a step backward. The sharp blade was aimed straight for Feid's uppercut arm, hoping to score a cut along its length.
Cho's speed wasn't bad, but this guy was no joke either. In the time it'd taken him to stop, spin around, shoulder his rifle and take a shot, he'd gotten straight in his face. A fist screamed for his chin as the recoil of the rifle hit his shoulder.
Instead of trying to dodge forward, Cho rolled with the recoil. As Tac's stock impacted his shoulder, he used the momentum to accelerate a backward lean, ensuring his evasion of the incoming uppercut.
The Viking was in close. Just to his advantage.
While the beefy fist screamed by his face, Cho took his left hand off Tac's grip and directed it towards Barr's sheath on his belt. Feid's swing was almost over as his hand came to rest on the combat knife.
This man was fast. But Cho could prove that he was faster.
With Barr in a backhand grip, Cho pulled him out of his sheath and swiped upwards as fast as he could while taking a step backward. The sharp blade was aimed straight for Feid's uppercut arm, hoping to score a cut along its length.
© 2007-2026