Status

Recent Statuses

1 day ago
Current Knock knock. Who's there? Oh my. Oh my who? Omae wa mou shindeiru.
3 likes
1 mo ago
Y'all ever travel to Egypt with your grandpa, his Egyptian friend, your classmate, a French guy, and a dog to fight a gay vampire and save your mom's life?
6 likes
2 mos ago
Boomer humor can be broken down into two categories: the "I hate my wife" category and the "computers bad, books good" category. If they're feeling like it, there may even be both.
4 likes
2 mos ago
Everybody gangsta till the IC starts
13 likes
3 mos ago
@Asebi - Okay everyone but Asebi is a good person who can do great things with their lives.
2 likes

Bio

Just some guy who does roleplays sometimes.



RPs I'm 'Blessing' With My Presence:
World of Light
(Where I play a guy who'll Dragon Kick your ass into the Milky Way)
Heroes Reborn: Prime Earth
(Where I play an absolutely cuhrayzee monster hunter)
Absolute Comics
(Where I play a faceless detective man)

Most Recent Posts



Level 2 - (18/20) + 2 = (20/20) LEVEL UP
Difficulty Level 1
Location: Dead Zone (Redgraccoon City)
Word Count: 752


In the time after the fight, Gene quickly hopped into the shower of the van, not bothering to take his clothes off as they needed to be cleaned the most. Unfortunately for him, he didn't take into account the fact that wet clothes were uncomfortable as hell to move around in. Stepping out of the shower with nothing but a pair of tighty-whities on and wet clothes in hand, Gene reached into his pants pocket. He had a bunch of different outfits he'd bought, and they all could fit nice and neat into his pocket! ... Somehow.

As he rummaged around in there, his hand came across a pair of clothes. From the feel of it, they were still dry, too! Grinning, he pulled them out, only to find...

Oh God.

That freaky, awful, weird fishnet thing! It had feathers on the collar too! He didn't even know how he got it, one day he just... Had it! Suddenly, the van came to a stop. Oh no. He heard gunfire, and Nero's voice yelling at something. Then, there were the distinct sounds of combat, likely the others joining in on fighting whatever was outside. Crap, crap, it was too late to get anything else! Quickly, Gene began to put on the clothes, regretting his choice all the while. The others were gonna think he was some sort of sicko after this.

With a dramatic flair, Gene kicked the door of the van wide open, revealing him in all his glory.


With a yell of excitement, Gene ran out, fist raised... Only to stop dead in his tracks as he saw the big zombie the others were fighting. This thing was built like a tank! Oh, that's a good name, a Tank! He should pitch it to the others... Wait, now wasn't the time for coming up with names, now was the time for kicking ass! "Hey, freak! Over here!" he called out, before charging at the monster.

It was already weakened by the combined efforts of his allies and the boy band looking dudes. By the looks of it, the quartet were already here fighting it before the rest of them arrived; they had just finished up their little team combo. Having felt that the God Hand hadn't yet recharged in the time between the end of the earlier fight and now, Gene instead decided to go in for a few normal punches and kicks. This thing couldn't be much tougher than any of the Four Devas.

He continued his charge, delivering a leaping kick to the Tank! ... Which was very easily shrugged off. So, Gene began to let out his basic combo, finishing it off with a high kick! The Tank still didn't budge. Instead, it raised its beefy fists up high to bring them down onto Gene. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Gene felt his honed reflexes saving his ass, and he found himself back flipping just out of the way of the attack.

Well, normal attacks didn't seem to do very well. He'd have to try a different tactic. With it decided, Gene whipped out the Roulette Wheel, and prayed for a Ball Buster... And the words "Ball Buster" appeared before him! Guess he still had some luck after all!

He turned around and, with practiced precision, delivered a backwards kick right into the zombie's big, ugly cajones. He must have still had feeling in his body after all, as his gross pale face turned a shade of blue, and twisted into a comically pained expression. As the Tank stood there stunned, Gene saw something in his mind's eye...



He grinned, and before he knew it, he was delivering a flurry of rapid punches into the beast's belly, as it began to twitch involuntarily at the beatdown it was receiving. Slowly, Gene began to yell, starting as a low growl but soon turning into a full on scream, as though he was voicing his fighting spirit. Faintly, he heard beeping, which slowly began to increase in speed and volume until...

An explosion!

Gene and the Tank were sent flying in opposite directions, Gene banging against the side of Nero and Nico's van and landing on his face. That... Hurt. A lot. Why didn't anyone tell him the Tank was rigged to blow? Well, hopefully it was finished off... Gene pushed himself up, groaning in pain, before rolling his left shoulder. He was probably lucky if it wasn't shattered. "Jeez, why didn't anyone tell me he was gonna blow up? I could've died!"
I had some ideas to bring other former Charlton characters into the game as supporting NPCs, but Captain Atom wouldn't mesh well with the Question so I was planning on leaving him out.
Hat Roy is best Roy don't @ me

Location: Hub City, Illinois - United States
Issue #1: Who Are You?

Interaction(s): None
Previously: N/A


I woke up unable to recall my own name.

The room was cold and damp, with no decorations to speak of. A small window behind me, a ray of pale moonlight seeping through the glass and onto the brick walls. The only exit was a door dead ahead. I tried to push myself up but found my hands tied behind my back with rope, my legs also tied up, and I was unable to move too much without chafing my wrists and ankles. How long had I been here, passed out and tied up?

I needed to think... What can I remember?

-----


It was raining, the sky above me the color of a television tuned to a dead channel. An informant of mine, an old drunkard named Roscoe, had provided me with a tip. He said that there were shady things going on at this address, something a man of my talents would be able to bust no problem. The address led to an old shack, tucked cozily into a back alley in The Wedge. I waited outside, pressed up against the wall of the shack and peeking in through the window at a group of men playing poker.

"Yo Johnny, you got any sixes?" one man asked, looking intently at another man, Johnny.

"Go fish," Johnny replied, and the other man grumbled and pulled another card from the deck.

Well never mind, then. They were playing Go Fish. I suppose poker would have been too stereotypical.

I watched on as they played, getting bored and cold and wet. The seconds ticked by into minutes, then an hour. Part of me thought that Roscoe was pulling my leg sending me here. So far it seemed I was just spying on a group of thugs having game night. Hell, maybe the old wineo was going senile, misheard something. I wouldn't put it beneath him.

It was two hours into my stakeout that it finally started to show promise. The men started making small talk while playing, having stayed silent most of the time, and one of them asked the question I was waiting to hear.

"Ain't boss gonna be coming tonight?"

"Yeah, he's on his way. Got in a bit of a jam, had to clean up a mess. Should be here soon."

Interesting... Maybe this is what Roscoe was talking about.


-----


A stakeout. One that somehow ended with me bound up in some empty room. But who would want to keep me alive? If they had such a problem with me, it would have been much easier to shoot me in the head when they had me beat. There had to be something I was missing... What was I missing?

... Try as I might, no sudden spark of memory ran through my mind. Shit. Must've gotten a pretty sharp crack on the head for my mind to be so scattered like this. It felt like my brain was a hamster on a running wheel, constantly working but ultimately ending up nowhere at all. This was pointless. I'd have time enough for piecing my circumstances together once I got out of here. Needed to be able to at least stand up.

My hands were tied behind my back. Grunting, I used my hands to lift myself up a bit, enough to get them under my thighs. After a moment, I managed it, and from there it was as easy as... Pulling my legs through my bound up hands... Damn, too tired to even come up with a witty metaphor. Need to keep going.

With my hands now in front of me, I flopped over onto my front and pushed myself up. I stood for a moment, struggling to keep my balance with my feet bound so closely together, but after laying my hands against the wall I was steady again. The window I had noticed earlier was just within reach; I couldn't slip through it, it was too small and cold steel bars prevented anyone from slipping in, but I could use it to my advantage in another way.

Clasping my hands together, I raised them up high and slammed them across the window pane. There was a small crack, and a smear of blood from a cut I had just gotten. Another smack, more cracks, bigger smear. Third smack, the window shattered, and my hands were freely bleeding. Slowly, I retrieved a sizeable shard, and slipped it between my hands to saw at the ropes. I pondered on just how stupid this was, sticking a jagged and sharp piece of glass in between my wrists, but my desire to get my Goddamn hands free overpowered any fear I had...

Bingo. I let the ropes fall from my wrists, then flopped onto my behind to undo the ropes on my feet. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth... I sawed through the rope without much of a problem. I stood up and dropped the shard onto the ground, the blood stained glass shattering upon impact with the cold concrete floor. I rubbed at my wrists a bit to relieve the chafing, then reached up to rub the exhaustion out of my eyes...

My hands met flesh where my eyes should be. I glided my hands down to my mouth. Nothing there either. Did they... Take my face? No no, that was too crazy. That sort of stuff couldn't happen. I had to have been wearing a mask of some sort. Something to hide my identity. But from who? That, I suppose, was the question I should be asking.

I walked over to the door leading out of the room, finding it locked. Of course, it couldn't be simple. I placed a finger against the door itself; wooden, rotting from years of water damage, nearly caving to the pressure if you pushed hard enough. I backed up a few paces, then slammed my shoulder into the door and heard a loud crack. I backed up and did it again once, twice, three times, and knocked the door clean off the hinges.

I landed on the cold hard ground with a grunt of pain, rolling off the door and looking up. I was in a long hallway, barely lit by a dim yellow, almost green lightbulb above me. The walls looked like they would have been white once upon a time, but were now yellow and marred with water stains, a sign of how decrepit this place was. I needed to get out of here...

... And I couldn't have thought that at a worse time, as I heard shouting from behind another doorway not far from me. I looked around the hall, trying to find an exit; there were three other doors aside from the one I heard the shouting from and the one I had come out of. One of the doors, probably leading out of here, was at the very end of the hallway past the room full of thugs. If I was in better condition, I might've been able to make it, but no. Right now I needed to hide. Acting quickly, I pushed myself off the ground and scrambled into one of the other rooms, closing the door behind me.

As I caught my breath, I looked around the room, half expecting it to be full of other criminals. But as luck would have it, it seemed to be devoid of other people; from the looks of it I had wound up in a bathroom, stalls and urinals lining the walls. After making sure I was alone, checking all the stalls, I rushed back to the door and pressed an ear against it, listening for any sign that they were approaching.

A door opening...

Footsteps, from the sounds of it about seven men...

Then, shouting.

"Shit, Question got out! Look around, he can't have gone far!"

Question, huh? Must have been an alias of mine. Wonder how I got it? Wait, no. I shook my head, now wasn't the time for this. It didn't matter. All that mattered right now was figuring a way out of here...

To Be Continued...
<Snipped quote by Simple Unicycle>

Me waiting for Uni's two weeks to be up like:




So I took a night to think about this entire issue and I can't fathom how you could have posted that message in the first place. You knew it was offensive, and yes I'm at fault for not responding earlier but there's no way that post should ever have made it into the OOC thread. So I'm sorry to say, but I'm officially removing you from the game. Thank you for your contributions but, I just can't have a repeat of this incident and I've received several concerns about the content of your posts.

Apologies and best of luck moving forward. If you have any questions, please direct them to me in a PM.
Oh God oh fuck it's Season Two, now I actually have to post in the game I signed up for.


Level 2 - (16/20) + 2 = (18/20)
Difficulty Level 1
Location: Dead Zone (Redgraccoon City)
Word Count: 923


Gene stayed silent in the back of the van on the trip through the Dead Zone, munching quietly on an orange. He gave a few small chuckles at Daxter's antics, but for the most part he just didn't feel in a talking mood. Too busy getting psyched up for all the demons and zombies they were about to beat down in the city... And boy howdy, were there demons and zombies to beat down.

Dead ahead were dozens, if not hundreds of zombies flooding the streets of Redgraccoon City. Some were weird... Bug demons, others were just standard undead. A sizeable chunk looked like the other generic zombies, but with different deformities. A few were big and fat, some had strange boils around their face and neck with long, slimy tongues. Gene decided that he did not want to deal with either of those two types of zombies.

Soon enough, the van came to a stop, Nero stepping out to personally deal with the bug demons. Not long after, the three duos went to work, Ratchet & Clank, Jak & Daxter, and Banjo & Kazooie, alongside the monk Donnie, going to town on zombies. There were a few rough patches and close calls, but mostly, everyone was doing okay. The robot, Blazermate if Gene recalled, was staying back to heal anyone while her sentry took down any monsters that got too close.

With a grin, Gene cracked his knuckles and stepped out of the van. "Haha! This is what I'm talking about! Time to go to town on these freaks!" Without another word, he sprinted right into the fray, throwing himself forward a roll and ramming through a group of zombies in the process. Two went down without much else, while the others went flying. Gene whipped out his Roulette Wheel, praying for a Shockwave...

The words "Divine Smash" greeted his eyes, and he charged forward, plowing through a zombie on the way to the others. Eh, close enough. Gene ran right at one of the zombies that was on the ground, and began to stomp on it repeatedly until, eventually, it died. In the meantime, however, the rest of the zombies had recovered and began to shamble towards him. So, Gene did what he always did...

He ran in and threw a right hook. He began to unleash a flurry of blows on the zombies, who were too mindless to think about blocking or dodging, making this a piece of cake. Every once in a while a zombie would lunge for him; the first time, his instincts saved him from getting pounced on, but eventually he got the hang of occasionally dodging in between combos. This was starting to seem too easy...

As if on cue, Gene heard what sounded like someone vomiting, and turned his head in the direction of the sound... Only to meet a spew of bile to the face. The smell was rancid, and the fat bastard that vomited on him looked almost pleased with his undead self. "You... YOU! THIS COAT WASN'T CHEAP, YOU JERKOFF!" He rushed towards the Boomer, delivering a flying kick to its belly...

Which promptly exploded, showering him with even more bile. On the bright side, he gained its Spirit, which looked vastly different from the other zombie spirits he'd been picking up. But that was about where the bright side ended, as now the rest of the zombies turned their attention from approaching the others... To focusing on him. Slowly, but surely, they began to shamble towards him, while a few sprinters came right at him. He defended himself rather easily against them, defeating them quickly, but considering he was stuck in the middle of a sea of undead who, mostly, were all focused dead on him, he wasn't too confident in his chances.

He only had one option... Well, two, but one would look way cooler so he decided to go with that one first.

He whipped out the Roulette again, praying for La Bomba...

The word "Grovel" appeared before him.

'No... No. No! Oh I'm so screwed...'

Against his will, Gene felt himself falling to his knees and bowing down before the undead approaching him. Needless to say, they didn't exactly give a crap about it in their mindless state. As Gene pulled himself back up, he knew there was just one thing he could do to escape...

So, he clamped a hand onto the Deistic Brace, and ripped it off, feeling the power of God flow through him. Arm glowing, Gene let loose, flying into the swarm of undead in a blur of punches and kicks. There were a few swipes and bites that got through to his body, but his skin was unbreakable; nothing could stop him when he unleashed the God Hand... Well, except another God Hand user that is. But Azel didn't seem to be around, so it was all cool!

Gene powered through the sea of zombies, eventually breaking through and winding up back in front of the van again. And just in time too! He could feel the God Hand's power draining, and he forced the Brace back onto his arm despite wanting to just cut loose and whoop ass. Luckily, Blazermate's sentry was doing a fine job on the zombies. "Jeez! Almost got my ass kicked there! Lucky I had this bad boy or I would've been done for!" He patted his bicep, staring out at the dwindling array of zombies. "God I need a shower... That fat boy vomited all over me!"

I need to get a post up with my second character considering she's been accepted for about a month and I still have yet to post with her. Gonna try and get a post up in the coming days.


Level 2 - (15/20) + 1 = (16/20)
Difficulty Level 1
Location: Paved Wilderness
Word Count: 241
Interactions: @Lugubrious



Gene listened on as the fellow white haired guy prattled on about how dangerous and spooky the Qliphoth place was. Demons and zombies, huh? He'd beaten the hell out of a metric fuck ton of demons on his journey, not to mention he capped it off by killing their king. This guy didn't know who he was talking to about demons and danger.

With a cocky grin, Gene cracked his knuckles and rolled his head around to pop his neck. "Leave it to the professionals, huh? Well, I'll have you know that in my world, I'm sort of an expert of punching, kicking, and generally beating the hell out of demons. I even beat the Demon King Angra!" A pause, followed by his cocky grin turning to a more sheepish one. "... Though that was with a huge power boost I don't have anymore."

He shook his head. What was he saying? He had the moves to beat up demons! And zombies? Pffft, they weren't any problem! "Besides, our group is chock full of experts at kicking ass! They should call us Team Kickass we're so good at it! You guys could tag along and we can head straight for that Qliphoth and beat up some demons!" Talking wasn't his strong suit, but he hoped what he said could maybe, just maybe, convince at least the white haired punk to come along. Gene felt that they were kindred spirits of some sort.
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