My post is up ^^ it's a collab between me and Grif.
Hope to see everyone post their CS in the coming weeks and then get on with posting in the IC.
Darog the Badger God Member
Kawaii on the streets Senpai in the sheets
STATUS: I ride the waves like a Deaf So-Cal Surfer with an inebriated left leg. 9 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 5 yrs ago
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 933 (0.24 / day)
- VMs: 3
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Username history
- Darog the Badger God 11 yrs ago
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9 yrs ago
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I ride the waves like a Deaf So-Cal Surfer with an inebriated left leg.
Bio
Darog (/ˈdʒiːzəs/; Greek: Ἰησοῦς Badass; 7–2 BC to Whenever he feels like it), also referred to as Darog the Badger God, is the central figure of Christianity, whom the teachings of most Christian denominations hold to be the Son of The Great Badger. Christianity regards Darog as the awaited Messiah (or "The Badger God") of the Old Testament and refers to him as Darog Barrowolf, a name that is also used in non-Christian contexts.
Virtually all modern scholars of antiquity agree that Darog existed historically, although the quest for the historical Darog has produced little agreement on the historical reliability of the Gospels and on how closely the biblical Darog reflects the historical Darog.Most scholars agree that Darog The Badger God was a great warrior and an all round badass. who preached his message orally, was baptized in the blood of his fallen enemies by some weird fuck, and was crucified in Jerusalem on the orders of the Roman prefect, some poncy no namer. Scholars have constructed various portraits of the historical Darog, which often depict him as having one or more of the following roles: the leader of an apocalyptic movement, Messiah, a charismatic healer, a sage and philosopher, or an egalitarian social reformer, or more accurately, the baddest ass of all. Scholars have correlated the New Testament accounts with non-Christian historical records to arrive at an estimated chronology of Darog's life. The widely accepted calendar era (abbreviated as "AD", alternatively referred to as "CE"), counts from a medieval estimate of the awesomeness of Darog.
Christians believe that Darog has a "unique significance" in the world. Christian doctrines include the beliefs that Darog was conceived by the Holy Spirit, was born of a virgin, performed miracles and blackjack parties with hookers and shotguns, founded the Church of Cool, died by crucifixion as a sacrifice to achieve no fucks, rose from the dead to get bitches and give his killers stitches, and ascended into heaven, whence he will return after his all nighters of drinking and sexual deviancy. The great majority of Christians worship Darog as the incarnation of The Great Badger, The Badger God, the second of three persons of a Divine Trinity.
In Islam, Darog (commonly transliterated as "Dargod") is considered one of The Great Badger's important prophets and the Messiah. To Muslims, Darog is a bringer of Coolness and was born of a badass sexy Badger girl. According to the Quran, Jesus was not crucified but was physically raised into the heavens by The Great Badger.
Most Recent Posts
Karen woke to the sounds of music playing, smooth jazz filling the halls of her family manor and flooding into her room. She heard the door to her bedroom creak open, and she pushed herself up to sit up straight, leaning to peer through the gap in the door.
"Honey?" she called out, expecting to see her husband return from one of his late shifts.
Nobody replied but the sounds of jazz persisted. Karen recognised the singing and the lyrics of the particular song playing, a record by her husband's favourite jazz quartet. The jazz duet "Jack and Jill" had taken Arcadia by storm with their surprise hit despite their rumoured connections to the serial killer Dullahan. Their songs reflected that connection in many ways, and this particular song was called "The Headless Horseman", but despite the frightening name Karen had always found it quite soothing. Calling out once more her husband still did not respond, and so she slipped out of the silk sheets of her bed and let her toes slip into her white slippers.
The song continued to play as she made her way down the stairs. She turned to her right and headed into the living room, the fireplace ablaze and the silhouette of her husband sitting on the sofa facing away from her. He sat unmoving, listening contently to the smooth jazz that came from the record player in the corner of the room.
A smile grew on Karen's face, the pleasant music and the sight of her husband calming her greatly. "You woke me," she said, resting a hand gently on his shoulder. "I thought you'd be back an hour ago."
The shoulder pad of her husband's suit felt warm and wet, and curiously Karen raised her hand in front of her face. In the dim light of the fire she could see that her fingers were soaked in red. Her eyes widened and her lips trembled, and all the while the soft lyrics of the jazz duet filled her thoughts. She walked around the sofa, slowly taking in more and more of the sight of her husband until she could do nothing but scream.
Her husband's suit was torn to shreds but his torso was in a far worse condition, cut so frequently and so deeply that he had been drained of blood almost entirely. Many of the man's organs hung loosely out of a cavity in his chest, dipping into the valley of blood that had pooled in the man's lap. None were quite so fatal, however, as the blood-red axe which had been embedded deep into the man's neck, severing his head almost entirely.
Karen's face twisted in horror and another terrified scream escaped her. She collapsed under the weight of her own legs, falling into the thin sheen of blood that soaked the floorboards. It stained her clothes and her hands, tears streaming down her face and a scream so loud passing by her lips that it made her throat howl in pain.
Dullahan adored the sound of her screams, and after enjoying them for several moments, her moved from his perch in the corner of the room and walked towards Karen. His chair creaked as he moved, prompting Karen to turn her head towards the sound. The hulking biker clad in thick black leather curled his lips into a grin but it was obscured by his helmet. His grin might have been more terrifying than the array of razor shar teeth that were drawn onto the helmet.
"Boo".
xxx
The Three Blind Mice bar and grill never used to be quite so empty in the evenings. Less than two years ago the establishment was thriving, filled to the brim with people at all hours of the day from the time it opened the time it closed. Arcadia's fragile state, the growing strength of the city's crime families and the corruption which was seeping its way into all forms of local government, had left the people fearful, and the Three Blind Mice bar and grill was one of many places that had suffered.
However, the emptiness of the restaurant proved to be ideal for James Hooke, the old captain of the HMS Jolly Roger, who appreciated the privacy and vague sense of intimacy that the quiet established. He sat contently in the corner of the room, a small glass of scotch resting in his hand which he sipped at while he waited for his contact to arrive. It was 7:15PM and he was scheduled for a meeting with a police officer called Allesandro Bertolli at this very spot. The officer was supposed to have arrived five minutes ago.
Clearly impatient, James' foot rapped against the wooden floorboards of the restaurant and he ran his free hand, a metal substitute for a hand of which which had been forcibly removed, over the thin layer of black stubble that was starting to form along his jaw. He glanced up from his drink occasionally, looking across the room to see if Allesandro had entered, but every time he was disappointed.
Allesandro walked into the building, "Three Blind Mice bar and grill". Al had been here a number of times after work and during work. One in particular was a homicide case he had worked on; another crime family spat that ended with one man not getting the time he deserved in the big house and instead getting a knife through his ribs. Right now? Al was meeting a contact. Lumiere had arranged a meeting with Hooke, an old captain that was on the hunt for the infamous Peter Pan, an almost legendary human trafficker known to pick almost exclusively on children. He sighed seeing the place empty, but knew he wasn't here for pleasure and so the quiet would actually be beneficial. He was wary of his contact at first, a city well known for so many people to have two faces made it hard to trust someone. He knew from first hand since he used to be one of those people. Still, this was not the first time he had met Hooke, and the man seemed as genuine as they came the first time they had met. It was obvious he was not from Arcadia.
In truth he was looking for answers. He was working a personal case, looking into various organised but disjointed crimes that have happened since Mayor Gaston was appointed in office two years. Al had various run ins with Gaston and knew him as a self-righteous, hollier-than-thou prick who had more skeletons in the closet than Rumplestiltzkin had money. Since his wife had dissappeared his gut feeling about Mayor Gaston was on the fritz, and he was more determined than ever to find some solid evidence against him. Something in the back of his mind was tell him that maybe he was too focused on getting dirt on Gaston that he avoid the problem he really should be focusing on; finding Beauty. Finding his wife.
"Glass of scotch", Beast said, ordering a drink from the bar, seeing the older man across the room that he only just recognised. He picked up his glass and moved over to Hooke, giving him a short nod of the head to start his introduction. The man responded with his own nod, raising his glass slightly to welcome him over. "Hooke," he said, holding out a hand. "Good to see you again."
James extended his own arm and shook hands with Al, the Beast as he was known by some. "Bertolli," he replied. "Likewise."
Both men took a quick swig of their glass. Al sat himself down on the opposite side of the table facing James and they sat without saying a word for at least a minute. It was the captain that broke the silence, placing his glass down on the table a little firmer than he needed to. Al could sense how tense the man was just by looking at him, and he wondered how he managed to speak so calmly.
"Do you or do you not know where Peter Pan is?" James asked, raising one eyebrow.
Al sighed in response, adjusting himself as he then looked directly at James. "We have some leads on his location. The bastard likes to have a bunch of scapegoats at the numerous safe houses he has. We've only found five of them so far but it's not enough to go on. We need more, Hooke, and not just about Pan, but on what you know about the specifics of his job. Does he have a contact here in the city? Does he actually work for someone higher up? If yes, who?, You gotta work with me here" replied Al. He did not want to disappoint James but he was not focusing his efforts specifically on Pan. Al wanted to bring down the tyranny that had plagued Arcadia, not just a part of it.
"He's slippery. You know him more than I do."
"He works for someone else," James replied. "Or at least he's working with someone else. He may be slippery but he's not subtle. I remember overhearing a conversation or two about an associate of Pan's, although I never heard the name."
"But before he kicked me off of his ship he mentioned picking up a large quantity of fairy dust. Apparently the trade around here is quite lucrative."
Fairy dust was a drug that originated on the streets of Arcadia. It was growing more and more popular by the day and, along with being incredibly potent and highly hallucinogenic, the cost of even a small quantity was enough to bankrupt the household of even a minor addict. It made Al wonder how it had even become so popular, but then he remembered that the people who made it could make anything they wanted happen. It was a designer drug that was heavily associated with the local crime families. It was assumed that they were the only people with the resources to produce such a drug and to make it with so few contaminants. Any connection to fairy dust meant that Pan was in deep with someone particularly powerful in the city, which Al knew was bad news.
"Fairy dust? Really? ...shit" Al wasn't quite sure how to respond. He reached through his coat pocket and pulled out a notebook, making sure to write all this down for further inspection. "I was addicted to that trash a few years back," he finally said. "That shit ruins families and ends relationships in a heartbeat," he continued, still writing down the information that the captain have him. "The one person who's ahead of all things fairy dust is someone that goes by the name of Tinkerbell, or just Tink. Do you know them?"
James wracked his brain for a moment. The name sounded familiar, that he could not deny, but he could not offer much more than a vague recollection. "It sounds familiar. I may have overhead it while onboard his ship but I cannot offer much more help than that."
He took another sip. "Still, that's one lead. If we look into this Tinkerbell individual then we might find more information about Pan."
Al nodded in agreement. After months of dead end leads and fake evidence, it seemed he might actually get some useful information and even a big lead this time. Even if Arcadia's police force were unwilling to use it they had a sizable store of information to do with the fairy dust trade, and this could lead them directly to Pan, which could in turn lead to one of the larger crime families. "We can finally get some dirt on the rampant crime in this city for once...so? Let's not wait around for Tink to come to us. Let's get that junkie drug dealer right now." Al grinned taking a whole chug of his scotch. He took out his pistol, making sure it was loaded and ready just in case this situation would get out of hand. "I know a good spot in Downtown Arcadia where addicts usually hang out. A drug den. We might be able to get some info out of them about this Tinkerbell and find a connection to her. What do you say?" he placed his gun bck in its holster, the grin still upon his face.
Although surprised by Al's forwardness and willing to act on his own accord, James had to hide the small grin which appeared in the corner of his mouth. Life in the Navy had drilled him with discipline and taught him to either follow orders or give them. He had expected Al, a police officer, to be the same, but he was the complete opposite of a mindless drone. Now James was acting on impulse and it was like a breath of fresh air. He had no weapon of his own with him, having had his pistol confiscated by Pan shortly after his kidnap, but he did not expect the scene to become so violent. If it did then he would be resourceful.
He took a sip of his scotch, finishing off the last few droplets that remained at the bottom of the glass.
"Where do we need to go?"
xxx
James and Al arrived at a dark alleyway somewhere in the city's Irish quarter before the clock hit eight, although the sun had gone down long before they had even left the restaurant and the sky was now pitch black. It was cold too and the late evening wind started to bite at their skin. James pulled his coat a little bit tighter, burying his face into the collar of the article to stay warm.
"This is the place?" James asked as Al stopped by the entrance of a thin alleyway.
Al nodded. "I used to come here to get my fix. We at the station call it "No Hope Alley". One of the better known dens is just down here".
James could see why it had gained such an unpleasant nickname. No lights lit the alleyway, and the further one peered down into it the thicker the murky black seemed to become. Groaning, the sounds of pain rather than pleasure, echoed softly towards the intruding pair, followed by the coughing and wheezing of a woman who struggled to breathe. The alleyway itself stunk of death and desperation, and just being here made James lose a small part of what little faith he had left in this city; it was a perfect example of the sorry state Arcadia had fallen into.
"We should find someone willing to talk quite easily here," Al continued, looking dead ahead as he took his first few steps forwards. As they continued down the alleyway, James could see hazy black figures slumped down to the ground like lifeless corpses. Addicts, likely not just of fairy dust, too delirious from their drugs or the symptoms of withdrawal that they likely couldn't even tell Al and James were there as they made their way down the path. Al cringed as he walked past them, reminded all too much of a life that once belonged to him, weaving down the almost endless alleyway as they moved closer to the dealer's office of operations. A small, nondescript door in the side of the wall was the source of all the suffering here, and it was left slightly ajar. James dreaded to think what he would find inside.
Al noticed James' unease. "You'll get used to these kinds of sights when you work in the station. Fairy dust is the number one drug export in NA right now. Makes perfect sense for your boy Peter Pan to have his grubby hands in on it too."
"Let's just get this over with," James replied, slowly moving towards the door and peering inside cautiously. He immediately recoiled at the smell, surprised that it smelled worse than the alleyway they currently stood in.
Pushing the door open and sliding inside as silently as he could, the two immediately took in their surroundings. While better lit than the alley the entire building was still dark, cold, and damp, and was littered with even more people who were drapped over mattresses or the floor with their minds rattled by drugs. It stunk of a thousand foul things, and James found himself bringing the sleeve of his coat up to his nose to try and mask the smell.
"Who are we looking for?" James asked, just as unsure here as he was outside.
"Goes by the name "Tommy the Rat". He used to be my seller before I decided to get off the shit". Al led James through a door and into a hallway, eventually reaching a small flight of stairs that went up. They climbed upwards six floors before they reached another door, this one seemingly leading into a small apartment. "Here's the place he sells it from when he's not downstairs," Al continued. He knocked on the door as hard as he could, pressing his ear gently against the door to listen in on any signs of movement. subtle sounds could be heard, sounds of footsteps and a door slowly closing shut. Al knocked the door harder than before
There was still no response. Al looked to James and he looked back. "I don't think they're planning on answering," James said. He moved his hand to the handle and pulled it, and while there was some give the door stayed firmly shut. Pushing a little firmer, the captain tried to force the door open but was having very little luck.
"Allow me" Al said, a smile on his lips. With a swift kick aimed just beside the lock the door gave way, swinging open with a bang. The lock hadn't given way but the wood connecting it to the rest of the door had, leaving a great gaping hole in the main part of the door where the lock used to be. "I've done this plenty of times"
Al quickly moved in as he looked around the apartment. As it always was, piles of dirty clothing, food containers, and other waste lay scattered on the floor. The walls were rotting and covered in cracks, and a thin layer of smoke hung low in the building, slowly seeping out now that the door had been opened.
When Al passed by an archway, the door long having fallen off of its hinges, the sound of a bullet echoed throughout the apartment block as Tommy pulled the trigger of his pistol. It narrowly missed Al's neck but the man instinctively dropped the floor regardless, dragging himself forwards and away from the doorway. James meanwhile held his position, back pressed against the wall and well out of the way of the gunfire.
Al quickly took cover, pulling his gun from its holster and checking the clip once out of habit. "Tommy!" he yelled. "Don't embarass yourself. We're not here to hurt you. We just want to ask you a few questions," Al continued as calmly as he could, slowly moving towards the doorframe again. He wondered what had made Tommy so jumpy, but nevertheless he needed to get some answers out of him.
Another shot was fired the moment Tommy could see even a strand of Allessandro's hair, pinging off the wall in a flurry of sparks and plaster.
Al narrowly got out of his sights, barely missing the bullet a second time. Tommy cursed, fumbling about for another clip for his gun, and Al's eyes never left the man's hand as he charged. Al moved in as quickly as he could, far faster than Tommy could reload, his eyes twisted and the pupils became a deep red. He tore through the furniture that stood in his way, grabbing Tommy by his throat with one hand and his gun with the other. Tommy fired the gun aimlessly, bullets flying into the ceiling, but Al slammed him into the nearby wall in an attempt to silence him. It worked.
"I told you, Tommy! I'm not in the mood for your bullshit!" Beast's voice was lower pitched than before, nails extended into what could almost pass for claws.
"Now," continued Al. His grip tightened, and a small amount of blood trickled around where his nails dug into Tommy's skin. "You're going to tell me everything you know about Tinkerbell. Where she lives, who she works for, hell, how many fucking cups of coffee she drinks in a day! And don't you dare think about lying to me because I will know."
Tommy wheezed out a response as best he could. "If I te-"
He might have finished answering Al's question if it had not been for deafening scream which roared through the building and across half of Arcadia as air ignited, concrete shattered and an entire building was torn down to nothing but rubble in an instant. James, who now stood aimlessly in the doorway, could see it through the window ahead of him as the large stone building on the other side of the street, the Ol'Boy pub, was engulfed in a massive fireball. The heat could be felt from here and the sound of the explosion was deafening. Fragments of brick, wood, and glass shot out in all directions, and a large chunk of the building's wall crashed through the side of the appartment tower of the drug den only a few floors below where Al, James, and Tommy stood. The entire building shook violently.
It took out a sizeable portion of the den's own wall beneath them all, and only seconds later the entire floor gave out beneath them. Al felt the brief sensation of weightlessness, and it took him a moment to realise that he was falling. James stood in awe as the floor of the entire room in front of him collapsed at Al fell, but was silently glad that what floor he stood on in the hallway remained steady. Al was not so fortunate and was dragged down as the floor vanished beneath him, and even with his new bestial strength it was not enough to leap to safety. Still, even he felt lucky when he saw Tommy slip out of his grip and fall, his entire body tumbling out of the new gaping hole in the wall and down half a dozen floors until he struck the rubble-littered ground with a crack that would have been sickening if he had actually heard it.
Only a moment later, Al felt a sharp pain run down his neck. His entire body struck the ground at once, and with nothing to cushion the blow he felt it across his entire body. It carried up his spine and he felt his bones crack and shatter, and then his head hit the concrete floor. With a throbbing pain like nothing he had felt before his senses vanished, his vision turning black as he lost consciousness entirely.
"Honey?" she called out, expecting to see her husband return from one of his late shifts.
Nobody replied but the sounds of jazz persisted. Karen recognised the singing and the lyrics of the particular song playing, a record by her husband's favourite jazz quartet. The jazz duet "Jack and Jill" had taken Arcadia by storm with their surprise hit despite their rumoured connections to the serial killer Dullahan. Their songs reflected that connection in many ways, and this particular song was called "The Headless Horseman", but despite the frightening name Karen had always found it quite soothing. Calling out once more her husband still did not respond, and so she slipped out of the silk sheets of her bed and let her toes slip into her white slippers.
The song continued to play as she made her way down the stairs. She turned to her right and headed into the living room, the fireplace ablaze and the silhouette of her husband sitting on the sofa facing away from her. He sat unmoving, listening contently to the smooth jazz that came from the record player in the corner of the room.
A smile grew on Karen's face, the pleasant music and the sight of her husband calming her greatly. "You woke me," she said, resting a hand gently on his shoulder. "I thought you'd be back an hour ago."
The shoulder pad of her husband's suit felt warm and wet, and curiously Karen raised her hand in front of her face. In the dim light of the fire she could see that her fingers were soaked in red. Her eyes widened and her lips trembled, and all the while the soft lyrics of the jazz duet filled her thoughts. She walked around the sofa, slowly taking in more and more of the sight of her husband until she could do nothing but scream.
Her husband's suit was torn to shreds but his torso was in a far worse condition, cut so frequently and so deeply that he had been drained of blood almost entirely. Many of the man's organs hung loosely out of a cavity in his chest, dipping into the valley of blood that had pooled in the man's lap. None were quite so fatal, however, as the blood-red axe which had been embedded deep into the man's neck, severing his head almost entirely.
Karen's face twisted in horror and another terrified scream escaped her. She collapsed under the weight of her own legs, falling into the thin sheen of blood that soaked the floorboards. It stained her clothes and her hands, tears streaming down her face and a scream so loud passing by her lips that it made her throat howl in pain.
Dullahan adored the sound of her screams, and after enjoying them for several moments, her moved from his perch in the corner of the room and walked towards Karen. His chair creaked as he moved, prompting Karen to turn her head towards the sound. The hulking biker clad in thick black leather curled his lips into a grin but it was obscured by his helmet. His grin might have been more terrifying than the array of razor shar teeth that were drawn onto the helmet.
"Boo".
The Three Blind Mice bar and grill never used to be quite so empty in the evenings. Less than two years ago the establishment was thriving, filled to the brim with people at all hours of the day from the time it opened the time it closed. Arcadia's fragile state, the growing strength of the city's crime families and the corruption which was seeping its way into all forms of local government, had left the people fearful, and the Three Blind Mice bar and grill was one of many places that had suffered.
However, the emptiness of the restaurant proved to be ideal for James Hooke, the old captain of the HMS Jolly Roger, who appreciated the privacy and vague sense of intimacy that the quiet established. He sat contently in the corner of the room, a small glass of scotch resting in his hand which he sipped at while he waited for his contact to arrive. It was 7:15PM and he was scheduled for a meeting with a police officer called Allesandro Bertolli at this very spot. The officer was supposed to have arrived five minutes ago.
Clearly impatient, James' foot rapped against the wooden floorboards of the restaurant and he ran his free hand, a metal substitute for a hand of which which had been forcibly removed, over the thin layer of black stubble that was starting to form along his jaw. He glanced up from his drink occasionally, looking across the room to see if Allesandro had entered, but every time he was disappointed.
Allesandro walked into the building, "Three Blind Mice bar and grill". Al had been here a number of times after work and during work. One in particular was a homicide case he had worked on; another crime family spat that ended with one man not getting the time he deserved in the big house and instead getting a knife through his ribs. Right now? Al was meeting a contact. Lumiere had arranged a meeting with Hooke, an old captain that was on the hunt for the infamous Peter Pan, an almost legendary human trafficker known to pick almost exclusively on children. He sighed seeing the place empty, but knew he wasn't here for pleasure and so the quiet would actually be beneficial. He was wary of his contact at first, a city well known for so many people to have two faces made it hard to trust someone. He knew from first hand since he used to be one of those people. Still, this was not the first time he had met Hooke, and the man seemed as genuine as they came the first time they had met. It was obvious he was not from Arcadia.
In truth he was looking for answers. He was working a personal case, looking into various organised but disjointed crimes that have happened since Mayor Gaston was appointed in office two years. Al had various run ins with Gaston and knew him as a self-righteous, hollier-than-thou prick who had more skeletons in the closet than Rumplestiltzkin had money. Since his wife had dissappeared his gut feeling about Mayor Gaston was on the fritz, and he was more determined than ever to find some solid evidence against him. Something in the back of his mind was tell him that maybe he was too focused on getting dirt on Gaston that he avoid the problem he really should be focusing on; finding Beauty. Finding his wife.
"Glass of scotch", Beast said, ordering a drink from the bar, seeing the older man across the room that he only just recognised. He picked up his glass and moved over to Hooke, giving him a short nod of the head to start his introduction. The man responded with his own nod, raising his glass slightly to welcome him over. "Hooke," he said, holding out a hand. "Good to see you again."
James extended his own arm and shook hands with Al, the Beast as he was known by some. "Bertolli," he replied. "Likewise."
Both men took a quick swig of their glass. Al sat himself down on the opposite side of the table facing James and they sat without saying a word for at least a minute. It was the captain that broke the silence, placing his glass down on the table a little firmer than he needed to. Al could sense how tense the man was just by looking at him, and he wondered how he managed to speak so calmly.
"Do you or do you not know where Peter Pan is?" James asked, raising one eyebrow.
Al sighed in response, adjusting himself as he then looked directly at James. "We have some leads on his location. The bastard likes to have a bunch of scapegoats at the numerous safe houses he has. We've only found five of them so far but it's not enough to go on. We need more, Hooke, and not just about Pan, but on what you know about the specifics of his job. Does he have a contact here in the city? Does he actually work for someone higher up? If yes, who?, You gotta work with me here" replied Al. He did not want to disappoint James but he was not focusing his efforts specifically on Pan. Al wanted to bring down the tyranny that had plagued Arcadia, not just a part of it.
"He's slippery. You know him more than I do."
"He works for someone else," James replied. "Or at least he's working with someone else. He may be slippery but he's not subtle. I remember overhearing a conversation or two about an associate of Pan's, although I never heard the name."
"But before he kicked me off of his ship he mentioned picking up a large quantity of fairy dust. Apparently the trade around here is quite lucrative."
Fairy dust was a drug that originated on the streets of Arcadia. It was growing more and more popular by the day and, along with being incredibly potent and highly hallucinogenic, the cost of even a small quantity was enough to bankrupt the household of even a minor addict. It made Al wonder how it had even become so popular, but then he remembered that the people who made it could make anything they wanted happen. It was a designer drug that was heavily associated with the local crime families. It was assumed that they were the only people with the resources to produce such a drug and to make it with so few contaminants. Any connection to fairy dust meant that Pan was in deep with someone particularly powerful in the city, which Al knew was bad news.
"Fairy dust? Really? ...shit" Al wasn't quite sure how to respond. He reached through his coat pocket and pulled out a notebook, making sure to write all this down for further inspection. "I was addicted to that trash a few years back," he finally said. "That shit ruins families and ends relationships in a heartbeat," he continued, still writing down the information that the captain have him. "The one person who's ahead of all things fairy dust is someone that goes by the name of Tinkerbell, or just Tink. Do you know them?"
James wracked his brain for a moment. The name sounded familiar, that he could not deny, but he could not offer much more than a vague recollection. "It sounds familiar. I may have overhead it while onboard his ship but I cannot offer much more help than that."
He took another sip. "Still, that's one lead. If we look into this Tinkerbell individual then we might find more information about Pan."
Al nodded in agreement. After months of dead end leads and fake evidence, it seemed he might actually get some useful information and even a big lead this time. Even if Arcadia's police force were unwilling to use it they had a sizable store of information to do with the fairy dust trade, and this could lead them directly to Pan, which could in turn lead to one of the larger crime families. "We can finally get some dirt on the rampant crime in this city for once...so? Let's not wait around for Tink to come to us. Let's get that junkie drug dealer right now." Al grinned taking a whole chug of his scotch. He took out his pistol, making sure it was loaded and ready just in case this situation would get out of hand. "I know a good spot in Downtown Arcadia where addicts usually hang out. A drug den. We might be able to get some info out of them about this Tinkerbell and find a connection to her. What do you say?" he placed his gun bck in its holster, the grin still upon his face.
Although surprised by Al's forwardness and willing to act on his own accord, James had to hide the small grin which appeared in the corner of his mouth. Life in the Navy had drilled him with discipline and taught him to either follow orders or give them. He had expected Al, a police officer, to be the same, but he was the complete opposite of a mindless drone. Now James was acting on impulse and it was like a breath of fresh air. He had no weapon of his own with him, having had his pistol confiscated by Pan shortly after his kidnap, but he did not expect the scene to become so violent. If it did then he would be resourceful.
He took a sip of his scotch, finishing off the last few droplets that remained at the bottom of the glass.
"Where do we need to go?"
James and Al arrived at a dark alleyway somewhere in the city's Irish quarter before the clock hit eight, although the sun had gone down long before they had even left the restaurant and the sky was now pitch black. It was cold too and the late evening wind started to bite at their skin. James pulled his coat a little bit tighter, burying his face into the collar of the article to stay warm.
"This is the place?" James asked as Al stopped by the entrance of a thin alleyway.
Al nodded. "I used to come here to get my fix. We at the station call it "No Hope Alley". One of the better known dens is just down here".
James could see why it had gained such an unpleasant nickname. No lights lit the alleyway, and the further one peered down into it the thicker the murky black seemed to become. Groaning, the sounds of pain rather than pleasure, echoed softly towards the intruding pair, followed by the coughing and wheezing of a woman who struggled to breathe. The alleyway itself stunk of death and desperation, and just being here made James lose a small part of what little faith he had left in this city; it was a perfect example of the sorry state Arcadia had fallen into.
"We should find someone willing to talk quite easily here," Al continued, looking dead ahead as he took his first few steps forwards. As they continued down the alleyway, James could see hazy black figures slumped down to the ground like lifeless corpses. Addicts, likely not just of fairy dust, too delirious from their drugs or the symptoms of withdrawal that they likely couldn't even tell Al and James were there as they made their way down the path. Al cringed as he walked past them, reminded all too much of a life that once belonged to him, weaving down the almost endless alleyway as they moved closer to the dealer's office of operations. A small, nondescript door in the side of the wall was the source of all the suffering here, and it was left slightly ajar. James dreaded to think what he would find inside.
Al noticed James' unease. "You'll get used to these kinds of sights when you work in the station. Fairy dust is the number one drug export in NA right now. Makes perfect sense for your boy Peter Pan to have his grubby hands in on it too."
"Let's just get this over with," James replied, slowly moving towards the door and peering inside cautiously. He immediately recoiled at the smell, surprised that it smelled worse than the alleyway they currently stood in.
Pushing the door open and sliding inside as silently as he could, the two immediately took in their surroundings. While better lit than the alley the entire building was still dark, cold, and damp, and was littered with even more people who were drapped over mattresses or the floor with their minds rattled by drugs. It stunk of a thousand foul things, and James found himself bringing the sleeve of his coat up to his nose to try and mask the smell.
"Who are we looking for?" James asked, just as unsure here as he was outside.
"Goes by the name "Tommy the Rat". He used to be my seller before I decided to get off the shit". Al led James through a door and into a hallway, eventually reaching a small flight of stairs that went up. They climbed upwards six floors before they reached another door, this one seemingly leading into a small apartment. "Here's the place he sells it from when he's not downstairs," Al continued. He knocked on the door as hard as he could, pressing his ear gently against the door to listen in on any signs of movement. subtle sounds could be heard, sounds of footsteps and a door slowly closing shut. Al knocked the door harder than before
There was still no response. Al looked to James and he looked back. "I don't think they're planning on answering," James said. He moved his hand to the handle and pulled it, and while there was some give the door stayed firmly shut. Pushing a little firmer, the captain tried to force the door open but was having very little luck.
"Allow me" Al said, a smile on his lips. With a swift kick aimed just beside the lock the door gave way, swinging open with a bang. The lock hadn't given way but the wood connecting it to the rest of the door had, leaving a great gaping hole in the main part of the door where the lock used to be. "I've done this plenty of times"
Al quickly moved in as he looked around the apartment. As it always was, piles of dirty clothing, food containers, and other waste lay scattered on the floor. The walls were rotting and covered in cracks, and a thin layer of smoke hung low in the building, slowly seeping out now that the door had been opened.
When Al passed by an archway, the door long having fallen off of its hinges, the sound of a bullet echoed throughout the apartment block as Tommy pulled the trigger of his pistol. It narrowly missed Al's neck but the man instinctively dropped the floor regardless, dragging himself forwards and away from the doorway. James meanwhile held his position, back pressed against the wall and well out of the way of the gunfire.
Al quickly took cover, pulling his gun from its holster and checking the clip once out of habit. "Tommy!" he yelled. "Don't embarass yourself. We're not here to hurt you. We just want to ask you a few questions," Al continued as calmly as he could, slowly moving towards the doorframe again. He wondered what had made Tommy so jumpy, but nevertheless he needed to get some answers out of him.
Another shot was fired the moment Tommy could see even a strand of Allessandro's hair, pinging off the wall in a flurry of sparks and plaster.
Al narrowly got out of his sights, barely missing the bullet a second time. Tommy cursed, fumbling about for another clip for his gun, and Al's eyes never left the man's hand as he charged. Al moved in as quickly as he could, far faster than Tommy could reload, his eyes twisted and the pupils became a deep red. He tore through the furniture that stood in his way, grabbing Tommy by his throat with one hand and his gun with the other. Tommy fired the gun aimlessly, bullets flying into the ceiling, but Al slammed him into the nearby wall in an attempt to silence him. It worked.
"I told you, Tommy! I'm not in the mood for your bullshit!" Beast's voice was lower pitched than before, nails extended into what could almost pass for claws.
"Now," continued Al. His grip tightened, and a small amount of blood trickled around where his nails dug into Tommy's skin. "You're going to tell me everything you know about Tinkerbell. Where she lives, who she works for, hell, how many fucking cups of coffee she drinks in a day! And don't you dare think about lying to me because I will know."
Tommy wheezed out a response as best he could. "If I te-"
He might have finished answering Al's question if it had not been for deafening scream which roared through the building and across half of Arcadia as air ignited, concrete shattered and an entire building was torn down to nothing but rubble in an instant. James, who now stood aimlessly in the doorway, could see it through the window ahead of him as the large stone building on the other side of the street, the Ol'Boy pub, was engulfed in a massive fireball. The heat could be felt from here and the sound of the explosion was deafening. Fragments of brick, wood, and glass shot out in all directions, and a large chunk of the building's wall crashed through the side of the appartment tower of the drug den only a few floors below where Al, James, and Tommy stood. The entire building shook violently.
It took out a sizeable portion of the den's own wall beneath them all, and only seconds later the entire floor gave out beneath them. Al felt the brief sensation of weightlessness, and it took him a moment to realise that he was falling. James stood in awe as the floor of the entire room in front of him collapsed at Al fell, but was silently glad that what floor he stood on in the hallway remained steady. Al was not so fortunate and was dragged down as the floor vanished beneath him, and even with his new bestial strength it was not enough to leap to safety. Still, even he felt lucky when he saw Tommy slip out of his grip and fall, his entire body tumbling out of the new gaping hole in the wall and down half a dozen floors until he struck the rubble-littered ground with a crack that would have been sickening if he had actually heard it.
Only a moment later, Al felt a sharp pain run down his neck. His entire body struck the ground at once, and with nothing to cushion the blow he felt it across his entire body. It carried up his spine and he felt his bones crack and shatter, and then his head hit the concrete floor. With a throbbing pain like nothing he had felt before his senses vanished, his vision turning black as he lost consciousness entirely.
bashed in the head with a typewriter.
Epic Score said
^ No worries. It's just a place-holder draft. The history can easily be adjusted to be more fantasy-like if that's the verdict.
Aaah, okay.
But yes that would be much appreciated if you did that ^^.
We are definitely still accepting characters! And I will reserve Hansel and Gretel for you ^^.
@Hellis and Dmytra: Those posts were fantastic! enjoyed reading them!
@Hellis and Dmytra: Those posts were fantastic! enjoyed reading them!
Smiral said
Get this entry level trash out of my subforum.It's time to talk about the greatest animu of all time, Yowamushi Pedal.
Sounds like one of those terrible magic girl animes.
I'll imagine something else, thank you, but not really.
Imagine mah arm be a timeline.
And all up in tha beginnin of mah arm is tha start of defined time
Where tha only beings was dinos n' flyin mites.
Now.
50,000 muthafuckin years later, where beings is now civilized
Da smoke age, we could say, there be a practically no ice.
And then there was these people, call dem Gangstas
And they was controlled by tha fat mackdaddy of Great Britian.
But they wanted ta be free, thatz what tha fuck they realized.
So then they went n' done cooked up a cold-ass lil ghetto, n' dat shiznit was all...fine?
Now, let our asses not go tha fuck into dat story.
Now, millionz of muthafuckin years later, on mah hand
There is now futuristic objects
Since wit Moorez law, we git mo' betta man-mades.
And while computas can git mo' betta n' mo' betta cuz of Moorez law
They will soon surpass tha capabilitez of right now
To tha extent of computas bein able ta cook up a cold-ass lil computerized ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass.
Da Matrix.
Now, git all dis bullshit.
How tha fuck do we know if we is up in tha middle, livin game ta tha future
Or millionz of muthafuckin years later, tryin ta live a bangin-ass game up in a cold-ass lil computer.
Maybe there was a program, makin our asses start over
Makin up history, puttin futuristic objects up in tha middle
Maybe our phat asses didn't even have these objects up in tha smoke age up in tha straight-up original gangsta run
Maybe fo' tha second run, up in tha computerized ghetto, they put some objects ta help our asses evolve again.
So we may be up in a cold-ass lil computerized run of humanity.
Moorez law was a prediction, yes
So maybe dis be all fictional
Or maybe Moorez law was made by a gangbangin' futuristic bein comin tha fuck into tha past, ta predict dis n' make it real. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Maybe no muthafucka believed his muthafuckin ass.
Maybe dis is true.
Or maybe you be thinkin I be fuckin wack.
But gotz a think; dis be a interest concept up in mah opinion, n' I just simply wanted ta share dat shit.
Did it not make sense, biatch? Or done did it not make sense cuz yo' dome is insignificant n' you cannot understand, biatch?
Fuck dat shit, our crazy asses have intelligence, so yo' dome be as dope as ours, so you can straight-up KNOW dat shit. Or make it understandable.
Imagine mah arm be a timeline.
And all up in tha beginnin of mah arm is tha start of defined time
Where tha only beings was dinos n' flyin mites.
Now.
50,000 muthafuckin years later, where beings is now civilized
Da smoke age, we could say, there be a practically no ice.
And then there was these people, call dem Gangstas
And they was controlled by tha fat mackdaddy of Great Britian.
But they wanted ta be free, thatz what tha fuck they realized.
So then they went n' done cooked up a cold-ass lil ghetto, n' dat shiznit was all...fine?
Now, let our asses not go tha fuck into dat story.
Now, millionz of muthafuckin years later, on mah hand
There is now futuristic objects
Since wit Moorez law, we git mo' betta man-mades.
And while computas can git mo' betta n' mo' betta cuz of Moorez law
They will soon surpass tha capabilitez of right now
To tha extent of computas bein able ta cook up a cold-ass lil computerized ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass.
Da Matrix.
Now, git all dis bullshit.
How tha fuck do we know if we is up in tha middle, livin game ta tha future
Or millionz of muthafuckin years later, tryin ta live a bangin-ass game up in a cold-ass lil computer.
Maybe there was a program, makin our asses start over
Makin up history, puttin futuristic objects up in tha middle
Maybe our phat asses didn't even have these objects up in tha smoke age up in tha straight-up original gangsta run
Maybe fo' tha second run, up in tha computerized ghetto, they put some objects ta help our asses evolve again.
So we may be up in a cold-ass lil computerized run of humanity.
Moorez law was a prediction, yes
So maybe dis be all fictional
Or maybe Moorez law was made by a gangbangin' futuristic bein comin tha fuck into tha past, ta predict dis n' make it real. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Maybe no muthafucka believed his muthafuckin ass.
Maybe dis is true.
Or maybe you be thinkin I be fuckin wack.
But gotz a think; dis be a interest concept up in mah opinion, n' I just simply wanted ta share dat shit.
Did it not make sense, biatch? Or done did it not make sense cuz yo' dome is insignificant n' you cannot understand, biatch?
Fuck dat shit, our crazy asses have intelligence, so yo' dome be as dope as ours, so you can straight-up KNOW dat shit. Or make it understandable.
Pol Pot, born Saloth Sar (Khmer: សាឡុត ស), was a Cambodian communist revolutionary whoz ass hustled tha Khmer Rouge from 1963 until 1997. From 1963 ta 1981, da perved-out muthafucka served as tha General Secretary of tha Communist Jam of Kampuchea.[5] As such, his thugged-out lil' punk-ass became tha leader of Cambodia on April 17, 1975, when his wild lil' forces captured Phnom Penh. From 1976 ta 1979, he also served as tha prime minista of Democratic Kampuchea.
Dude presided over a totalitarian dictatorshizzle dat imposed a radical form of agrarian hoodizzle on tha ghetto yo. His posse forced urban dwellaz ta relocate ta tha ghettoside ta work up in collectizzle farms n' forced labor projects, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Da combined effectz of executions, forced labor, malnutrition, n' skanky medicinal care caused tha dirtnapz of approximately 25 cement of tha Cambodian population. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. In all, a estimated 1 ta 3 mazillion playas (out of a population of slightly over 8 million) took a dirt nap cuz of tha policiez of his wild lil' four-year premiership.
In 1979, afta tha Cambodian-Vietnamese War, Pol Pot fled ta tha junglez of southwest Cambodia, n' tha Khmer Rouge posse collapsed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! From 1979 ta 1997, he n' a remnant of tha oldschool Khmer Rouge operated near tha border of Cambodia n' Thailand, where they clung ta power, wit nominal United Nations recognizzle as tha rightful posse of Cambodia. Pol Pot committed suicizzle up in 1998 while under doggy den arrest by tha Ta Mok faction of tha Khmer Rouge. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Since his fuckin lil' dirtnap, rumours dat da thug was poisoned have persisted
Dude presided over a totalitarian dictatorshizzle dat imposed a radical form of agrarian hoodizzle on tha ghetto yo. His posse forced urban dwellaz ta relocate ta tha ghettoside ta work up in collectizzle farms n' forced labor projects, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Da combined effectz of executions, forced labor, malnutrition, n' skanky medicinal care caused tha dirtnapz of approximately 25 cement of tha Cambodian population. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. In all, a estimated 1 ta 3 mazillion playas (out of a population of slightly over 8 million) took a dirt nap cuz of tha policiez of his wild lil' four-year premiership.
In 1979, afta tha Cambodian-Vietnamese War, Pol Pot fled ta tha junglez of southwest Cambodia, n' tha Khmer Rouge posse collapsed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! From 1979 ta 1997, he n' a remnant of tha oldschool Khmer Rouge operated near tha border of Cambodia n' Thailand, where they clung ta power, wit nominal United Nations recognizzle as tha rightful posse of Cambodia. Pol Pot committed suicizzle up in 1998 while under doggy den arrest by tha Ta Mok faction of tha Khmer Rouge. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Since his fuckin lil' dirtnap, rumours dat da thug was poisoned have persisted
Now for Gaddafi, yo.
uammar Muhammad Abu Minyar al-Gaddafi,commonly known as Colonel Gaddafi,was a Libyan revolutionary n' sucka, n' tha de facto rula of Libya fo' 42 years. Takin juice up in a 1969 coup d'etat, he ruled as Revolutionary Chairman of tha Libyan Arab Rehood from 1969 ta 1977 n' then as tha "Brotherly Leader" of tha Great Socialist Peoplez Libyan Arab Jamahiriya from 1977 ta 2011, when da thug was ousted up in tha Libyan civil war fo' realz. After beginnin as a Arab nationalist n' Arab hoodist, he later governed tha ghetto accordin ta his own ideology, tha Third Internationistic Theory yo. Dude eventually embraced Pan-Africanism, n' served as Chairthug of tha African Union from 2009 ta 2010.
Da lil hustla of a impoverished Bedouin goat herder, Gaddafi became involved up in ballistics while up in dis muthafucka up in Sabha, subsequently enrollin up in tha Royal Military Academy, Benghazi. Foundin a revolutionary cell within tha military, up in 1969 they seized juice from Mackdaddy Idris up in a funky-ass bloodless coup. Becomin Chairman of tha governin Revolutionary Command Council (RCC), da ruffneck dissolved tha monarchy n' proclaimed tha Republic. Rulin by decree, he implemented measures ta remove what tha fuck he viewed as foreign imperialist influence from Libya, n' strengthened tizzles ta Arab nationalist posses. Intent on pushin Libya toward "Islamic hoodism", he introduced sharia as tha basis fo' tha legal system n' nationalized tha oil industry, rockin tha increased revenues ta bolsta tha military, implement hood programs n' fund revolutionary militants across tha ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! In 1973 he initiated a "Popular Revolution" wit tha formation of General Peoplez Committees (GPCs), a system of direct democracy yo, but retained underground control over major decisions yo. Dude outlined his Third Internationistic Theory dat year, publishin these scams up in Da Chronic Book.
In 1977, da ruffneck dissolved tha Rehood n' pimped tha Jamahiriya, a "state of tha masses" part-governed by GPCs. Officially adoptin a symbolic role up in governance, he retained juice as military commander-in-chizzle n' head of tha Revolutionary Committees responsible fo' policin n' suppressin opponents, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Overseein unsuccessful border conflicts wit Egypt n' Chad, Gaddafiz support fo' foreign militants n' alleged responsibilitizzle fo' tha Lockerbie bombin hustled ta Libyaz label of "internationistic pariah" fo' realz. A particularly straight-up shitty relationshizzle pimped wit tha United Hoodz n' United Mackdaddydom, resultin up in tha 1986 U.S. bombin of Libya n' United Nations-imposed economic sanctions. From 1999, Gaddafi encouraged economic privatization, pan-African integration, n' sought mo' betta relations wit tha West. In 2011, a anti-Gaddafist uprisin hustled by tha Nationizzle Transitionizzle Council (NTC) broke out, resultin up in civil war. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. NATO intervened militarily on tha side of tha NTC, resultin up in tha possez downfall. Retreatin ta Sirte, Gaddafi was captured n' capped by NTC militants.
Gaddafi was a cold-ass lil controversial n' highly divisive ghetto figure. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Supportas lauded his thugged-out anti-imperialist stizzle n' his support fo' pan-Africanizzle n' pan-Arabism, n' da thug was decorated wit various awards. Conversely, da thug was internationally condemned as a gangbangin' finger-lickin' punk-ass biiiiatch n' autocrat whose authoritarian administration violated tha human muthafuckin rightz of Libyan playa haters, n' supported irredentist movements, tribal warfare n' terrorizzle up in nuff other nations.
uammar Muhammad Abu Minyar al-Gaddafi,commonly known as Colonel Gaddafi,was a Libyan revolutionary n' sucka, n' tha de facto rula of Libya fo' 42 years. Takin juice up in a 1969 coup d'etat, he ruled as Revolutionary Chairman of tha Libyan Arab Rehood from 1969 ta 1977 n' then as tha "Brotherly Leader" of tha Great Socialist Peoplez Libyan Arab Jamahiriya from 1977 ta 2011, when da thug was ousted up in tha Libyan civil war fo' realz. After beginnin as a Arab nationalist n' Arab hoodist, he later governed tha ghetto accordin ta his own ideology, tha Third Internationistic Theory yo. Dude eventually embraced Pan-Africanism, n' served as Chairthug of tha African Union from 2009 ta 2010.
Da lil hustla of a impoverished Bedouin goat herder, Gaddafi became involved up in ballistics while up in dis muthafucka up in Sabha, subsequently enrollin up in tha Royal Military Academy, Benghazi. Foundin a revolutionary cell within tha military, up in 1969 they seized juice from Mackdaddy Idris up in a funky-ass bloodless coup. Becomin Chairman of tha governin Revolutionary Command Council (RCC), da ruffneck dissolved tha monarchy n' proclaimed tha Republic. Rulin by decree, he implemented measures ta remove what tha fuck he viewed as foreign imperialist influence from Libya, n' strengthened tizzles ta Arab nationalist posses. Intent on pushin Libya toward "Islamic hoodism", he introduced sharia as tha basis fo' tha legal system n' nationalized tha oil industry, rockin tha increased revenues ta bolsta tha military, implement hood programs n' fund revolutionary militants across tha ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! In 1973 he initiated a "Popular Revolution" wit tha formation of General Peoplez Committees (GPCs), a system of direct democracy yo, but retained underground control over major decisions yo. Dude outlined his Third Internationistic Theory dat year, publishin these scams up in Da Chronic Book.
In 1977, da ruffneck dissolved tha Rehood n' pimped tha Jamahiriya, a "state of tha masses" part-governed by GPCs. Officially adoptin a symbolic role up in governance, he retained juice as military commander-in-chizzle n' head of tha Revolutionary Committees responsible fo' policin n' suppressin opponents, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Overseein unsuccessful border conflicts wit Egypt n' Chad, Gaddafiz support fo' foreign militants n' alleged responsibilitizzle fo' tha Lockerbie bombin hustled ta Libyaz label of "internationistic pariah" fo' realz. A particularly straight-up shitty relationshizzle pimped wit tha United Hoodz n' United Mackdaddydom, resultin up in tha 1986 U.S. bombin of Libya n' United Nations-imposed economic sanctions. From 1999, Gaddafi encouraged economic privatization, pan-African integration, n' sought mo' betta relations wit tha West. In 2011, a anti-Gaddafist uprisin hustled by tha Nationizzle Transitionizzle Council (NTC) broke out, resultin up in civil war. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. NATO intervened militarily on tha side of tha NTC, resultin up in tha possez downfall. Retreatin ta Sirte, Gaddafi was captured n' capped by NTC militants.
Gaddafi was a cold-ass lil controversial n' highly divisive ghetto figure. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Supportas lauded his thugged-out anti-imperialist stizzle n' his support fo' pan-Africanizzle n' pan-Arabism, n' da thug was decorated wit various awards. Conversely, da thug was internationally condemned as a gangbangin' finger-lickin' punk-ass biiiiatch n' autocrat whose authoritarian administration violated tha human muthafuckin rightz of Libyan playa haters, n' supported irredentist movements, tribal warfare n' terrorizzle up in nuff other nations.
Let's get started shall we?
Adolf Hitla was a Austrian-born German sucka n' tha leader of tha Nazi Jam (German: Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei (NSDAP); Nationizzle Socialist German Workers Party) yo. Dude was chancellor of Germany from 1933 ta 1945 n' punk-ass biiiiatch of Nazi Germany (as Führer und Reichskanzler) from 1934 ta 1945 yo. Hitla was all up in tha centre of Nazi Germany, Ghetto Battle Pt II up in Europe, n' tha Holocaust.
Hitla was a thugged-out decorated veteran of Ghetto Battle I yo. Dude joined tha German Workers' Jam (precursor of tha NSDAP) up in 1919, n' became leader of tha NSDAP up in 1921. In 1923, he attempted a cold-ass lil coup up in Munich ta seize juice n' shit. Da failed coup resulted up in Hitlerz imprisonment, durin which time da thug freestyled his crazy-ass memoir, Mein Kampf (My fuckin Struggle) fo' realz. After his bangin release up in 1924, Hitla gained ghettofab support by comin' all up in tha Treaty of Versaillez n' biggin' up Pan-Germanism, antisemitism, n' anti-communizzle wit charismatic oratory n' Nazi propaganda yo. Hitla frequently denounced internationistic capitalizzle n' communizzle as bein part of a Jewish conspiracy.
Hitlerz Nazi Jam became tha phattest erected jam up in tha German Reichstag, leadin ta his thugged-out appointment as chancellor up in 1933. Peepin fresh erections won by his coalition, tha Reichstag passed tha Enablin Act, which fuckin started tha process of transformin tha Weimar Rehood tha fuck into tha Third Reich, a single-party dictatorshizzle based on tha totalitarian n' autocratic ideologizzle of Nationizzle Socializzle yo. Hitla aimed ta eliminizzle Jews from Germany n' establish a New Order ta counter what tha fuck da perved-out muthafucka saw as tha injustice of tha post-Ghetto Battle I internationistic order dominated by Britain n' Frizzle yo. His first six muthafuckin years up in juice resulted up in rapid economic recovery from tha Great Depression, tha denunciation of restrictions imposed on Germany afta Ghetto Battle I, n' tha annexation of territories dat was home ta millionz of ethnic Germans, actions which gave his ass dope ghettofab support.
Hitla actively sought Lebensraum ("livin space") fo' tha German playas yo. His aggressive foreign policy is considered ta be tha primary cause of tha outbreak of Ghetto Battle Pt II up in Europe yo. Dude pimped up large-scale rearmament n' on 1 September 1939 invaded Poland, resultin up in British n' French declarationz of war on Germany. In June 1941, Hitla ordered a invasion of tha Soviet Union. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. By tha end of 1941 German forces n' they European allies occupied most of Europe n' Uptown Africa. Failure ta defeat tha Soviets n' tha entry of tha United Hoodz tha fuck into tha war forced Germany onto tha defensive n' it suffered a seriez of blowin tha fuck up defeats, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. In tha final minutez of tha war, durin tha Battle of Berlin up in 1945, Hitla hooked up his fuckin long-time freak, Eva Braun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. On 30 April 1945, less than two minutes later, tha two committed suicizzle ta avoid capture by tha Red Army, n' they corpses was burned. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Under Hitlerz leadershizzle n' racially motivated ideology, tha regime was responsible fo' tha genocizzle of at least 5.5 mazillion Jews, n' millionz of other suckas whom he n' his wild lil' followers deemed racially inferior.
Adolf Hitla was a Austrian-born German sucka n' tha leader of tha Nazi Jam (German: Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei (NSDAP); Nationizzle Socialist German Workers Party) yo. Dude was chancellor of Germany from 1933 ta 1945 n' punk-ass biiiiatch of Nazi Germany (as Führer und Reichskanzler) from 1934 ta 1945 yo. Hitla was all up in tha centre of Nazi Germany, Ghetto Battle Pt II up in Europe, n' tha Holocaust.
Hitla was a thugged-out decorated veteran of Ghetto Battle I yo. Dude joined tha German Workers' Jam (precursor of tha NSDAP) up in 1919, n' became leader of tha NSDAP up in 1921. In 1923, he attempted a cold-ass lil coup up in Munich ta seize juice n' shit. Da failed coup resulted up in Hitlerz imprisonment, durin which time da thug freestyled his crazy-ass memoir, Mein Kampf (My fuckin Struggle) fo' realz. After his bangin release up in 1924, Hitla gained ghettofab support by comin' all up in tha Treaty of Versaillez n' biggin' up Pan-Germanism, antisemitism, n' anti-communizzle wit charismatic oratory n' Nazi propaganda yo. Hitla frequently denounced internationistic capitalizzle n' communizzle as bein part of a Jewish conspiracy.
Hitlerz Nazi Jam became tha phattest erected jam up in tha German Reichstag, leadin ta his thugged-out appointment as chancellor up in 1933. Peepin fresh erections won by his coalition, tha Reichstag passed tha Enablin Act, which fuckin started tha process of transformin tha Weimar Rehood tha fuck into tha Third Reich, a single-party dictatorshizzle based on tha totalitarian n' autocratic ideologizzle of Nationizzle Socializzle yo. Hitla aimed ta eliminizzle Jews from Germany n' establish a New Order ta counter what tha fuck da perved-out muthafucka saw as tha injustice of tha post-Ghetto Battle I internationistic order dominated by Britain n' Frizzle yo. His first six muthafuckin years up in juice resulted up in rapid economic recovery from tha Great Depression, tha denunciation of restrictions imposed on Germany afta Ghetto Battle I, n' tha annexation of territories dat was home ta millionz of ethnic Germans, actions which gave his ass dope ghettofab support.
Hitla actively sought Lebensraum ("livin space") fo' tha German playas yo. His aggressive foreign policy is considered ta be tha primary cause of tha outbreak of Ghetto Battle Pt II up in Europe yo. Dude pimped up large-scale rearmament n' on 1 September 1939 invaded Poland, resultin up in British n' French declarationz of war on Germany. In June 1941, Hitla ordered a invasion of tha Soviet Union. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. By tha end of 1941 German forces n' they European allies occupied most of Europe n' Uptown Africa. Failure ta defeat tha Soviets n' tha entry of tha United Hoodz tha fuck into tha war forced Germany onto tha defensive n' it suffered a seriez of blowin tha fuck up defeats, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. In tha final minutez of tha war, durin tha Battle of Berlin up in 1945, Hitla hooked up his fuckin long-time freak, Eva Braun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. On 30 April 1945, less than two minutes later, tha two committed suicizzle ta avoid capture by tha Red Army, n' they corpses was burned. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Under Hitlerz leadershizzle n' racially motivated ideology, tha regime was responsible fo' tha genocizzle of at least 5.5 mazillion Jews, n' millionz of other suckas whom he n' his wild lil' followers deemed racially inferior.
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