PrivateVentures

Mass Effect: Underworld

"And I still have a free drink on my tab"

-@Dervish

what a G

Mass Effect: Underworld

<Snipped quote by Mega Birb>

Or say "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." Ad infinitum. It worked for that other guy.

@BlackSam3091

You could also just constantly scream "YOU WERE THE CHOSEN ONE"

Pens and Swords (PV's literature dump)

Untitled

Untitled

Short Story

We are the United States. We are free.

We are free, to the point that we have restaurants that will serve a red wine and lasagna, fried chicken and waffles, and salmon steak with side rice pilaf and lemon-caper butter, all to the same table.

We are free, to the point that our gun carrying citizens see fit to form their own special club in which to discuss their firearms, all things related to firearms, and anything in their lives that could potentially be linked back to firearms.

We are free, to the point that we will arrest any individual who is caught while bartering sexual favors for monetary return, unless, of course, a camera is involved, with the intent to distribute the recording. Prostitution becomes pornography very, very easily.

We are free, to the point that we are allowed the time, and resources to plot, supply, and fund acts of terrorism, designed to destroy our nation's morals or structure. And we are allowed to remain Anonymous.

We are free, to the point that idiot wannabe writers can click-clack away at their keyboards to criticize a complex system of government, forming not only the Three Branches, but a dense webway of autonomic social cues locking us biologically into a set series of behaviours like insects, obedient to the Queen's pheromones.

We are free, at a price.



Harper's Mill Police Department, 300 Main St. Harper's Mill, Virginia, 24551, 1997 AD.
I just killed a cop. I didn't mean to. I swear. I didn't know who he was. That's a pretty excuse, I know. Maybe it would make more sense if I mentioned I thought he was a different cop. No, wait, no, that sounds worse. He was a dirty cop. Not the one I killed, the one I thought he was. That guy, he's a killer, and I've seen him give drugs to kids. He trades 'em for sex. I swear. I have proof. Photographs. But I can't tell you where it is. I can't trust you, I'm sorry.

I can tell you where to find the bodies. There's one, under the pier, on the south shore. There's another buried in the backyard of 126 Majestic Pines Rd. The third, buried in the backyard of 1850 Kemper St. The last one is at the bottom of the river, off the bridge downtown, the one that leads off to Calumet.

I swear to God. I swear to God.

1850 Kemper St. Apt. 1; Harper's Mill, Virginia, 24551; Barrett Farrar, Landlord; 1997 AD

not sure where this is going

Words Are Oxygen [Hardcore]

@Mistiel Unfortunately, I gotta drop out. I will still return to read the IC, though, once it gets rollin'.

Mass Effect: Underworld

@SgtEasy I hope you win, but don't forget to have fun!

Ravnica: A Magic RP

I'M FUCKING DROPPING OUT

Magical arrival (?)

@Fubsy Oh my god, Fubs, again?

YOU ARE RPG'S WELCOMING COMMITTEE

@Musenana Welcome to the guild! I'm the resident explorer of the cosmos, and Fubs is one *unh* bootylicious ghost. Have fun!

Ravnica: A Magic RP

@Gutshot Not like the other things.

The things I won't talk about, with the five colors and weird insect heirarchy and the.... *shudders* I don't talk about it.

Pens and Swords (PV's literature dump)

Lets try role reversal

Taking Timothy

Taking Timothy

Short Story, Suspense?

Timothy was small. Timothy was young. Timothy was weak. He remained all three of these things until I found him. Until I saved him. He spent his days pushed around by his classmates, and his nights pushed around by his brothers. The youngest of a single mother's three boys, Timothy was set for failure from the start. Add to that the facts that his father was not the same as his brothers', and that his brothers were twins, and his life reads like a Possession instruction manual.

I started small. After all, I didn't want to scare him, not yet. I just wanted him to know he wasn't alone. I felt sorry for him. My sympathy, however, was heavily outweighed by my necessity. You see, I lost my last human. They aren't dead, I just can't find them. Evicted without a notice, as they say, with a crucifix and holy water. The Father even wore a purple stole. William Peter Blatty couldn't have put it together better himself.

But, I digress. Where was I? Ah, yes. I started small. Very small, just a little note, written in condensation on his bathroom mirror, transient and untraceable. "Hello, Timothy." Then, again, in ballpoint pen on his Bible's table of contents. "I can hear your thoughts." That didn't end up working properly, as they didn't even go to church at the time, but I thought it was worth a shot. They got a real kick out of it later, though. Actually, that's an understatement. It was fucking hilarious.

I didn't move anything until a week afterward. Timothy was getting his weekly ass-kicking in the locker room, during third period double gym, when I found something very interesting. One of little Timothy's two assailants had a Swiss Army knife in his pocket.

It was a simple matter to get the blade open in his jeans, and even pop it out onto the tile floor without drawing attention. The problem was getting Timothy to see it.

That little four-eyed idiot geek fuck just laid there and took it for, shit, another five minutes at least, before his stupid little fuck fingers grabbed ahold it. But oh, did he go crazy when he got it!

Sure, I had to guide his hand a little. After all, a kid that age doesn't know to stab upward at a forty-five degree angle into the base of the skull to turn another human into a vegetable, or that severing the brachial artery is as deadly, if not more so, than cutting the carotid.

Timothy learned both that day.

It was kind of fun, putting together the crime scene. I used everything I'd ever seen, from the time I made a woman pull out her husband's eye with cooking tongs while he lay drugged and unconscious, and the cops showed up in the middle of it, all the way to that time the girl I was possessing at the time was really, really, really into Law & Order.

Timothy, that scrawny little bitch, had dropped the knife down a shower drain, and was now sitting on the floor and sobbing like a molested child. I suppose, in a way, he was.

So, I, in my infinite wisdom, popped the little red multitool out, where, (thank fucking Lucifer, like, unholy shit was that lucky.), it had lodged itself in, falling sideways just as the pipe tapered. Phew. I quickly dropped it in the toilet. I tried to show him what I was doing, but that little faggot just sat and wailed. I shoulda made him look. I was stupid to just let him cry, but, I dunno, I'm a softie for sad outcast kids.

Let me tell you it is no small matter getting a terrified child to shut the fucking heaven up. Like, I totally empathize with that woman, what was her name, nah, forget it, you know, the one that shook her kid to death. That's what I felt like doing right then.

I'm not proud of what I did then. I'm not. But there were two things I needed to do. First, I had to make Timothy enjoy killing. I had to corrupt him. Second, well, actually this wasn't necessary, but I needed a trick to shut him up. So I, uh, ugh I blew him. I did. I did my best to mimic what I figured Scarlet Johansen's lips would do. At least I was able to do it through his shorts. Blecchhkk I don't even wanna think about uuggghh bareback.

Okay, anyway, blocked memories aside, Timmy had just creamed his jeans after killing one student and crippling the other for life. He's deep in the shit. Especially because his wounds don't look that bad. I gotta say, I am proud of what I did then. It was like art. First, I broke Timmy's nose. I felt as though a great quantity of blood spilled would make Timothy's situation seem more dire. Nah, he was fine. Aside from the crying, and the confusing orgasm.

But then I broke two ribs. He was now most certainly not fine, and cried, and cried. When teachers finally noticed the sound- hang on, I gotta go off on a tangent here. Those teachers took forty five Satanblessed minutes to realize there was a child screaming with two broken ribs, a comatose football player, and a dead juvenile delinquent in the gym locker room. What the everliving fuck happened to the U.S. educational system? I thought we had the best one! I bet it was fucking W. No Child Left Behind- fuck you, George W., you'll never be as cool as your dad!

I can judge G.W.B. You can't. I mean, heavens, man, I possessed the guy from 2001 to 2003. The guy was so stressed over the terrorist attack that he was super vulnerable, so I jumped to him from Cheney. Although, I can say with some patriotic pride, as an All-American demon, that while I had him, my fight was for vengeance for Uncle Sam. I made up the whole "nuclear weapons in the middle-east" thing first. After they busted me on it, I made up a rockin' rumor about Georgie trying to get Iraqi oil. Boy, I was good. But then, Colin Powell. Not a lot of folks know, but Colin is a fully ordained minister in the Church of Satan. Basically, my district manager. He took me off the case, and confiscated my guy. Which sucks, 'cause he was just getting over his erectile dysfunction and Laura, to this day, looks fine as hell.

Unholy shit, did I get distracted. Sorry about that.

Point is, I got Timmy's perfect crime set up. Not a single incriminating fingerprint, and the whole thing looks like self defense. Timmy's bullying problem was over. But a new problem had just begun.

Timothy's mother was concerned. She was worried enough to hire a psychiatrist. A Christian psychiatrist. I don't mean that the guy was Christian. Well, he was, but I mean that his methods and his entire approach was Bible and Church-based. Man, if you though normal psychiatrists were bad...

Ravnica: A Magic RP

@GutshotUnless he used tokens, and Path to Exile'd himself, with the tokens. Could give some insane manaramp if you paired it with Populate.