@MisterBobbyPin
The problem is that while i like the whole gangster era. I just cant do crime. Crime sucks.
The problem is that while i like the whole gangster era. I just cant do crime. Crime sucks.
- Last Seen: 1 yr ago
- Joined: 4 yrs ago
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Username history
- Steel Legion 4 yrs ago
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pugbutter,
Timemaster,
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1 yr ago
Current
youtube.com/watch?v=o3zGHNu…
1 yr ago
Yatzee!! 2 in a row!
1 yr ago
Australians dont have nike they have crikey!!
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1 yr ago
I guess its true... the media really IS trying to cover up Sound of Freedom with Indiana Jones for some reason...
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1 yr ago
Honestly Twilight, you just need to try and focus on what makes other people tick.
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Most Recent Posts
Fret Chappel : Human : Prospector
After the rifle was full of its lethal payload he left the small metal room and cautiously padded down the corridor towards the embarkation point passed the belly of the spacecraft. As he got down there he could feel the cold of the wind blowing up through the cargo hatch.
He felt his hair stand on end; he had left his winter coat in the room. He was naturally quite resistant to the brisk air. Wearing his red shirt and hi-fibre slacks with suspenders.
As he exited the hatchway he could see a large group of what looked like civilians. They were being kept at bay by a couple of bots that were spitting sparks at them. There was much confusion as they were trying to make their way to their flights, this could very easily turn to panic.
"Someone needs to keep them calm." thought Fret
He raised both his arms like a cactus and walked calmly to the group. Rifle held pointing straight up in one hand.
"Calm... Calm" he said
"Remain Calm."
His voice was almost completely lost in the worried murmuring. However, his arm was not. He was armed. The civilians looked upon him with equal parts fear and awe. They probably didnt speak old English.
"What can i do?" he thought.
He accessed his third eye and found his personal playlist, then set its speakers to max.
Music
The local area around him was filled with bemused and quizzical looks. However most of them couldn't even hear the music over the wind.
"Thats right... Happy, happy... yes" he said and smiled.
And for a moment. It was.
"Yes, remain calm, the security w-"
________________________________________ Then It Started _______________________________________________
Then the bullets started flying.
Screams and confusion started out.
The civilians started to charge past him. Which took only a second. Then he could see over by a police car a fierce firefight had lit up.
"Shit, i need to find cover"
He looked over and around, there were a few boxes... but who knows what they contained... fuel cells that would go up like a firework? Nah.
He crouched and duck-walked / sprinted over near one of the big landing gear tires of the Jotunheim.
"Good, with the weight of this thing these tires are probably thick as steel." he thought.
He leveled his rifle so the iron sights lined up... Which took some trial and error.
Sure it was old generation but he didnt want to have to teach a new one how to shoot again.
With any luck, it would know how to shoot this type of target. The projectiles themselves would do the aiming with aid of onboard microchips in the rifle.
He paced himself.
He knew that, once he'd shot they'd know where he was.
The situation was degenerating quickly, and what sounded like a GAT-9 heavy machine gun was going on.
He cycled through the various modes in his cybernetic third-eye. Heat, electrical, polarised light etc. There was a small group of... somethings... putting up a fight. He couldnt really see them because they had IR blockers on.
Then he had an idea.
He looked at his WIFI list. There was a loading animation.
Slowly they started being populated.
He could see 3 civilian ones. He looked around, most of the civilians had sprinted off. There was a few phones laying on the ground over by where he was.
"One, two" he said.
Then a few weird ones popped up. 5 in total. Had no kind of address he'd ever seen before. They were obviously the comms of task force "fast course" over there.
The animation was still loading.
There.
One... two... three... 8 pings... that must be from the enemy team.
Just then he saw the enemy team break cover and try to blitz up on the defenders.
They were rattling away with carbines and some serious shit was going down for them.
Then the smoke from the police car cleared with what looked like someone laying down by it,
and he got a clean shot on the HMG-guy. He was wearing huge armor, but this didnt deter Fret.
"Sorry..." -POP- -PPOPP-
He immediately flipped around behind the cover. And breathed out.
Is it 1920s?
Fret walked down the cold metal lining with the artificial air of the space ship corridor. It was a cramped corridor.
Shortly, he found what was to be his quarters.
Walking inside the brushed steel miniature room,
a small bed that slid out from a drawer he unslung his survival burgen and sat it alongside one wall. The door closed behind him with a reassuring k-shuuk. "distinctly nordic", he thought.
As he was early for his flight, a flight that might last months or even years he decided to make himself at home in his new room. Without taking his boots off he slid the bed back into its drawer half way and sat down with the back of his head resting on the frame. He began to do his meditation. Closing his eyes with legs crossed he tried to find the golden light. The one that had been left in his burnt retinas.
After he had been injured by a star grenade he had had to spend weeks in convalescence, left with the golden light. At first it had been painful and had kept him crying out and sweating all night long. After about a week he had decided he just had to make peace with it. And the pain had subsided.
So there it was, the golden light. It was getting harder to find now as he had more distractions in his life. But he had gotten used to it. Indeed it actually seemed comforting.
Not many people would volunteer for such a journey that would last years, possibly a lifetime on an alien planet.
Especially one that just involved checking rocks constantly and logging mining sites. Sites to be sold to future corporations that likely didnt exist yet. Many burnouts would be aboard this ship, he knew.
"I wonder what it would be like to meet them. Their stories."
When the claxon started going off his eyes shot open. Including his cybernetic third eye implanted in the middle of his head. What on earth could this be? He heard the announcement over the tannoy. "Well" he thought "I am not security personnel so i wont be troubled with it". Feeling uneasy he got up and slid the small metal tab on his door to the locked position. "There, i cant be killed now..." he thought.
After a little while he started to pace up and down the miniature room. I say, pace, it was more like one two steps and turn and then another two steps and turn.
"But what about the others...?"
After a little while he moved over to the survival burgan and opened the rifle holster and slid out the rifle. Nervously he digged around to find a small box in his backpack. He popped open a cardboard cartridge box by crusing it with the palm of his hand on the bedside... and began thumbing cartridges down into the circular magazine. One-two-three. He listened out for anything dangerous outside.
"Bloody ME, its not like i havent seen enough killing to last TEN lifetimes." he cursed quietly.
"One reminds me of spaghetti. The other reminds me of pastries."
Ok i have an idea for my nation.
A fighting nation aboard a large nomadic armada.
They have a strict moral code of defending the weak.
A fighting nation aboard a large nomadic armada.
They have a strict moral code of defending the weak.
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