As the shots rang out in the corridor, DREG-647 knew time was short. “Three minutes until extraction,” the radio chattered. Dreg smiled as he moved through the damp ship dispatching Flood with effective elegance. The rest of his team was presumed dead and there was nothing he could do about it. BOEING-787 had lost his mind and he didn’t have the firepower nor experience to deal with the onslaught on his own. This was supposed to be an easy in and out. But Boeing was too green. He shouldn’t have been on this assignment to begin with, but the order came from deep within the UNSC council of the chiefs.
“Was he there to keep tags on me? Or did he tag along for something else?” Dreg wondered. He was probably a monitor like that smug bastard BONG-035, but either way Dreg didn’t have time to think about it. Briskly moving through the cramped hallways and eliminating hostiles with ease, Dreg glided up the staircase. He slammed the door to the helipad open and quickly hurried to the chopper. Boarding the small Pelican, the pilot quickly got it in the air, leaving the wreckage of the Reach cruiser behind.
Critique thread, I'll start
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“Once again you’re the only one to have survived,” the pilot speaks with a bold bitterness. “Always only you survive, Mr. Dreg.” Dreg keeps his charcoal colored visor low and does not respond. He does not care. “The grim reaper cannot die,” Dreg thinks to himself with a warm smile.”
“We’ll be at the runway in four minutes,” the pilot exclaimed. “Anything I should know?” Dreg is still silent, his only thought is how in the hell he is going to get out of this mess. His superiors clearly did not trust him, but this was nothing new. The UNSC had a long and complicated history with it’s SPARTAN-II’s, but it was nothing Dreg couldn’t handle. Still, with the recent mansion incident back in New Mombassa and with news of Jupiter being glassed, the circumstances have changed. He still needed the get the sample to STEW-989 in Zelstel, so for now he’d play along.
As the Pelican landed armed agents approached the vehicle, escorting Dreg toward the concord. Stepping up the ramp the familiar stench of cologne penetrated his air filtration system, telling him all he needed to know about what lie ahead. As he entered the spacious frigate, he saw CAM-009 sipping on what appeared to be an expensive wine from Earth.
“You’re late,” he calmly stated. Cam wasn’t amused. “You need to fix your AI’s galactic time calibration system”. He slid the case on the table and unlocked the latches. “A few more years and I’m going to be obsolete”. Dreg was surprised. “Going soft? Where’s that legendary reaper instinct?” “That was before Halsey started to play with God,” Cam replied. “Adapt or die as I always say,” said Dreg with a smirk. “We’ll be back home soon, why don’t you take a break? You’ve earned it.”
When Dreg awoke it was to the sound of the engine revving, then dying. It was dusk and the sun was slowly fading behind the deep ravine of the lush countryside. As the frigate pulled up to the massive hanger, a single covered black Warthog approached and parked.
“I have business to attend to Mr. Death,” Cam said sarcastically. “Remember our deal”. Dreg departed the Frigate as the sound of Cam’s throaty laugh filled the fuselage. Holding the package with a steady determination, Dreg stepped closer to the shadowy vehicle. He never walked into a situation he couldn’t get out of carefully glancing at vantage points throughout the hanger and making his way around the back of the car. He entered the backseat, hand rested on his M6G Magnum.
“Welcome, Mr. Death,” a silky voice stated. Dreg didn’t recognize her, but could spot the hidden Energy Sword hilt beneath her dark gown. She obviously wasn’t trying to hide it. The ride up to the manor was casual, yet intense. Both parties were sizing each other up with uttering a single word. As he exited the vehicle the driver guided him toward the main entrance. Two massive wooden doors adorned with a familiar, yet dated, UNSC logo. They slowly opened with a loud thump and an electronic beep.
“Right this way,” the driver said. “She’s been expecting you”. The manor was bright and sophisticated. Dreg was fully aware of the SPARTAN experiments happening here, and he felt nothing but sickness and dread wash over him. Cam, Bong, Mick, Zip - they’d all pay for what they’ve done. As the next door opened the fireplace illuminated the far reaching dining room. Bong was standing near it, looking down at the smoldering embers.
“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show,” he said with a shit-eating grin attached to his face.
“Let’s cut the facade,” Dreg quipped. “You know my resume, and my name” Bong laughed.
“Oh you poor, poor dear. You have no idea what’s happening. You’re nothing but a relic of the past. A primitive tool that just follows orders. Mick’s research was just the beginning. Even Zip and that fool Cam don’t understand the possibilities. But I do.” Dreg barely noticed the driver. A sharp pain shot up his arm through his under armour as the package slammed to the floor. “You can’t stop progress, dear” Now Bong spoke with malice. “Unfortunately, our agreement has come to an end. Dispose of him”. Dreg never walked into a situation he couldn’t get out of.
As the driver ignited her blade, Dreg set off a flare and leapt through the glass window, crashing to the ground. He laughed to himself as he knew this was coming. Before his adversaries could pursue him a thunderous explosion rang out from the opposite side of the manor, catching him off guard.
“This wasn’t part of the plan,” thought Dreg. As he slipped into the dark ravine his mind went to simpler times. Recon missions with his old comrades. Late nights reading by the fire and counting the stars. As the shouts and screams rang out behind him, he snapped back to the present. Everyone ever associated with that fateful day would soon die.
Does anyone have the picture with the guy who had 11,000 instances of the word "nigger" in his manuscript?
Dude, no one wants to read your shitty fanfiction. If you want to have someone read this, go to a fucking dump to throw this away, this is a pile of shit that is more incomprehensible than a lunatic's ramblings. In short, first, improve your writing, secondly, don't post it on Yea Forums.
Honestly one of the worst things I've read in recent memory.
Every day I
Write a tanka on paper,
and eat the paper
not because it has meaning
but because I like the taste
Enjoy, user.
ebin
There it is, there it was
I let it in
Always, I let it in
What good are numbers,
When the sum is always failure?
Darkness overcame me,
I didn't search for my light
I let it in,
Always I let it in.
Things will never change,
This is my cycle.
I doused my own flame
I let it in,
Always, I let it in.
Just wrote this minutes after relapsing. Its futile anons and its me who seeks out my own demise, its over for me
I'm sorry for your struggle. Do you read Ginsberg?
My work:
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I went off my outline writing this Lord of the Rings parody and it metastasized into my manifesto of why I hate smartphones. I don't know what to do other then "more."
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It's boring to have a character list facts about herself to the reader. Despite that I don't much about her. That is, aside form being way 2 >>>Tumbler 4 me.
Way to misgender. Hmph. Anyways, show don't tell, I got it.
John Stalvern waited. The lights above him blinked and sparked out of the air. There were demons in the base. He didn't see them, but had expected them now for years. His warnings to Cernel Joson were not listenend to and now it was too late. Far too late for now, anyway.
John was a space marine for fourteen years. When he was young he watched the spaceships and he said to dad "I want to be on the ships daddy."
Dad said "No! You will BE KILL BY DEMONS"
There was a time when he believed him. Then as he got oldered he stopped. But now in the space station base of the UAC he knew there were demons.
"This is Joson" the radio crackered. "You must fight the demons!"
So John gotted his palsma rifle and blew up the wall.
"HE GOING TO KILL US" said the demons
"I will shoot at him" said the cyberdemon and he fired the rocket missiles. John plasmaed at him and tried to blew him up. But then the ceiling fell and they were trapped and not able to kill.
"No! I must kill the demons" he shouted
The radio said "No, John. You are the demons"
And then John was a zombie.
In the seas sourced by severe rivers,
Waters seeded forced by Mountains,
A rickety boat’s pilot shivers,
Never to float home, nor find them.
The pole’s what matters, the flag does not,
Towers, Giants are marked by spine,
Over dead mounds the battles are fought;
Dead mounds made from giants dying.
In this mast of his no banner flies,
Even past flags soiled wonting spine,
Break the tall backs, so finding the why,
Under, over the starry sky.
Ten days or ten years, he could not tell,
In his broken vessel drifting,
Colour wakes in his eyes, in which swells
An ocean, reflects stars shifting.
Now infinite sea and sky are one,
True messages are hidden by
Knowledge; overelaboration;
In that false enlightenment die.
Lost is the one who believes it so,
Lost is the one who finds oneself,
Make the climb and you’ll certainly know,
You will find up there nought but snow.
Snow melts into many glaciers,
Every trickle to river,
Life’s soil and dirt makes it heavier,
Filled with dense silt to revive her.
Light wave
In history
That was not the case.
Royal family
Beautiful girl
He is a father
Everything
The virgin is also one of the saints
Moon magic
The color of the flask is great
Kamena and the north
Turn the corner
Ministers are waiting.
I saw my mother
Zataphy and light
on the road
The black sail left.
A book opening:
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Alright this might just be my sensibilities, but I wouldn't read further. Maybe if I was younger I would continue reading; it doesn't seem to be written for people like me.
You should try to develop your imagery more. Try to see it in your mind's eye and focus in on every detail and choose which ones you want.
Try to be more oblique. Don't ask the questions for me. Make me ask the questions. You've got to manipulate your audience somewhat.
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it's weird to describe one utterance as chatter
Bump
again