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Janus

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  1. Janus

    Mass Defect 1

    By Janus,

    Okay guys, here's the deal. I've been wanting to play Mass Effect again anyhow (especially now that I know that MaleShep is from CAYNADA) but I've been kind of hemming and hawing about it. I mean I already beat ME1 and ME2 using a Femshep and playing a full paragon like I wanted to--but I know there's so much I'm missing.
     
    So here's where you come in!
     
    I will play Mass Effect (and maybe Mass Effect 2) according to your choices. I will leave each entry up for ONE DAY in which you can vote for the response I should take.
     
    The only rules here are:
    1. It will be Manshep, I already played Femshep and I love her dearly, I want to try something different.
    2. I will not romance Liara. I already did, we had numerous blue children and they are adorable.
    3. If there is no clear majority I will decide whatever I want so nyeh.
     
    THAT'S IT. So let's start off with the first round of Options:
     
    WHAT IS SHEPARD'S NAME:
    - Commander __________ Shepard
     
     
    WHAT IS SHEPARD'S BACKGROUND:
    - Spacer
    Both your parents were in the Alliance Military. Your childhood was spent on ships and stations as they transferred from posting to posting, never staying in one location for more than a few years. Following in your parent's footsteps, you enlisted at the age of eighteen.
     
    - Colonist
    You were born and raised on Mindoir, a small border colony in the Attican Traverse. When you were sixteen, slavers raided Mindoir, slaughtering your family and friends. You were saved by a passing Alliance patrol and you enlisted with the military a few years later.
     
    - Earth Born
    As an Earthborn, you had a rough childhood in the slums on Earth and have a gritty edge to your personality.
     
    WHAT IS SHEPHARD'S MILITARY HISTORY:
     
    - Sole Survivor
    During your service, a mission you were on went horribly wrong. Trapped in an extreme survival situation, you had to overcome physical torments and psychological stress that would have broken most people. You survived while those around you fell, and now you alone is left to tell the tale.
     
    - War Hero
    Early in your military career you found yourself facing an overwhelming enemy force. You risked your own life to save your fellow soldiers and defeat the enemy despite the impossible odds. Your bravery and heroism have earned you medals and recognition from the Alliance fleet.
     
    - Ruthless
    Throughout your military career, you have held fast to one basic rule: get the job done. You've been called cold, calculating, and brutal. Your reputation for ruthless efficiency makes your fellow soldiers wary of you. But when failure is not an option, the military always goes to you first.
     
    WHAT CLASS WILL SHEPARD BE:
    - Soldier
    The Soldier is your pure combat class, they are those who use guns to solveall their problems. They can use all 4 weapons without relative ease, the onlyclass that is able to use Heavy Armour and they have the ability to use FirstAid. This is the best option for first time players because its easy to use,point and shoot. The class of a default Shepard or a quick Shepard.
     
    - Engineer
    The Engineer is like the Soldier, a pure user, but of Tech this time. Theyare the masters of cracking locks and hacking into systems, and also hackingand disabling enemy units. Since the Geth are electronic, you can hack intothem to render them useless. They are going to be a support unit, since thisisn't Battlefield 2 and you don't get a Shotgun.
     
    - Adept
    The Adept is the last pure user, the user of Biotics, or Jedi. With this,you will be able to defend yourself with Barrier, or throw your enemiesto render them useless. However, they will lack the offensive power or thetech power that would be required for an all round unit.
     
    - Infiltrator
    The Infiltrator is a combination of Combat and Tech. They have the offensivehacking powers of the Engineer and the long range and close range stoppingpower of a Soldier. They are a very powerful class, the other being theVanguard. With Combat and Tech, they can easily go through the game withoutneed for a support squad.
     
    - Sentinel
    The Sentinel is the combination of Techs and Biotics. This can be quite usefulbut there lies a problems. You don't have the combat capabilities of bringingdown the enemy. This class is again a support class since you can't take theenemy down.
     
    - Vanguard
    The Pure Jedi class, the Vanguard is one of the most powerful classes, theycan combine Biotics and Combat together. They however, lack the Tech powers totake down locks and that will seriously undermine your support squad. Theycan easily knock down foes, throw them and fire.
     
     
    HOO BOY THAT WAS A LOT OF STUFF BUT WE'RE NOT DONE YET.
     
    TUNE IN TOMORROW WHEN WE GET TO PICK WHAT SHEPARD LOOKS LIKE!
     
     
     
    "Wheel of Morality turn, turn turn. Tell us the lesson that we should learn"
     
     
     
     
  2. Janus
    Our brave commander Wenglestump Sparklepants Shepard has come across two of his squad mates discussing the presence of a Spectre aboard their super shiny new spaceship. Wenglestum, having not had his coffee that morning and being in no mood to hear the ironically named "Joker" spout off conspiracy theories grouchily snapped "Cut the Chatter" and satisfyingly both Kaidan Alenko and Joker did so--until Joker decided to open his fat mouth again and try to talk to the captain to warn him about the Spectre heading back to talk to him...
     
    Only for the captain to respond "He's already here" as in "He's already here you dork, he heard you warn me about him. Way to make our ship look like it's full of super geniuses"
     
    Wenglestum has also been commanded to go discuss certain things with both the Spectre and Captain Anderson. Joker wants to make sure Wenglestum heard, but Wenglestum can't resist leaving one final comment
     
    1. Is He Upset? - Wenglestum wants to make sure Joker understands that was a silly comment in the most passive aggressive way possible.
    2. I Heard - Wenglestum is boring. So boring.
    3. You made him mad - Wenglestum doesn't even bother being subtle. Joker you messed up. Dork.
     
    "Wheel of Morality, turn turn turn. Tell us the lesson that we should learn"
    "Elvis lives on in our hearts, in his music...and in a trailer park outside of Milwaukee."
     
     
  3. Janus
    Ladies and gentlemen--may I introduce you to....
     

     
    COMMANDER WENGLESTUMP SPARKLEPANTS SHEPARD (Or Wenglestum for short. Because character limits are no fun)
     

     
     
    ANYHOW our new found commander is on board the Normandy SR-1, the highest techest piece of space shippery this side of the galaxy. And he hears two PEONS I mean crew members talking about the Spectre aboard their ship. More specifically he hears the navigator talking about how only a fool believes the official story.
     
    HOW WILL WENGLESTUM RESPOND:
     
    1. I agree - Agree with the navigator that something doesn't feel right
    2. You're overreacting - maintain that cool demeanor that you might be well known for if you are known for that.
    3. Cut the Chatter! - SHOW HIM WHO IS BOSS.
     
    "Wheel of Morality, turn turn turn. Tell us the lesson that we should learn"
    "If you can't say something nice--you're probably at the icescapades."
     
     
  4. Janus
    What a completely unexpected amount of support on this completely silly idea! THANK YOU GUYS AND GALS.
     
    Anyhow, now that our Shepard is named (the best possible name) and assigned, it's time to decide what he looks like. I will do this in the simplest possible way:
     
    WHAT IS SHEPARD'S RACE:
    - Asian
    -Caucasian
    -African-Canadian (+10 points because my wife wants it)
     
    WHAT IS SHEPARD'S COMPLEXION:
    - Yes Wrinkles
    - No Wrinkles
    - Maybe Wrinkles
     
    DOES SHEPARD HAVE A SCAR:
    - Yes
    - No
     
    DOES SHEPARD HAVE SOME PUDGE ON HIS FACE:
    - LOTS
    - Maybe a little
    - He is a skeleton
     
    WHAT SIZE ARE SHEPARD'S EARS:
    - Bigguns
    - Littleuns
    - Middlesizeuns
     
    WHAT KIND OF EYES DOES SHEPARD HAVE:
    - Squinty
    - Popping out
    - Boring
     
    WHAT IS SHEPARD'S OVERALL MOOD:
    - Happy
    - Sad
    - Zoned out
    - Neutral
    - Angry
     
    WHAT IS SHEPARD'S EYE COLOUR:
    - Look just tell me a colour because I'm not going to list all of them okay. There's a lot of colours I have to scroll through and I've already been through this character creation screen like eight times.
     
    DOES SHEPARD HAVE LUSCIOUS HUSSIE LIPS:
    - Yes
    - Yes
     
    HOW HUGE IS SHEPARD'S NOSE:
    - So Huge
    - Maybe not so huge?
     
    DOES SHEPARD HAVE FACIAL HAIR:
    - Yes
    - No
     
    WHAT COLOUR IS SHEPARD'S HAIR:
    - Blonde
    - Reddish
    - Brownish
    - Black
    - Mix'n'match (One for hair colour, one for beard colour)
     
     
    AFTER THIS WE WILL BE DONE WITH LOTS OF CHOICES. ONCE THE GAME STARTS IT IS PRETTY MUCH BINARY.
     
    OKAY I LOVE YOU ALL BYE.
     
    "Wheel of Morality, turn turn turn. Tell us the lesson that we should learn"
    "Brush your teeth after every meal!"
     
  5. Janus

    It wrecked me

    By Janus,

    If you're one of the few people who hasn't seen Wreck-it Ralph yet--I really can't encourage you enough. I went into it expecting an okay movie filled to the brim with geeky game references that I would enjoy.
     
    What I got was one of the few movies that can make me genuinely tear up. Multiple times.
     
    This movie has so much heart in it, you guys really need to go watch it.
  6. Janus
    Tired after a long day of doing whatever it is that he does aboard his ship, the proud commander Wenglestum retires to his quarters, eager to relax. Logging onto the extranet, he finds information about a new vid. Supposedly based on the hit "Mass Effect" trilogy. Having no idea exactly what that trilogy is about, but being curious nonetheless Wenglestum pays his credits and the vid is streamed directly to his quarters. At this point Wenglestum goes catatonic. The crew discovers him in his cabin days later, his mind so far gone that he's unable to handle even the most basic of tasks.
     
    BAD END
     
     
     
     
    Okay seriously, I loved ME1, I loved ME2 (Lair of the Shadowbroker DLC <3) and I plan to love ME3 (Yes, I know all about the ending. Hush) so I figured, hey, why not give this ME-anime a shot? I mean it's Mass Effect, which I love, and it's Animu, which I also love sometimes. Plus it's made by Studio I.G. who did GHOST IN THE SHELL. What could possibly go WRONG?
     
    EVERYTHING.
     
    I mean, some of it was hilarious so I wondered if maybe it was going to be one of those "So bad it's good" things, but alas it can't even live up to that. SO SPOILERS FOR MASS EFFECT PARAGON LOST BELOW. But seriously, nobody cares because this movie is terrible and awful and nobody likes it.
     
    It starts off with James Vega, who is part of a troop of Alliance soldiers consisting of:
    - Vega (The Shepard wannabe)
    - The Nerd
    - The chick
    - The sleazepile
    - The Pilot
    - The Sniper
    - The Captain.
     
    Anyhow they have to stop the Blood Pack Mercs from attacking this place because REASONS. But the shuttle they're in gets TORN IN HALF by a laser--and they all somehow survive. Because also reasons.
     
    Anyhow with the cap out of the action, Vega comes up with a DARING PLAN to defeat the Krogans. It consists of being dumb, but it works anyhow, and they take a Krogan prisoner of war (Which I'm sure happens all the time. The Krogran love being taken alive and dying of old age, after all)
     
    Skip forward two years and DEAR GOD WHAT IS WRONG WITH THAT CHILD'S VOICE. Vega's a hero and people love him, except for the Asari who he is totally in love(?) with because she's all snooty and he's a dumb soldierman. HE'S SO HARD DONE BY.
     
    Long story short, collectors attack and people start dying (thank god) but the order they die in is something straight out of every stereotpyical horror movie ever. Let's look at the casualty list in order, shall we?
    - The chick
    - The Pilot (Who happens to be black)
    (Protip: If you see the face of the girl you like in and amongst 29 other metallic skulls trapped inside a giant death robot. DO NOT RUN TOWARDS IT)
    - The nerd
     
    Also there's some silliness with the captured Krogan from before being like "YOU SAVED ME AND THAT MEANS I WILL FOLLOW YOU TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH" and I kept waiting for the betrayal but it DIDN'T COME. HE MEANT IT.
     
    And some other people die later. But really, that's all we need to see. Also the sleazepile has multiple death fakeouts before he finally dies in the end. He is a bad person and I don't like him.
     
    Also the 'choice'--well, let's put it up to the test.
    1. Save the Asari you love and maybe loves you back? Also has data on collectors
    2. Save your Captain and ALL OF THE HUMAN COLONISTS
     
    Also they tried too hard to make Cerberus the bad guy. I mean when you have the collectors working for the REAPERS who are working to exterminate humanity, having this lame old human guy being like "NYAH. I AM EEEVIL" I mean we all know Cerberus is bad, but that's just silly.
     
    Seriously, I just kept waiting for this movie to end. If I had bought it (instead of renting it) I would have literally destroyed my copy of it.
     
    But yeah, actually answer that choice. I'm curious as to what you choose. He chose wrong in my opinion.
    (PS. Plz don't put Admiral Hackett or Captain Anderson in your movie if you don't actually get their Voice Actors. Thanks!)
  7. Janus
    Rob: I'ma boot up Mass Effect for the first time ever, but all I'ma do is make a character.
    *Boots up Mass Effect and starts creating Commander Joan Shepard*
    AN HOUR LATER.
    Rob: I am satisfied with this thing I do.
    *Clicks on accept*
    Rob: WHOA GAME STARTS RIGHT AWAY? Kind of a boring cutscene, though.
    *First dialogue option comes up*
    Rob: WHOA THAT WASN'T A CUTSCENE WOW.
    *Answers first two dialogue options, begins walking down the hall of the Normandy*
    Rob: OMG BEST GAME EVAR.
  9. Janus

    Micah

    By Janus,

    Is pretty much one of the greatest people ever. He draws awesome things and he sends awesome presents and I really hope I will see him again this year.
     
    THANK YOU MAN.
     
    So seriously, everyone start talking about how amazing Micah/Kakaru is. Because he's amazing.
     
    (I got a cheerleader and a doofy tennis player, in case you were wondering, Micah)
     
    ALSO WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME TOXIC REAPA HAS A POT BELLY???
  11. Janus
    Being that last entry was totally non-canon and didn't count at all (what, did you actually think it was that easy to get the bad end? NO) let's move on with the amazing adventures of Commander Wenglestum Sparklepants Shepard
     
    After a moment of thinking, Wenglestum has perfect clarity of thought and responds to the Doctor, explaining quite clearly what her job is, and how soldiers get hurt because of reasons. She naturally snaps at him and gets all upset. Jeese, how rude?

    It's then that Wenglestum looks into Jenkins face and suddenly he can't control himself anymore. The secrets, the lies--it's all too much. What he feels must be public and to heck with the consequences! With sweaty palms Wenglestum bends down to pop the question....
     
     
    ...and promptly gets dragged into the Captain's office by some Turian Spectre thing. JEESE DOESN'T ANYONE BELIEVE IN ROMANCE ANYMORE?
     
    Anyhow the Spectre proceeds to blab on about how the mission isn't really just boring stuff, but maybe exciting stuff will also happen, and then without warning the Captain appears in his quarters (What are the odds???) and explains that it's even BETTER, Wenglestum himself is under review for Spectre status himself! He supposes he'll let the whole yanking-away-from-his-fiance slide this time--I mean he might get the power to do whatever he wants! One could almost say he would get to skirt the rules--perhaps because of his money!
     
    But suddenly Wenglestum is snapped out of his reverie, as the navigator patches through a feed from Eden Prime (the planet they were going to visit I guess?) and lots of people are dying. Wenglestum also has to suppress a giggle at what seems to be a soldier dressed in white and pink armor? I mean, how Gauche!
     
    Shortly later Kaidan and Jenkins are on the surface of Eden Prime--and it has certainly seen better days. They wander around for a bit (because seriously, Wenglestum's sense of direction is terrible. There's a reason he's not the navigator of the Normandy--and also why people don't let him drive the Normandy) before Jenkins lets his PASSION get the best of him and runs ahead of the rest of the team--and is cruelly cut down in his prime.
     
    Wenglestum stops for a moment, his entire world ending as he watches his fiance fall under a hail of bullets. Full of rage and sadness he shoots the floating robot things before running over to inspect the body of his beloved. It's time to make a choice--the entire mission is counting on him.
     
     
    1. He deserves a burial - It was Wenglestum's fiance for heaven's sake--he at least deserves that much, right?
    2. We can't help him now - The cold hard reality is that they're in the middle of an active war zone, and as much as he meant, he's done.
    3. Forget about him - Wenglestum can't deal with what just happened. He has to rationalize the damage that's been done to his life and treat him like any other soldier.
     
    "Wheel of Morality, turn turn turn. Tell us the lesson that we should learn"
    "WIN A FREE TRIP TO TAHITI" (We won, we won, we won!)
  12. Janus

    Mass Defect 8: How Gauche

    By Janus,

    With a mournful cry Wenglestum cradles his fiance's body and vows that he WILL have a funeral (and it's going to be AWESOME. I mean, that wedding budget has to go SOMEWHERE right?)
     
    He's barely placed his beloved's body on the ground when there are MORE things to shoot (which honestly is pretty good, because he's kind of ticked. I mean not only did he lose his first squadmate EVER, but it just happened to be his FIANCE. What are the ODDS?)
     
    Anyhow he walks a bit, shoots a bit, yells at Kaidan a bit (dude will NOT be quiet) and then sees some crazy robot flashlight eye things. WHAT WILL HE DO, oh wait, they killed a human so I guess it's time to shoot them. So he does and they're dead, and then--oh dear. Oh dear is that human seriously wearing pink and white armor? Like pink and white armor? As in PINK?
     
    Yes unfortunately she is. Also she apparently got her entire squad killed by the robot geth flashlight things. Or at least her entire squad got killed by those things, and she maybe blames herself? Honestly, Wenglestum is kind of tired of all these people talking about things. HOW DOES HE RESPOND. (Also this one is a threefer because I AM NOT WAITING AROUND FOR ASHLEY)
     
    1. Are you okay? - I mean seriously, she is willingly dressed in white and pink armor. If nothing else that is a sign of mental damage.
    2. What happened here? - Pink. Armor. Wenglestum has to know how this happened.
    3. We're on a Mission - Wenglestum can't stand to be around her, let alone look at her. I mean that armor.
     
    BONUS POINTS IF YOU ANSWERED 1.
     
    2.1. What Happened to the rest of your unit? - Yeah, did your wardrobe scare them off?
    2.2. Fighting these things? - I guess flashlight robot geth death machines are somewhat important maybe.
     
    BONUS POINTS IF YOU ANSWERED 2.1
     
    3.1. Don't blame yourself - I Mean I guess she shouldn't feel bad about killing her squad. Her choice of uniform on the other hand...
    3.2. What killed them? - Wenglestum reveals that he hasn't actually been paying attention to anything this entire time, or subtly indicates that he thinks that Ashley is a serial killer.
    3.3. You abandoned them - Wenglestum is a butt, who does buttlike things because he doesn't like Ashley. Her and her pink armor. (It offends him because it will look so much better on him)
     
    "Wheel of Morality, turn turn turn. Tell us the lesson that we should learn"
    "Brush your teeth after every meal--this moral brought to by the American CANADIAN Dental Association"
     
  13. Janus

    The Truth

    By Janus,

    (18)
     
    Really not much to say, I've had stuff on my mind. Some of that came out in tonight's entry, some of it didn't.
     
    Oh, play Cave Story.
     
    Word Count: 991
     
    Enjoy.
     

     

    The Truth 
    I'm writing this (though I am more than away it's no story) not so much for purposes of entertainment, so much as the purpose of expressing myself and allowing you to better know me.
     
    I've always found that writers use their art to express who they are, and upon some self-reflection I found I needed something a little more...intensive, shall we say?
     
    You see, for as long as I can recall people have found me an interesting individual, whether it was my writing, my viewpoints, my MOCs or Models--people have always found me someone who they enjoyed speaking with. Why?
     
    I really couldn't tell you.
     
    You see, the truth is...I'm not. I'm not an interesting individual, in fact this entire entry is dedicated to that very fact. It amazes me daily to know that I've inspired people and that people find me fascinating--because quite frankly I'm nothing more than anybody else. More particularly I'm more annoying than most.
     
    I hide it, I've always been able to hide it remarkably well (and that has obviously served me in my life) however the fact remains, and seems to have eternally remained--I am but a boy with delusions of grandeur.
     
    Truly it is infuriating.
     
    You see, I write because I enjoy it. I truly do. There are all sorts of things that I have written, or drawn into concepts that nobody (and I do mean nobody) will never ever see. Why? Because I love writing and always have.
     
    But then I get that little worm of a thought into my brain that little "I should post this" parasite that niggles into my thoughts...and shortly thereafter my will is reduced into...well, nothing. I almost always end up posting it, and then I watch, I wait. I act like a hawk slowly circling, ever circling its prey.
     
    I wait and I wait and I wait for that first comment.
     
    And then it comes! And my thoughts?
     
    "Well, that was okay"
     
    And then I return to my waiting, my watching. I await what I view as the inevitable second comment. Often I wait for quite some time...or I give up waiting as I realize that the comment isn't coming.
     
    "But wait!" you cry,
    "Isn't this entry supposed to be about you, and your delusions of Grandeur?"
     
    Ah, patience gentle reader. It is.
     
    This is not by any means a slandering of those who do not leave comments, I do not even know you, how could I possibly slander you?
     
    No, this is more to say that I expect it. Why do I expect it? Because clearly I am superior, clearly I am quite an incredible person with amazing talent and surely everyone will realize it when I post this handwoven masterpiece of supreme amazingness!
     
    Yes. I am that bloody arrogant.
     
    This is what my mind whispers to me, day in and day out.
     
    Now I do my best to counteract this pervasive influence, but one has only ask my friends...honestly -ask- them, and they will tell you.
     
    I get defensive with my writing, I get catty and snarky and angry and bitter when people make comments on my writing--why? Is it because I believe in my craft and think that these comments are obviously out to insult?
     
    Lord no. It's because deep in my mind all I can see is "How could they not like it? I mean, I did my best HOW AM I NOT THE BEST?" Arrogance at its finest.
     
    When at last my inner egomaniac is subjected I am left with a feeling of melancholy and sadness, because I clearly cannot be the best. Clearly I am the worst, I am nothing and I am terrible.
     
    While that was done out of sarcasm, that is truly the thoughts that play through my mind.
     
    Really, I'd love for this not to be the truth. I'd love to just be able to say to people "Yes, I am that amazing." I'd love to be able to actually believe what people say about me and my work. But I've fought long and hard against allowing my ego to consume me, and I have to continue.
     
    Because I am the most arrogant person you will ever meet. Though I am not proud of it, I look down on people who I do not even know--because they're 'wrong' and they clearly 'don't understand' and a litany of other ridiculously stupid excuses.
     
    I have always believed, even from the youngest of ages that I was destined for something better, that somehow I above all others was superior, was the better of everyone else--how this happened, what with two older sisters who were all too quick to put me in my place, I will never understand--but regardless it did.
     
    In fact, for as long as I can recall I've been having experiences that have simply cemented that twisted thought, the thought that I am in fact inherently superior to the rest of the planet. Some were paranormal in nature and some not--the common thread amongst them is very simple, in looking back I cannot honestly detach the true event from my embellishment. Because no matter what I must be the best.
     
    I am a fool with delusions of grandeur. I think I am far better than I am.
     
     
    This is not to say that I do not accept any of my talents. I am not here to say I am a terrible person and I should be reviled and suffer the slings and arrows of the world.
     
    I'm saying don't always believe what you see. I'm an expert at maintaining a facade, I have been for a frighteningly long time.
     
    And please, please, please feel free to call me on my arrogance. Do not allow me to insult you or your works in my tone or my actions.
     
    That's really all I have to say. I just needed to get out the truth.
  14. Janus

    The Masquerades

    By Janus,

    (15)
     
    I'll be perfectly honestly with all of you. I have no idea what this is, none whatsoever.
     
    I mean, I attempted to add some measure of logic and sense, but my original plan went spiraling madly out of control.
     
    For those of you wondering, my original plans were as follows
     
    A: Family-type story wherein younger brother discovers older brother is in fact part of a rebel faction that has been tearing apart the community in which they live
    B: A poem-type thing about said situation.
     
    I'm not really sure what happened.
     
    Word count: 753
     
    Enjoy!
     

     

    The Masquerades 
    A Half mask was their mark, a harlequin painted strip of fabric—it wasn’t enough to cover their faces entirely, but apparently it was enough to strike fear into people’s hearts. Enough to get them what they wanted.
     
    Who they were was a mystery to everyone, there was no statement, no public address…nothing. One day people simply awoke to find that their world had changed, to find that they were living amongst strangers.
     
    They didn’t have a name, or a purpose seemingly. The fearful public simply referred to them as the Masquerades—perhaps due to the half-mask that they bore, perhaps due to their penchant for striking at crowded theatres. For their part, the gang didn’t seem to care what they were called, so long as they got what they wanted.
     
    Of course that was the mystery…that was the thing that nobody could quite figure out. While it had been hundreds of years since crime of any sort had occurred in the city, they still had records; thousands of files that gave the raison d’etre for many different criminal syndicates. The Masquerades didn’t match any of them.
     
    When offered money they simply sneered and laughed. In fact, none of the many different pleasures of the flesh—which had been the reason for many criminals in the past, seemed to appeal to them a whit. They only thing they seemed to take satisfaction in was the deconstruction of everything.
     
    They had never killed anyone, never hurt a single person—but the destruction they caused was immense…having burned down several theatres in the span of weeks.
     
    Their game plan was simple, really. They would enter the theatre sans mask and split up: From there all but one of them would begin working to siphon each of the theatre goers out of the building while the final member would ignite the building. The most peculiar part was that the Masquerades would not let their captives escape for some time, forcing them to watch the building burn. All the while they would remain silent and simply stare into the flames, half their face hidden by their masks.
     
    It came as no surprise when the police force was resurrected to deal with the threat—what was shocking, however, was when the Masquerades simply showed up at the district, masks and all.
     
    “We’d like to surrender” they said, raising their hands, half their faces still unknowable. The police standing guard outside of the building said nothing.
    “It was an experiment, you see” The Masquerades explained as they came closer to the building. “To see where the social structure broke down. To see when we reverted to the system of enforcers” As they said this, each of them reached up his or her face and removed their mask. Girls and boys, whites and blacks, colours of every shade reached up and pulled the garishly painted strip of fabric from their faces.
     
    Somehow it came as a surprise to everyone to see that these hated and reviled dangers to society, these menaces who hid half their face behind a mask…were not just children, but their children. To see daughters and sons in a line of what was thought to be enemies was a shock to the system of the city as a whole.
     
    And then the Masquerades-no-longer turned to embrace their families, to show them that they were not the monsters that the media had made them to be.
     
    A shot rang out, those who had been spared still shrunk back as though they’d been struck. Then gradually a circle formed around the young man in the centre who’d taken the blow. It was a clean shot, a killing shot. The former Masquerades turned their wrath upon the officer who had fired. No words were spoken, no blows were exchanged. The young officer crumpled to the ground.
     
    “He…he was my brother” he sobbed.
     
    It was later discovered that the young officer had fired simply due to the stress of the situation. It had not been a deliberate aimed shot, simply a misfire due to the overwhelming stress…a misfire that had taken his brother’s life.
     
    And the Masquerades saw their experiment bear fruit. After the death of the young man, a newly revitalized police force was instigated—with an in-house police force to supervise them.
     
    A single mistake compounded by the naiveté of youth saw the world again restructured as the enforcers grew stronger and stronger yet—until the criminals rebounded and everything returned to the beginning. The dance had begun anew.
     
  15. Janus

    Please don't be

    By Janus,

    Okay guys and gals, it's time for something that's near and dear to my heart. Especially with all this acceptance stuff goin' on right now. (which I love, trust me)
     
    So I'ma just lay all this out here. Please don't be a Nice Guy.
     
    Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying don't be nice. But a Nice guy is someone who wants to date someone, but is too afraid of asking them out, so they just be friends--all the while secretly wanting said person, and worse yet expecting said person to reciprocate. But worse yet when the person says "no" they don't want to date, a Nice Guy flies into a rage and badmouths their "friend" all the while moaning about how "nice guys finish last" and "girls only want bad boys"
     
    I hate to tell you this, ladies and gents, but being someone's friend isn't like a vidya game. You don't "level up" friend points that you can then cash in for a romantic relationship, and thinking that it does work that way is just kind of offensive to the object of your affections.
     
    This is why things like the "Friendzone" make blood shoot from my eyesockets.
     
    So please don't. Just don't.
  16. Janus

    I AM ROB

    By Janus,

    HELLO YES I AM ROB
     

     
    ROBROBROBROBROBROBROB
     
    OTHER WORDS YOU CAN MAKE WITH MY NAME ROB
     
    ORB
    BRO
     
    I AM ORB BRO
     
    OK YES THAT WAS FUN
     

     
    CANADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
    CANADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
    CANADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
    CANADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
    CANADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
    CANADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
    CANADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
    CANADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
    CANADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
    CANADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
    CANADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
    CANADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
    CANADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
    CANADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
    CANADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
     

     
    i am rob i am so loud
    SO LUOD
     
    HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE,,,,,,,,,,
     
    NOW I WILL TYPE MY NAME WITH MY NOSE
     
    NO WAIT NEVERMIND THAT IS TOO HARD TO DO.
     
    OK I WII TYPE IT WITH A GUNDAM
     
    TR4ONB
     
    yes that looks aboot right
     
    ok
    BYE
     

     
    heheheheheehehjajajajajajajajajjajajajajjahehehehhehehehehjajjajahjejehehaejjeahjehjehajheajhaejheajahejahejhaejhaehehehehehehheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee,,,,,
     

  18. Janus

    In which we ruin BIONICLE

    By Janus,

    So Becca and I like to do voices. Stupid voices, the stupidest voices. We also like BIONICLE.
     
    Somehow this ended up with us reading BIONICLE comics (The original ones, you whippersnappers!) in said stupid voices--and for some unearthly reason recording it.
     
    So if you've lost all will to live, read along with us by using this handy-dandy .PDF version of Comic 1
     
    Then click on this link (Or right click and save as, if you're crazy) and let us destroy your feeble mind.
  19. Janus

    The Adoption is official

    By Janus,

    I am taking the briefest of breaks from Mass Defect (plus there's gonna be some changes coming to it anyhow) to announce that my wife Rebecca (Hahli Husky) and I are very proud to announce the adoption of our second child...Micah! He will be joining us and his older brother Yannick in being officially Canadian and also eating delicious pancakes every day.
     
    THAT'S MY BOY.
  21. Janus
    After a moment of soulsearching Wenglestum has come to the conclusion that he is Commander Wenglestump Sparklepants Shepard. There's no way anyone would or could command him to talk to everyone in the universe! Or at least he hopes that really, really hard.
     
    However it has barely been a moment when he hears two of his underlings talking. Loudly. Like seriously, do they want the whole ship to hear them? Wenglestum rolls his eyes thinking it might be a lovers quarrel before hearing the word "Spectre" usually that doesn't come into a lovers quarrel--or at least Wenglestum hopes. (He doesn't actually know. Wenglestum has lived a surprisingly sheltered life for growing up in the wasteland that is earth. Nobody has taught him anything there is to know about the thing they call "love")
     
    Standing creepily close by, Wenglestum allows them to finish their conversation before leaning in. It appears a young soldier and the ship's resident doctor are in an arguement. The Doc is whining about doing his job, and the kid is whining about not shooting stuff. UGH WHINERS.
     
    HOW WILL WENGLESTUM RESPOND.
    1. Relax, Jenkins - Jeese man, the game has barely started yet. There will be plenty to shoot (spoiler alert, there is plenty to shoot)
    2. The Doc's right - The doctor has every right to whine about actually doing her job. And the kid is pretty dumb.
    3. Part of the job, Doc - APPARENTLY nobody told this DOCTOR that being a DOCTOR meant DOCTORING people. Especially people who get SHOT. JEESE WHAT KIND OF DOCTOR IS THIS.
     
    "Wheel of Morality, turn turn turn. Tell us the lesson that we should learn"
    "Vote early, and vote often."
  22. Janus

    Deprivation

    By Janus,

    (16)
     
    Late. I know. I'm a terrible person who has been busy and lazy lately. This story came to me last night before I went to bed and is probably better than what I'd had planned beforehand.
     
    I hope to have a second story up today, and then both days missed will be made up for.
     
    Yarr.
     
    Word count: 1,040.
     
    Enjoy!
     

     

    Deprivation 
    To say I was afraid of the dark wouldn’t too far from the truth, but I was never the darkness itself that frightened me so. Even the thought of things lurking in it did not perturb me. Instead, somehow, it was the thought of what wasn’t there that caused me such fright. The absence of light was the obvious fear, but my nights were filled with vague horrors of myself grasping blindly about in the blackest of night, reaching and groping for something that no longer existed.
     
    And just to add on to those existing fears was the pervasive knowledge that there was no way to escape the darkness. No matter what it would come. Even the brightest of lights would eventually flicker and die—leaving me alone in the darkness, where things moved on their own and I vainly struggled to find what I would never be able to.
     
    You can imagine, then, how I felt when I awoke to find myself in a brightly lit cell. The floor had deep recesses in between crisp white tiles and dotting the walls and high-anchored ceiling were powerful floodlights. It wasn’t a painful amount of light—all it really did was make me aware of just how large the holding area was.
     
    I stood there, washed in the powerful lights that shone all over the room, and felt that prickle of fear. I could only identify one exit and it was magnetically locked. I knew that much.
     
    “How are you this morning, Doctor?” came a slightly garbled female voice from the loudspeaker. Of course they were observing me.
    “Quite well, and yourselves?” I managed to get out with only the slightest quaver in my voice.
    “We’re quite eager, Doctor. You were doing some truly fascinating work on light deprivation…” I heard snickers in the background, her comrades no doubt. I heard papers being flipped over…those cretins were looking through my work! For an instant my fear was forgotten as rage took over—First these insignificant snots hold my staff and I at gunpoint and forcefully take over our lab—and now they’re stealing my research?
     
    “I’m especially interested in this one, Doctor” Came the female voice again.
    “And which one would that be?” I bit my tongue, holding back a choice name.
    “The theory that the human brain can be so very disturbed by darkness that it can seem like objects are moving. I’m most eager to test this.” I could hear venom dripping from her voice—I only hoped that my other staff were managing to escape torment like this.
     
    “And how do you suggest you do that?” I asked meekly, disgusted with my own cowardice.
    “Oh, I’m sure we’ll find a way.” As she spoke, the magnetically locked door snapped open and two men dragged in a large couch with some very lumpy pillows. I raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
    “I’ll let you get acquainted” She said maliciously, then the loudspeaker went dead.
     
    I’m not ashamed to admit that the second the loudspeaker was turned off I let out a stream of venom and curses the likes of which I’d never uttered before…These impudent brats deserved every word of it. It was then, gasping with breath, that I moved to investigate the strange couch—and jumped back in shock and revulsion as the lumpy pillow began to thrash and convulse. Sickening though it looked, I swallowed my fear and moved forward…finally catching sight of a zipper. To say I was shocked and disgusted didn’t even come close, one of my staff was in that!
     
    Angrily I grabbed the zipper and pulled it down, revealing a familiar form.
    “…Martha?” I gasped out, seeing my wife before me—I hadn’t thought that these sickos would stoop so low! Martha for her part was silent, and it took me some time to discover that was because of a gag roughly stuffed into her mouth. Gently cradling her with one arm I undid the gag…just in time to see the lights go black.
     
    “Fred!” I heard Martha cry, but to say that I was slightly frightened wouldn’t have been accurate. I was terrified, and in that terror it was all I could do not to hold Martha in a vice-grip.
    “Shhh, hon,” I murmured, attempting to quell her fears…and with luck my own. “we’ll be fine, let’s just move to the door…maybe we can get out of here when they open it!” I spoke, sounding far more confident than I felt. Martha for her part, had always been a strong woman and giving my hand a tight squeeze she moved from the couch and to the tiled floor, with me not far behind.
     
    About midway through the room (I estimated, it was impossible to see anything…or gauge distance in the thick darkness) I paused, frowning.
    “What is it, Fred?” Martha whispered, sensing my reticence.
    “The couch.” I muttered. “I just can’t figure out what the point of the couch is…surely they could have just dropped you on the floor?” Martha made a small noise of indignation at this, bringing a smile to my lips.
    “If it’s bothering you that much, why not go investigate it?” She said softly. “I can make it to the door on my own, and then we’ll meet up, okay?”
     
    Hesitantly I agreed and set off toward the direction I thought the couch was in. About twenty minutes later I became aware that I was hopelessly lost…but that didn’t make sense. Martha and I had moved in a straight line from the couch…and I had just reversed that…it should have been here…unless…
    “Martha!” I cried, panic gripping at me. “Martha!”
     
    There was no response. I searched the room for hours but it was exactly as I had expected…not just the couch, but Martha too…had vanished forever. Visions of my wife reaching blindly in the darkness came to me, I saw her fingers groping for something, anything before…before whatever it was that happened. I knew it couldn’t have been the door, because not only would I have heard the magnetic lock, but the light from the corridor would have been near blinding.
     
    Though it defied all logic, my wife had simply vanished into the darkness…and I was left.
     
    Alone.
  23. Janus

    Feeler

    By Janus,

    FOR SCIENCE! (10) 
    Okay, this is a big occasion for me, I must admit. I hadn't even thought of until now, but It is a gigantic thing for me to say that FOR SCIENCE! has now reached the double digits. For me that is a momentous occasion.
     
    However I'm sure that some of you are quite displeased with this being late, so it's time that I explained. Every Thursday night I go to a seminar in downtown Vancouver, this is quite a distance from my native White Rock and thus I end up getitng home incredibly late, usually around 11:30
     
    Now normally this would be no problem, in fact I find I write best late at night, however, upon realizing that I would be coming home so late I began to write my story on the bus (yes, write, as in using paper and pen) and had about 946 words or so before I got home.
     
    The problem was this, this story creeps me out, like, quite a bit. It's certainly not the most horrific story I've ever written, and it's quite rough in places, but the whole idea is just very creepy to me...and additionally in my minds eye I was seeing this story taking place in my home. So at about 12:55 I called it quits because I actually wanted to sleep last night.
     
    But here you go, the first story of Friday, the second will be updated when the votes are cast.
     
    Speaking of votes, because all of you suck, that means we only have two suggestions for this week (and the week before, and the week before).
     
    bio djinnie: Also, how about a story involving Furbies, Death-rays, and an ancient orginization of ninjas?
     
    Bossman: Write a 4,000 word essay on the topic of your choosing without using a single pronoun.
     
    At this time no new suggestions are accepted. Please vote on one of these two suggestions for my 4,000 page story.
     
    Anyhow, if you're weak of stomach don't read this one. If you're twisted, like me, then please feel free.
     
    Enjoy!
     

    Feeler 
    I first heard the voice when I was alone in the bathroom and getting ready for bed. I was washing my face and oblivious to the world around me; all I was aware of was the rough feeling of the damp cloth on my skin, and the rushing water pouring from the faucet.
     
    Then there was some sort of shifting, grinding sound—the sort that drags and catches, the sort that has that slight metallic scream that rings inside of your head. I sighed and reached down, gripping the tap handle and feeling the slightly warm metal in my hands. Then, with a sudden motion I twisted the knob and cut the flow of water. We’d been having too many problems with our water supply, things ranging from supply, to temperature, and disgustingly enough…even cleanliness. I wasn’t about to have the water turn putrid on me now.
     
    I replaced the damp face cloth on the ledge of the sink carefully and listened to the remaining water work its way through the pipes…I had always loved to listen to water in its various forms: From a burbling creek to a torrential rain, even just the simple pleasure of hearing the sounds it made as it drained down the porcelain sink and into the labyrinth of pipes below.
     
    With that complete I studied my reflection in the slightly dirty mirror, noting the gentle curve of my jaw and being pleased by my sparkling green eyes. However I also noted with displeasure my disheveled hair, and a single large zit forming directly where my ear met the skin of my face. I sighed and idly poked it with my finger, as if trying to push it back beneath my skin.
     
    Unable to do anything about the unsightly visage of the zit, I instead reached for a comb to remedy my hair; that’s when I heard it, hissing and bubbling but still somehow with a faint metallic tinge. It made my stomach turn just listening to it. I glanced around the enclosed space of the bathroom, attempting in vain to catch sight of whatever was making the horrid noise, but was unable to find anything. Worse yet, though the sound was putrid enough, I found that when I listened carefully enough (in an attempt to find out if yet another thing had gone wrong with our water) I heard what sounded like words… or rather, one single word. Whatever it was it was…speaking…continually repeating one word over and over, slowly dragging out the syllables in a rasping and horrific manner.
    “Sarah.” My name.
     
    Unconsciously I dropped the comb, all thoughts of appearance and beauty banished from my mind as the sickening sound continued. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, the comb contacted the white porcelain of the sink with an almost melodic sound, and the terrible illusion was shattered.
     
    I say it was an illusion, because it wasn’t the first time something like this had happened to me. For all of my sixteen years on this earth, thirteen had been plagued with horrific imaginings of life unseen, hallucinations that encroached upon my mind. It wasn’t that I enjoyed frightening myself, but that somehow my subconscious literally craved that feeling…or at least that’s what my therapist had told me. I wasn’t sure I fully understood… something about adrenaline.
     
    I put the incident from my mind and prepared for a restless night—usually when a single hallucination occurred it meant that several more were to follow. Regardless I decided it was best if I took the medicine I had been prescribed. I was supposed to use it just this sort of situation, whenever a strange or frightening hallucination occurred, my doctor said
    “When anything happens that you know cannot be real” I was supposed to take it…apparently it would dull my senses and make it easier to sleep…but I doubted anything would be able to stop the nightmares that would be coming.
     
    I sighed wearily, allowing myself to focus on reality, and gingerly picked up the medicine bottle; reading over the instructions as rapidly as possible. I groaned mentally…it needed to be taken with water.
     
    I battled myself for a period of about 30 seconds, fighting with myself as to whether to risk the night terrors that would surely raise me from my sleep, or attempt to use this pacifier, and risk the return of the water…thing. Finally my rational side won over and I popped the lid of the small container, drawing out a single tablet and placing it on the side of the counter. With that done I grabbed my glass and looked tremulously at the empty sink. I could do this.
     
    Finally I reluctantly gripped the now cold metal of the knob, turning it almost violently, and watching warily as the clear water filled my glass. With a shaking hand I held onto the knob and gently eased the pressure down. Then I stared at my glass laying in the sink as though it would burble my name again—though I have to admit, the idea of my glass of water speaking to me brought a grin to my face, instead of a shudder of fear. With that done I took my pill and walked sleepily to my bed, where I quickly fell asleep.
     
    I didn’t know what time it was when I woke up from my dreamless slumber, my head groggy from the hard work of producing nothing. Breathing in deeply I allowed my head to loll to the side placidly, my eyes tiredly scanning over the illuminated numbers on my alarm clock…it was 11:30 PM. Somehow I’d only managed to sleep for an hour and a half.
     
    I grimaced and rolled back over, feeling the comforting warmth of my blankets wrapped all around me. Only and hour and a half? That was unheard of, even without these supposedly calming drugs I had always slept soundly.
    “In fact” I thought wryly, “It’s always a pain to get me to wake up”
     
    I felt my mouth turn to a frown, as my mind, gradually recovering its acuity, began to grind into action; pondering the reasons for my strange awakening. All sorts of strange and disjointed thoughts whirled around in my head, but gradually, gradually the chaos ceased and my mind settled only on known facts. A simple base would allow a more precise answer, I thought to myself tiredly.
     
    It was in that space of mental clarity that I finally heard it, before it had been hidden by the electric buzz of my alarm clock, by the rustling of my sheets as I shifted, by my dulled senses. But now I could clearly hear it, the steady rush of water splashing loudly; the echo reverberating repeatedly in the enclosed space of the bathroom. Even in my clear state of mind, however, I was unable to come up with a reason for why the faucet would be running at this hour. After all, I knew well that both my parents had long since retired for the night. I willed my mind into action, attempting to force it to take these disparate pieces of information and somehow make them make sense. Anything, anything except the fact that the drugs had failed, that I was trapped in a horrific hallucination—or that I was still asleep.
     
    Finally my struggling brain seized upon an idea: My father, being occasionally absentminded, must have simply left the tap running by mistake when he went to bed. That made sense.
     
    Unfortunately it didn’t fix the problem, the rapidly rushing water was not only wasteful, but there was no way I’d be able to sleep with the sound—not only was it distractingly loud, but it also summoned disturbing memories from earlier this night. I groaned pitifully and with the slow, ponderous movements of someone woken reluctantly, I raised my tired body from underneath the warm covers and walked haphazardly to the bathroom.
     
    Yawning tiredly I flicked the light switch, and, covering my eyes to protect them from the harsh light that spilled out, reached blindly toward the sink. Grabbing hold of the hard wooden counter, I gently eased my eyes open so that I could stop the water’s relentless stream.
     
    I blinked. Then I blinked again. The faucet wasn’t turned on, there was no water pouring out of it at all…but I had heard it, I was sure of it. I shook my head as if to clear it of any lingering dreams and then walked slowly to the kitchen, checking the faucet there as well. It too lay silent.
     
    I had turned my back on the darkened kitchen when I heard it.
    “Saaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaahhhhhhh” It made my blood run cold and a violent shiver start at the base of my spine and go through my entire body. I pivoted to face the empty kitchen and could hear that strange grinding sound from earlier…but the voice was gone. Frightened I turned on the light and walked slowly into the kitchen, my entire body now alive with real fear.
     
    I thought I saw something and whirled to face the sink, watching as a small, wriggling tendril disappeared through the drain. I shuddered violently, I’d heard the stories of snakes and other such things coming up through drains or toilets. That must have been all it was, maybe I’d just caught the tail end of a snake wriggling its way through the pipes—a very thin, almost gelatinous snake…
     
    “Ssssssssaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh” This time it was coming from the bathroom, somehow sounding even creepier as it echoed down the empty hallway. I caught myself hyperventilating and slumped against the wall, willing this away, willing this horrid hallucination to leave me be. Instead it persisted in calling my name beckoning me.
     
    I thought, in a moment of panic, to go to my parents, to wake them up, beg them to check the pipes for monstrosities…but that thought was fleeting. I knew my parents wouldn’t want that, they’d been dealing with my hallucinations long enough, I couldn’t wake them up just because I was panicking. No, I had to confront this head on, I had to be unafraid. Unfortunately I was terrified.
     
    With trembling legs, I pushed myself forward, willing myself to walk to the bathroom, from where the horrible voice emanated. I walked slowly, as if drugged, dragging my feet as I moved and feeling the rough carpet across my skin. Why couldn’t this just stop? I paused, I had left the light on in the bathroom, I was sure of it…but somehow the light was off again. I reached for it, my arm moving as if reaching through molasses.
    “Ssssssssssaaaaaaarrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh” It sighed again, then, something new “Dddddooooooooonnnnnn’t”
     
    Something clicked in my brain, of course, every time I had turned on a light this thing had disappeared. That was the solution, it might not stop the hallucination, but it would give me an advantage over it. After all, I had no choice but to play the game, I may as well use it to my advantage.
     
    With a quick motion I flicked the light switch, now seeing the little tendril waving around in the sink. Then, without a backward glance I sprinted towards the kitchen to turn on that light as well. The thing, whatever it was, gave out a shriek as it was blocked from entering either drain. Now all I had to do was wait until the morning when I could talk with my therapist, I was triumphant.
    “Ssssssssaaaaaaaaaarrrrrraaaaaaaahhhhhhh”
     
    I whirled around; my hair moving crazily about my face. Where had it come from? I had turned on the lights in the bathroom and the kitchen…there was no place for it come up.
    “Sssssssssssaaaaaaaarrrrraaaaaaaahhhhh” I realized with dawning horror that there was one more sink in the house—my parent’s bathroom. I attempted to resist, attempted to just go back to bed and forget all of this…but something held me, something made me stay. I’d explain to my parent’s the intensity of this hallucination and they’d surely understand, maybe they’d get me a better prescription too. Yes, this would work.
     
    I knocked hesitantly on their door, hearing nothing from within. Then I heard it and a wave of revulsion passed through me, I could almost feel it through the door somehow.
    “Sssssssaaaaaaarrrrraaaaaaaahhhhhh” I shuddered and pushed open the door, pausing a moment to allow my eyes to adjust to the darkness. When that had passed I glanced around the warm room…my parent’s weren’t in bed. There was the sound of running water coming from the bathroom, and I caught a glimpse of my dad moving around. I’d just go talk to him, we’d figure this out together.
     
    I’m not sure when I realized something was wrong. Maybe it was when I became aware of the fact that my dad wasn’t washing his hands, or doing anything, really. He was just standing there in the darkened bathroom with the water running.
    “Dad…?” I called questioningly, and almost instantaneously he turned to look at me, I expected to see confusion in his eyes, maybe for him to rationalize what was going on, to say.
    “Oh, hey sprout, I must have zoned out for a bit there” but instead I saw something that caught my gag reflex. My father’s eyes were rolled up in his head, only the milky whites of them shining in the darkness…his entire body was slouched, as though exhausted, and I now noticed that his skin was pasty white and covered in sweat. He opened his mouth
    “Sssssaaaaaaaaarrrrrrraaaaaahhhhhh”
     
    I screamed, I screamed and screamed and screamed, attempting to lunge from the room when I felt a vice grip around my ankle. My father had fallen on the ground and was gripping my tightly—and that’s when I saw the small tendrils that had attached themselves to his spine, the tendrils that pulsed and spread across his back. I forced myself to keep moving, dragging my body slowly forward—amazingly enough my father—or rather, that thing controlling my father, didn’t make any move to pull me back, instead he…it…just remained with the vice grip on my ankle.
     
    There was a resounding, and sickening snap and my father’s hand went limp, freeing me to move again. I turned, concerned I had broken his hand but instead I saw that the tendrils that had once reached from the sink and into his back had each split in two, with the still waving tendrils retreating into the sink. Had I hurt it?
     
    That’s when I saw it, the tendrils still attached my father’s back began to shudder and pulse violently, burrowing themselves deeper and deeper into his skin until all that could be seen was a series of angry red welts across his back. I realized now that this was no hallucination with the same certainty that I realized my father was dead…and likely my mother as well.
     
    Shaking violently I walked from the room, pausing only when I heard that shifting, grinding sound. Like an enormous stone being moved, slowly scraping across something. I knew it wouldn’t leave me alone.
    “Ssssssssssaaaaaaarrrrrrraaaaaaaahhhhh” it called, and this time I could hear it from each sink, that disgusting voice filling my entire house.
     
    And somehow it came to me, somehow I remembered my teacher telling me years and years ago. Somehow in that moment of absolute horror I remembered her voice
    “The human body is actually composed of about 80% water, you know?” The thing in the sink was just a feeler, drawing in its victims…until it could use them as incubators. That’s what had become of my parents.
     
    I don’t know what happened next, I truthfully don’t. I simply remembering waking up screaming, a torrential downpour soaking me as I ran down the road. I could still hear it, though, I could still each of those drops whispering my name.
     
    The police caught up with me after it was discovered I was missing. It wasn’t hard for them to, after all, people on the street were quick to report a crazed, disheveled girl who ran through city attempting to flee something unseen. They took me to the mental health ward.
     
    I went through meeting after meeting, test after test. They had come to the conclusion that my parent’s unexplained deaths had simply driven me over the edge. I was given all sorts of different drugs in order to calm me down, in order to float me on that euphoric state of absolute nothingness. None of it worked for long, the numbness would fade and I would come back and the terror would return.
     
    It would return because every night I went to sleep I could hear it. Curled up tight in my blankets with my eyes clamped shut I could still hear it, I could hear the water burbling merrily from my private bathroom, I could hear the pipes creaking as water was forced through them. But most of all I could it whispering my name every night. Whispering
    “Ssssssssaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrraaaaaaaahhhhh”
     
    Word Count: 2,834
  24. Janus

    Atlantia

    By Janus,

    FOR SCIENCE! (13) 
    I'm not sure where the inspiration for this one came from. Perhaps it was the fact that as I left the office today the sun had burned away the morning mist and left only beautiful blue sky with a brilliant sun shining down. Of course the fact that my music swelled at that exact moment could have also helped.
     
    Regardless, the entire originating point of this story comes about midway through. See if you can find it!
     
    Anyhow, as usual, gimme challenges and stuff. C'mon guys D=
     
    Enjoy!
     

    Atlantia 
    Light streamed through the trees and dappled the rough soil with a menagerie of colours, had it been any other moment he would have stopped to savour the beauty of the moment. He would have removed the tough sneakers from his feet and allowed his skin to enjoy the moistness of the damp ground, he would have stretched his back up against the rough bark of a tree and basked in the marbled light that shone on the ground.
     
    Instead he ran on, forcing his tired beyond its limits and being rewarded with the pain of aching muscles. He doubled over, gasping for breath and feeling the ragged jets of hot air blasting from his throat and into the cold, crisp air. He waited there for less than a minute, then ponderously moved his leaden muscles and forced himself deeper and deeper into the wood.
     
    The young man’s name was Elliot, a sandy-haired youth full of exuberance and an adventurous spirit—which was what brought him to the woods bordering his town. Elliot was born in a small backwater town, so tiny and so relatively unknown that he thought it didn’t even deserve a name. In fact the boy refused to refer to his hometown by name, instead he derisively called it “Nowherever.” He picked his rather unique name because he felt the town was simply nowhere, not deserving of any particular title—and because he felt that despite all of his efforts, he would be trapped there forever.
     
    Elliot had always been a dreamer and a creative spirit. He had a record of getting into trouble with various other residents of the town, because of his outspoken beliefs…or, to be more specific, his belief in things of old. In his youthful explorations Elliot had come across a multitude of strange and fascinating things, oddly shaped lines that bordered the town, strange lights that could be seen cresting the mountains all around, even mysterious writing on ancient stone. This things captured his imagination and drove his curiousity to its limit. It wasn’t long before the young Elliot had begun to find books dealing with mythology, with ancient and powerful magic…and the various disconnected events around the town finally made sense.
     
    It was that epiphany that had him running full tilt through the woods, mindful of the many dips and ravines, not minding the swinging branches and nettles that brought tears to his eyes or cut him. It was that epiphany that had him force past all of these obstacles and distractions deeper and deeper into the woods, far deeper than he had ever been.
     
    He passed the ruinous stones that he was certain had once been a tunnel, passed the borderlines that marked the edge of protected territory, and continued to run. The trees and shrubbery becoming nothing more than a mottled view in the corner of his vision, he was wholly focused on his end destination.
     
    It was sudden, the way his foot suddenly felt resistance, the way his centre of balance gradually shifted from vertical to horizontal, the way one moment he was flying through the woods as though he were Hermes of the winged sandals…and the next he was lying face down in the dirt. He sneezed angrily and tried to force himself up, his arms shaking with the effort it took and his body protesting every moment. Finally, after various failed attempts, the young man was able to heave his tired body off of the ground and roll his body over, laying down flat on his back, unmindful of the dirt now clinging to his hair.
     
    He breathed heavily, watching the slight cloud that formed, and attempted to move his foot. Pain shot through it, not terrible or unbeatable pain, but pain nonetheless. He sighed and propped himself into a sitting position to examine the damage. Elliot’s eyes widened as he looked down…he had tripped and twisted his ankle quite badly but that wasn’t what drew his attention, no, it was the piece of stone he had tripped on.
     
    It was slightly larger than his fist, brilliant blue, and almost luminescent. However it was the ornate carvings in the stone that attracted him. Shifting himself into a more comfortable position he reached down to heave it from the earth and found it stuck fast. He grunted with frustration and tired again, using all of the effort that remained in him. Instead his hands slipped from the cold stone and he was sent to the ground, arms flailing.
     
    Pushing himself rather angrily from the sodden earth, Elliot changed his tactics, grabbing a large dull grey stone from the earth he began to hack at the ground surrounding the stone. He didn’t care about the dirt and grime that was now smeared across his face and clothes, didn’t care about the large fragments of earth that he was displacing, all he cared about was the fact that the more he drove his stone into the earth the more of the blue stone he revealed.
    “In fact” Elliot thought to himself “This is more than just a stone…” dropping his own stone-turned-tool he began to dig furiously through the loosened earth with his bare hands, his fingers scrabbling across the hard, smooth, and somewhat warm surface of the strange stone.
     
    Moments later he was rewarded for his efforts when his fingers scraped painfully against more stone, this time lying flat. Removing his now bleeding hand from the hole he had dug, Elliot peered in. It was exactly as he had expected, the stone stretched out further…it wasn’t just a stone, it was either a complete layer of strata, or some sort of strange dais…and given all that Elliot had learned recently, he wouldn’t have been surprised by either.
     
    He thought of taking out the small leather bound journal that was fit snugly in his breast pocket, but decided against it. He wouldn’t take it out until he had reached the end of the wood. Gingerly raising himself to his feet he hesitantly took a step forward, and discovered that while painful it was in fact livable. Smiling somewhat grimly to himself he set out deeper into the wood at a much decreased pace.
     
    Finally he could see it, see the light glowing brightly behind the last few remaining trees. He could hear the tranquil sounds of the sea all around him, and could even smell the harsh smell of Salt Water…he was almost there. He was mindful of the border lines all about this area, making sure to step around their intricate designs rather than risk removing whatever power they contained.
     
    Then, suddenly, the greenery vanished and he was standing at the edge of a peak that overlooked the ocean. He glanced down to check the colour of the rock and was unsurprised to find that while the stone itself was the standard dark grey, there were rivulets of crystalline blue running through it. He caught himself, although interesting, the stone wasn’t why he was here.
     
    He moved his head slowly, a gentle incline upwards. His eyes strained for a moment, the brightness of the sun causing them to work harder than they had to previously in the dark wood—then he saw it, though it was miles and miles out to sea, he still saw it.
     
    It must have been at least one hundred stories high, a massive silver apparatus that exited seamlessly from the waves below, golden light seeming to shine all around it. Elliot sat down slowly, breathlessly, and simply watched the waves roll in the ocean, and watched the monolithic tower stand as it had always stood. After a brief moment he found the journal in his pocket and slowly opened it, mindful of the symbol that had been etched into the front.
     
    He had read it all before, his eyes pouring over the transcripts contained within, but somehow he had never grown tired of it, never grown accustomed to the strange truths that were written in its pages. He flipped to a page, which, like the rest of the journal, bore no date. On it was a rough pencil sketching of the very crag on which he stood, and a detailed and labeled diagram of the tower that stood in the distance.
     
    The tower, so said the journal, was an enormous solar collector. The central spire being connected deep beneath the waves, and the golden light simply being the reflection of countless solar panels absorbing the light. In fact, Elliot thought it must have been the largest solar collector in the world, a genuine man-made wonder that the world over would be in awe of. However he knew before he flipped the page over why that would never be.
     
    His eyes darted from the page to the tower and returned to the page, following the diagram of the incredibly massive central tower and its eventual connection to its place of origin. He read the word in his mind, finding his breath catching in his throat as he did so. He studied the architecture of the buildings, somehow so modern and yet so ancient all at once, then he closed the journal, placing it down upon the warm stone beside him.
     
    His mind raced furiously as he sat there quietly; somehow within him he had always known there was truth to the words written in the journal, but he had never expected to witness it with his own eyes. To be staring at the solar collector that had been made hundreds-of-thousands of years ago, to be stumbling upon ruins of ancient technology and magic, both woven together intricately. It was unbelievable.
     
    He began to piece together what pieces he had gleaned from the journal and from his own findings, fitting everything together in his mind and forming a picture of what had happened—and was still happening today.
     
    It was centuries ago when they had decided that the peoples of the world were too deeply rooted in hatred and war. Centuries ago when the nation as a whole had decided that the world was not yet ready for the gifts they offered—yet to seal its borders and become isolated presented the risk of causing war to break out amongst the rest of the world.
     
    Instead they had decided to mask their departure with a false calamity, a display that hubris topples even the mightiest mountain…but how to pull of such a ploy? They sent scouts into any location near them and at last they found it, a location that would allow them to set forth their plans. It was his very own “Nowherever.”
     
    With the scouts called back they began sending in scientists, mages, and even a select few of the royal family who had chosen to stay behind. With their combined wealth and power they began to erect the temples and carve the runes and border lines that Elliot had become so accustomed to seeing. Then, with the task complete they destroyed the temples and left them as nothing more than ruins in the deep forest.
     
    The runes were apparently to seal the town the forest, to make it impossible to enter. Somehow anyone entering would always find themselves feeling ill it they stayed too long, only those born of the proper heritage and marked would be able to make it inside without feeling the adverse effects. The border lines, on the other hand were for a completely different purpose, they, along with the magic that had once been contained in the temples managed to create a field that shielded the massive solar array from view. Anyone viewing this area from the air, or even from the ocean itself, would be unable to see anything but the rolling waves. Only someone who had crossed the border lines would be able to see the array—and only one set of border lines existed that could be crossed. The ones just prior to the ledge that Elliot was standing on.
     
    With all those preparations made, the plan was finally set into motion and the great continent sunk beneath the waves never to be seen again. The gargantuan solar array collecting all the energy they needed to run their various life sustaining systems.
     
    Elliot sighed leaned back against the warm stone. He had already pieced together the fact that he was born of proper lineage, otherwise he would have been unable to cross the forest barrier without incident. In fact he imagined that one day his mother would have taken him and shown him the jewel of the royal family as was described in the small leather bound journal.
     
    He found it funny, though, how the scientists had been unable to let go of their proud traditions, even naming the new colony after the fallen homeland over which they kept silent vigil. He was certain that one day it would rise again, though whether it would be in his lifetime was unknown, all he knew is that it would rise again.
     
    Atlantis would rise again.
     
    Word Count: 2,169
  25. Janus
    Wenglestum has taken a long time to think about his response--about seven days honestly--which kind of begs the question of how/when he: went to the bathroom, ate, slept, showered, trained, brushed his teeth, styled his hair, shaved, and a multitude of other things. But pushing aside those logistical nightmares Wenglestum responds to Joker with such a well-crafted passive aggressive attack that if you hadn't been paying attention you almost would have taken it for genuine concern.
     
    Joker of course misses the entire thing and responds with "The captain always sounds that way when he talks to me" DRAT. Another passive aggressive zinger foiled by Joker's semi-awareness.
     
    It's at this time that Wenglestum (leaving the cockpit now) really starts to realize just how many people are on this ship--and thinking in broader terms, just how many people are in this entire galaxy. I mean, surely nobody would expect him to talk to all of them and want to sift through every element of his conversation like some sort of insane micromanager. WOULD THEY?
     
    These thoughts weigh heavily on Wenglestum as he moves closer to the captain's quarters.
     
    1. Will Wenglestum only post questions dealing with Renegade/Paragon options
    2. Will Wenglestum post questions dealing with Renegade/Paragon options and anything he thinks is funny or interesting?
    3. Will Wenglestum talk to everyone in the entire Galaxy. NO.
     
     
    "Wheel of Morality, turn turn turn. Tell us the lesson that we should learn"
    "If at first you don't succeed, blame it on your parents."
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