Jump to content

Janus

Premier Retired Staff
 View Profile  See their activity

  • Posts

    1,016

  • Joined

  • Last visited

 Content Type 

Blog Entries posted by Janus

  1. Janus

    Quite A Team

    By Janus,

    FOR SCIENCE 2.0 (1) 
    Lame name, I know. It was either that or the overused and terrible "Fire and Ice"
     
    Anyhow, this was spawned by boredom and by the fact that my fight scenes are always attrocious, so I tried this.
     
    It's not really that great, but it's something. It may have been better if I wasn't ill all day.
     
     
    Word Count: 1,169
     
    Enjoy.
     

     

    Quite a Team 
    “This cannot be good”
    The words escaped the warrior’s mouth before he had a chance to stop them. Mentally he ran over the facts in his mind.
     
    Fact one: He was trapped on a lava flow
    Fact two: He was a Toa of ice
    Fact three: Things were about to heat up quite a bit.
     
    The warrior known as Kopaka grunted as his Golden Kanohi Akaku’s telescopic lens shifted and brought into focus the incoming threat.
     
    A warrior near-identical to himself, but clad in crimson and amber was bearing down on his position with immense speed. Riding a spit of volcanic rock atop the crest of a massive wave of Lava, the Toa of fire was closing with speed.
     
    Kopaka stood entirely still, allowing Tahu to close the distance. He had calculated that if he allowed the Toa to make it all the way to his position, then the Toa of fire would have the advantage in this bout. Something Kopaka simply could not accept. The Toa of ice shifted his masks’ long range vision to Tahu’s eyes, angry red coals that eternally burned from behind his own Golden Kanohi Hau. Kopaka wanted to see the look on his face.
     
    With a single elegant motion the Toa of ice had drawn his blade and gently touched the tip to the raging stream of lava all about him. The effect was instantaneous; the quickly flowing molten rock began to harden and cool rapidly as ice overtook the immense heat. Spreading quickly like some infectious disease, the ice crystals made their way up the crested wave that Tahu was riding.
     
    Kopaka got a single glance at the Toa of Fire’s surprised eyes before the red Toa was sent hurtling ungracefully through the air. The Toa of ice grinned, he had ensured that the ice would be enough to hold the lava flow for a brief moment—brief enough to freeze the wave, but allow Tahu to maintain his trajectory—and speed.
     
    The moment passed, the frozen flow began to crack and split as angry rivers of fire began to emerge from underneath it, with a single resounding crack the weakened ice split, the pieces that remained being quickly devoured by the hungry lava. Kopaka ran over the calculations in his head one final time before watching the stream of lava rush towards him with renewed intensity.
     
    He was quite aware that his own spit of land would never hold against such a furious wave of molten rock and so had been running plans in his head while the lava was frozen. As the wave crested and built, rushing towards him, Kopaka leapt from the blackened ground beneath his feet and focusing his elemental energy downwards, created a slick slide of ice that he rode until he reached a large circular area of volcanic rock—roughly ten steps away from the calming lava flow.
     
    No sooner had he landed than a growl met his ear.
    “That wasn’t very nice, Kopaka” the Toa of fire muttered. Flames erupted all about him, their heat intense and the smell acrid. Acting in a moment of instinct Kopaka released his elemental energy in all directions, freezing the massive flames into an enclosure of ice stalagmites.
     
    A sudden crack drew his attention and he whirled to face his opponent…but found no one there. He paused, listening, thinking he heard a footstep he struck blindly, swinging his sword behind him to catch the intruder. Instead he found his blade burrowed deep within the ice. Reluctantly he let go of the hilt, wary of using precious time and effort to struggle with his encased sword.
     
    He didn’t have time to react. Too late he felt the shattered fragments of ice bouncing off his armor, too late he felt the intense heat from the Toa’s elemental energy, and too late he felt the sharp blade of the ruby hued blade pressing into his side.
     
    “Match.” Kopaka spoke simply. Raising his hands in a gesture of defeat he turned to face the crimson Toa and found himself looking directly into Tahu’s eyes. He seemed to be smiling.
    “You’ve taught me well, Kopaka” Tahu said, putting his hand on the Toa of ice’s shoulder.
    “You’ve been an excellent student, Tahu” Kopaka said with a small smile, then he retrieved his blade with a mighty heave.
    “And now I am to be the student”
     
    He had hardly spoken before he felt the first impact. Tahu’s fire sword slashing downwards upon his upraised shield—he had reacted instinctively.
     
    Pushing forwards to knock the Toa of fire off balance, Kopaka swung his own blade in a downwards arc, watching carefully as Tahu’s Kanohi Hau automatically activated and prevented the blade’s descent.
     
    Reacting quickly Kopaka drew back for another strike and, tracking Tahu’s eyes, found his attention completely focused on the blade.
    “Perfect” Kopaka murmured to himself, and with a torque of his body he thrust his shield into the side of Tahu’s head, knocking the Toa to the ground.
     
    Flames sprung to life around the fallen Toa, preventing Kopaka from accessing him further, but rather than calculate and wait he instead activated his own Kanohi Akaku, tracking Tahu’s form through the burning flames and thick smoke. Satisified he hurtled his shield through the fire, watching it strike the Toa in his midsection, doubling him over. Then the Toa of ice launched himself through the flames and into a second ring of fire, his blade arcing downwards.
     
    Sparks of metal flew as Tahu’s own fire sword parried the strike, though down the Toa of fire was not yet out. Tahu launched a vicious kick at Kopaka’s own midsection, but the Toa of ice nimbly sidestepped it, nearly tripping over his own shield in the process. Mind working rapidly, Kopaka kicked the shield towards Tahu, watching as the barrier field of the Hau was activated. In the split seconds that his shield attempted to penetrate the protective barrier of the shield, Kopaka focused his elemental energy around him, freezing the roaring flames as he had before.
     
    Tahu grunted
    “The same trick won’t work twice, Kopaka!” he said, the barrier fading as the Toa of fire launched himself forward in attack. Kopaka remained focused on the ice around him, his sword raised to parry, but his eyes closed in concentration.
     
    All at once the ring of ice split into thousands of fragments that hurtled towards the Toa of fire, unable to have forseen such an attack the barrier sputtered to life too late, already hundreds of razor sharp crystals had struck the Toa of fire and brought him to his knees, his chin resting lightly upon the tip of Kopaka’s blade.
     
    “Good match” Tahu said breathlessly raising his sword in salute of the Toa of ice.
    Kopaka simply smiled and helped the Toa of fire to his feet, reflecting on the irony of the two most diametrically opposed Toa secretly teaching each other.
     
    Then again, he thought with a smile, Fire and Ice together made quite a team.
     
     
  2. Janus

    Well, Folks.

    By Janus,

    Well folks, I've been quite....untruthful, huh?
     
    I haven't been doing my writing for quite some time...however I've found that's mostly because I just haven't been inspired by the concept of writing, and so until the point that the inspiration returns, FOR SCIENCE will change.
     
    I will no longer do 2,000 words minimum.
     
    I'll do however many I want, be it 10, 15, or 3,000. I'll do it until the story is complete, or until I have a satisfactory chapter break.
     
    I'll be starting this new copy of FOR SCIENCE! on Monday.
     
    See you then!
     
    Sincerely,
     
    -Janus
  3. 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
  4. Janus

    Extract

    By Janus,

    This is a tiny mini-entry dedicated to all the many people who asked how I format my FOR SCIENCE! entries, or more particularly, how I get the "More..." button.
     
    Look it up yourself.
     
    Seriously, it's right in the code list, that's how I found it. I trust that all of you can do the same.
     
    But, because I'm way too nice. If you are unable to find the proper code I will include below the cut.
     

    [extract] TEXT [/extract]
     
    Yeah, that's it.
     
    Don't you feel silly now? =B
  5. Janus

    Clox

    By Janus,

    FOR SCIENCE! (12) 
    This is a ramble, this is just random jibberish. If you can make any point of the below story I truly commend you because I started writing at 11:00 PM and finished at 1:26 AM with a barely sensical story. I really should start on these earlier in the day.
     
    Attempt to enjoy!
     

    Clox 
    Tick, tick, tick
     
    The sound came from everywhere, emanating out from an immense source and echoing into the world; it resounded through streets and up tall towers, it boomed around deep valleys and water-filled ravines.
     
    It was a clock. Or rather, it wasn’t a clock.
     
    You see, those of you reading this think of a clock as a small little (sometimes rounded) object which fits snuggly on a wall or desk, and ticks away quietly in a corner. Essentially it’s a something almost always forgettable.
     
    This wasn’t any of those things. In fact if anything it was a city in the corner of a clock—in fact it was a city on the corner of a clock. The city was called Tenolck and it was a bustling hive of industry, with all sorts of people constantly bustling around doing their assorted tasks; their gears whirring and clicking smoothly as they went about their days.
     
    …What? Oh, my apologies. I had so forgotten that for the people reading this, the concept of people with gears is a strange and foreign one. Oh yes, the people of Tenolck had gears, as did all the people who resided in the various cities across the massive clock: Elevetia, Twelston, and all the rest were filled to the brim with various different shapes and sizes of geared occupants.
     
    I see that some further information is required. There are four different ‘brands’ of the people of Clox, and of those are brands they are divided into the standard male/female pairing.
     
    The first brand is the most common, they’re the Copparst: as their name implies they are coated in a brilliant copper sheen all across their bodies. Their faces are, on average, the most dented of the people of Clox and they are second-to-none in terms of being warriors for the Clox kingdoms. Unfortunately their gears are also the most exposed of all the brands, leading to the rather common and unfortunate fate of a jammed gear.
     
    The second brand is the Steelde: Shining a bright silver they are the second most common brand on Clox. While on average shorter than the Bronzst, they are also skilled craftsmen and a highly intelligent people. Steelde’s are also, unfortunately very xenophobic when left to their own devices and tend to cluster around the cities of Sixten and Forson, only occasionally leaving their cities for any other. Only the best materials on Clox are made by Steelde hands.
     
    Next is the Ironen, a proud and strong brand. Whilst they eschewed most major cities on Clox for quite some time they have gradually moved out of their primitive ways and developed into the best farmhands in all the land. The Ironen are a squat and, some would say, ugly race; their features being roughly carved out of the harsh metal that makes up their bodies. However due to decreasing iron levels in the planet, the Ironen are in far shorter supply than either the Steelde or the Copparst. Luckily the Ironen also live the longest, having the most solid coating over their intricate gears.
     
    Lastly are the most mysterious brand: The Quartzot. Very little is known about the Quartzot except that they reside only within the central continent of Clox. Unlike the rest of the brands who tend to stick to the outer cities of Onel, through Twelston; the Quartzot refuse to set foot outside of the central spite of Clox…given that few explorers have returned from this spire, it remains unnamed. However it is said that the Quartzot are summoning a particular city to dine with them when one of the massive bridges swing from the central spire. The Quartzot are also practical jokers and enjoy giving a large celebration, and announcing their plans to bridge to a certain city—and then releasing a special bridge that only stretches halfway to said city. Due to this nature the cities of Twole and Fivate have refused to allow any Quartzot ambassadors within their walls. The Quartzot are also the strangest brand in terms of appearance, it is unknown if they have gears or not, but their outer shell contains no metallic sheen, instead they are almost translucent, with light seeming to shine through their pale white bodies.
     
    And now, with that background information out of the way, let us get on with our story. Where were we?
     
    Ah yes!
     
    Tick, tick, tick
     
    The sound came from everywhere, emanating out from an immense source and echoing into the world; it resounded through streets and up tall towers, it boomed around deep valleys and water-filled ravines.
     
    It was a clock. Or rather, it wasn’t a clock.
     
    You see, those of you reading this think of a clock as a small little (sometimes rounded) object which fits snuggly on a wall or desk, and ticks away quietly in a corner. Essentially it’s a something almost always forgettable.
     
    This wasn’t any of those things. In fact if anything it was a city in the corner of a clock—in fact it was a city on the corner of a clock. The city was called Tenolck and it was a bustling hive of industry, with all sorts of people constantly bustling around doing their assorted tasks; their gears whirring and clicking smoothly as they went about their days.
     
    It was in one of the lesser traveled streets of Tenolck where a young male lay quietly. He was an Ironen by the look of him, the coarse, rusted metal of his form giving him away almost immediately. He lay shading his eyes with one hand, listening carefully to the tick that boomed all around the city. Even his gears were silenced in the face of that incredible sound.
     
    After the last tick had sounded, the young male stood up, his metal form screaming in protest as his gears whirred madly, pushing his body upwards. When at last his body had ceased its remonstration he began to move from the street and into a darkened alley, his face firmly facing downwards.
    “You hear that, Crass?” came a mocking voice. Looking up the young male saw a Steelde female leaning up against a wall, her silver joints shining faintly in the darkness and her eyes vaguely beckoning.
    “’course I heard it, Fel” came the mumbled reply from the male called Crass. “ain’t nobody who din’t hear somethin’ like that.” He continued, walking slowly into the shadows where Fel was waiting.
    “Yes, but do you know what it means?” Fel asked, her eyes glinting sharply.
    “Na” Crass replied slowly, gently lowering himself to sit cross legged on the smooth ground.
    “It means that the bridge is going to be extended to Twelston. The Quartzot are coming out of their self-induced seclusion and are willing to make contact with the world again” Fel responded with a smile, her eyes passionate.
    “An’ if s’ajoke?” Crass grunted, not bothering to look upwards. Fel sighed and made a small ‘tsk’ing sound before offering a gleaming arm to the sitting Ironen.
    “How many times have I told you not to blend words like that? You’re a perfectly educated citizen of Tenolck” she said, somewhat harshly.
    “Yes’m” Crass responded dully. Fel shook her head and grasped his hand, slowly heaving him to his feet.
    “Come on, Crass. If we leave today we can catch transport to Twelston. We can be there for the bridge!” Crass’ response was an unintelligible mumble, his eyes cast towards the ground as he spoke.
    “…What?” Fel responded, displaying all the beauty and frustration of a Steelde female.
    Crass mumbled again, refusing to avert his eyes from the smooth plastic street of Tenolck. Luckily Fel’s keen hearing barely managed to catch it this time “N’money”
     
    Fel smiled a gentle smile and stroked the top of Crass’s rough head.
    “Silly Crass, I know you have no money. But you live with me now, and I do!” Crass looked hesitantly into Fel’s silvery eyes, his own dark eyes filled with doubt.
    “You…mean it?” He said slowly, clearly enunciating every word as it came out, moving his mouth oddly in order to get out the unfamiliar sounds. Fel grinned brightly at the smaller Ironen
    “O’course I do!” Crass smiled brightly and wrapped his strong arms around Fel in a tight hug.
     
    It was a few short hours later that Crass and Fel found themselves in the transit station from Tenolck to Twelston…along with just about every other resident of Twelston—and Fel could have sworn there were even a few from Elevetia. The narrow building was crammed with gleaming shades of various different metals and filled with the noise of thousands of gears all whirring at various different speeds. After ten minutes Fel put a hand on Crass’ shoulder and they both left the incredibly crowded building.
     
    It was Crass who suggested that in lieu of attempting to board the transit line, or make any other attempt to get to Twelston, they simply go to the beach instead. Fel became amicable to this after seeing the growing quantities of people who were rapidly moving to every available source of transit to the city of Twelston.
     
    From the central transit center it was but a short jaunt to the water’s edge, its empty whiteness lapping up onto the black plastic shore. On the other side of Tenolck bay they could see the industrial sector of Tenolck, large black plumes of smoke dotting the sky from all the heavy machinery.
     
    Fel lightly took Crass’ hand and together they walked onto the rounded dock which offered a nearly unparalleled view. Looking straight forward Fel could dimly see the large spire that jutted into the sky, the centre of all of Clox and the Quartzot homeland—and just south of that was the enormous bridge: Previously linked to Eighre, it was now slowly being pushed towards the bustling city of Twelston
     
    Fel and crass walked along the rounded dock for some time, simply enjoying the view of the expansive white ocean, and the hazy views of the other cities, all of them divided by the white waves. Fel smiled at the view and lightly patted Crass on the back, he grinned weakly back at her and sat down cross-legged on the hard metal of the dock.
    “Fel, why do you let me live with you?” He murmured quietly. “Ironen aren’t well-liked in this region.” Fel crouched down, her silvery faces mere inches from his own.
    “Because, Crass. You’re like a brother to me.” She sighed softly and sat down completely, her bright eyes fixed to the dark metal beneath her. “I admit, when I first found you I was looking for a skilled laborer, a hired hand. But you’re so much more than that, Crass. You’re family.”
     
    They sat there, comfortably quiet for the space of an hour before a loud blaring sound shook them from their stillness. Jumping to her feet, Fel glanced around warily and saw nothing. Crass also stood, slowly, and walked to the very edge of the rounded pier, laying his thick arms on the guard rail silently. Fel glared around her at the unseen threat, but turned gracefully on her heel and walked to where Crass was leaning.
     
    In the distance they could see the enormous bridge landing at the entrance at Twelson.
    “The alarm must have been because the Quartzot arrived ahead of schedule” Fel said quietly. Crass said nothing in return, his dark eyes peering intently at the large black bridge that stretched from the Quartzot spire to Twelson.
     
    Fel also watched interestedly as a dim procession of lights made their way onto the bridge. Then, with a sudden movement the bridge swung directly in front of her and Crass, the wind from its arrival blowing over them powerfully and kicking up waves. Squinting her eyes Fel could see that the bridge to Twelson was in fact the half bridge, and the procession from Twelson (including, she assumed, the ambassador from Quartzot) were splashing around in the water. Luckily the Quartzot joke was an old one, and water rescuers were standing by. Even Fel was aware of that.
     
    Then it boomed out again, that incredible cacophony of sound.
     
    Tick, tick, tick.
     
    Crass paused and looked up at the sky, his previously blank expression dissolving into laughter, the metal of his face crinkling as he laughed merrily. Fel watched him and laughed herself, not knowing why.
     
    At last Crass’ mirth had faded away, leaving his gears sputtering slightly and his metal warped only the tiniest bit around his mouth. Fel, experiencing similar effects simply sat next to him and breathlessly asked.
    “What was so funny?” Crass looked ready to laugh again as she spoke
    “It’s an old Iron’n joke, I ne’r thought it wa’ true.” He said, slipping into his old speech pattern. Fel gazed at him intently through hooded eyes
    “What was the joke?” He paused and thought a moment before looking skyward again.
    “That sound, it ain’t letting us know they’re ready to bridge a new city.” He said slowly, carefully picking his words and speaking properly. “It’s their laughter. They’re laughin’ at us. Isn’t it hilarious?”
     
    Fel paused a moment and allowed this to sink in, the Quartzot were not some mysterious force who would occasionally allow other cities to access their promised land. They were a bunch of practical jokers who had managed to present the veneer of sophistication to the rest of the world.
     
    She had to admit, it was pretty funny.
     
    With their energy spent Fel and Crass slowly picked themselves up and walked home in the darkness, laughing the whole way, as the Quartzot had laughed at them.
     
    Word Count: 2,272
     
  6. 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
  7. Janus

    Pronouns

    By Janus,

    FOR SCIENCE! (11) 
    Okay, yeah. I was late. I know.
     
    Truth be told I was crazy-mega-ultra busy and tired on Friday, super busy and exhausted on Saturday, and even crazy busy and tired today. But such is my commitment to you lunatics that I have completed my requisite torture.
     
    I will say that this is, by far, the cruelest challenge that someone can ever assign any author ever. So I gotta give mad props to the Admiral for forcing me to really challenge myself. Thanks dude.
     
    I will also admit that I totally cut it short and only did 1,000 words because, quite frankly, nobody would read 4,000 words of ramble.
     
    That and I would go inredeemably insane after completing it.
     
    a full list of banned words is contained immediately following the cut.
     
    Enjoy!
     
     

    Pronouns 
    All, another, any, anyone, anything, both, each, each other, either, everybody, everyone, everything, few, he, her, hers, herself, him, himself, his, I, it, its, itself, little, many, me, mine, more, most, much, myself, neither, no one, nobody, none, nothing, one, one another, other, others, ours ourselves, several, she, some, somebody, someone, something, that, theirs, them, themselves, there, they, this, those, us, we, what, whatever, which, whichever, who, whoever, whom, whomever, whose, you, yours yourself, yourselves.
     
    Well here is an attempt at completing an incredibly difficult challenge. The author has been challenged to write a 4,000 word Essay containing absolutely no pronouns, and seeing assaid author is insane, the individual in question was left with no choice but to comply. However two immediate problems were raised by in regards to the challenge, the first was the incredibly unexpected stream of appointments, work, and an assortment of various distracting factors. In addition to the above, please take into account the author’s severe exhaustion, leading to the incredibly large delay of the piece’s completion.
     
    The second immediate problem was quite simply, the author had no idea as to the true definition of a pronoun. A limited solution was found by searching Dictionary.com, however the author still has only a limited understanding on the subject, meaning said author expects the piece will receive a large amount of editing via the friends of the above-mentioned author.
     
    However under the two of the above mentioned immediate problems lays a tertiary, less pressing problem, but a problem no less important. With the business problem temporarily solved (The author will have a far higher abundance of time today), and the pronoun quandary being somewhat dealt with, the author finds the dreaded task of groping around in the dark for a subject able to be written about
     
    In fact, the author just attempted to write a story-within-a-story and found the task was nearly impossible, and the author almost immediately interjected with a personal pronoun. The author would like to curse said lack of pronouns incredibly heartily. The author would also like to say, as a writer, the author finds the inability to refer to the author in first person very difficult. In fact the author’s head is nodding like a bizarre sort of crazed bobble head, in order to show the depths the author agrees with the statement above.
     
    The author is quite certain, quite certain indeed, the piece will only draw a small percentage of people, and even fewer will, in fact read the story…except of course the sadistic individual assigning the cruel challenge to the author in question, however, said author has determined said individual’s humanity is lacking at best, and will therefore instead refer to the cruel person as Mandrew.
     
    Ah, the author appears to have discovered an alternative way to refer to the person writing the story. In fact the author’s name appears to be Robert, and as Robert is not a pronoun, Robert is staying within the firmly established guidelines of the challenge. Robert is crazy pleased.
     
    Robert, Robert, Robert, Robert, Robert.
     
    Hah.
     
    Now then, Robert is still struggling with coming up with an interesting enough subject, a subject interesting enough to please the cruel and sadistic mind of the evil and villainous Mandrew. However Robert doubts the existence of such a thing. Additionally Robert would like to point out Robert just went through the above page for editing and was immediately assailed with minimum three pronouns. Robert is crazy displeased.
     
    The author would also like to note: as of the above paragraph the story contains only 485.. The author imagines the individuals reading said story are just as disappointed in the fact mentioned above, as the author is. Robert would like to say to these individuals, please don’t cry, simply stop reading. Perhaps eventually Robert can stop writing also.
     
    Robert is frowning now, in fact, Robert looks insanely displeased. Apparently Robert is very upset due to the fact the essay still has not found a sort of purpose. Robert will now attempt to actually make the large sum of these disparate words have meaning. Robert would also like to add: Robert will eternally curse Mandrew’s name.
     
    Robert would also add: upon further research and editing, Robert found roughly 20 pronouns. Robert would like to point out the teeth contained in the skull belonging to Robert, are grinding so badly said teeth are expected to explode shortly in the immediate future. Robert smash.
     
    Robert has just discovered the extent of the challenge assigned to the author under Robert’s authorial duties. Upon discovering said torture, Robert has decided to ‘wuss out.’ The author will complete a story of 1,000 words pronoun-less, however said author is unable to go on for a period of time longer than 1,000 words. Partially due to the immense pain of rambling on like a deranged lunatic happening to own a blog. Partially because the list of the words the author is unable to use numbers in the double digits. Contained in said list are seventy three words the author finds unfit to use (or unable to, rather).
     
    The author discovered beforehand, as a lucky search provided said author with a list of, let’s call said list, ‘prohibited words.’ The author also found, upon a large amount searching and discovery, almost half of these words had been used on at least a single occasion in the rambling, sprawling, horrid thing the readers are currently reading.
     
    Robert is gleeful, having reached the point of 820 words as of the last paragraph. However Robert is also painfully aware 820 words is not 1,000 words, and therefore the punishment Robert is enduring will continue until the point wherein Robert can finally die. Why won’t the story let Robert die?
     
    Robert is beginning to question the sanity belonging to Robert, the fact remains the challenge laid down before the author is, without a question of a doubt, incredibly, incredibly difficult. Robert is even aware the author has resorted to cheating in a variety of places, such as using words over and over and over.
     
    Robert can see the light at the end of the tunnel. The horrible piece of tripe stitched together out of brain tissue and keyboard fragments will come to an end shortly. Then Robert can die happily. Robert is quite certain Robert’s brain will cease to function immediately following the completion of the project, therefore Robert is waiting for said moment, said glorious moment wherein the author’s brain can simply implode and die.
     
    The author is pleased to say: Said moment (originally) happened on the word ‘die’ (however following editing it now falls firmly five words before ‘die’)
     
    How ironic. (Orignal line. Much better with original ending point. Such a shame)
     
    Word count: 1,044 (No, that does not include the expansive list at the beginning)
     
  8. Janus

    Super Metroid

    By Janus,

    FOR SCIENCE! (9) 
    This story I'm actually relatively pleased with, it's really not much--in fact it's basically just the intro to Super Metroid (hence the name), but I always loved the intro to Super Metroid with a passion (then again I loved all of Super Metroid with a passion)
     
    The funny thing with this story is it didn't turn out at all like I expected. I had expected to deal with Samus' planetfall and subsequent discovery of a ruined Space Pirate base, I always found that part of the game ridiculously creepy. Instead I ended up enjoying writing about Ceres station far more than I expected.
     
    Maybe this means there's another Super Metroid story down the line somewhere.
     
    Maybe.
     
    Enjoy!
     

    Super Metroid 
    Sirens blared, alerting me to the immense shockwave that was washing over the surface of my ship, buffeting it about like a tiny schooner in the midst of a tidal storm. Remembering my training I made no attempt to control reach the control console, instead remaining in my quarters, tightly gripping an emergency handrail until the shockwave had passed and a relative tranquility came over the tiny vessel.
     
    Letting go of the handrail I floated effortlessly to the hatch that led from my quarters to the corridor and from there into the bridge. Upon reaching the bridge of the ship I checked the various instruments, inspecting temperature, speed, and of course, damage. Strangely enough the ship was seemingly untouched. Whatever had caused that shockwave had to have been moving incredibly rapidly, but whatever it was it hadn’t damaged my ship. That’s all I cared about.
     
    I was about to leave the bridge and go rest in my quarters when the telltale shrill beeping of my communicator filled the silence aboard the ship. I sighed and sat down at the communications console, fitting myself snuggly in-between the control panels that took up most of the space on the bridge. With an idle mind I flicked the switch that activated the communications rig, expecting to find someone wanting expert bounty hunter Samus Aran for whatever reason—instead I found a dropdown screen informing me of an S.O.S. in large blinking letters. Flipping up the navigations console I scanned for any nearby vessels that could have been scuttled, or had their power cut, but the only thing that came up was the research station I had just left. Ceres Station was under attack.
     
    Without a second thought I shifted my seat to the piloting controls, dialing the speed to maximum and sending my ship hurtling through space towards the distant speck that was Ceres Research station. There was no way I was allowing anyone to get away with attacking that station, not when I knew what was on board. Setting my ships navigation safely to autopilot I left the bridge to suit up, I had no intention of walking into a trap unarmed.
     
    The door to my small armory hissed open, revealing my most basic armor suit—had I had more time I would have been able to return to HQ and use one of my many upgraded suits, but as it was all I had on me was the recon variety for an upcoming mission. I sighed
    “Better this than nothing, I suppose.”
     
    I had just finished checking my suits’ diagnostics when my proximity alarm alerted me to the fact that we were on approach to Ceres. It was a few seconds later that I realized my hailing signals weren’t being responded to. This was not a good sign. I took a deep breath and activated my ship’s gravity, using one of the various subsystems routed directly into my suit. In an instant there was a sudden lurching feeling, and then the heavy clang of my armored boots hitting the floor of the armory. I smiled grimly, systems check all green for pressure sensors.
     
    By the time I had reached the bridge again I could see Ceres Station through the view screen, the massive gear shaped oval filling my view with a thousand twinkling lights from its various different ports and windows. Taking hold of the controls I gently steered my ship towards the central hollow, where even from this distance, four massive red lights could be seen flashing brightly. Guiding my ship into this hollow I fired my retro rockets and found a docking port nearest the sector I wanted to go to. Using another subsystem of my suit I interfaced directly with Ceres’ docking computer, feeling the dull reverberations of the heavy docking clamps slamming shut around my ship and drawing me into the station’s plated hull.
     
    Once the station had automatically docked me, I drew up a map onscreen and found that I was just one tier above where I needed to be. I double checked my arm cannon and set my ships’ defenses to their highest level—there was no telling what could be out there. With that done I opened the hatch in the roof of the ship and allowed the platform to carry me from the warm comfort of my own ship into the cold metal vastness that was Ceres.
     
    Almost immediately I was on guard, using my passive scanners and radar to begin searching through my immediate area, and tracking everything with my arm cannon. I stepped off the armored hull of my ship and into a service dock, accessing the blueprints of the station from there I took the nearest service elevator down into the third tier of Ceres Station. While I had been here recently I wanted the blueprints in case anything unexpected happened.
     
    The ride down the service elevator was uneventful, however it did confirm a fear of mine. Upon reaching the bottom of the shaft I found no-one there to greet me. Having just recently left them, and especially considering what I had left in their care, this was unthinkable. Whatever was attacking was after this section specifically.
     
    I entered one of the armored doors, which took me into the oxygenated and comfortable area of Ceres proper and looked around slowly—everything looked exactly as I’d left it. The only difference was that there were no hurried bustling scientists, in fact it was as quiet as a tomb. I picked up my pace and made my way deeper into the station, walking down a flight of stairs and into the ‘experimental research’ department—where I hoped I’d find the scientists huddled, scared, but alive.
     
    Instead I was greeted with the sight of three scientists’ dead, their bodies viciously slashed and bleeding profusely. In the center of the room a large apparatus lay in ruins, with the subject of experimentation being nowhere to be found. I gritted my teeth, it was possible that this was going to get much worse than I expected.
     
    Wishing I could have spared a moment to mourn for the dead, I instead sprinted across the room, entering another heavily armored door and finding myself in a narrow corridor. One described in the blueprints as leading to the storage room—if ever there were a place to find living scientists, it would be the storage room. I only hoped I was right.
     
    I entered the storage area, tracking with my cannon, and found it completely bare of anything, light included…except a large containment unit containing the gift I had left for the scientists on Ceres. The hatchling Metroid from planet SR-388. I breathed a sigh of relief, whatever had attacked the station hadn’t known about the hatchling, and the scientists must have given up their life to get it to safety here. I lowered my cannon and allowed my scanners to fall silent, I already knew there was a life form here, the hatchling in front of me. I took a step towards the containment unit, thinking of various other research stations that would be happy to continue Ceres’ work, but was shocked to hear a voice speaking.
    “Not quite that easy, Samus” came a dark growl. All of a sudden a baleful eye flared above where the canister that held the Metroid was, and using my visor’s heat tracking I was able to make out the hulking form of one of Mother Brain’s generals, the cruel and intelligent Ridley.
     
    “You actually thought you’d won, Hunter?” The massive dragon crowed. “Thought you’d beaten us? That we’d just give up and die?” The enormous claw holding the containment unit squeezed it tightly. “No, Samus. We’re not dead yet!” And with that the massive beast hurled itself into the air, blasting a stream of fire directly towards me.
     
    Acting out of reflex I threw myself to the side, tracking and firing as I did so. Most of my shots simply bounced of the dragon’s black carapace but a single shot struck him in his sensitive beak, causing a shriek of pain to erupt from the creature’s mouth. Then he fixed me with his hate-filled eyes and spoke
    “You’re not worth my time, Bounty Hunter. Now die here with all the rest!” With that he lashed out with his spiked tail, smashing into the metal of the station’s walls and breaking through effortlessly. Then he was gone, with the hatchling.
     
    I cursed, exiting the storage area and intent on catching up with the giant dragon, intent on retrieving the Metroid. Then my suits’ internal warning system came to life and informed me that he had triggered the entire station for overload, essentially causing a self-destruct. Cursing even more I sprinted through the corridor, passing the gargantuan machine where the now-deceased scientists had studied the Metroid hatchling and up the stairs, becoming more and more aware of the blaring klaxons and deteriorating station all around me. Bursts of steam from overworked conduits were shooting out almost everywhere and even the structural integrity of the lab began to crumble. I cursed a third time.
     
    I became acutely aware of just how bad the situation was when I entered the service elevator shaft and found the entire station beginning to tilt haphazardly from one direction to another, the stabilizers that once controlled it seeming have given out. Without thinking I launched myself onto the elevator, all too aware of the timer that was counting down the seconds until the entire station detonated.
     
    With mere minutes left to spare I darted from one end of the airlock to where my ship still remained, luckily Ridley hadn’t seen fit to tamper with it before he left. Lacking the time to interface with Ceres’ docking system I simply fired my ship’s weapons, destroying the docking clamps and freeing my ship to escape from the station’s hull.
     
    The countdown had hit ten seconds remaining when I fired my boosters to their maximum, forcing me back in my seat as my ship shot out of the station’s interior. Seconds later a massive shockwave washed over me, sending the ship into mad spirals as shrapnel and energy washed over it. Being in control this time I managed to steadily guide the ship away from the worst of the concussive force and avoid the deadly shrapnel that was being scattered by the massive explosion.
     
    At last the explosion was over, and while my ship had taken a few blows from the shrapnel, it remained intact. With no time to think of anything else I immediately brought up my scanners and set them to the longest range possible. Ridley was out here somewhere, he’d likely had a ship stashed on Ceres just as I had…so all I had to do was pick up his heat signature and trace his path.
     
    It was a full five minutes before I was far enough out of range of the still smoldering ruins of Ceres and my scanners were able to pick up a rapidly moving heat source. I smiled grimly. Ridley. I had the computer run a course trace on his heat signature while I moved back into the belly of the ship, using the precious few hours I had left before I caught up with the Space Pirate to run various combat simulations. I had faced Ridley before, and it had almost cost me my life, I refused to allow that to happen again.
     
    It was approximately one hour later (and roughly 20 different combat sims) that I was broken out of focus by the rapid beeping of my navcom. It had determined his path, and with luck I could cut him off before he made it there.
     
    I made my way to the bridge, moving slowly as I had to with my power armor on.
    “May as well get used to it” I thought to myself. “After all, you’re going to be in it for quite a bit longer.” It was unlikely that Ridley would go down easily, and even he did, it was doubtful he had acted alone. Had the remnants of the Space Pirates rallied under Ridley’s flag? That was a distinct possibility.
     
    Entering the bridge I checked the navcom results. Unable to believe them I ran a second check myself. The proof was undeniable.
     
    He was going to where it all began. To the place where the Metroid’s had first entered my life.
     
    He was going to Planet Zebes.
     
    And I was going to follow him.
     
     
    Word Count: 2,086
  9. Janus

    Stream Of Conciousness

    By Janus,

    This is verbatim transcription (That means all the spelling mistakes and errors are intact) of writing I did this morning at roughly 4:00 AM after being unable to sleep (And finding that WinAmp Skin I wanted. Until the point that I begun writing I was operating the computer essentially blind, meaning no glasses)
     
     
    Well, this is quite the experiment. I’m writing blind here, literally blind. Eyes closed I’m relying only on mu drndr og youvh snf yhr dounf yo huifr mr.
    Z
    Music is a rhythm, a flow, something that we can follow and be inspired by. That’s what I’m allowing to lead me now. I’m simple alloinw myself to sit here,eyes closed ed and completely in sync with the msuci playing. Heck, I have no ideda how many spelling mistakes I’m making. Likely hundres. But the fact remains that I cannot see what I’m writing and will not see until tomorrow.
     
    And that’s beautiful, isn’t it?
     
    Trying something new, just for the heck of it!
     
    In fact I was trying to sleep before this massive surge of inspiration overcame me: So now here I am, at somewhere near 3:000 in the morning sitting on my computer and typing blind—why? Because I can. Because the world allows me to. Because this is what I choose to do.
     
    Choose, not decide. To actually choose is to hdo it with no reason why. And that’s why I’m doing this. Because I choose to, because I just wanted to do it. And it’s interesting.
     
    Seriously, the senstations one feels typing blind is incredible.
    My blody actually sfells like its changing shape.
     
    But the music stopped now. My guiding force has gone silent and so the moment of inspiration has passed. In fact I already feel the heavy coat of sleep settling over my shoulders, running up and ffown my neck. I can feel the bbuttons seeming to grow smaller and smaller anas my hands grow larger and large, inflating with the gross movements of a tired body.
     
    It’s a strange feeling, in my minds eye I can seee all sorts of things, but then I feel them. My body senses them as though they were true. Now my fingers are inflated and swollen like some sort of strange sausisage, now the keyboard is curved and spherical. Now I’m skinny as a twig with long spindly fingers that can dance over the mite sized keyboard with ease.
     
    I think I’m donw now. The keys have grown large and small, my fingers have shrunk and grown, and my minds eye has swollen and felcated. Everything’s run its natural course and so too is my stream of conciousness coming to an end.
     
    Perhaps I’ll edit this tomorrow. Perhaps not.
    Goodnight everyone,
     
    My love find you and carry you forward.
     
  10. Janus

    Imagine

    By Janus,

    Two things right off the bat:
     
    One: The Imagine title does not refer to my defunct BIONICLE: Imagine project. It was a cool idea, but it was undone by my desire to not do any work.
     
    Two: FOR SCIENCE! Will be returning monday, I already have two seperate stories in mind for Monday and Tuesday. I will not be writing them until that day, however (Maybe I'll write Monday's on Sunday, as Monday is a busy day for me)
     
    No, Imagine refers to the fifth part of an absolutely amazing series that has evolved beyond my wildest imaginings.
     
    Allow me to explain.
     
    About five years (Or more) ago, I discovered this hilarious little flash animation made by a group called SamBakZa, the animation in question was "There she is!!" and told the tale of a bunny falling in love with a cat in a society that did not look kindly upon this. It was hilarious because the cat resisted until the end, only giving up reluctantly--and then started to love her himself.
     
    That was supposed to be it, various theories were thrown around the internet (Mainly that the cat and rabbit did indeed represent the Korean-Japanese relationships during the period of time when it was forbidden. I'm not really sure what period of time this was, but I would guess it was during the Japanese occupation of Korea and in the second world war) but aside from that there wasn't much to discuss, but is sure was funny to watch. I shortly after forgot about it (after watching Hot Fish Same but Different)
     
    Later on I discovered that it was supposed to be a three-parter, and I watched the second part "Cake Dance" and found it both amusing and adorable. Incredibly adorable--then I again completely forgot about it.
     
    Last night my gurlfren being the incredible person she is reminded me of this little comedic series, and in fact linked me to all the videos. Number three was just as adorable and funny. It was called "Doki and Nabi" (Doki is the bunny, and Nabi is the cat)
     
    But number four was...well, it shocked me. Let's go with that. I was seriously concerned about the direction the series was going in and was not expecting it at all. Especially not with the name "Paradise"
     
    But I gotta say.
     
    It's rare that I feel as inspired and touched as I did when I watched part 5 "Imagine" It really was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen, and the story it tells is amazing.
     
    I'd suggest everyone Check them out
     
    Sincerely,
     
    -Janus
  11. Janus
    FOR SCIENCE! (8) 
    Okay, not so happy with this one. It's supposed to be part one of a two part tribute to one of the first stories I ever typed. That being a naive attempt to make a Novel out of Super Metroid. I got maybe fifteen pages in before I dropped it and never picked it up again.
     
    But I love Metroid, I love it so very, very much. So first of all we see a slightly different take on Metroid original, and then tomorrow there'll be something else. Thursday will be an all-original tale, though. So those of you who don't like this fanfic stuff don't have to worry, it won't be sticking around for long.
     
    I'd also like to apologize for a few things.
     
    One: I think the title sucks, but it's all I got, if you can think of something better please do suggest it.
    Two: There are all sorts of Metroid fan injokes, some of this you probably will not get. Like, at all.
    Three: The ending is both an injoke and a failtastic ending. I JUST NEEDED TO END IT.
     
    Anyhow, enjoy as much as is possible!
     

    Of Mothers. Who Happen to be Brains 
    I landed on the planet’s surface, rolling along the ground to cushion myself from the impact. Above me my ship flew on autopilot, the hatch I had emerged closing silently.
     
    I raised myself into a half-crouch, carefully watching my radar and readying my arm cannon, I knew it was more than possible that I’d be swarmed by Space Pirates at any point and it was important I stayed on guard. Luckily I was only five minutes away from the entry point to their lair—though I expected it to be heavily guarded. Five minutes later I had arrived…and underneath my visored helmet…blanched.
     
    It wasn’t heavily guarded at all. In fact there was a sign sticking out of the strange Blue-grey rock of Zebes that cheerfully informed everyone that this was in fact the express elevator into the Space Pirate secret lair. There was no way this was real. No way. I readied my arm cannon, waiting for the flood of enemies to wash over me at any point, I was most sorely disappointed when none showed up.
     
    “This has to be a joke” I muttered under my breath. I’d been hired to take care of the Notorious Space Pirates and their leader Mother Brain before they did even worse things with their newly discovered weapon, the species known as “Metroids.” So here I was on their home planet of Zebes…a well known Bounty hunter with a well known ship flying directly into their radar space and they have a SIGN that tells me this where their layer is, you’re kidding me.
     
    I sighed, there was nothing else on the planet’s surface, that much I knew, so unless I felt like making my own entrance (a tempting thought, albeit one that would take roughly 3 years by my calculations) I needed to take what I could get. Wary of any sort of trap I stepped into the elevator.
     
    Talk about cramped. With a full suit of armor plus arm cannon I barely managed to squeeze in, and for one second I thought the doors wouldn’t close—as it was they just barely managed to scrape over my armor and close. Phew.
     
    Then I heard it. I couldn’t believe it, but I heard it. How could Mother Brain have the absolute gall. How could it dare to do something like this? I sighed and dialed up my noise filters. There was no way in heck I was going to spend what looked like a long elevator ride listening to the tinkling, synthesized sounds of Muzac.
     
    At long last the ride ended and the Muzac ceased. Exiting the metallic squeeze tube I had been trapped in I entered a vast underground cavern. I realized now that the elevator wasn’t a conventional type and instead was some sort of light-based circular platform which rode down a tube until the exit point. Namely this place.
     
    There were two enormous stone pillars made of the same strange blue-grey stone that covered the surface of Zebes, each with a central tube running through it—maybe they controlled the elevator? If so perhaps If I could cripple the elevator I could prevent Mother Brain’s troops from escaping!
     
    But wait, there was something moving at the top of one of the pillars. I aimed my cannon upwards, checking my target reticle as some sort of…thing entered into my view. It was primarily yellow with faded green on the tips of its…spines? I really wasn’t sure, all I knew is it was an enemy—but perhaps it could serve useful.
     
    I tracked the thing’s movements then let lose a stream of fire directly ahead of it. The creature didn’t stop moving…in fact it seemed that it (and its partner, as I had realized there was another one on the other pillar) were only interested in crawling in a cyclical fashion, up one side, down the other. I fired again, speaking this time.
    “Listen up, there’s more than enough power in this cannon to destroy you! Where is Mother Brain?” The creature responded somewhat predictably, and when I say somewhat I mean incredibly predictably. It just kept going around in its preset path.
     
    I’d say it was a mercy killing, that I was putting the poor mindless thing out of its misery, but unfortunately I couldn’t even say that much, when I blasted the beast it sparked and exploded. They were some sort of Techo-organic security system. Great.
     
    “Oh Samus, you always were so violent” came a…somehow sweet, almost sickeningly so, voice.
    “Mother Brain” I grated out. I hate it when the villains play games with you, don’t they have any respect for all the effort it takes to infiltrate their bases and kill their soldiers? Jeese.
    “Of course!” The voice responded, sounding chipper and upbeat. What. The. Heck.
    “By the way if you’re looking for me I’m in Tourian, deepest layer of the Zebes Fortress. I’d come and greet you, but, you know. Giant brain in a jar and all that.”
     
    Okay now I was getting creeped out, Mother Brain was…chatting with me? Like she knew me or something? Was this all some massive prank?
    “You’re quiet dear, is there something on your mind?” She spoke soothingly. This was infuriating.
    “…Well, I didn’t expect the leader of the Space Pirates to be so…” I spoke before realizing it, why was I speaking to her?
    “Motherly?” She correctly intuited. And when did I start referring to it as a she?
    “Um…yes” I mumbled. Why was I still talking?
    “Well that’s how I got the name Mother brain, dear. Before that I was just brain. Oh by the way, we all pitched in and got a gift for your little attempt-to-kill-us-all party. If you check over on your left over the outcropping you’ll find it. Anyhow dear, my cannons are getting warmed up and I hate to let them get too hot. I’ll see you when you get down here!”
     
    And then the communication was cut, and I was left standing in the middle of a suddenly not-so-hostile enemy base. I think that was the most terrified I’d ever been in my entire life. But maybe, maybe, maybe that had all been a guise, you know, to lower my defenses! Yes, surely that was what it had been. I’d go look for the supposed gift and find it guarded by thousands of well-armed space pirates, or the gift would be a bomb or something that would destroy my power-suit leaving me helpless to fend for myself. SURELY THAT IS WHAT WOULD HAPPEN.
     
    I calmed myself, I hadn’t quite realized that I was hyperventilating—and fogging up my visor. I needed to remain calm, even in the face of such…I searched for the word, none of my usual ones fitting. Adversity? No, Overwhelming odds? No, Viciousness? Definitely not.
     
    Ah, absurdity, that was a wonderful fit—given that this entire situation was absolutely, irredeemably insane. But with luck there would be a band of murderous space pirates just around the bend, I’d shoot them all, and everyone would be happy.
     
    I glanced around the enormous cavern, the blue rock being weird enough at first, but with this fresh deluge of weird I felt like getting on the elevator and leaving. Of course when I looked at the ground I saw the circular platform of light wasn’t there anymore. Okay, so maybe Mother Brain was going to kill me and act like a villain should….Or maybe she just wanted to drive me to the brink of insanity.
     
    However, I realized that standing here wracked with indecision wasn’t going to help me either way. Plus if someone happened to be watching my exploits, or perhaps controlling them through some sort of controller, it wouldn’t be particularly interesting for them.
     
    I wasn’t quite sure where that last thought came from, but I went with it anyways. Then I turned to my left and exited from the ‘foyer’ and into the cavern proper. The first thing I saw was of course a gigantic stone outcropping with a tiny little tunnel underneath it…but it looked like it could be scaled, and in the lighter gravity of Zebes my jumps were nearly doubled. I was at the top in no time, scanning cautiously and seeing only one of those…strange…spikey things (I decided to call them Zebe-ites for sake of clarity.) crawling around on the farthest wall. In the center of the room, however, was a strange sphere that almost seemed to be made of glass, but shone with an intense light.
     
    Quickly realizing that this was the ‘gift’ that Mother Brain (and I assumed the rest of the space pirates) had gotten for me, I dispatched the Zebe-ite with a few well placed cannon shots, and moved closer to observe the strange crystalline orb. It seemed to be almost wholly transparent, with only a faint ring of blue showing where the outer line of the sphere was. Then of course there was the strange light radiating out from it, obscuring the lines even more.
     
    I scanned that thing with every scanner in my suit. Twice. And they all came up clean, upon seeing this verdict I hesitantly reached out with one armored hand and touched the sphere. Immediately the glow intensified and surrounded my suit (and I swear there was some sort of music playing ) causing all of the circuits to temporarily shut down and leaving me motionless—and without my visor, blind..
     
    Slowly the suit began to boot up again, sending power throughout my limbs and restoring my various sensors, but something was new, there was a new suit function listed in my schematics. I grunted and with my restored vision saw that the sphere was gone. Somehow it had been absorbed into my suit. I mentally shrugged, that was the kind of weird I could deal with. With the boot-up process complete the suit set to explaining the new feature installed, it seemed rather interesting, some sort of matter converter so that I could shrink into small spaces, moving around as a ball in an energy format, this I could get used to!
     
    I followed the instructions, I crouched down and then rolled, exactly as the suit had told me my armor began to fold and mould itself, turning into a spherical shape that wrapped all around my form and forming a shell around me. Next all that had to happen was for the matter converter to kick in and I’d be golden.
     
    I waited.
     
    And waited.
     
    My spine got sore very quickly, sitting in a ‘morph ball’ and curled into a horribly uncomfortable position with armor plating all around. Obviously the matter converter wasn’t going to work. I unrolled myself and glanced around the area, after all, I could live without the morph ball, I just needed to get to ‘Tourian.’
     
    Looking around the enclosed space I let out a stream of curses. On one side was the ending of the space pirates cavern, leaving only a sheer rock face that met the ceiling, on the other was the outcropping I’d climbed, but on this side it too was sheer and insurmountable. My only hope lay in that tiny little opening, which I could only fit through in morph ball form. I wanted to cry.
     
    I got as close as I could to the mouth of the tiny cavern, evaluating it mentally and with a few of my scanners as well. Even if I lay flat on my stomach and crawled I would be far too wide with my power armor—and if I abandoned my power armor I had no guarantees for survival, I wasn’t even sure if there was oxygen here! I sighed, crouched, and rolled; my armor again activated and formed the armored ball. Easy part was done.
     
    The problem with morph ball, I reflected, was not only that the matter converter seemed to be disabled, but also that when one is in a ball and curled into what was basically fetal position, one has no real means of locomotion—however I wasn’t the best bounty hunter in the galaxy for nothing. Sighing I heaved my body backwards, picking up just enough momentum that the morph ball slowly eased forwards and into the cavern.
    “Now that wasn’t so bad,” I mused to myself, heaving my body again and driving the ball a tiny bit further into the mouth of the cavern.
     
    All of a sudden there was a horrid screeching all around me. Instantly I was on my guard (though still trapped inside the ball) was this an alarm? Was Mother Brain attacking me now that I was trapped? Short answer: No, and also no.
     
    Instead, a monitor inside the ball activated and showed me that the cavern was tighter than even I expected, leading the metallic surface of my armor to scrape loudly across it. Sighing I brought up a map and found I was less than a quarter of the way through it. I think I could have killed someone.
     
    After an endless agony of that horrid screeching I finally escaped the tunnel, emerging into my fully armored form once again. I was going to make Mother Brain HURT for that.
    “BRAIN!” I shouted at the walls, I was sure she had some sort of surveillance, otherwise she couldn’t have spoken to me earlier. “Brain, I am taking you down, you hear me?” The response was faster than I could have expected, a speaker crackled to life and Mother Brain’s strangely comforting voice began to echo around the cavern
    “I’m sorry, I must have stepped out to raid some federation ships with my new army of Metroids, but your call is important to me, so please do leave your contact info and I’ll be sure to get right back to you! And if this is Samus, sorry sweetie, I guess you’ll just have to wait for me in Tourian, hate to leave you hanging like this.”
     
    My mouth dropped open, an answering machine? I got an answering machine? I realized two things right then and there. One: This was going to be a long and hard journey fraught with me wanting to kill things.
    Two: I hated this planet. I hated it so much.
     
    I sighed, some days just don’t end.
     
    Oh well, I’d get Mother Brain in the end, and hopefully she wouldn’t activate some sort of base-destroying bomb that I only had precious few seconds to escape from.
     
    But what were the chances of that?
     
    Word Count: 2,416
  12. Janus

    Enter The Gurlfren

    By Janus,

    FOR SCIENCE! (7) 
    Yes, yes. It has taken me far too long to get back into FOR SCIENCE! But the past is past, let's move on with the future, yes?
     
    Good.
     
    Truth be told, I don't actually feel that bad because I still wrote. Those of you who've seen my Streams of Conciousness entry know that, but I also spent most of yesterday writing a 7 page MONSTER of a story--those of you wondering why it's not going on here...well, let's just say it's not exactly BZP appropriate, and only those who know me well enough to know where I lurk and what I like will be allowed to see it. If they even want to.
     
    NINJA EDIT:
     
    I realized upon reflection today that "If they even want to" looks like me being a sobby whiney preteen angsting about how nobody wants to read my stories. NOT EVEN MY FRIENDS MY LIFE IS SO HAAAARD.
     
    That wasn't my intent, I more meant to say that it deals with subject matter that not everyone who knows me wants to read about. Let's just say it's a Slash.
     
    Yes, I've written a slash. I'm unsure if this will attract or repulse fangirls
     
    Regardless, with such a long break I believe it's time for a refresher on the rules of FOR SCIENCE! So here we go.
     
    Every day I will write 2,000 words on any subject of my choice, throughout the week I will collect various suggestions for what I should write about on Friday. Votes will be opened on Thursday in an entry prior to my story and the winner will be the subject of my 4,000 word story on Friday.
     
    We up to speed?
     
    Now, in order to be fair I feel that I should include the two suggestions from days of old (Or a few weeks ago)
     
    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.
     
    And now on with the story! (of questionable quality!)
     
    Enjoy!
     

    Enter The Gurlfren 
    “Incoming!” My friend shouted as the red blip lit up my radar screen. Panicking I pressed down hard on the control panel and watched as my Mobile Suit just barely avoided the crimson flash of energy.
    “That was way too close…” I muttered to myself, re-aligning myself to better glimpse the fierce battle going on all around me.
     
    The mission was simple—or was supposed to be. We, as two Zeon soldiers were meant to attack the AEUG’s primary ship, the Argama, as well as an escape shuttle they had. Well, the shuttle had gone down quickly under a barrage of fire from my own Gaza-C class Mobile Suit, and my friend’s own Gaza-C was able to begin intercepting the lone defending suits they sent out, nothing more than some Nemo’s.
     
    Unfortunately now things weren’t going exactly as we had hoped. The ]Argama had defenses superior to what we had expected, and worse yet, they had an Ace Pilot who was piloting the brand new state-of-the-art suit the Rick Dias. Barely dodging another shot I saw my radar light up with even more red blips, indicating more enemies entering the conflict. Just great.
     
    “Cover me” My friend said calmly, his Gaza-C’s verniers lighting up with bright blue flames as he streaked towards the Argama and its rapidly firing cannons. Nodding mutely I selected a Nemo as my target and double-checked my battery charge for my laser cannon. 2 shots remained on this battery—that should be just enough for a Nemo.
     
    Taking careful aim I fired: Once, twice, and….contact! Brilliant red flames burst from the wrecked suit, drifting slowly in the cold vacuum of space before exploding in a flash of light. One target down I selected the next, another Nemo that was using its boosters to great effect, dodging and weaving around and forcing me to be quick with the controls of my own suit.
     
    “We’re running out of time!” My friend shouted as he began to engage the Ace in the Rick Dias, I could see that he was right, my mission timer counting down rapidly in the corner of my viewscreen. We had exactly 1:30 left to scuttle the Argama and her defenses…and that Ace pilot wasn’t making it any easier.
     
    Lost in reverie I was woken rudely as two blasts smashed hard into my Gaza-C, bringing my critical warnings up on screen. I hoped I was going to be able to make it of this situation alive. Taking aim I fired with my replenished laser cannon, piercing the Nemo’s cockpit directly and turning the suit into a flaming ball of wreckage. Giving my radar a cursory glance I discovered that only one hostile suit remained—the Rick Dias.
     
    Firing my verniers I launched myself into the conflict, targeting and firing on the Dias as it weaved about the space fighting fiercely to protect the Argama. I could see that the battle had taken its toll on all of us, the Dias’ reaction time was slower than before, and bright blue sparks of light leapt from its body in multiple place—likewise my friend’s Gaza-C was showing the same signs of damage, and of course I barely needed to look at my critical warnings to know that my own suit was heavily damaged.
    “Look out!” I shouted as a blast from the Dias rocketed towards my friend’s Gaza-C. There was no way he would be able to survive a direct hit like that. Firing madly from my laser cannon I fired my boosters and launched myself towards the Dias. Unfortunately it happened to be firing its own lasers at that time.
     
    “######, I’m dead” I muttered to my friend, watching as my suit floated lifelessly in space, sparks leaping across its shattered body.
    “Yeah, me too” He grunted
    “Again?” I asked, watching as the mission failure screen appeared on my PSP “ZEON IS DISSAPOINTED IN YOU” it read. Great, glad to know.
    “Yeah, may as well. She doesn’t land for another few minutes. Plus customs. We’ve got a bit” he said, glancing at the flight times on the screen above.
    “Sweet” I grinned. “But shouldn’t we move closer over there, so we can actually see her when she lands?” I said, nudging my friend. With a groan he stood up and stretched, his silver PSP catching the light shining down from above.
     
    Grinning I stood up, carefully replacing my own PSP in my pocket and glancing at the screen above. Two more minutes for her flight to land. I couldn’t wait.
    “Oh, she’s going to call when she’s landed” I said offhandedly, taking my usual large strides towards the central area of the airport where everyone was waiting on semi-comfortable padded chairs.
    “That’s good, that way she won’t walk in on us playing Gundam. What a way to welcome her to Vancouver, huh?” He said, laughing.
    “Yeah, and given that she’s not much of a Gundam fan…” my train of thought trailed off. I didn’t think she’d be upset, but I still wasn’t sure.
    “Well, regardless, I’m going to be stealing you at least a bit so we can beat this stupid mission” he said grimly. I laughed at this and continued to walk, finding a pair of unoccupied chairs away from the incredibly cold wind blowing in through the automatic doors.
    “If she has a problem, she can take it out on me” He said with a laugh, seating himself.
    “She can, yes.” I began slowly, powering up my PSP again “But she’ll likely take it out on me. With her fists” My friend merely raised an eyebrow in response, powering up his PSP as well.
    “You go select the mission this time, I’ll use one of my powerful suits” He said, eyes still glued to the opening screen of Gundam Battle Universe
    “Sure.” I murmured, my eyes on my own screen.
     
    It was another five minutes before the call came, just as I was being pelted by the enemy suits (of course), my phone began to vibrate erratically in my pocket. I quickly grabbed it and flipped it open.
    “Hay” I said, watching my suit take many point-blank shots.
    “Hey” she responded, sounding both tired and excited. “We’ve landed and I’m in the line for customs, it’s not that bad of a line, so I should see you soon.”
    “Cool, I can’t wait” I said with a smile. “My friend is here as well, we’re watching for you but in the off chance we don’t see you, you’ll probably recognize us.”
    My friend looked up from his PSP, his Sazabi having destroyed everything on the screen and won the mission.
    “Say hello for me too” He said offhandedly. I nodded and passed along his greeting
    “Say hello back for me!” She said, sounding happy. “I’ll see you in, like, fifteen minutes!”
    “Kay” I responded, then, grinning maliciously said “We’ll be the ones playing on our PSPs”
    “….What?” She sounded slightly confused.
    “To recognize us. All you need to do is look for the two grown men playing PSP”
    “Oh goody” she said, laying on false sarcasm thickly. “See you soon”
    “Definitely. Love you” I said quietly, holding the phone to my ear.
    “Love you too” She murmured, then the line went quiet.
     
    “She’ll be out in about fifteen minutes” I spoke to my friend, dragging his attention away from the upgrades he was doling out.
    “Got it. Fifteen more minutes to play” He said with a boyish grin, I returned his grin and looked to my own upgrade screen.
    “At least.”
     
    It was approximately fifteen minutes (along with multiple wins, and deaths) later that she actually walked through the automatic doors. After my head snapped up from the PSP for the thousandth-and-first time I was finally able to say
    “There she is! For real this time!” completely oblivious to the fact that I was in fact being murdered most viciously by the Marasai swarming all around my poor Gerbera Tetra. My friend (under equal assault from various different aces) looked up as well and we both shared a glance that said “I won’t say we were getting our butts kicked if you won’t” and then turned off our respective games, moving to meet her at the exit of the walkway.
     
    “Hey gurlfren” I said with a grin, hugging her tight.
    “Hey gaifren” she responded, gripping me in an equally tight hug. After a few seconds we broke the hug and she said hello to our mutual friend and we were on our way….for all of ten seconds, before the first of many mock-arguments broke out.
     
    “Aren’t you going to carry my luggage?” She said with mock impatience, indicating her wheeled bag.
    “I thought you were a big enough girl to carry it yourself” I grinned back.
    “Dude, you’re going to be sleeping outside” my friend murmured ahead of me.
     
    After a resolution had been worked out (and by resolution I mean she frowned at me until I took the bag, feeling terribly guilty and horrible) we walked out the automatic doors into the nice chill wind—and of course rain.
    “It’s freezing!” She whispered, shoving her hands in her pockets. I just laughed, clad only in a T-shirt and light jacket (AND PANTS OF COURSE. JEESE). Then again, I was used to the cold weather…she most certainly wasn’t. But being the kind gent I am I naturally offered to warm her hands up, and being the wonderful lady she is, she accepted.
     
    Then she yelled that my hands were freezing—setting off another laughing session from me (with my friend joining in so we could make it in stereo!). Of course her mock-anger was perfectly justified as my hands were indeed blocks of ice—that’s just naturally how they get, I guess.
     
    All mock-fights and freezing cold forgotten (Or mostly forgotten, she was still shivering like a leaf) we loaded ourselves into my friend’s car, where both of them began to berate me on not yet being able to drive.
     
    Of course I reminded them that I could drive, there was just the minor technicality of it being legal driving. This was met with groans and disapproving stares. And then we were off, our adventure in the airport complete it was time to set out onto the open road.
     
    She stared out the window, drinking in the beauty that was the city, and being quite shocked at the amount of snow (“Real snow!”) still left on the roads—luckily by this time it had stopped snowing otherwise the adventure would have been far more ‘interesting’ than it was.
     
    The miles ticked by, and various comments were made by both my friend and my lovely lady. My favourite of which being a passing comment about a large temple:
    “Is that a giant bouncy castle?”
    “…I think it’s a temple”
    “…Does it have a bouncy castle inside of it?”
    I squeezed her hand and smiled, showing how much I adored her. This conversation naturally dovetailed into a discussion about how much better temples would be if they contained bouncy castles, but as it is religious in nature (What with the temples and all) it is hereby stricken from the record.
     
    We drove on, passing various different buildings and landmarks, until my friend said what would spark a great adventure.
    “…Um, can you get us back to your house from here?”
    “…I think so, yeah. Go straight for now” I responded, wracking my brain. I knew how to get back from a certain point but we were well outside that point, time to see if I knew what I was doing.
     
    Ironically it was well inside the area that I knew well that our adventure occurred. Driving up an incline we found ourselves on one side of a two lane highway, with one lane curving away into the darkness. My friend asked which way and I responded (Foolishly)
    “Go straight”.
     
    He did.
     
    We took the curved path and drove in a straight line for some time, finally coming a tiny little spit of land that led to a tinier spit of land in America. We quickly turned around and drove back, ending that little adventure.
     
    Naturally all of this was filled with conversation of the most wonderful sort, and me making googly eyes at my lovely gurlfren, but really, did you need to know that?
     
    I didn’t think so, that’s why I wasted so much time talking about Gundam.
     
    Which, by the way, is way less cool than my Gurlfren.
     
    Yeah, you read that right.
     
    <3
  13. Janus

    Hullo Again

    By Janus,

    Hullo all,
     
    As the incredibly well-written and intelligent entry below tells, I was taken in by the twin vixens of Gundam, and Gurlfren.
     
    While Gundam held me only momentarily, Gurlfren held me quite entranced for the period of a week, and even now I am reeling from the lack of Gurlfren in my life. It is saddening.
     
    But worry not, FOR SCIENCE! Shall return, in fact it will return with a story on this very subject.
     
    Just not tonight, I need to make a one-minute speech and learn to sleep properly again.
     
    Ah, how I miss being able to sleep in until 2:30 PM, comfortable in someone's arms...
     
    Come back soon, Gurlfren.
  14. Janus

    Her Portrait

    By Janus,

    FOR SCIENCE! (6) 
    Yep, new story time. This one's a single story, though at times while writing it I wondered it would be or not. It may stretch a bit and for that I'm sorry. This has gone through the usual editing process of mine (That being a quick read through) as I hear from most professional writers that you should wait a day before trying to edit your work--and I don't have that luxury.
     
    Oh, and my 'editor' went AWOL.
     
    Enjoy!
     
     
     

    Her Portrait 
    Fire raged all about him, the flames flickering brightly in the enclosed room. He was trapped now, trapped with his back to it, to her, to his precious thing. she was the only thing that had drawn him to this place.
     
    The flames drew closer, their immense heat washing over him as the fire spread its tendrils, seeming like some sort of ancient monstrosity. Still he stood facing it with his back pressed against the rough fabric of his lovely thing. He would protect her with his very life if need be.
     
    There was something like an explosion in the distance, and the fire seemed to gain sustenance from this, seeming to suck in a large breath and grow content; it swarmed forwards—leaving him with scant more than a few feet between him and the death he knew awaited.
     
    Where once was fear in his eyes, now there was a hard edge. He stared at the raging inferno, hardly seeing it. Then, straightening his back and holding his body composure, he turned to face that what he had been protecting.
     
    She was as beautiful as she had always been.
     
    One hand lay abreast of her, leaning languidly on the chair in which she rested. The other hand, delicate, like a dolls; cupped her perfect face. Her eyes, even the painting were a brilliant sapphirite blue seeming to gleam with the beauty of the ocean, her lips were small and curved up in a smile. Even her nose was somehow elegant, the lines of it complimenting the rest of her already perfect face. But what most attracted him was her beautiful hair. From the very tips of her roots, spilling down her shoulders was blazing red hair, beautiful and intense.
     
    For a moment these thoughts consumed him, seeming to distance him from reality. Then a stray ember from the mad blaze landed on the canvas, just above her left shoulder. He uttered a guttural scream and lightly smacked the flame with his hand, wincing as the fire licked his skin—but still, she was safe.
     
    Then another ember singed the painting, this one below, on the chair where she rested. His arm acted of its own accord, lunging for the merrily burning flame and smiting it righteously. He hardly even felt the heat burn his skin.
     
    He gazed lovingly at the painting, then sideways at the intensely raging fire, his face hardening and his eyes going grim. He knew that they would die together, but he would die protecting her. He smiled a soft smile before once again facing her, and the new embers that burned merrily on the canvas and danced in patterns across his skin. He thought of how it had all begun that morning, of how this had all come to be.
     
    He stood in the garden of his mind, seeing the events of that morning as if they were real once more. There he was, his lithe body relaxed against the metal post of the city bus stop. All around him others were milling all about, going about their business in a desperate attempt at living.
     
    He watched them all, his eyes taking note of each person, seeing their own unique struggle. He watched men, women, children, everyone fell under his gaze. He saw the pain and effort straining their face…saw the way they walked as though there was a huge weight on their shoulders. He felt moisture on his face and reached up to brush away a tear—but there was none there. A moment later the heavens split and a deafening downpour descended on the unsuspecting people below.
     
    He curled inwards, his body going tense and his neck seeming to retract into his shoulders. Desperately he pulled his warm coat closer to his body and waited for the downpour to stop.
     
    There was a mechanical screech and a hiss of pressurized air behind him, and the rain now had a different sound, faintly metallic, a deeper “plunk” sound than what he had heard before.
     
    Allowing himself a small smile he turned and boarded the waiting bus, his eyes hooded as he gazed out into the rain.
     
    The trip didn’t take long, an hour at most. Yet all the while the driving rain assaulted the vehicle, the rivulets of water streaming across its body.
     
    He sat in the rear of the bus, his eyes averted from the rain and focused on the few remaining passengers. From their conversation he was able to tell that they were—or had been at one time, lovers. He smiled a thin smile.
     
    At last the bus was empty, leaving him with no buffer against the driving rain. He closed his eyes and sighed, allowing his body to relax. He’d be there soon.
     
    A high-pitched shriek woke him from his reverie, and opening his eyes he found that the driver was gesturing to the door—this was the last stop. He muttered a silent curse under his breath; he’d been so caught up in his thoughts that he had missed his stop. Thanking the driver he stepped out onto the wet pavement of the city. He knew where he was, and his destination wasn’t so far.
     
    If only it wasn’t for the rain.
     
    He sighed and began his tromp, the rain impeding his vision and dampening his clothes, which now hung on him like so much dead weight. A young girl on the sidewalk offered him company and an umbrella, but he waved her off with a smile and a thank you. He would be fine.
     
    He walked down the sidewalk, listening to the wet thud of his footsteps on the concrete. Exhaling slowly he allowed himself to gaze at the others around him. Some reveled in the gaiety of youth, playing merrily in the rain. Others clung to their protection in the form of umbrellas, their faces weary and pronounced.
     
    Finally he saw it, the steepled roof jutting upwards, as if daring the rain to assault it. He saw the white, smooth stone. Saw the clear glass doors, and the softly lit entrance. He saw it and he smiled, forgetting for a moment where he was. A stream of cold water dripped into his face, and he was rudely brought back to reality. Shaking his head to clear as much water as he could, he trudged onwards.
     
    At last he was at the precipice of the entryway, the rain still driving downwards but now unable to touch him, he glanced through the clear glass doorways, his eyes wide with excitement. Then, with little hesitation he gripped the smooth metal handle and heaved it open, walking into the warm, elegant room.
     
    He introduced himself, they knew him already. The way their lips curved at the corner of their faces he could tell what they thought of him. He didn’t care, he wasn’t here for them.
     
    With the compulsory introductions out of the way, he moved down one of the many hallways, savouring the feeling of the warm air, the soft carpet, and even the gently lit walls.
     
    He wandered throughout the many hallways, stopping occasionally to glance at one painting or another, his eyes drifting from one canvas to another as he continued his search.
     
    He wasn’t truly sure what he was searching for. It was as hazy and undefined as it had been for the past week when he began frequenting the gallery. Various painters had works of high esteem here, many of them were beautiful, many tragic, some even enlightening—but somehow it was never what he was searching. Somehow that void had never been filled.
     
    And so he wandered through the elegant and spacious hallways, from exhibit to exhibit, searching in vain for something that he couldn’t even describe. He smiled a thin smile at his situation, pausing a moment in his insatiable search.
     
    He mentally went over the map in his head, scratching off every exhibit he had already visited. There was only one that remained—one that was often filled to the brim with spectators. He sighed a heavy sigh and trudged onwards, towards the next circular room, and the next part of his search.
     
    Amazingly it was devoid of people, though usually hordes of men and women would throng to the room, it lay bare and empty. He stepped onto the smooth tile floor, and looked around. He could see now that there couldn’t have been that many people in here, as the room was smaller than the others. While the other exhibits had spacious rooms that stretched out, this was a smaller room, lacking even a second floor.
     
    He began his search on the east wall, glancing from painting to painting: Seeing a wonderfully artistic interpretation of a shipwreck, seeing the bare flesh of a nude painting, seeing the intense eyes of a murderer drawn in charcoal. None of these were what he was searching for.
     
    He looked without hope, his heart sinking with every painting. What was he searching for? Would he be searching through every gallery in the city? In the country? In the world? These thoughts ran through his head like pestilent flies.
     
    Then he saw her. She seemed to be gazing directly at him, her calm blue eyes beckoning him to come closer. Somehow he knew she was it, she was what he had been searching for.
     
    He gazed at her, drinking in every detail. Her smooth alabaster skin, her gently curving lips, her flaming hair, even the way she languidly sat in her chair. He stared unabashedly at her, at her green dress that seemed to shimmer and dance as the light hit it, at her small circlet around her wrist, and of course, at those entrancing blue eyes.
     
    He moved closer to her, desperate to feel any sense of connection with this beautiful vision. And then he stopped.
     
    She was a painting and nothing more. He had thought that someone else had come to observe the exhibit with him, someone that he could talk with and enjoy the art with. But he remained, as always, alone.
     
    He sighed softly, glancing once more at her face, at the perfect curves that made up every element of her body. He saw everything there was to see about her, saw the beauty that resided within her.
     
    He was now standing directly before her, gazing in rapt fascination at the sight before him. His mind was careening out of control, imagining possibility after possibility. Wondering how it would feel to brush his hand against her soft skin, wondering what it would taste like to kiss her lips, to brush that vibrant hair from her face, to hold her in the moonlight as her dress shimmered and the light danced across it
     
    He gazed at her with sunken eyes, weary from a lack of sleep. He had been searching for a week and now he had finally found what he was searching for, he had found her…and the void had been filled.
     
    But what now? Sinister voices whispered inside him, warning him that he could not have her, warning him that the search was not over. Warning him, always warning him.
     
    He closed his eyes, blocking out the voices and gazed again into her tranquil blue eyes. He needed her.
     
    He allowed his shoulders to slump as he leaned in as close as he could, his eyes studying every inch of her canvas, his hands resting lightly on the ornate frame in which she rested. He focused on her and only her, but still the voices broke through.
     
    “You can’t have her” they said, their words twisted and vile. “They won’t let you”
     
    He tried to shut them out, tried to force them to end their tirade—but he couldn’t, and the oily whispering went on.
    “She’s not even real, and if she were, why would she want you?” they slithered through his brain, worming into his thoughts.
     
    He needed to fight them, he didn’t know what to do. He let out a scream of frustration as he hurled something to drive away the voices. Too late did he realize that he had thrown his keys. Too late did he realize that they had smashed one of the many globe-shaped lights that were dotting the exhibit walls. Too late did he see the sparks as they flew and grew into embers that turned to hungry, angry flames.
     
    Instead he saw only her, with her tranquil blue eyes and her brilliant red hair.
     
    Only her.
     
    Only her portrait.
     
    Total Word Count: 2,085
     
  15. Janus

    Home, Home On The Yukon

    By Janus,

    FOR SCIENCE!
     
    Home, Home on the Yukon.
     
    And here's Fridays. I totally admit that I do not know much about Moose, or the Yukon. I BSed half of this and then researched the last little bit. It's not a particularly good work. BUT IT'S DONE.
     
    Enjoy
     
    December 32, 2002
    Mood: Moosey
    Music: Moove it.
    I first sprung into being in the wonderful process most people call ‘birth.’ Now while I can’t remember mine (I mean, who can?) I have since borne witness to many other such events, and so rather than use it’s proper name, I instead refer to it as “Whatno”
    However, during my own “Whatno” I don’t think such thoughts were going through my head, in fact I’m fairly certain the only things going through my head were “It’s cold” and “I’m going to cry now.”
    Obviously things have changed since then—or at least mostly changed, it doesn’t get particularly warm here in the Yukon—and I still do cry. Just not as much. My mom says I’m special.
    Now no doubt you foreign beings will be wondering two things.
    One: What am I talking about, and the ever favourite…
    Two: How am I talking, period.
     
    Ah, but all things in time dear readers. All things in time.
     
    I was born in the Yukon territory in the dead of summer, naturally you’d think this make some sort of difference but that’s because you don’t live in the Yukon. The place is an icicle all year round.
     
    Now don’t get me wrong, we have our flowers and crops—but primarily we have mountains, and snow, and ice. It’s wonderful. It’s also very cold.
    I grew up in the Yukon, I dated my first calf there, I headbutted my first male there. It was my stomping grounds. Literally, you ever seen the hooves on us?
    Now what I’m going to tell you is something that I beg you to hold secret for as long as you live. Or at least until you’ve purchased my best selling novel.
    The secret is that I’m on the run from the Canadian Government—and that’s what ties this altogether.
    You see, I remember the idyllic nights and days of my youth, I remember running with the fawns and I remember my mother, I remember the snow, and the ice, and the rocks, and the occasional flowers. I remember life in the Yukon
    However I also remember others like me, I remember fake trees and pleasant humans with loaded hypodermic needles. I remember a man in a white coat with a blatantly fake moustache, and I remember the tubes.
    You see, gentle reader. I cannot determine fact from fiction. Did I grow up in the Yukon proper, or were memories implanted into my brain? It is a mystery that has plagued me since…yesterday.
    Irregardless of that, I remember my first winter spent in the Yukon, be it in a lab or otherwise, I remember.
    The snow was falling heavily that morning, cloaking all of the earth in a blanket of purity—and more specifically coating the ground in a sheet of ice.
    I know how you humans react to such things, you cower in your homes as the streets become frozen streams—but that’s not how a true moose reacts.
    No, we play.
    Oh yes. I remember the ground that day. Normally hard turf became a slick, slippery sheet of solid ice. And we enjoyed it. Moosen from all over, tribes from far in the mountains and closer to the human cities came to enjoy the ice, and the once-quiet valley of my youth was soon turned into a braying crazyhouse of fur, antlers, and of course, laughter.
    Oh how we laughed that day. Specifically at Moosenfr, a friend of mine, you see he had decided that he would be the first to enjoy the ice—and knowing it was coming (as all moosen know when the ground will become frozen) he took a long bath in the cold stream (He didn’t want to be dirty with all the girls around. He finds them very judgemental.) and then found a comfortable place to stand, and wait. To mark his territory, so to speak.
    Ah, Moosenfr.
    The poor boy ended up with his hooves frozen under a layer of ice, as all the (jugdgemental) girls swooped around him, snorting their nostrils at him (This is one of the many ways female moosen flirt, you see. In this case they were being very mean, though) and all the young boys ‘accidentally’ rammed into his unprotected flank.
    Eventually we managed to break him out of the ice, but as a result he had ‘ice clogs’ for the next week. Ah the comedy.
    However here’s where it starts to become indistinct again.
    Moosenfr was my friend from youth. This is what part of my brain is telling me. The other part of my brain is telling me that Moosenfr was what was written on the pen where the Canadian Government kept me. It was where the project began, the project to create super-intelligent moosen.
    Why?
    How should I know, they’re Canadians. Have you seen their military? We would have been an upgrade. I say we because I’m certain I wasn’t the only one there. I remember one girl, with the widest nostrils, and the most beautiful large mouth, and don’t get me started on her shaggy fur. She could drive a Moosen mad.
    Her name was Moosefera, and she was beautiful. And she was my girlfriend.
    Wait. Was she?
    Please give me a minute, I need to think. While you humans are familiar with all this, with your VeeTee’s, and interweave, and paystation 340, but for me, a simple Moosen who was only taught how to disarm bombs, save hostages, and infiltrate enemy territories…
    Wait, what? Is that what I was? Is that what Moosenfr was?
    If that’s the truth then please, please make me this one promise (Aside from the one about buying the book.) Please, find the head of the research division in the Canadian army and give them a mandatory drug test. Or just tell them to get a life.
    Urgh. The phone is ringing, and so is my head. It’s not easy to type with your tongue, you know?
    I need to take a break, eat some grass. Blog at you later.
     
     
    January 21, 220
    Mood: Moosetacular
    Music:
     
    Ah, it’s me again. I never did tell you my name, did I? Well for sake of hiding myself (You’d be amazed at how hard it is for super-intelligent moose to hide in the city), I’ll simply give you a codename. Call me …fromones. It’s a combination of the Ramones and Frozen. You see, I always did like the Ramones. Except when I was in the womb, and of course immediately after my Whatno.
    Well, I’ve done some researching into Moosenfr. I’ve come up with four possible results, only two of which make any real sense.
    The name Moosenfr belongs to the following:
    1. A moose on display in a New York Zoo
    2. A clothing store located in East Norway
    3. A strange, strange man who lurks on the internet
    4. A top secret Canadian Government project started in the late 1990’s
    And how did I find all this information, you ask? Why simple, I contacted one of my inside sources, and they pointed me in the direction of a hidden website, something that’s hard to find but contains a treasure trove of information. Now because you’re my loyal readers (And as we discussed in entry number 24, if you work for the Canadian Government, please stop reading my blog… And call me Tom) I’ll give you a hint. The name begins with W, ends with ‘edia’ and is a .org website.
    This website will tell you all you need to know about anything, ever. But like I said, it’s hard to find. You’ll have to do some digging to discover it.
    Anyhow, after I found out this new information, I called Moosenfr in Norway. Or at least I tried to. Picking up the phone was hard enough, and then speaking? I think they thought it was a prank call. I’m going to need to get some assistance if I’m going to discover what’s going on. Maybe I can get some kids to believe I’m in a costume or something. This is going to take some serious thought.
    Well, I’ll talk to you another day.
     
    September 13, 1882
    Mood: Hungry
    Music: Grumbling stomach.
    I’m afraid to leave the house, even for food. I knew I shouldn’t have stayed in the Yukon, I should have relocated to somewhere more unlikely to find a moose. Like Hawaii.
    As it is, though, I’m surrounded. Looking out the window (Don’t eat the curtains, don’t eat the curtains, don’t eat the curtains) I can see them now. Shiny Black Vans, several of them. They’re being driven by men and women in clean-pressed uniforms with a logo that I don’t recognize. They’re also unloading a variety of information from the back of the vans—some of which is downright scary. I don’t want to know what they plan to do to me.
    Clearly I have to escape, I haven’t yet unraveled the mystery surrounding my life, and if I don’t do that…well, nothing really happens. But I want to, okay?
    I’ll contact you again when it’s safe.
     
    February 28, 2938
    Mood: Cold
    Music: Wind
    Can you guess where I am? Can you, can you, can you?
    If you guessed “in the wildness” then you’re exactly correct! I’m hiding in around my old birthplace. Naturally most of the others are either hiding or they’ve moved on. After all, we wouldn’t want you humans to figure out that we’re actually pack animals and somehow use it against us. If you work for the Government then please disregard that last bit.
     
    Anyhow, nothing has changed. The mountains are still made of rocks, the water’s still flowing, the wind is still COLD, and the grass here still tastes like someone coated it in metal. You’d think it’d be nice like a popsicle, but noooo. We get some sort of metal grass.
    Oh, you’re wondering what I mean by ‘we’? Wondering if I’ve found my much-needed assistant? Well, no. But I do have a rather large leaf who I can pretend to talk to when I’m really lonely. Don’t judge me.
    Ah, you’re also probably wondering how I managed to escape from the Black vans that the government sent? Well in true genius fashion I kicked down the door and stampeded down the hall and out the front door. They were so shocked I’d try an upfront assault like that, that they weren’t able to rally the troops to chase me!
    AND I got some more information for my investigation. On their uniforms it said their agency. They work for a “COIT” clearly this investigation is just beginning!
    Well, I’m feeling lonely, and I realized that I don’t have to talk to my leaf! After all, I’ve got one of those magic wireless sticks that let the internet be anywhere, even the Snowy valley that is my home.
    So in order to relieve my loneliness, I guess I’ll describe what’s going on.
     
    The snow is coming down fairly hard, the flakes pinwheeling this way adnd that in their mad descent to the eath, while the wind rushes them along towards their eventual destination. The trees here are thick and brown, caked with age but still full of youth and vigor, they resist the pulls of the wind, but their snow-crested tops are not so lucky. Snow that had stopped in its tracks is sent careening outwards and downwards, destined to meet its fellows on the earth below.
     
    The night is silent, it’s a good night for the internet.
     
    Didn’t I sound intelligent there? Told you, super-intelligent moose. That is what I do…I think. I mean I just did it, so I guess I do it. But am I supposed to do it?
     
    I just logic puzzled myself into a headache. I’ll let you know when there are more updates, dolks.
     
    March 12, 1298
    Mood: Stimulated
    Music: N/A
    I recently realized that I had an E-mail account, and realized that people were wondering why my dates were so messed up. To tell you the truth, I may be a super-genius, but I’d need to care about how you humans do things for me to bother learning your date system. It’s confusing, so instead I just randomly pick a month and string some numbers together, isn’t that more interesting anyhow? The Moosen one is still much better, though.
    You see, we have the following basic concepts.
    The Day it is today
    The day it isn’t today
    The day it will be
     
    And with that we manage to keep track of everything quite effectively. Some Moosen have also designed their own system, based on what happened in their day. IE: The day I ate grass. The problem is, of course, that there are multiple days where the same events occur, leading these poor deluded mavericks to go senile at a young age.
    But that’s not the reason I’m writing this entry, nope. I found it!
    “What did he find?” You may be asking yourself, and if you’re not. Start.
    I found the site of the Moosenfr lab. It’s a hidden area high up in the mountains and reeks of mountain dew and Cheetos. Oh, and Moosen—but we don’t reek, we…spread a distinctive aroma.
    It doesn’t look like the facility has been used for the past little while, and there are no guards. But unfortunately it’s also half-collapsed. Enough so that all that’s left identifying it were the letters M O E N F R. I guess it was shoddy worksmanship.
    I’ll try and see what else I can find out before I blog again. My battery is running low and unfortunately I don’t think there’s an outlet out here. That’s sarcasm for you humans, by the way. We Moosen don’t need outlets. Or Laptops.
     
    I just like them is all.
     
    April 39, 3980
    Mood: Intellectual
    Music: That one, you know that one? It’s all Dah, dah, dah, dananana, dah, dah? You know what I mean.
    Get this. I’m typing this from the Moosenfr lab. Not only is it semi-operational (though abandoned. The Cheetos and Mountain dew are long gone), but they had broadband WiFi here. Whatever that means.
     
    But hey, I’m here. And it seems that it was actually called MoosenFORTH. So maybe Moosenfr was my best friend. Until he stole my girlfriend, that is.
     
    What, I didn’t tell you that? Yeah, Moosenfr had a brilliant plan. He learned it from last time the ground turned to ice. He went scavenging to find as many flowers as he could—covered himself in them. And then he did the same thing he did last year, he froze his hooves in the ice.
     
    He made himself a living bouquet that he presented to my girlfriend. I mean, come on. Is that lame or what?
     
    Needless to say I haven’t seen or heard from Moosefera or Moosenfr for some time. They left the valley together—though I hear Moosefera might be seeing someone else now. She always was a weird one.
     
    Oh, right. The lab.
     
    Well, it’s not that interesting. It’s cold, metal, there are various stacks of files on Moosen (And Seals, for some reason) and various strange tools and rooms. That’s why I talked about Moosenfr and Moosefera instead. At least they’re interesting!
     
    I mean, seriously. If the Government is going through all the trouble of building a secret lab in the middle of the Yukon, you’d think they’d at least have the common decency to make it interesting. I guess not, though.
     
    Oh, there is one interesting thing here. It says in one of these files that we’re supposed to have telekinetic powers. Or at least that’s what it says in this little booklet.
     
    It’s certainly the most interesting file here. It’s all in colour, and it’s all in pictures. There was apparently a scientist here called Storm. And another one called Cyclops.
     
    And he could shoot lasers? Man, that’s a cool scientist. Maybe I should become a scientist instead of a world famous author (but you still need to promise to buy my book, I’ll put one out regardless)
    Anyhow, I’m not going to stay too long. The Government might realize I’m accessing their systems (and using it to download music) and come get me. I think I’ll head to the second valley, rumor is my mom Is staying there. Maybe I can get some information from her!
    Blog at you another day.
     
    Final Entry:
    Music: Duel of the Fates
    Mood: Brilliant
     
    Aha! I finally understand it now! I understand the disparity between my memories. Between what I perceive as being real, and what actually was real. The answer?
    They were both real.
    Y’see, my mom was a genetic mutation, an amazing Moosen all by herself. She was smart enough to realize that the Canadian Government has absolutely no life, and so she sold me and a few other Moosen to them, they make us smarter by taking us to their lab every once in a while, but for the most part we hang around and play just like regular Moosen. The Government gets their project, and we get brains which we can then use to benefit the rest of the Moosen. And how do I know this, you ask? How did I piece it all together? How did I bring all of the scattered facts into one cohesive whole?
    I went to talk to my mom.
    She introduced me to Frederick J. Bumpis. He’s the head scientist of project Moosenforth. As in, the Moose shall go forth and lead humanity into the new age.
     
    Yep, you heard right. I was taught to disarm bombs and save hostages because we Moosen are supposed to be the bosses of some new space colony that Canada has planned. I think they’re making out of tin.
    Oh, and if you think that’s bad, you don’t even want to know what they dsid to the seals.
    See you around, my adoring readers. Especially when I’m your boss.
    And no. You’re not allowed to read blogs on the job.
     
     
    An Addendum by Dr. Frederick Bumpis.
    Hello, my fellow humans. I’m amazed to see that test subject M0053 was able to live undetected amongst us for such a long time, and even more amazed he was able to start a blog.
    Now, having read through Test subject M0053’s blog, I cannot help but find myself displeased the way he has portrayed the Government in general, and project MoosenForth in particular.
    The Canadian Government is quite the effective governing body, and it is due to this effectiveness that we are able to execute projects such as Moosenforth. You see, the government puts all their effort and time into running the country, and because of that they’re completely oblivious to whatever plans we feel like. Project MoosenForth is only the most recent of these projects, which have been stretching back as far as I can remember. In fact my Father Dr. Leonard Bumpis was the chief scientist on one of the original projects. As I recall it was one to make Chicken’s layeggs, rather than birthing their young in the traditional fashion.
    So as you can see these projects are indeed beneficial to our world. And we owe thanks to the Government for being so busy running the country that they can’t tell us to stop. (Listen, I trust you, but you can’t tell this to anyone else. Most of these projects started out as the drunken ramblings of one intern or another at a Christmas party.)
    As for more specifics on Project MoosenForth: Now that it has been declassified I have no problem giving away all sorts of sensitive details. Or as we say in the business: “Giving away the juicy bits.”
     
    Project MoosenForth was my brainchild. I got….inspiration from my good friend Jack, and that got me to thinking. Moosen are hardy creatures that can survive bitter cold—and they’ve got almost no natural predators. Plus those antlers are really, really cool. So why not make them better?
    We began work on MoosenForth in the late 1990’s, operating out of a toolshed belonging to one of my interns. Steve.
    The plan was originally to use the Moosen’s antler’s to somehow channel electricity through them, essentially making them walking lightning clouds. We ran into problems when we realized that
    One: This was impossible without killing the Moosen or replacing half of their internals with robotics
    Two: While it was a really cool idea, it didn’t have much of a purpose.
    And so the first iteration of Project MoosenForth was scrapped. We went through Various other iterations, including: Underwater Moosen, Flying Moosen, American Moosen (This was ruled out as being crazy), and my personal favourite. Miniature Moosen.
    Eventually these all fell victim to the glaring flaws we saw in the first iteration and were all summarily scrapped.
     
    And then it happened. Ever had one of those days when something absolutely amazing occurs? When some amazing woman comes striding into your office and tells you that your wildest dreams are in fact possible? I remember well that day. It was August 14, 1994 when she walked in. All 360 KG of her.
    She told me her name was Moosaraf, what a lovely name. She also told me she was a Moose—as I hadn’t yet put on my glasses this was a bit surprising, but obviously true.
    Moosaraf was an amazing specimen, displaying not only human-level speech and interaction, but also latent telekinesis. Most of which she used for stealing Cheetos…my staff never forgave her for that.
    Moosaraf had heard of my ongoing research by posing as an intern and checking on the current “Crackpot” plans. You see, while the “normal” research is going on at any given facility, the staff will band together to create the “crackpot” file, where we put things such as MoosenForth. (How she managed to pose as a human is beyond my comprehension. I’m beginning to think she just threatened to trample people if they didn’t say she was in fact a normal human woman of ages 30to 38 with shoulder length blonde hair, green eyes, and impeccable fashion taste. And yes, this was all repeated to us, verbatim. She told everyone who had ears that this was in fact who she was. Poor deluded girl)
    When she came to see me, she allowed us to study her abilities and then explained that she would soon be pregnant (Perhaps latent telepathy as well?) and discussed with us the possibility of having her child be one of the first of project MoosenForth. After all, it was possible that her gifts would be genetically passed on to the next of her kin.
    It turns out she was right. Mooskinel (Test subject M0053), was in fact blessed with his mother’s abnormal intelligence. Unfortunately he was also a bit of a daydreamer—in fact it’s no wonder that he was so confused about whether or not his memories were real, half the time we were experimenting on him he was off in lala land, talking about flying on the clouds or something crazy like that. Of course when he would occasionally lift himself up (using telekinesis, of course), it was a bit difficult to say that it was crazy.
    With Moosafara and Mooskinel’s help (When he wasn’t daydreaming, that is) we were able to recruit our test subjects, including his friend Moosenfr—unfortunately Moosenfr just took the enhanced knowledge and used it to become a Romeo—last I heard he’s selling “How to” books on romance under an assumed name.
     
    Each of our test subjects was given their own pen, their own assistants, and their own assigned groomer. They were run through rigorous tests before any procedure, and then they were immediately given plenty of rest following a procedure.
    As for the actual Procedure? Well I’m afraid I can’t reveal that, it’s not exactly classified….I just don’t really want to.
    ….
    ….
    Okay, okay. You got me. I have no idea what they did.
     
    I was too busy reading X-men.
     
  16. Janus
    FOR SCIENCE! 
    A Night in the Chapel (AKA: Toronto how we hate thee pt 2)
     
     
    That's right. Three nights in a row, go me!
     
    However now's the time to introduce a little something new.
     
    You may recall the original rules of FOR SCIENCE! but for those of you who do not, I shall repost them for your viewing pleasure--and add in the final piece (For now)

    Every day I will write a minimum of 2,000 words. This can be about any subject. Throughout the week I will collect comments on what people are interested in me writing about. Any subject that is BZP appropriate will be considered. Any subject I am not familiar with must be presented with enough information that I can have at least a loose understanding of it. Every Friday I will randomly select one of the choices given and write 4,000 words on that given subject. Lather, Rinse, Repeat. I will accept additional challenges on an an occasional basis. This can include length, using certain words, using a certain style, or using a certain phrase--or anyything else you can think of! However as an addition on to the last one. I will allow you to vote for the story I write on Friday! That's right, as soon as this entry goes up the voting willl begin. The two choices we have for this Friday are: 
    Makaru - Furmanisms. A candy store full. 5000 words or less, just to be nice.
    Bossman - write about being raised by moosen in the Yukon Territories
     
    So vote away, and the winning choice will be my 4,000 word story tomorrow!
     
     
     
     
    I suppose the first thing I could say about the Toronto Airport (Pearson International, for those of you playing along at home!) is that.
     
    Dude. Big.
     
    I mean wow, talk about compensating.
     
    But in all seriousness it's pretty enormous—and not particularly well staffed. Makes it fun for when you are trying to find out where to go. As a general rule of thumb, follow the SIGNS.
     
    Ah yes, the signs. A rather prevalent feature in airports, signs advertising services, boards with flight delays and arrivals, signs that direct you where to go. Ah, Signs.
     
    So I followed the myriad of signs to my eventual destination. Let's see…International Baggage, Departures, Baggage Claim, and International Transfers.
     
    Ah! The last one, that's the ticket.
     
    And so I went: Down the hallway, through the security guarded doors (Remember this, it'll be important), up a staircase, up another staircase, and finally over a bridge…like…thing.
     
    Ah, at International Transfers I get to stop in at International baggage check. Okay!
     
    Now I am a naturally observant person, so I see the people in line pulling out their boarding passes and their passports—and being the astute man I am I garner I am to do the same. No problem!
     
    And so I reached into my pocket and pulled out my boarding passes and my…wait…wait….wait.
     
    Passport.
     
    Where?
     
    In a frantic scramble that was likely akin to someone with flesh eating ants on their skin I tore into every pocket I had on my person. No passport.
     
    Oh man.
     
    Well, first we gotta find out about the status of the flight anyhow, right? And when I check on that it's sure to turn up, right?
     
    Yeah, not so much. Oh, and the flight's cancelled.
     
    GLEE.
     
    And thus began a desperate flight to my point of origin (in the airport, thanks. I have no intention of returning to the womb). I raced down the hallway, down the stairs and
     
    HOLD UP THERE SIR. THIS DOOR IS SECURITY GUARDED, WHY DO YOU WANT THROUGH?
     
    Wait, what? I just needed to get through to get my passport. And so I attempted to explain this clearly and concisely, transmitting my urgent need and panic—after all, I could still catch another flight!
     
    Instead it ended up more like verbal vomit, as I sprayed out "Ithinkmypassport'sontheplanecanIgetthrough?"
     
    She looked at me with something resembling pity, and something resembling an eye-quirk. Like an odd mixture of sympathy and what-did-you-just-say-you-strange-strange-man.
     
    However in the end I was strongly DENIED entry back in there. After all I might be a terrorist or something like that!
     
    However, she did politely inform me whereabouts I could find the lost and found and report my passport as missing. Lovely.
     
    So I strolled down another set of stairs, desperately trying not to hyperventilate (AND FAILING HORRIBLY) and walked through another set of security doors. Ah, the main foyer, crowded with bazillions of people—likely there to pick others up. Avoiding this throng of people I found the little hole-in-the-wall that was the Lost and Found.
     
    It was quiet in there, which was nice—but of course it also allowed me to focus on my incredibly rapid heartbeat and utter PANIC. (For those of you wondering about my terror, International travel via air ==IMPOSSIBLE without a passport. To put it in mathematical terms Plane + America-Passport=NO). And I reported it to the man behind the desk. He had the people cleaning the plane check aaaaaand.
     
    No.
     
    CRUD.
     
    He then said gave me a number I could phone and told me to check Canada Customs which was just down the hall. HOKAYS.
     
    And down the hallway I go to Canada Customs (Another hole-in-the-wall office WHICH HIDES A SECRET), and to make a long story short: There ain't no passport there for me. I get another number I can phone and the best words of 'comfort' I have ever heard.
     
    "It really depends when they're handed in. It usually takes about two-three hours to clean the plane, but passports can come in as late as FIVE DAYS after that." (Emphasis mine)
     
    Don't you feel so secure now?
     
    Well, with that problem being solved (supposedly) I needed to fix the second one, mainly being stranded in an airport like a bazillion miles from home.
     
    So just to complete my (first) circuit around the airport I dashed upwards towards the international baggage check, and went to one of the many "Help Phones" that were scattered around the airport.
     
    Or rather I should say I joined the line for one of the many "Help" phones that were scattered around the airport. Because there were lines, oh were there lines.
     
    Twenty miuntes ticked by, followed by forty, followed by fifty, and I engaged in conversation with my fellow stranded passengers, oh what a merry time was had by all!
     
    And then glory of glories it was my turn to hold the phone, can you believe it? I dialed the requisite three digit number to call up my airline and glory be….I got to be on hold for another FORTY MINUTES.
     
    (Protip: If you cancel a million flights, have your switchboard ready to receive A HUNDRED THOUSAND CALLS. Otherwise your customer service does indeed suck)
     
    At last I got through, and was met with a REAL HUMAN VOICE. Truly an amazing thing. They informed me that they're very sorry but all the flights to New York were cancelled, however they could get me the earliest booking coming up very soon. The first flight left at 6:00 PM Sunday, what luck!
     
    Well, I hung up the phone happy that my little situation was resolved, now all I had to do was relax, wait for my passport to be found, and wait a single night. I could wait a single night, right?
     
    Cell phone rings, pick it up. Ah, it's my girlfriend. Lovely to hear from her, we chat, I let her know when the earliest flight is. She pauses.
     
    "Sunday?"
     
    "Yep"
     
    "That's two days!"
     
    "No it's not, that's only….wait. Today's Friday, isn't it?"
     
    "Yep."
     
    "…..I'm going to need to call them again"
     
    And thus my wonderful call ended and the panic returned. However I felt that (having had a few hours pass) surely there would be some response from Canada Customs about my passport, right?
     
    And so I bolted downstairs once more, one by one my mental strings beginning to detach.
     
    To make a long story short: No.
     
    And for those of you who are thinking of the lost and found: No.
     
    Well, I guess it's time to wait in line at the phone again. But wait! The phone rings once more! Ah, it's my girlfriend again, informing me that if I BUS through the border I do not in fact need a passport. BRILLIANCE.
     
    Well, I check customs, they say I'm good to go with the I.D. I do have on me. Awesome!
     
    The phone rings.
     
    I'm informed that someone's done some checking and that my I.D. might not be valid to get through the US Border (And Canada Customs may be wrong on this, after all, they're not immigration). Well, damper on the enthusiasm, but I may as well try, right?
     
    All I need to do now I cancel that flight on Sunday, like heck I'm staying in the airport for TWO days. Ick.
     
    Long story short again: Wait in line = 35 minutes.
     
    Wait on hold = 1 hour.
     
    Flight cancelled, money refunded. Delightful.
     
    Awright, now all I need to do is get my luggage and I can catch that bus!
     
    Problem: Luggage isn't in International Baggage claim. I wait for a good HOUR looking/checking at the front desk before any real help is offered to me. By this time it is dark outside and I have received several calls from various people.
     
    Solution: Check domestic baggage claim!
     
    Problem: Luggage isn't in domestic baggage claim
     
    Solution: Crud. I got nothing.
     
    Well, this is fun. I may as well check Canada Customs again, right? Still no passport. Oh what fun this trip has become!
     
    Phone rings (By the way, this became a common occurrence), more checking has turned up the fact that I almost definitely cannot get into the states with the I.D. I have on me. Time to re-book that flight.
     
    So I stand in line at the ticket counter (You really think I wanted to go back to that dang phone?) for a good…oh, two hours. Receiving phone calls and getting to know my fellow passengers. Why am I stuck in line so long? Well because there's a line of about 50 people and there are…2 service agents.
     
    Wait, scratch that. One just left.
     
    We now have one service agent and…oh, 60 people. The line's getting bigger and the people are getting smaller. Is this fun yet?
     
    Someone complains, police are called, manager arrives and tells us that she absolutely WILL NOT put more staff on this desk, and instead invites us all to go to the ticket counter on the ground floor. There are complaints, grumbling (Who wants to lose their place in line?) but eventually compliance.
     
    After a period of getting completely lost we finally find our way to the ticket counter, and surprise, surprise: we've all lost our places in line.
     
    Ah, but there is good news! A young gentleman approaches from the counter and asks "Who is traveling to the states?" Many hands go up and he basically states the following: (Note this is not verbatim and may be tinged with bitterness)
     
    "Sucks to be you, all flights are cancelled. Have a voucher with a phone number for how to get a discounted hotel room and a number for the booking phone number. Now get out of line"
     
    Yaaaaaaaaay.
     
    There are several more check-ins at Canada Customs, none of which give off any result. Glee.
     
    Finally I cave in and call the number, after all, who wants to sleep in the Airport?
    Ring, ring, ring. Ah, there's a young man at the other end. He asks where I am, and I let him know.
     
    "The discount tonight is at the Holiday in, the per-night cost is $99 dollars"
     
    Excuse me, what? That sound you heard? That was my jaw dropping. This is a discount?
     
    "Oh, and the last shuttle left ten minutes ago, I'm afraid you'll have to take a taxi. Will you be booking a room?"
     
    Yeah, No.
     
    Phone hung up. Begin operation: Wander Airport looking for good place to sleep!
     
    Hours pass, finally a suitable location is found. The Airport Chapel's waiting room, in fact this is such a grand sleeping spot that someone is already sleeping there. Good thing there's enough room.
     
    By now I'm exhausted and paranoid (After all it's almost certain my passport has been stolen rather than simply lost. Either that or the people looking are…incompetent to say the least.) so I pull out my heavy jacket and drape it over myself. Hiding my carry-on bag, and myself from view. I'm also keeping all my valuables as close to my person as possible.
     
    I likely slept for about…oh, two hours. It's still dark, but I need something to drink.
     
    Tim Hortons is open, there's a line…a massive line, but a line nonetheless. I secure myself a spot and wait…and wait…and wait. Ah, almost at the end now, only about 20 people left in front of me!
     
    The manager comes out, they're closing.
     
    What.
     
    Well, with nothing else to do I decide I should go back to sleep. But this time I'll sleep more comfortably—my back hurts from sitting up while sleeping.
     
    I find an outlet to charge my cellphone (it's dying by this time), lay on the ground with it in my hand, and again drape my heavy coat over myself and all my possessions.
     
    I wake up about two hours later (Total hours of sleep thus far: 7, and that's being generous)
     
    I'm exhausted, it's not comfortable sleeping here and the feeling of utter terror of being completely isolated far from home is one that I do not look forward to experiencing again. I need to get out.
     
    I call my parents and my girlfriend and inform them. They understand.
     
    For sake of brevity let me simply say that after another hour on the phone I have tickets back to Vancouver, and an hour later I have established that the airport has indeed misplaced my luggage. My joy is boundless.
     
    Needless to say my boarding pass doesn't print off, I get to wait in line for another hour (around 200 people, maybe 5 people on duty out of 10-12), but finally I'm confirmed to be going home.
     
    And then my flight is delayed.
     
    By an hour.
     
    Wheeeeee.
     
    And that's about the end of it, now as I said, for sake of brevity I have not included everything (For example a report to the police, and said police acting rudely), however that's the jist of it.
     
    My luggage was found, my passport was not.
     
    I arrived safely in Vancouver, if somewhat exhausted.
     
    Total hours slept over three days: 9
     
    I have no desire to ever fly with that company again, and no desire to visit Pearson Airport ever again.
     
    Hope you enjoyed my suffering.
     
    Total Word Count: 2,211

     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
  17. Janus
    FOR SCIENCE! (2)Frozen Wings (AKA: Toronto how we hate thee)
    Yes, you are seeing correctly. I am keeping some sort of a schedule. This is the SECOND night of FOR SCIENCE! And hopefully I will continue to be inspired enough to write MOAR AND MOAR.


    However I will say that it is difficult to pull a subject out of my b….rain, every day. So PLEASE do submit ideas for what you want to see me write about, PLEASE.

    Anyhow, this time it is a short story about a LOVELY TRIP I TOOK TO NOWHERE.

    Enjoy!





    Our story begins, as most (not all, mind, but most) do: Somewhere around the beginning and the end—not quite in the middle, but certainly somewhere in the vicinity of the start—or so the rumor goes.


    Now isolating the exact beginning of this sad, sad tale is difficult simply for the fact that most often when people are beginning a story they will begin with the dawning of a new day. Often drawing upon that most wonderful of plot devices, the blank space.

    You know the one I'm talking on, the blank space that the main character sees just before their eyes snap open and their epic adventure begins!

    Problem one: I didn't sleep at all that night. No, I don't mean fitfully, I mean I didn't sleep. The eyes did not close all night—why? Because I'm clearly insane, most of you pointed out this fact in my last entry.

    Now I'll confess there is no problem two, but doesn't it look so much more impressive if I say "Problem one:" vs. just "The main problem:" That's what I thought, thank you for agreeing with me.

    Now where were we? Ah yes, the beginning…or some variation thereof.

    As I mentioned before I didn't sleep that night, not a wink. Instead I conversed most merrily with my friends and enjoyed the wonderfully seasonal cartoon: Batman Beyond (okay, so not so seasonal. BUT IT IS COOL SO YOU NOW SHUSH) In fact as I recall I had just finished the episode Earth Mover (Which is ridiculously creepy, by the way) before I looked over at my alarm clock and saw the emblazoned red numbers.

    4:00 AM. Perfect.

    With barely contained glee I sprung from my comfortable chair and tiptoed out of my room, sliding silently into the room of my parents and coughing politely to let them know that it WAS in fact TIME TO GO RIGHT NOW. My mother awoke almost immediately, my father took more convincing—ironically enough it was he who was supposed to be the easy one to wake up—after all he was the one who was going to drive me!

    After roughly ten minutes he was ready, dressed and on his way. I grabbed all of my assorted baggage and met him in the darkened hallway…wearing my stylish shades. Why? Because they looked cool. Be quiet.

    In another five minutes we were underway. Cramming the luggage into the car and sliding into our respective seats we were off.

    The snow had been falling lightly for the past few days, so while the roads were not made any more difficult, there was a gentle frosting effect that was pleasant to look at. It helped me drift off slightly as we sped onto our destination. (Here drift off refers to the act of sleeping, rather than the act of slipping off the road and into one of the way ditches that would eagerly welcome our car)

    Within a period of roughly 45 minutes we were there. I could see the nearly overwhelming glow of lights coming from the series of buildings, the many lights illuminating the tall shapes against the darkness of the night. We had finally arrived at the airport—and for once there was no line up, no crazy drivers, no insane rush. Can we say score? Yes, yes we can.

    Anyhow, I slid from the front seat, grabbed my luggage and said goodbye to my dad. With that done I walked inside to go through BORING PROCESS NUMBER ONE.

    For those of you unfamiliar with airports and air travel in general, there are a number of boring processes one must go through. I have compiled these into list form for your ease.

    BORING PROCESS NUMBER ONE:




    (As I am traveling to a foreign country, I must do this) fill out an American Customs form so that they don't arrest me upon entry into the country YAY. Get my boarding passes printed off. Luckily most of this automated nowadays—though they make it a bit of a pain. It asked me to say EXACTLY WHERE I WAS GOING. I mean, country, city, street. Creeped out yet? Good. Print out luggage tags. This is a surprisingly complicated process that will drive many full grown men to their knees attempting to get the blasted thing to stick properly. Naturally I was able to do it with skill and poise—and only printed off one extra tag that I got in trouble for. (PROTIP: Canadian airlines don't have a silly "Checked bag" cost. We get up to two for FREEEEE) I suppose I should also mention that because I AM A SILLY FOOL (And Air Canada/United Airlines are CONFUSING) I arrived at the international departures gate and tried to check in with United Airlines. I got my boarding pass from a boarding pass machine, and I filled out my customs form. However as I went to enter the line a polite man asked where I was going to be flying, I told him and he looked at me strange (but still polite!) and informed me that so long as it was IN Canada it was still THROUGH Air Canada.

    So I got traipse ALL ACROSS THE AIRPORT from International Departures to Domestic before I could move on to Stage three of BORING PROCESS NUMBER ONE. And that's not even mentioning the ten minutes I spent in line. AREN'T AIRPORTS FUN KIDS?

    After all of that, I grabbed my luggage, exited horribly long lineup NUMBER ONE and entered into BORING PROCESS NUMBER TWO (and reasonably large line NUMBER ONE)

    BORING PROCESS NUMBER TWO:
    Walk through stage one security. This consists of giving your passport and boarding pass to the guards. Do not look at them cockeyed, do not yell at them. Chances are you will get through this stage of security unless you are hopelessly insane (Somehow I got through!) Remove shoes, coat, PSP, wallet, boarding passes, passport, and watch. Stick in bucket. Place carry on bag on the conveyor belt. Wait for security guard to stop talking to cute female compatriot, walk through metal detector. Attempt to hurriedly grab items from bucket and put them back in their place before people in the line behind me get frustrated. Find my departure gate WAIT. For those of you unsure about what I mean for number five and six. It's really quite simple. Each flight leaves from a particular departure gate in the airport. (That's why they're so massive—as for why they're so understaffed…no clue.) Now in order to ensure that you do not miss your flight, most major airports now like to make sure that you show up at least an hour early, and for most international flights at least two hours early. (I'm sure this has nothing to do with them wanting you to spend hours around the smell of their Starbucks, Tim Hortons, and various other outlets that will force you to spend money with their insidious deliciousness)

    So, being the intelligent young man I am, I ensured I would arrive two hours early. Expecting that due to the winter season the lines would be insane and I would have plenty to keep my attention occupied until the plane arrived.

    BZZT. WRONG.

    The airport was DEAD. It was DEADER than dead. I arrived at my gate before the STEWARD and STEWARDESSES. Let alone before the PILOTS.

    Current time? Oh I'd say 5:00 AM—time my flight leaves? 7:00 AM. Oh joy.

    So I attempted to help a fellow passenger find a Tim Hortons (There was none, by the way. She relented and gave in to the siren song of Starbucks) and then sat down for the long haul. I plugged in my PSP adapter and played some Earthbound (Everyone should play this game. It is crazy) until the time for boarding came. Yes, I played for two hours. Bite me.

    The actual loading process is rather boring, but not really a process worth describing, so just make that fast forwarding sound (You know, from a VHS tape….you do know what that is, right?) and we'll skip along.

    Ready?


    Go!

    Okay so I was in the plane and we'd just taken off (After delays! YAY) and was enjoying a gorgeous scenery of mountains. A note for those of you who may one day fly with me: I WANT THE WINDOW SEAT. GIVE IT TO ME NOW.

    Naturally the sun and the mountains and the snow all created a truly beautiful image—but unfortunately such beauty cannot last forever, and soon we were entering the cloud cover (Which is also incredibly cool, by the way. It's like you exist in a timeless space where you go neither forward nor backward, neither up nor down. You just exist. It's funky)

    Now naturally, being that at this point it had been over 24 hours without sleep, I was getting a bit tired. However I resisted the spell of sleep. Why, you ask?


    Because every seat had a built in screen in front of them—and on each screen (Touch screen, by the way. REALLY BAD TOUCHSCREENS) you had the option of various forms of entertainment. I perused the TV channels and upon finding nothing interesting I decided to check the movies. Hrn.


    Mama Mia, Dark Knight, Some Christmas Flick, some other movie…interesting flicks no doubt, but not quite what I was looking for. Luckily enough for me there were multiple categories under the movie selection, and I had simply checked the Hollywood section.

    Well for a laugh I decided to check out the Family movies, after all, couldn't hurt, right?

    Hn. Some movie I can't remember and…wait. No, it couldn't be.

    WALL-E.

    Glorious.

    So I enjoyed my first ever viewing of Wall-E whilst soaring throughout the clouds on my way to Toronto. And then I passed out and slept for a bit.

    I awoke to the sounds of them serving food and drinks, I purchased a chicken salad wrap (Actually it wasn't half bad!) and quenched my thirst with a cup of water and a can of ginger ale.

    And then it was off again into the land of dreams. Or not so dreams. Sleeping with black space? Man, that sounded weird.

    Anyhow, I put on some classical Mozart (Can you believe they had that in the entertainment console <3) and did the sleep thing as mentioned above.

    Now it couldn't have been more than an hour before I felt the familiar "OW" in my ear of depressurization, and heard the wonderful crackle of the radio informing me of our descent into Toronto. They let us know that the conditions were…well, hectic to say the least. In fact we were dropping super slowly because the airport was so clogged up that we had to take a secondary route. Oh so comforting, yes?

    Then finally we were below the cloud cover and could see the SNOW. Oh wait, that was Toronto airport? You're kidding me, all I saw was SNOW and more SNOW. Waaaait, that big snow lump over there kind of looks like a building. If you squint reaaaally hard.

    Well, that was basically the condition of the airport. White. Very, very white.

    Well we slowly descended, with the usual thump and bump of the wheels hitting the runway. Thankfully we didn't skid and slide into a snow bank (There were certainly enough!). But we sure did wait a good half hour at the gate before we were allowed off the plane. However I was in no real rush, my transfer flight didn't leave for another few hours. I dropped my sunglasses (Helpful for sleeping on a plane, by the way. Blocks out the BURNING STINGING SUN IN MY EYES AH GOD OW) but luckily a helpful passenger picked them up for me. Go him.

    I said goodbye and thank you to the staff on my way off the flight, overall it really was a pleasant experience, albeit a pleasant experience on two hours of sleep (AT MOST). And stepped into Toronto Airport...

    TO. BE. CONTINUED.

    Neener, it's still over 2,000 words! HAH.


    TOTAL WORD COUNT: 2,023





  18. Janus
    FOR SCIENCE! (5) 
    Well once again the week has come, and once again it is time for me to begin writing. 2,000 is the challenge and once again I've hit it.
     
    Today is a little different, as, with some advice I split the 2,000 into two seperate stories. Both very different from each other--but it's up to you as to which you enjoy more.
     
    Keep in mind that I will begin accepting challenges for Friday, and the vote will be held on Thursday night.
     
    Enjoy!
     
     

    Almost Beautiful 
    It was almost beautiful that day. The snow fell in soft gentle flakes, and the dim lights of the city glowed; illuminating the falling snow and giving it some ethereal presence.
     
    I saw all of this from my sentry post high above the city. Up here the snow was brighter, more beautiful—but also somehow tainted by the grime of the fortress. It was an odd contrast, the soft and pure snow that fell slowly onto the quiet city…while I sat watch, my gun safely stored in its holster.
     
    It had been almost a year since war had rocked the inhabitants of our city, almost a year since we of Colth had formed an alliance with our neighboring cities.
     
    I sighed and shook my head, less than a hundred years ago the idea of wars between cities would have been considered mad, and yet here we were; Once known as the Trinity, the cities of Colth, Haspen, and Talga were now in an uneasy alliance. While there had been no outright fighting for close to year, tensions were still running high, and the people of Colth demanded the military take action.
     
    And so here I was—sitting atop the Fortress Halget: a monstrosity of iron and steel that stretched upwards and reared into the sky, daring anyone to challenge its might and attack its people. I stood on the third tier of Halget, the watching tier, with nothing but cold iron beneath my feet and a walkway that led into the warmth of the fortress’ inner sanctum. Directly in front of me was my OmNIS, a strange apparatus that seemed to be nothing more than tubes and a primitive gas engine—but for someone trained in the use of the system—someone such as myself, it was a valuable ally on the watching tier.
     
    All around me were my fellow OmNIS operators, each pointing their apparatus in a different direction. Three systems to the North, three to the East, and three to the South—each pointed towards a different city.
     
    The watching tier was the third of four tiers at Halget, each tier being assigned a specific duty that it must fill out. The first was Infantry and armory, the fourth was command—and the second lay a mystery to all but the highest ranking soldiers. It was rarely opened, and when it was armed guards were posted at every entrance, and a strange hissing sound could be heard in the corridors.
     
    My thoughts turned to the second tier as I stood at the catwalk, gripping the metal bar with one hand as the other fumbled for my lighter—I didn’t smoke like some other soldiers, but the gently dancing flame helped take my mind off the bitter freeze of the wind.
     
    I allowed my eyes to roam over what I could see of the third tier; the lighter casting a pale shadow on the dark metal of the fortress. Around me I could see my fellow operators, and my replacement sitting at my OmNIS system…I knew I had nothing more than a few short hours before I would again have my head inside the Oscillating Mirror Nagivation Intelligence System.
     
    The third tier was a perfect circle, wrapping its way around the conical body of the fortress like a dog curled up around its master’s feet. I could only see the half that viewed the outside of the city walls, but I knew that the circle wrapped wholly around, and that three identical OmNIS systems were eternally aimed at the city of Colth—to ensure that no scouts from Haspen or Talga made it inside the walls.
     
    I glanced skywards, amazed at the fact that light was fading so quickly, but already I could see the dim twilight taking over the sky. It would be another long night tonight, as the snow fell softly all around and the citizens slept, we, the soldiers of Colth would guard our proud city, and protect all those who lay within it.
     
    But there would be time enough for those thoughts later. For now I ached, the heavy metal of the OmNIS shroud causing my upper back and neck to scream as they worked—now that scream had dulled to a gentle murmur, but the ache still remained. I needed to rest.
     
    The light had completely disappeared by the time I entered the fortress, bleeding from the sky like ink from a ruined masterpiece. I watched it fade, allowing my eyes the gift of real sight, rather than the elaborate system of mirrors that made up the OmNIS, then I walked into the warm light of the corridor.
     
    The corridor was dimly lit, with several small lights lining the metal near the top, next to each light was a small rivet and a patch of steel. We had all been told on our first day at Halget that these tunnels were meant to withstand an enemy assault, and that if worse came to worse we were to fall back to them and await orders. None of us had ever needed to.
     
    I thought about my family—were they proud to know that I was up here risking my life? I didn’t know. I thought about my father, would he be happy know that his little girl was helping protect the city? Would my mother still treat me like her daughter? Or was I now forged of iron and steel, another component of the fortress?
     
    I shook my head, allowing my thoughts to be clean of such mental cobwebs. I was a soldier, of that there was no doubt, but what did that really mean? I placed a gloved hand on the cold metal of the tunnel, allowing my body to lean against its smooth surface. Perhaps all I needed was a break.
     
    There was a shout, a scream, and a cacophonous rumble. Without thinking I pushed myself onto the wall and ran towards the corridor exit. I needed to get back to my post!
     
    Darkness greeted me as I exited the tunnel, my eyes adjusting to the sudden change in lighting. I looked around at my fellow OmNIS operators. They were all dead.
     
    Even without my system I could see it, jutting into the sky like a great giant of old: A Talga Mekan suit. Its sensors focused upon the fortress ahead—fortress Halget.
     
    I reached for my gun, hardly knowing what I was doing…and then I was surrounded by lights. The Mekan had spotted me, its baleful eye-like sensors aimed at me.
     
    I did not scream, I did not cry. I aimed my weapon at the suits exposed engine and fired. I thought only of my parents—would they be proud?
     
    And then the world exploded.
     
    I lay on my back, my body in agony. The suit had fired and missed its intended target, but had shattered the bulkhead directly behind me, preventing me from escaping through the corridor—and almost simultaneously my shot had miraculously hit the exposed engine, holding just enough force to penetrate the engine and destroy the suit.
     
    The explosion was immense, and my injuries severe—I couldn’t feel my body from the waist down, and I knew that my arms and torso were covered in burns. Movement was impossible, all there was for me in the minutes I had left was the sight of the sky.
     
    Though dark, the snow still fell, its gentle flakes descending through the air like glittering sparkles. It was almost beautiful.
     
    Almost.
     
    Total Word Count: 1,249
     
     
     
     

    The Flamingo 
    “Hey, hey, hey did you hear?” A shrill piercing sound grated through my ears as the perpetrator danced in front of my eyes. His boyish face alight with glee
    “Hear what, twerp?” I murmured. It was way too early for the brat to be bugging me already. In fact, I glanced at the alarm clock, it was only….Oh crud. It was two hours past my usual wake up time.
    “Flamingoes, or, by their proper classification Phoenicopterus, eat upside down!” Clearly this was the most important thing in the world to my brother.
     
    “I see, that’s fascinating. Really.” I yawned as I pushed myself out of bed. Talk about your rude awakenings.
    “there’s more!”
    “Oh?”
    “Yes, did you know that pale pink, or white Flamingoes are unhealthy? And therefore the most common interpretation in the media is completely incorrect?” His voice careened into the higher decibels as he practically shrieked the last part. Ow.
    “Really? That is absolutely terrible, a true shame. Now if you’ll excuse me I need to actually get out of the house”
    “But there’s more!” He shouted after me, his little feet scampering alongside mine as I made my way to the bathroom.
     
    At the door to the bathroom I held up my hand, the palm just inches away from his nose.
    “Nuh-uh, squirt. This is Mano-A-Mirror time. Flamingo facts wait until after I’m done. Go hang out in your room for a bit”
     
    Finally, mercifully, he relented and retreated to the confines of his (Very pink) room, leaving me in peace to gaze at my handsome visage. What would the world do without more guys like me? Well, thankfully they’d never have to find out, because I was here, and I was always finding the best ways to make myself more beautiful than I already was. Quite a challenge, as I was incredible already, if I do say so myself.
     
    I spent a good half-hour in the bathroom, curling my wonderfully silky, chestnut hair. Studying my reflection for any hint of an imperfection, brushing my teeth until my gums practically bled…and of course applying just a hint of make up—after all, Actors wear it, and what was I destined to be, if not an actor?
     
    At the end of my regime I quietly opened the door and slipped out, having my brother none-the-wiser that I was managing to escape from his endless tirades about…you guessed it, Flamingoes. I had almost made my clean escape, when, at the top of the stairs my cell phone rang. I swear you could hear a sonic boom as my brother zoomed towards me. Luckily I had the excuse of answering a cell phone. After all, you can’t talk to two people at the same time, right?
     
    I answered the phone
    “Yo, you got me”
    There was a sound, musical and high pitched, like a cross between a flute and a squawking bird. That was some weird interference. I tried again
    “Hello, this is Dave.”
    A pause, then a furious bout of that strange musical squawk—obviously they were either a complete lunatic, or they were going through some incredibly strange interference. I went with the latter
    “Listen, I can’t hear you, try again later, okay?”
    This time there was nothing but silence, obviously the interference had finally disconnected the call completely.
     
    I turned to my brother, desperately wracking my brain for an excuse for why I couldn’t listen to another one of his silly Flamingo facts, when my phone rang again. Talk about saved by the bell!
     
    I held up a finger, indicating the phone and that obviously I couldn’t talk again because…well, the phone.
     
    “Talk to me” I said, unconsciously grinning. Undoubtedly it was one of my many adoring fans.
    Pause.
     
    Squark squawk squaaawk.
     
    Oh jeese, not this again.
    “Listen, you’ve got a seriously bad connection here. Can you call back when your connection is better? I can’t understand you at all!”
     
    Squaaaaaawksquaaarkelliotsquaaawk?
     
    Wait, what? Elliot? That was my little brother—was this his friends playing some sort of weird practical joke on me—were they all total weirdos about Flamingos?
     
    Well, throwing caution to the wind I decided to play along with their little joke. I held the phone to my ear and said.
    “Yeah sure, just a sec.” I then gestured for my brother to take it, all the while making sure to look as nonchalant as possible.
     
    I gotta give my little bro credit, he could be an actor almost as good as me one day, if the look of fake confusion on his face was any indication of his talent. After all, I knew he had to be the mastermind behind this lame-brained plan.
     
    “…Hello?” He murmured, all his confidence evaporating as he held the phone. On the other end I could hear the unintelligible squawks and squarks.
     
    Elliot played his part to a T, looking completely confused and taken off guard by the whole situation. Then, when he thought I wasn’t looking I saw his eyes go hard as he nodded fiercely.
     
    With a meek “Goodbye” he hung up the phone, handed it back to me. Muttering something about how it was a wrong number, but he realized I was in a hurry so he’d let me go if I promised to talk Flamingo when I got back.
     
    I said sure, I mean, what was I supposed to say? “No, I know all about your secret joke with your friends and it’s totally lame?” Not when I hadn’t even figured out the joke!
     
    With a smile he scampered back to his room, shutting the door with a loud bang…and because of that bang he never noticed that I was almost right behind him. Breathing a sigh of relief at not getting being hit in the face with a door, I bent down to peek through the cracks.
     
    The room was completely empty.
     
    Okay, this was impossible. Throwing open the door I burst in, looking in every direction for my kid brother—but he wasn’t there. I tore open his closet and rustled around in the junk he stored in it—but he wasn’t there either.
     
    And then I heard it, a slight rumbling that I could barely feel in my feet. Rushing to the window I gazed outside at the strangest sight I had ever seen.
     
    There was my brother in the cockpit of a bright pink (with black highlights) Jet…shaped like a Flamingo.
     
    Nowadays I let my brother ramble on about Flamingoes, after all, if he ever actually reveals his secrets to me I bet there could be a sweet movie made about it.
     
    Starring me, in the role of my brother.
     
    Total Word Count: 1,110
  19. Janus

    I Lied

    By Janus,

    Kay, scratch my entry down there. Scratch it good.
     
    See, I'm usually doing stuff on the weekends. Fun stuff, party stuff.
     
    Stuff that involves friends, and not computers.
     
    THUS I will be doing FOR SCIENCE! on a WORK-WEEK Basis. 5 days a week, no more, no less.
     
    Ah.
     
    See you all tomorrow. (This time I mean it!)
     
    -Janus
  20. Janus

    Delay

    By Janus,

    'lo all.
     
    I will be updating with TWO (That's right, two) stories tomorrow. I'm stuck at a friends and have only limited time and access. And also no ideas, and it's late.
     
    And when it's late I maaek speallign aerrrors.
     
    Okay, those were deliberate, but you get the idea.
     
    See you tomorrow!
     
    -Janus
  21. Janus
    FOR SCIENCE!
     
    "Like a vast Predatory bird…"
     
    H'lo all you gentlefolk. Some of you are no doubt believing that the world will end soon, given that I have updated not once—but TWICE! And in rapid succession (Well, rapid for me anyhow)
     
    However I'm here to assure that the world is indeed safe and secure—well at least I pose no threat. Or not much of one—only a code yellow at the most
     
    NEVERTHELESS, this entry does indeed serve a purpose—or rather, it serves a PROMISE.
     
    Y'see, many of you might not know this, but for quite a few years I had aspirations on becoming an author (Instead I find myself as a Martial Arts Instructor. Talk about KICK BUTT HA HA JOKE), however I cannot let go of my author aspirations—why?
     
    Quite simply it's a matter of efficiency. I spend at least 25% of my free time in a state of worldbuilding, this is a GROSSLY misappropriated time given what actually gets done. Thus I either figure out how to stop my brain from doing so* (Impossible, by the way) or I find a way to force myself into productivity!
     
    THUS THIS WAS BORN.
     
    It's a simple enough concept, really. My writing skills have dulled over time and I find myself struggling for words that once came effortlessly. This is uncool.
     
    And so I've come up with this solution "FOR SCIENCE!" will be an ongoing series—possibly until the day I die (HA). There will be no set requirements for the most part, but the basic layout is as follows.
    Every day I will write a minimum of 2,000 words. This can be about any subject. Throughout the week I will collect comments on what people are interested in me writing about. Any subject that is BZP appropriate will be considered. Any subject I am not familiar with must be presented with enough information that I can have at least a loose understanding of it. Every Friday I will randomly select one of the choices given and write 4,000 words on that given subject. Lather, Rinse, Repeat. I will accept additional challenges on an an occasional basis. This can include length, using certain words, using a certain style, or using a certain phrase--or anyything else you can think of! Since the point of this is to help improve not only my SKILL in writing, but also my FREQUENCY in writing. I will accept crits and ENCOURAGE people to bug me on AIM/MSN if I have not updated on a given day. I am frequently a lazy butt. 
     
    So without further adieu, I present to you my first 2,000 word monstrosity.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

    Why I can never be evil 
    I think I first realized my ineptitude for evil at the tender age of ten. You see it wasn't just my penchant for alliteration, or my love of prancing and dancing and romancing. It wasn't even the fact that I was a blond haired blue eyed baby faced tinychild.
     
     
    No, indeed it came about because of how I made and ate my food.
     
    Undoubtedly some of you are wondering if that mean that I didn't viciously stab my food and then leap upon the still stabbed remains and feast on them—well you're bloody right. That'd just be weird. What do you take me for?
     
    However I also didn't sit politely like a good little lad and smile eagerly waiting for the pot to boil (Protip: IT DOESN'T IF YOU WATCH), nor did I hum to myself as I gently poured in the spices. And I certainly didn't take even-measured mouthfuls and ensure that I chewed 21 times EXACTLY.
     
    No, it was nothing that dramatic. In fact it was something rather trivial.
     
    Now as I mentioned above I have a horrible penchant for worldbuilding at the worst times. Often enough this included when I was alone and making food, resulting in all sorts of strange voices and forced accents and epic battles before I sat down to eat…it was a good thing no one was ever home when I made food, huh?
     
    Now to take a brief sidetrack, my favourite food, and the one that most often resulted in this strange story was in fact ramen noodles. For those of you unaware of what ramen is—go to your cupboard. Good, now open it up. Very good. See those little packets of INSTA-SOUP? Yeah, that's ramen. Horribly unhealthy and my raison d'etre in the days of my youth.
     
    Now there was nothing particularly different about the way I made ramen vs. anyone else. I still filled the pot full of water, put the water on to boil, and then put in the noodles.
     
    And that's where the problem came in.
     
    All of a sudden it wasn't just noodles and water! No, it was either some sort of massive floating continent suddenly thrust into temperatures that were beyond their control! Or perhaps the water was fuel that had been contaminated by some strange substance! Regardless of the trimmings the result was always the same: OH NO SOMETHING HAS GONE WRONG!
     
    And so it began. I would narrate the entire situation, often taking the place of the person or force behind the wrongdoing. In one example I was a corrupt executive who had determined that the floating continent had incredibly useful minerals, and thus had devised a clever plan to superheat it, and thus smelt the material into its rawest form—the fact that the inhabitants would die was of no concern to me! In the other I was an elite espionage agent who was tampering with the fuel supply of a mass conglomerate so that I could hold power over their holdings and force them to comply with my demands.
     
    Sounds pretty evil, huh?
     
    I thought so too. I even had the perfect voice for each of them. For one it was slightly haughty and arrogant, a blend of class and brutality that made your skin crawl, with a tinge of cold detachment. For the other it was smooth and silky, quiet but powerful. Frightening in its silence.
     
    For a period of minutes I would have this dichotomy playing back and forth. Acting as both the cruel aggressor and the terrified inhabitants. Be they the peaceable folk of the floating continent or the highly intelligent scientists who had designed the efficient fuel. Clearly they just wanted to help people!
     
    And then it happened. Then something inside of me went "Dude, what are you doing? Stop being so mean." And it all came crashing down.
     
    Somehow the cold, detached, and cruel executive would have a change of heart and realize that there were PEOPLE down there! And while it was too late to stop the superheating plan, would send ships to rescue the poor people! And naturally the profits made from their continent's raw materials would go into purchasing a new, more elaborate continent that better suited them!
     
    Somehow the efficient and deadly covert operative would relent and realize that these scientists had designed the fuel with naught but the most noble of intentions, and what kind of monster would he be to stand in the way of such idealism and hope for the future? Instead he would sacrifice himself to remove the contaminant, wishing only to be remembered.
     
     
    Yeah. I know. What.
     
    Even when at last the time had come to eat my wonderful splendor the stories would not stop. In fact the incredible rapidity with which the tales would transform themselves, essentially performing massive retcon, was astounding.
     
    The most common story here was fairly simple. It was a mostly uninhabitable planet made of molten slag. However some settlers had managed to create basic shelters and had been living there for the past few years.
     
    AND THEN ALL OF A SUDDEN A GIGANTIC BEAST APPEARED OUT OF NOWHERE.
     
    Not only was this thing cruel enough to eat the settlers, but it seemed to feast upon the planet itself! OH THE HUMANITY!
     
    And then that little "Dude, stop being evil" would kick in, and the massive beast would in fact become a giant harvesting machine. Something that the settlers had originally had on their expedition to help create a hospitable place to live, but had for whatever reason been lost in the depths of space (or perhaps it was the settlers had been lost).
     
    Regardless, the result was the same. While the harvesting machine would ingest both planet and inhabitant, the settlers were harmlessly placed in a comfortable holding area until the people in the machine's cockpit were informed that the planet was inhabited. While simultaneously, the molten slag would go into a storage pit to be used for raw materials at a later date.
     
    By the way, just to remind you. THIS IS ABOUT MAKING AND EATING SOUP.
     
    Yes, my imagination is incredibly overactive, of this I am aware. In fact this is likely a strong component of my inability to be evil—the tendency of my imagination to immediately go overboard would likely make it impossible for me to pull of any truly evil schemes. After all, it's hard to be the evil overlord when you're feeling bad about locking the hero in the cell—and oh jeese it could be cold in there! And when was the last time that poor person ate?
     
    All of a sudden the PRISON CELL has become a comfortable lounge area with blankets and cookies for all.
     
    Now this is not to say that I cannot create evil characters. In fact I pride myself on creating some heartless and cruel monsters—however I will say that almost inevitably they have a reason and are not ALL bad. In fact most of my "BIG BAD" characters aren't even characters—or bad. They're simply forces that do what they do regardless of outside influence or pressure. Perhaps this Is indicative of the way I view the world?
     
    But enough of that tangent, creating evil characters does not make ones quotient for evil go up, nor does creating heroic characters make one's courage increase. They're simply behaviours that are observed and transcribed into stories. That's not the argument here.
     
    The argument is the fact that left to my own devices, with no one around to judge me, playing in a world I created in two minutes. I was unable to be evil.
     
    Now this is not to say I can't be a bit cruel, or even mean. I'm still simply human and have committed many acts that were invariably cruel and malicious—I am justifiably ashamed of these acts and try not to allow them to occur—but hey, life.
     
    However evil and cruel/mean/butthead are two completely opposing things. To be mean is more of an act, likewise with cruel and buttheadedness. However to be evil can either be a single act of absolute depravity, or an existence of general buttheadedness. Evil is not what I do.
     
    Y'see, the main thing I'm getting at here is not that I am a MORAL AN UPSTANDING YOUNG MAN WHO SHUNS ALL THE BAD THINGS IN THE WORLD AND STRIVES BE A WHOLESOME AND CARING PILLAR OF LIGHT AND JUSTICE—not to say that's bad. Just saying that's not what I'm getting at.
     
    I'm saying the reason that I could never be evil (if it weren't apparent enough in the above stories) is GUILT. I have an incredibly overactive guilt complex—enough so that even those cruel characters acting on their own were forced to conform to the standards set out by my morality standard—why? Because they were acting in proxy to me and they were doing things that made me GUILTY.
     
    Not cool.
     
    So, really, I could never be evil simply because of that guilt complex. Remove that guilt and I have no idea what I'm capable of, but with it I'm pretty much harmless.
     
    I want to give you another example. Think back to the last time you were angry. And I mean Angry. I MEAN ANGRY. I MEAN REALLY, REALLY PEEVED. Got it? Good.
     
    Now obviously it varies from person to person, but when one tries to contain one's anger (Not suppress, mind you. Just contain until you can let it go) various reactions occur. As someone with a highly active imagination I tend to imagine things happening around me—and when I'm TICKED—and have nowhere in particular to vent my frustrations (You know what I mean, various things happen all after another and you have no idea WHAT you're supposed to be mad AT) I tend to imagine the world in a general state of panic—it really varies on multiple factors what the aggressors are, but the general rule is that the world is falling to pot and I'm THE EVIL MAN WHO WALKS THROUGH THE CHAOS WITH A SMILE MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
     
    For example in some it's Mecha and armor troops blowing up everything all around, while I stride through the war zone in my trench coat smiling at the madness all around.
     
    Sounds pretty evil, right?
     
    Again, after a period of about 30 seconds everything changes. The Mecha stop dropping bombs, the armor troops stop firing. Instead they start to help rebuild, because you see I was only attacking so I could unify the world against a common enemy!
     
    Yeah. I know.
     
    Please do keep in mind, though. This doesn't mean I'm sunshine and candy all day long. I can be quite the cruel lad (as mentioned above), but inevitably I'll do something to make it up to you—unless you're a real butthead.
     
    But I can hear some of you piping up
    "But what about a minion, couldn't you be a minion?"
     
    Ehn, that one's up in the air. I mean minions can be misled and believe that the Big Bad is in fact a beacon of hope and light and freedom—when in fact he's just kicked a puppy out a window and bombed an orphanage. So could I be a minion? Yeah, probably. So long as the guy was good in hiding he was evil. If he was openly evil then I'd have to say no. Unless I was a MiNO (Minion in name only) as in not really doing any work, just getting all the cool perks of working for an evil overlord—but even so I doubt I could do it. Some of you may not realize it was the GUILT complex that had me resign for Global Moderator…because I just didn't have the time to do the job I felt I needed to do.
     
    So, really, that sums it all up. I can a butthead, (Heck, my title is "The Buttest" for a reason!), a meanie, and a cruel and malicious person, but not evil.
     
    It's up to you to decide which is worse.
     
     
    TOTAL WORD COUNT: 2,023
     
    I'd like to take this moment to say that I have NO Idea what's going to come out my "FOR SCIENCE!" series. It could be short stories, it could be rambles, it could be essays, it could be...well, strange things. ENJOY =D
     
    Oh, and SOOPER BONUS POINTS to anyone who can name where the title of this entry came from.
     
     
     
    *Seriously, most of my MOCs came about by sheer fluke. Because I sat down, started fiddling with pieces and about an hour later had a fully operational world with various characters—AND NO FINISHED MOC. When I finished one it was a miracle.
  22. Janus

    Isn't It Funny?

    By Janus,

    Isn't it funny how in the midst of tragedy you're still expected to smile?
     
    How when all you truly desire is to curl into a ball and scream at the world. To hide, to dissapear.
     
    You're supposed to show a happy facade to the world.
     
    When darkness encroaches into your very being you're supposed to laugh and shrug it off. Pretend that nothing phases you.
     
    Isn't it funny?
     
    No.
     
    It never has been, it never will be. I'm not a machine and I'm not unfeeling. I appear standoffish and that's my curse.
     
    But I do not expect this. I may lose someone.
     
    Forever.
     
    Enough the smiling. Let me hurt.
  24. Janus

    Mistika Ii - Phantoka

    By Janus,

    Yes, yes It has been forever since I wrote my Article Mistika I...why do you ask?
     
    Oh, you say I'm due in for another article? Especially as everyone already has the Mistika thus rendering my thoughts null and void?
     
    You also say you're just a voice in my head and I'm talking out loud?
     
    Poop.
     
    Now then. Mistika II - Phantoka
     
    You see, you can't discuss the Mistika without discussing their predecessors--in this case the Phantoka. Just as it's difficult to discuss the Nuva without the Mata, or the Kal without the original character. The first iteration of something will inevitably be compared to the second, third, fourth, etc.
     
    Now in order to clarify, had the Phantoka and Mistika been released seperately, we would not see this--but as they have been clearly divided--well, the comparisons will be made regardless.
     
    AND NOW ON WITH THE SHOW.
     
    When we last left our article the intrepid hero (IE: ME) had just discovered that the Toa Nuva would be re-released in set form. Naturally as I said before most old farts like myself were squeeing in joy.
     
    And then came that other nasty side-effect of joy. Disbelief. Y'see, we've been around long enough--we saw what happened with the Matoran > Inika Transformation--heck, we even knew what happened with the Inika > Mahri transformation. And while the fandom was primarily happy with them, there were those voices of dissent asking "Hey, would a little resemblance hurt?"
     
    And so it was that doubt began to creep into our hopeful mindset. Lost was the vision of the Toa Nuva restored, modified Nuva masks on their faces and new poseability technology giving the Toa Nuva the flexibility we always desired--now we saw visions of Mahri/Inika clones with bizarre masks. (Or at least I did. I know there was a sentiment of doubt that seeped through the fandom as well)
     
    So while most were actively looking forward to the Nuva, the fandom again began to experience dissent, with some people actively nervous about the Nuva--or some simply not caring and not believing that TLC could pull it off (That'd be me folks =B )
     
    And then the first images of the Phantoka came out: What were the reactions?
     
    Near-universally positive from the majority of the Fandom. Most people were genuinely pleased with them--however on my side, the side of the "Old guard" shall we call it, most people were actively displeased. And I was certainly among them. Upon my first viewing of the Phantoka I was quite displeased, and remain so to this day--however saying such a thing is pointless without reasoning. Please allow me.
     
    The Toa Mata to Toa Nuva transformation was something that while not reviled was also something that had the fandom up in arms for a while (Mainly due to those godawful masks). But in the end it was almost universally accepted that the Toa Nuva could easily be recognized as their progenitors and the matter was dropped.
     
    The Phantoka do not have this. They may be wonderful sets full of many interesting pieces but they do not have the most important thing in the minds of people like me. They do not resemble their characters enough.
     
    Let's go over the changes, shall we?
     
    Lewa Nuva
    First and foremost one of my favourite colours has been stricken from the records. Gone is Lewa's wonderful vibrant green--instead he now has Lime all over. Now I do not dislike Lime, in fact I find it a wonderful complimentary colour--but with that much lime and no contrasting or complimenting colour (Just a neutral grey) he ended up looking washed out.
     
    The Mask has clearly changed--but we'll get to that in Mistika IIII - Kanohi
     
    However one needs only look at him to see the difference. Jet engines for a Toa of Air? Most things didn't bother me. In fact the Jet engines whilst confusing are hardly a deal breaker, even his sword (singular) wasn't that upsetting. What was most curious, though, was the absolute change.
     
    Pull out your Lewa Nuva original (If you have him) Thick lower legs and standard arms. Were I to attempt to reproduce this in set form I would say something like Inika Legs for legs and Metru legs as arms--instead we see that this has gone directly inverse. Now he has massively powerful and bulky arms--with skinny (And I do mean skinny) legs. It's simply bizarre.
     
    However one of the interesting things about the Toa Nuva was their armor. The first sets to have such a thing--before the silver influx became nearly unbearable. Naturally this has vanished without a trace.
     
    However I will not deny that the sword is very cool, and even somewhat reminiscent of his original Air Katana. Which is more than can be said about Lewa to Lewa Nuva.
     
    Pohatu Nuva
    We've already heard enough about the Orange/Yellow/Brown debate. It's getting rather old--however I will say that as a member of the Old Guard Pohatu--and Brown, were always my favourite. It was quite a dissapointment to see this colour dissapear.
     
    However unlike Lewa the bright orange does contrast nicely against the grey and thus I have no complaints in that regard.
     
    Again, however, look at the the proportions: Pohatu and Pohatu Nuva both had shorter arms and longer legs (Nuva had thicker legs as well). However they also had an inverse body, meaning slimmer shoulders than the other Toa! Pohatu Phantoka turned that on its head, keeping the thick legs--but then giving him massively lanky arms, and a hugely broad chest with no hips to speak of. How does this guy run?
     
    But once again there is no hint of armor on him. Thus erasing the 'nuva' from the equation (in my eyes, at least)
     
    I will say good on the designers for keeping the claws around in one form or another, though.
     
    (Again, the mask will be hit upon in Mistika IIII - Kanohi)
     
    Kopaka Nuva
    The colours have stayed the same and we all breathe a sigh of relief. However the bizarre inclusion of gunmetal is just a headscratcher. Why why why?
     
    Proportions wise I have little to complain about in regards to Kopaka, he is the best out of all of them in this regard. The wings I won't take into account as this is meant to show what differs them from the Nuva--and frankly you could slap that same pair of wings onto Kopaka Nuva and there'd be a neglible difference. Are they what I would give Kopaka for a means of flight? No, but that's not the point here.
     
    The biggest complaint with Kopaka is oddly enough something that they had some success with both Lewa and Pohatu on. Weapon recognition.
     
    While both Kopaka and Tahu always wielded a sword people could always recognize Kopaka because not only did he have a shield--his sword was different. Especially in nuva form, a dual-bladed STAFF of a blade. It was a glorious weapon.
     
    So how then do Lewa and Pohatu Phantoka end up with weapons resembling their Nuva forms, and Kopaka winds up with a butterknife? I'm sorry, it's a butterknife.
     
    So let us add up the similarities and differences, shall we?
    Lewa
    Similar: Lime green. Sword
    Different: Grey. Proportions.
     
    Well that doesn't sound so bad, now does it? This is of course not factoring in the mask, nor the main sticking point the NON-Old guard have about the Phantoka. More on that later.
     
    Pohatu
    Similar: Claws.
    Different: Grey. Proportions.
     
    I suppose I can offer Pohatu a slight bonus here in that his feet are vaguely reminiscent of Toa Mata feet with attachments. However this still fails to take into account the mask or the main sticking point.
     
    Kopaka
    Similar: White. Proportions.
    Different: Weapon. Grey.
     
    So for the most part they all seem about equal, or at least the similarities seem to be equal to the differences, right?
     
    Not exactly. The simple fact of the matter is that many of those similarities are also common amongst other things. For example Toa Nuju has similar proportions to Kopaka Phantoka (Minus the stubby arms) he's also white and grey, and the mask looks similar to boot!
     
    See the problem the old guard has? These sets have taken heroes that we recognized instantly--even in their first transformation (Minus those uncoloured, unfinished prototypes. Whoo boy) and has made them recognisable as other characters. Now while some may take this as a homage, it's clearly not meant to be.
     
    As for the Non-old guard? The number one complaint from this group is the fact that the Phantoka are basically Inika/Mahri with new masks and weapons. That's it.
     
    BUT hope was yet on the Horizon! We had seen that LEGO was okay at making Villains with the Phantoka Makuta. Perhaps the Toa Mistika would redeem our faith in TLC? Once again we dared to hope...but still looked to the future with skeptical eyes.
     
    Coming soon:
    Mistika III - Mistika
  25. Janus

    Bionicle: Imagine

    By Janus,

    Well I must apologise for lack of living. Once again I was surfing along happily before the eldritch tentacle of real life clamped down and dragged me beneath the surface.
     
    But once again I've managed to escape that hideous unnameable thing, so with luck I will---do stuff?
     
    Really, my presence online is going to be decreasing because real life is consuming my very soul, however I felt it was time to put forth an initiative that I've been thinking about for a while.
     
    You see, one of the reasons I haven't been active online for such a long time is because I've been planning with my top secret group. Planning for what? Why, my own version of the BIONICLE storyline of course! Currently the plans are running from 2001 to 2012--but really that's just the beginning.
     
    However I figured that it's way too much fun to keep to myself, so with that said let's get to the main point of this entry...

    UPDATED: Addendum added
     
    Two armies faced each other across a trench, both resplendant in brilliant reds and firey oranges--on one side was the native people of the island of Mata-Nui; arrayed in front of the village-fortress of Ta-koro they nervously clutched their spears, perfectly aware that this day could very well be their last--and the end of Mata-Nui as they knew it.

    On the other was the fearsome invaders, covered in gleaming armor their numbers seemed to stretch on into infinity--while they had thus far made no attempt to harm the villagers, they sought the destruction of the very island.

    A Lone Tahnok-Va stepped forward, his crescent-shaped head aflame and his claws clutched tightly around a fire staff, rallying the rest of the Va around him he bravely charged forward...forward into the army of Toa that had them surrounded...

    A bad example maybe, but that's a small example of what BIONICLE:Imagine is all about.
     
    BIONICLE:Imagine is all about challenging yourself, about stepping beyond the creative boundries of the BIONICLE storyline as a whole and creating something new within it. It's about stretching your imagination to the very limit and enjoying BIONICLE to its fullest.
     
    BIONICLE:Imagine is a very simple concept, and with all simple concepts there are simple rules--there are only two here.
     
    Rule the First: BIONICLE:Imagine will accept only one-shot short stories. There will be no story threads permitted. There cannot be a sequal, prequal, or ongoing story--however you can re-use characters. Original characters are permitted, but keep in mind this is still BIONICLE, not a complete remake.
     
    Rule the Second: BIONICLE:Imagine is all about challenging ourselves to step beyond the creative boundries of the canon storyline--for that reason each short story written for BIONICLE:Imagine must be a "What If?" Story. This can be as large or as small as you want, for example the one above would be "What if the Bohrok were the original inhabitants of Mata-Nui and the Toa the invaders?"
    Some other "What If?" suggestions are:
    "What if Makuta didn't exist?"
    "What if Kapura never joined the Chronicler's company?"
    "What if Takanuva wasn't Takua?"
     
    ADDENDUM: What If's can be re-used and used multiple times, as nobody will write the exact same story. For example a "What if Kopaka got Krana'ed?" story is so generic and can go in so many different directions that it would be unfair to limit it to one person. However I reserve the right to reverse this if I find it's getting out of hand
     
    Some of these I've already used, but the idea is just to Re-imagine key (or not-so-key, it's up to you!) events in BIONICLE, to take a brief glimpse into another world.
     
    This will be an ongoing initiative with every story written for BIONICLE:Imagine going into a new content block in my blog--and later depending on the popularity we may introduce challenges and such.
     
    For those of who wish to show support for this, here's a banner.
     

     
    And the code...
     

    [url="http://www.bzpower.com/forum/index.php?automodule=blog&blogid=137&showentry=32905"][img=http://www.majhost.com/gallery/Janus/RandomJanusCorner/bionicleimagine_banner.jpg][/url]
     
    Have fun writing!
     
    Sincerely,
     
    Janus
×
×
  • Create New...