Search the Community
Showing results for tags 'FOR SCIENCE!'.
-
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
-
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
-
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
-
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
-
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.
-
A Night In The Chapel (aka: Toronto How We Hate Thee Pt. 2)
Janus posted a blog entry in blogs_blog_137
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 -
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 gateWAIT.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
-
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
-
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.