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zackrobbman

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zackrobbman last won the day on May 8 2019

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About zackrobbman

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    Devotee

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    With all the force of a great, typhoon! BE A MAN! Get it? No?....I'm a guy.
  • Location
    Loserville
  • Interests
    Nothing I'd fight too hard for, and that is very depressing.
  • Occupation
    Quality Control Auto Body Technician....I'm a detailer....I clean cars.

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  1. Clive gritted his teeth as he tried to prepare himself. Given the grunts unnatural strength, he hoped it’d be quick. He couldn't bear the thought of it being slow. He’d once watched another merc slowly tear off a man's arm on purpose, and he was never able to get the sound or the screams out of his mind. The memory served as one of the reasons he didn’t like working with that particular mercenary, and it was the only thing he could think of right now, a mere second before the beginning of his immediate death. Which Erin cared enough to prevent. The soldier let go of Clive and reared back, screaming in agony over the arrow that Erin had lodged in his eye. Clive fell to the grassy floor, taking in huge, gasps of air the grunts grip had deprived him of. Thankful for the respite and not wanting to be grabbed again, he got to his…uh...flippers and prepared to hop towards the nearest bush. “AAH!” yelped Clive when the grunts boot came down hard a mere inch from his squishy, vulnerable, body. He expected the grunt’s other boot to come down on him an instant later with much better aim, but Clive was no longer the target. He watched the now furious grunt bound off passed him towards the trees while brandishing a shotgun. He took aim and fired into the wooded area, no doubt in Erin’s direction. Seeing as the soldier proceeded to keep shooting instead of rejoicing over the gibbed remains of a miniature woman, Clive figured she was still alive somehow. He figured it wouldn’t stay that way for long though. Given her small size, she wouldn’t be able to outrun the grunt and likely didn’t have that long to live. The thought putting a pep in his ste-….hop, he looked around him for his gun and located it a few feet away from where he was. He clumsily hopped over to it and accidentally bashed his mushy face into the barrel of the gun before trying to pick it up with his adorable flipper-hands. While he was able to move it, he quickly found out that it’d be impossible to aim it with any accuracy. It took all the strength he had just to prop it up on the grip, let alone move it towards the grunts general direction. Still, in an act of desperation that was spurred on by every shotgun blast he heard in the thicket of trees ahead of him, he tried to pull the trigger. No dice. He couldn’t even get it to budge. So he let go of the gun and started hopping towards the mass of trees, the grunt’s gunshots lighting up the surrounding foliage and making it easy for Clive to find him. He wasn't sure what he was going to do given his current amphibious persona, but he always felt it was better to do something instead of nothing. Even if that something was poking the grunt in his other eye with his tongue. Not liking that idea too much and closing the distance at a rather fast pace, he started thinking up a few other ideas. Yank the pin off of one of the grenades hitched onto the grunts belt with his tongue? Not a chance, since he doubted he was strong enough to do so. Also, due to his and Erins current size, the grenades blast would probably wipe one or both of them out. Call out to get his attention to get him away from Erin? While noble, it would be extremely stupid, since he was certain the grunt would just turn around and immediately blast him with his shotgun. He was a bigger target than Erin was too, so the chance of him catching a bullet were much higher than hers. Also, he could barely hop around without tripping up as it was. So maybe he really was about to attempt an eye-poke with his tongue. Or not. Clive’s tired looking frog-eyes instinctively shot up towards a bug flying in the air above the grunts head. It looked like a bee, except slightly larger. And scarier. Perhaps even angrier too. Above said mutant bee was a bee hive with other mutant bees similar in size to the first one he’d seen. The bee hive was about the size of the grunts torso, and hanging down from a branch by a stringy substance a few yards above the grunts head. A stringy substance that was about to snap from a stray bullet that had clipped it earlier. “Aw, s***!” cursed Clive as he increased his speed and starting hopping higher to a get better view. He spotted Erin scurrying out of a bush, a large centipede snapping at her back with its pincers. “LADY!” Clive shouted, his eyes repeatedly darting up to the bee-hive. Hearing Clives call, the grunt turned and took aim in Clives general direction with his shotgun. Clink! “Dammit!” growled the grunt, frantically searching himself for more shells to slide into his empty shotgun. “Get on!” said Clive as he clumsily landed a few yards in front of her. “Do NOT get on that talking cowboy frog!” shouted the grunt as the line holding the beehive finally snapped. The beehive bursted into several large chunks when it landed atop the grunts helmeted head. Dozens of the hand-sized bees within were sent into a frenzy, buzzing around the grunt and proceeding to sting him all over. “HEEEAAAEAEAEEAEEAEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHH!” screamed the grunt, his body exploding with orange hot pain in every spot he was stung. He started sprinting away from the bees, right in Clive’s direction. “SUM’B****!!!” said Clive as he began bounding away, Erin hopefully holding onto his back. He hopped as quickly as he could, the sound of the screaming grunt and the killer bees assaulting him right at his flipper’d heels. And as if some sentient, all-powerful being were thinking of ways to make things even worse, a large bird happened to be flying by and noticed the commotion. It’s predatory gaze fell on Clive and focused on the small miniature assassin on his back. Letting out a noise that sounded almost exactly like some dude shouting ‘Mine!’, it dove down towards Clive with it’s talons extended.
  2. Charlie: Status: Alive (Although I intended to sacrifice him to save Vlad, but I couldn't get to a computer. 😒) HP: 7/7 (IN the realm) Sanity: 7/7 ((IN the realm)
  3. Not dead everyone! Just unable to get to a computer to upload what I got because of this stupide coronavirus getting everything shut down! Hang tight, @jaistlyn @Tyler @Akiris @Higuu ! I got stuff written out, but I'm trying to figure out where I can get to to post it.

    1. Tyler

      Tyler

      No worries my friend, stay safe!

  4. You have the time to go back and change your post! BUT...I expected Tim to still have a plus one after dying, so uhhh....seeing as it didn’t happen that way...we’ll... ... I’m starting to feel bad. Especially since our DM said that the posts can’t be changed. Uhhh...who would you redirect those attacks against if you had the chance?
  5. *Is washing a car at work. Thinking about the RP when I realize that Charlie didn't net the kill and become un-hollowed because technically Tim has 7 health instead of five if he so chose to apply the buff to his health.* Before you guys read this, just know that my overall goal as a player is to keep as many people alive as I can, maybe getting that "zero-sum game" Akiris mentioned in the second riddle. ( @P.N.See I hope your goal is the same.😅) So Charlie is still hollow, and it makes sense why @EpicRome23 automatically assumed and acted as if Vlad chose to apply the +2 buff to Tim's health. It seems I have been struck by a smooth criminal. 😏 So now I wonder, @Akiris, since I assumed he had five health because nothing was said otherwise, am I able to go back and change my post to use a skill to notch off those two hit points I didn't know he chose to have? (And still don't know) Or @P.N.See, could I ask you if you chose to apply that plus 2 Buff to Tim's HP? The answer to that question kinda decides, to be perfectly honest, whether or not a machine dies, or a human dies. And if it winds up being a human, I got a pretty good idea of who everyone is gonna pick on. 😓 Or not. Since it looks like everyone's trying to kill Vlad. Not sure why either, since I don't even think the SQUAAAAAAD is hollow? You didn't die last round, right @Tyler? So why would you be hollow and in need of friendly blood ey'?🤨 Sadly, though, a bunch of people have already posted, and I'm not sure how the choice would affect everyone. If Charlie does get allowed to land that final blow however, it leaves Freddy Hollow and in need of some help. But that also begs the question of whether or not Tim just returns to +1 after being killed? @Akiris Cause then he would essentially have a second life with a possible full bill of 6/6 HP, which would be bad. I could help with that, but it'd still be bad. Also, if Vlad doesn't decide to have 4/7 HP and doesn't negate his own death at the hands of Melanie, would his killer get a +1 while he still keeps his +1?
  6. @EpicRome23 Yo, Tim had seven HP? Wait, Vald got that just now from killin' Freddy?
  7. As the merc’ charged at him, Zack’s mind got to work. In front of him was a man wearing an electrified, auxiliary suit that would administer over a thousand volts to his body if touched. On top of that, if his broken jaw was anything to go on, the suit seemed to enhance his strength. Not by a whole lot, but enough to snap a guys neck if he landed a clean hit on someone who didn’t take punches like that for a living. Behind him were the other merc’s, who were making short work of the Norkotians on the lift. The merc’s were trained to kill meta-humans, so this was no surprise. Killing regular people was probably a relaxing change of pace, but Zack knew that fancy powers and skills weren’t a sure-fire guarantee of victory. Mikey had been painfully beating that into him since day one of his training. Zack hated Mikey for that, but there was no denying the value of that lesson. One needed to anticipate disadvantages and pick them apart before they came. This however, was easier said than done. Mikey made it look easy, but the reality was that there was often no way to figure out how to anticipate the chaotic nature of combat. People were always doing things that didn’t make any sense. Like starting a war out in the middle of nowhere that just so happened to be near where he’d narrowly escaped death on an airship. But there was no use wasting thought on how unfair it all was now. It had been unfair for many years, so why start caring now? Zack jumped to the side to avoid being grabbed and fried by the brute, deciding to play keep-away as he tried to figure out what to do. The brute didn’t like this, clearly becoming agitated with how evasive Zack was being. “HOLD STILL DAMMIT!” shouted the brute after missing a flurry of punches, Zack dodging each one and keeping on the move to avoid being cornered. The brute was swinging wide and hard now, Zack’s instincts shouting to punish him for his carelessness. If he could somehow discharge the electricity his suit was generating, he figured he could take the brute down pretty easily. And he’d have to do it quick too. His gut was bothering him about the possibility of more mercenaries waiting for them at the top of the lift. Zack noticed that the brute was being careful to avoid touching the railing or anything else for that matter. Zack had expected him to compensate for his lack of speed with a weapon of sorts, preferably one of the guns lying on the ground, but didn’t reach any of them. He also noticed that there were no weapons on his person, not even so much as a knife. Either he was just very overconfident in his suit, or the electricity it generated was limited. Zack grabbed a gun that had been lying on the floor and flung it at the brute. The weapon bounced away with a bright spark the moment it hit him, clattering to the floor with a bit of smoke rising from it. So he really couldn’t touch anything. But if that were the case, how was he able to walk around without zapping the floor with every step? Gunfire erupted from somewhere on the lift, a few bullets colliding with the brute as he tried and failed to grab Zack again. Being grateful that the shooter had decent aim, Zack noticed that each round bounced off the brutes armor harmlessly in an eruption of sparks, but there was one that didn’t. One round collided with the brutes boot, and unlike the ones that hit his body, this one didn’t get zapped away. It merely impacted itself on the armored boot and fell to the floor. So he now had a plan. There were just two precautions he needed to take. A glance to his side revealed two surviving Nokotians. One was a woman and the other was a man. Both appeared to have sustained injuries during the scuffle, but they weren’t dying. At least, that was what he could surmise from the half second the brute gave him to take his attention off the fight. While he wasn’t a genius on the subject of electricity despite the countless times he’d been physically acquainted with it, he knew of its tendency to travel. How well would it travel through a cast iron floor? Would the dispersal dumb down the voltage to non-lethal levels? He didn’t know, but he had a hunch it wouldn’t be too bad considering that the brute hadn’t done it on purpose earlier once he noticed that his partners were dead. Well…if he noticed. That meant he knew it wouldn’t do him any good, and Zack was willing to trust his judgement. If he wasn’t just over thinking it, that is. Zack continued to evade the brutes attacks, this time purposefully backing into the corner of the lift opposite the two Norkotians. If it was going to administer a lethal shock, he might as well keep it as far away from the others as he could. “GOT’CHA!” shouted the brute, going for another grab. Zack had been waiting for it though. Zack ducked the grab and swept a leg at the brutes feet. Suddenly, the brute was looking at Zack from a sideways perspective, falling to his side. An explosion of sparks and bright blue electricity lit up the lift when the brute landed, all of it being discharged from his suit and into the lift. Zack felt a light tingle in his body when the electrical charge quickly passed through him, but it was nowhere near lethal to him or the soldiers still on lift. Zack let out a sigh of relief as the brute frantically got to his feet. As Zack anticipated, he didn’t immediately attack, but looked down at his arms and body. “Wusa’matter?” said Zack, his eyes dilating to pin pricks as he dawned a manic smile. “I thought you had me?” The brute began to shake angrily, focusing his gaze on Zack. With an angry cry, he lunged at Zack with a wide punch. Zack reared his head back and slung it forward into the brutes fist, being careful to make sure his forehead was what collided. CRUNCH! “AAGGGH!” screamed the brute as he felt every bone from his knuckles to his elbow crack and snap. He staggered back, looking at his misshapen arm in shock. Zack walked towards him, still smiling as blood dripped from the gash on his forehead. The brute, getting an idea of his situation, spun around and reached to the floor to grab a gun. He was yanked backwards by his broken arm before being slung into the railing. Before he could recover from the impact and pain, Zack dashed forward and swung his cuffs up toward his head. The brutes head was knocked back, bits of his now fragmented helmet flying upwards. His mouth now exposed and his jaw horrifically broken, the brute tried to grab Zack’s throat with his good arm in a last ditch effort. Zack grabbed the arm and slung him overhead onto the lift with enough force to make it falter. He then stomped on the arm at the elbow, causing a wet crunch to echo throughout the lift. The brutes shouts of pain were cut off when Zack grabbed him by his broken jaw pulled his head up face to face with his own. “Night, night, overbite.” said Zack with an icy smile, the brute gargling pained moans through his bloody mouth. Zack squeezed, instantly crushing the brutes lower jaw into a toothy, red, mess. He started to scream again, but Zack silenced him with a final blow to the head with his cuffs. “Okay,” said Zack as he rolled the brute onto his stomach and stepped back to wipe the his blood from his face. He looked around the lift one more time, examining the soldiers who weren’t standing. Their wounds were all he needed to see to know they were dead. Only two had survived. Cordoza was lying on the ground in a catatonic position. He thought that was odd, since she didn’t seem the least bit afraid when he was yelling at her earlier. The again, Zack wasn’t exactly the most imposing looking mercenary in the world. To most, he just looked like some kid with crazy eyes. Even after realizing he wasn’t entirely human, most people still weren’t afraid of him. If anything, that just made people want to kill him more. From afar, usually, but the bloodlust was always there in copious amounts. “To be honest, I thought those guys were gonna kill you.” Zack said to the two soldiers as he helped Cordoza to her feet. “Then I thought they’d kill me next. So thanks for preventing that! I know you two probably have a few questions. For starters, those guys were with the Tin Man, the merc’ ya’ll hired to help you slaughter this lady’s city. As you may have noticed, he’s not on your side.” Zack wriggled his jaw around and spat out another glob of blood before looking up. They’d be at the top in less than a minute. He started to wonder if the Tin Man or his men would be up there waiting for him, but realized how dumb that’d be. Why would he send a squad of guys into the lift if he had another squad of guys at the top ready to blow Cordoza’s escorts away anyway? And if he were up there, wouldn’t that mean he’d have to kill the Norkotians already waiting? There were likely many more soldiers up top than there were on the lift, and he wouldn’t be able to dispatch them all without some casualties and a lot of noise. He’d blow his own cover, which he obviously wanted to keep since everyone seemed to have a cloaking device. So he probably wasn’t up there. Still… “As for who I am,” Zack continued with disinterest as he started frantically searching the bodies of the other mercs’. “Names Zack, I’m a merc’, and I’m basically on your side.” Some of the equipment he searched was no longer any good due to the bullet holes in them. Somehow, though, the soldiers had managed to avoid shooting the grenades clipped onto the merc’s vests. It reminded him of how luck was a major part of surviving things like this. Sometimes the veterans died and the newbies lived just because of dumb luck. Which he knew he was running out of. He took one of the grenades and a few other things he figured he’d need later. “Gonna help get this cease fire called out, and I need to talk to someone in command ASAP. I think the Tin Man is gonna try and have uh…” he sighed through his nose and closed his eyes as he tried to remember what he’d heard. “Some guy named…Tynes? That it? I think that’s it? I think he’s gonna try and have him killed. I got the info out of one of his snipers, and I don’t think he was lying.” He felt something tap onto his head and looked up. Through the opening, he could see the gloomy, grey clouds in the sky congealing to form storm clouds, and it was beginning to rain. *** Skull, being an older man who was beginning to tire of work, often looked for every opportunity to make his life easier and more drama-free. This served as the reason for his taunts, especially in scenarios like this where his enemies were hiding away, still holding onto what he believed was the futile possibility of living through the encounter. He hoped taunting them would bring about a bitter acceptance of their mortality and in extent, a bitter retaliation. They’d come out guns blazing in some angry last stand or shout something out in retort, both actions revealing their location. The rest was usually quick and gratuitously messy. He wasn’t sure what he expected from Tynes or Krieger given that they were high ranking, well trained members of an army belonging to a nation that was likely far too stubborn and devoted to concede, but it still came as a surprise when gunfire erupted from his right. A few rounds clanged off his armor harmlessly as he turned just in time to see a few mercs’ get cut down in the barrage. Several other mercs in the area immediately turned to open fire on their attacker, shouting out triumphantly as their gunfire filled the poorly lit steel mill with bright flashes and loud, rapid, bangs. “STOOOOOP!” shouted Skull, yanking the weapon away from a nearby merc. The gunfire died down at the sound of his shout, Skulls voice amplified by his ire and the electronics in his helmet. “One of you kills Tynes before the freak does his thing, we lose our pay! REMEMBER!?” The merc’s stared at one another, unsure of how they were supposed to combat the enemy and dismayed that they couldn’t just kill willy nilly. The spot their attacker had fired from, which was now covered in dust kicked up from all the gunfire, had been from a dimly lit spot. The molten iron was bright, yes, but its orange-ish light didn’t reach too far into the thick, contrasting, darkness. If their assailant had been wise enough to fire and immediately abandon their position before they could be blasted apart by the hail of unrelenting gunfire the mercs had pummeled them with, they could be anywhere by now, silently sticking to the shadows and getting in position for their next attack. But why do that? Skull was perplexed by this, since a good soldier would know it was useless and suicidal to take on a large crowd of armed attackers in such a loud manner. The person who’d shot at them would be dead if they spent more than three seconds in that spot after the first shot, giving him no opportunity to do any real damage. And now that their former position had been revealed, it’d only be a matter of guesswork and time before they’d be cornered, suppressed, flanked, or just straight up blitzed. So why do that? Some more gunfire in the distance helped him come to a semblance of a conclusion, especially since the offending rifle had been fired straight up into the ceiling. He couldn’t see who was firing since it’d happened behind a grated stairway leading up to the catwalks, but he knew by the sound that the rifle had been one issued out by the Tin Man. So either one of them had picked up one of the mercenary’s weapons at some point and was just emptying it into the ceiling to throw him off, or they’d run into a mercenary and were in a struggle. He did away with the first suggestion, since it’d be dumb to empty the weapon and not fire it at them in hopes of taking a few down and distracting them. “He’s there!” shouted Skull, pointing to where the second eruption of gunfire had come. The mercenaries looked to where he was pointing, the sizzling, clanging, sounds of the factory drowning out the final, grizzly, vestiges of the confrontation Tynes was in. “Take him alive! I’ll cover you!” The mercenaries hoo’d and hollered as they all began making their way towards the executor’s last known location, Skull spinning up his minigun as he scanned the area for whoever had shot at them before. “Some of you stay here!” No-Face shouted, his trembling hands gripping his gun as he stood close by Skulls side. He was the least experienced merc’ there, only having held a gun about two times in the past three years. He was used to his clients bringing him the targets, not actively searching them out himself. But he guessed the nature of the Tin Man’s plan required that he be on site. He tried not to worry himself since Skull was there, but if the merc' were to get killed somehow, the few men with them would put up little resistance if the soldiers in Norkotia were as well trained as he'd heard. A few merc’s reluctantly adhered to No-Face’s order, one of which being the merc’ who’d taken Clives gun and hat. The rest continued forward, some climbing up to the catwalks for a better vantage point. The ones on the ground were just reaching the spot Tynes had been when one on the catwalks, a tall, well-built merc who’d run ahead of everyone due to having a larger dose of the drug than most, spotted the fringes of a silhouette in the glow of a vat of molten steel sprinting across the cat-walks toward a staircase that appeared to lead to the roof. (big run-on there) “FOUND YOUUUUUUU!” sung the drugged up mercenary as he licked the bloody machete he was holding and began sprinting after the figure. Although he’d know not to kill Tynes outright, he’d already had it in his mind to get as close as possible to doing so if he got the chance. Like, ‘dismembered torso’ close, which is probably too close anyway. He’d been doing a lot of that and much worse over the past few hours, and he wouldn’t stop until people could no longer discern his skin color. Even though he’d reach Tynes before anyone else, every other merc’ on his trail still ran ahead with every intent of catching up, most not knowing who’d seen what and only following the sound of the chaos. As usual.
  8. @notmuch_23 You're at full health bud. In order to be hollowed, you get killed first. We got kilted because of the crit, so we did die. After being killed, your stats return to full, presumably to keep things in good fun. So go on an edit dat' 3/5 into 5/5. Unless I missed something?
  9. Charlie's perverted thoughts were interrupted when Melanie ran off and sprayed a massive cone of flame at the people on the other side of the room. He turned to her, confused, but thought better of questioning her actions given her mental state. The fire didn't seem to harm anyone though, the flames connecting and expanding around some sort of energy field that had been generated from the turret. It'd only been good for that though, since the attack Fred and his troop subsequently unleashed on them next clearly hit their mark. Vlad had been blown off his feet, looking to be at deaths door. Vlad eventually got back to his feet weakly, but his automated friend didn't seem too happy about its master being attacked and did what any well meaning mechanized bouncer would. "H-Hey now!" Charlie said nervously as the turrets guns rev'd up and several red dot sights appeared on his body. "Chill man! Yo! Uh, Vlad? Tell your buddy to-" He was cut off when the turret open fired on everyone standing opposite of it. Charlie immediately felt a round pierce clean through his stomach and yelped before trying to flame-shift away. But the robots aim and rate of fire were far too great. Charlie's body jerked and fidgeted as bullets impacted his body and covered the floor behind him in his own blood. His mind was sending warning signals as each one hit, reminding him that Zack wasn't around to save him and that he wouldn't be able to generate enough heat fast enough to heal his wounds. It dawned on him that this was it, and it wouldn't even be quick. None of the rounds had hit him in the heart or the head. By the time Tim was finished, Charlie was riddled with over a dozen bullet holes, one of his arms barely hanging on by a sinew. He shook as he tried to breathe through his punctured lungs, his vision becoming hazier by the second as his heart began to give out. He set his eyes on Tim, gritting his teeth and attempting to take a step forward. The moment he raised his leg, he fell to his knees with a pained groan. Black spots were forming now, expanding until he could no longer see. He wondered if this was what it was like for the people he'd killed. Briefly excruciating pain that faded to numbness and cold. Now he understood why they stopped screaming before they died. They couldn't feel it anymore once death began to set in. Figuring it was what he deserved, he exhaled one final time before falling forward, his last thought dwelling on whether or not he'd be impervious to fire in hell. And then he opened his eyes. Instead of a fiery landscape filled with burning people that had been patiently waiting for a chance to tear him apart for sending them there, he was standing in the same room as he had before, staring at the same turret that had gunned him down like the common murderer he was. He looked down at himself. No bullet-holes, no blood, not even a scratch. He looked better than he had before. "That was one f***ed up hallucination." he nodded to himself, his desire to get out of here far greater than it had been. But had it been a hallucination? He looked back up at Tim. The barrels of his arm-mounted Minigun's were orange and smoking. Narrowing his eyes, he looked over to the others the turret had fired at. They were all still there, and they all looked to be injured or dead from the barrage. He slowly turned his head back to the turret, his teeth gritted as smoke began to rise from his heating body. "You...." he said, his body catching aflame as he balled his hands into shaking, burning, fists. His eyes glowed white hot with rage, already perceiving the turret as a molten pile of metal. Without another word, he charged forward with an explosive lunge, his fist connecting with the turret less than a second later. There'd be a massive explosion on impact that'd make Captain Falcon proud. In his explosive charge, one of the lapels on his backpack flipped open and it's contents, a nano-med injector, was flung away. The syringe-esque device would clatter to the floor and roll over to Vlad, giving him an opportunity to heal himself.
  10. Dang. Didn't know the deadline period was this week, even though I'm certain Akiris mentioned it somewhere. Welp...better figure this out.😒 Or maybe I don't have to?😅
  11. Whoa, waitwaitwait. So, ma' boy @Akiris, ma' homie, ma' home-skillet...does that mean Ty, Notmuch, and Dolor have +1 as well since they weren't killed, and me and Freddy should have a score of +2? Did everyone start at zero and therefore everyone started out hollow?🤔 So for those who didn't murder someone or get murdered, how many points dey' get?
  12. I head desked in front of everyone at the library today. Power to the building cut out while I was writing on here and I lost two hours of work. You ever wanted to scream-cry?

    1. supernal

      supernal

      Have you considered using the Lazarus browser extension? I know it does nothing to ease the pain! But it may help going forward

    2. zackrobbman

      zackrobbman

      Looked into that a while ago. I'm just using Google Docs for now though. Saves frequently to a central server that I can access from any device, so power outages are rendered...wait for it...powerless. 😎 (Badum Tiss!)

      ...

      Comedy's hard, alright?

  13. @Fierach (Sorry this took so long) Till had been firing angrily, his accuracy heavily impaired by his anticipation for the kill. It was one of the reasons he hated smaller firearms, that and they didn't usually turn people into pasty stains like he wanted. He liked his kills to be absolute, showing off how completely he'd won the battle, how his opponents never had a chance to begin with. Once his clip was emptied, he scrambled to grab an extra one, his shaky hands failing to grab at it twice as he looked up to see if he'd killed his opponent. He could only guess, since the seeker was now behind cover. If he had hit him and killed him, he wouldn't be able to tell into he left his own cover and went to see. Although it was tempting to go over and finish the seeker in his own proper way in case he wasn't dead already, he knew that leaving the building would be suicide. He checked his waist belt to see how many clips he had left. Four. While he was wondering if forty eight rounds would be enough, the other seekers who'd been waiting for him to out his position rose from cover and began pelting him with gunfire. Although none of it came close to penetrating his armor, it was still a jarring and disorienting experience. His body shook with every shot that connected, like tiny, numb, punches. Turnign away to let the shots hit his back, he finished reloading his pistol twisted around, firing in what he thought was the direction of his attackers. Due to his one track mind, however, he failed to notice a few things in the building while he was turned away. Like the trio of large, metal, gasoline canisters in the corner of the room. A stray bullet glanced off his armor and hit one of the canisters while he was still returning fire, and what happened next was a massive, blinding explosion that reduced most of the building to singed debris in nearly an instant. Till was sent flying, his two ton armor being the only thing saving him from a fiery end. He was blown clear out and away from the now crumbling building, tumbling to the ground in the middle of the street where the sniper would now have a clear visual. When the smoke cleared at least. "Rngh..." Till moaned weakly as he forced himself to his feet, using what hateful grit he still had left to stay conscious. His vision was hazy and his visor display was cracked, so he could barely see anyone. His body was wracked with pain from his waist up, something clearly not right within him. But a docotor could wait. These seekers were trying to make a fool of him. Him, who had killed thousands during his career. Even if he had to do it using his final breaths, he would kill them. Every last one. Or so the angry mercenary thought as he limped towards the seekers. He'd lost his pistol in the blast, his only weapon now being a large vibro-blade he'd unsheathed from his belt. The weapon donned a blurry appearance once he pressed the button on the handle. "Gonna...kill all'a you!" he heaved, his voice wheezing due to his punctured lung. He raised the blade over the spot where the two injured seekers had taken cover, his vibro-blade poised to slice them in two.
  14. No pressure mate! I’ve been busy as hell myself.😅
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