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zackrobbman

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zackrobbman last won the day on May 8

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About zackrobbman

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    With all the force of a great, typhoon! BE A MAN! Get it? No?....I'm a guy.
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    Loserville
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    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. Nice post! Jus' got a few questions fer' ya' mister Cipher! Do you know how fast you were go-...oh wait, wrong. Ahem Have the Hellhounds done any damage to anyone yet? Do you intend for us to know their HP? Are these just flavor monsters that we can kill fer' fun? (Not serious but wishfully so) Do they have names so that we can be clear on who killed who?
  2. "Damn." winced Clive. He wasn't sure why he was so disappointed considering the fact that these men were clearly at war. Perhaps it was because he could remember being constantly drunk when fighting in war when he was a lot younger. He may not have been straight up hammered, but the sergeants kept the throats of their men hydrated just enough not to care about the horrible reality they were attempting to live through. Did other armies not do that? Perhaps that was why so many veterans were so mentally jacked up. They just needed some beer. "AIGHT'!" Clive hollered back before picking up Zack's body and continuing his easy-going walk downstream. The truck met him far before he could reach the bridge and they were quick about seeing to Zack. That was a good sign. These soldiers seemed to have a measure of compassion, even for handcuffed strangers. Clive could work with that. As the soldiers hefted Zack's sleeping form into the truck, Clive couldn't help but notice the sergeants uneasy stare. Clive tried to pretend he didn't notice and attempted to board the truck, but the sergeant stopped him. Clive heard one of the soldiers walk up behind him, no doubt aiming his gun at his back. Clive made sure to keep his hand far away from his peacekeeper. Things didn't need to get bad if negotiation was an option, and bad men usually didn't negotiate in the first place. "We ran into sum' trouble way back down stream with sum' marauders." said Clive, his expression calm. "They ganged up on us a day ago while we were on our way here and threw us into this...flyin' ship'er sumthin'. We managed ta' escape, but the punk over there got cuffed an' beat on pretty bad. Don't think we can get those cuffs off either. An' I know he looks like he's on deaths door an' all'at, but he's fine. He's one'a them...wha'do they call em'? Major...main..." Clive creased his eyebrows and looked down at the ground with his hands on his hips, deep in thought. He stayed like that for a good fifteen seconds before it finally came to him. "Meta!" he said triumphantly, bobbing a finger. "He's one'o them Meta-Humans...I think. He sure as hell ain't no regular human at least. A little rest an' he'll be back up and runnin' in no time. Hell...he's been restin' for the last few hours! Wish he'd..." Clive cuffed his hands on his mouth. "WAKE HIS PUNK*** UP!" Clive glared at the back of the truck, hoping to have gotten Zack to awake from whatever yellow-bellied nightmares he thought he was having. Unfortunately, he got very little in response. "No! Not the drunk!" mumbled Zack. "Why I gotta work with him!?" Clive's glare grew sharper. Never again would he accept a job while he was too drunk to recognize his help. "Anyway," sighed Clive before looking back at the sergeant. "If we were the enemy on the run, why in Sam Hill would we call out to you?"
  3. Mace Windu is still alive. Fite me.

    1. Tyler

      Tyler

      Young fool...

      zw71t3r6nz911.gif

  4. Skull wanted to spout off a number of different things in response to the executors directions. A few of the things he had in mind were, 'You can't tame war, cup-cake. All's fair.' 'You're paying me to finish what you started.' or even 'F*** your historical buildings!'. Skull did not like others telling him how to do his job, even when it was someone that likely knew what they were talking about. The executor no doubt did since he had to have been through a considerable number of battles to be leading an assault for a nation and was probably a better soldier all around as a result, but Skull cared little for a persons report. The only thing he cared about was his weapon. Oh. And money, of course. Money provided his baby with bullets, and 'Alyssa' only accepted the finest grade of ammunition. He didn't like wasting ammunition anymore than the executor didn't like him destroying the cities historical monuments, but in his experience, collateral damage could be quite beneficial. If it didn't serve to weaken the enemies morale when they saw what his gun could do to reinforced concrete and steel, it shredded their cover and forced them to scatter. Still, he had to bide his tongue. The executor wasn't paying him, but there was a good chance that either he or someone else from the Norkotian hierarchy was paying the Tin Man, and the Tin Man was paying him. If he didn't abide by the executors wishes, the executor could make a complaint up the ladder and get the Tin Man's full sum reduced. After that, the best case scenario for him was not being paid and not being killed by the Tin Man himself. This was ridiculously unlikely considering his boss's reputation, so Skull merely exhaled through gritted teeth and said what he knew he'd better. "Yessss.....ssssir." he seethed before switching his radio frequency to the other heavies. "Skull here. The executor wants minimal collateral damage. Target hostiles, only!" While the forefront of his mind was working on not saying something to the executor that could get him shot in the head later, the back of it was working out their current situation. Their very current situation. The number of hostiles had decreased considerably, their defensive line having been broken through like a wall of cards. He knew from experience that by this point, the enemy would either be retreating from the battle, or choosing to wait in ambush. The former wasn't likely for many reasons, so that left the latter. If they just kept on going with the assault in a literal straight line, they'd likely be murdered rather gloriously. They'd already shown that they could deal with armor at the start. Not a lot could get through his suit, but he didn't want to leave his life up to chance. Skull didn't sign up for that. The grunts did. "Stop and hold off." Skull said to the other heavy, ceasing his advance. The other heavy who we will name 'Lady' because of the naked depiction of one painted on his back, ceased firing on the few retreating defenders he could see. He kept his mini-gun spinning though, curious as to why skull had put a halt to his favorite past time. Skull held up fist to halt the executors tank and the Norkotian soldiers accompanying it. "RUSH IN BOYS!" shouted Skull. The less armored, drugged up infantry the Tin Man had hired let out a cacophony of battle cries and shouts before rushing ahead of them. They sprinted forward like a pack of wild animals, eager to find someone to kill. "What're you doin'?" asked Lady, dissatisfied with the number of kills he'd gotten that day. Skull turned and gave him a look. His face wasn't visible, but one could tell that it was one of grave disbelief and appalled disappointment. "You trigger a mouse trap with your finger or a stick?" said Skull before turning away to watch the wave of mercenaries push passed them. "Uhh...a stick?" said Lady. Skull drooped his head and shook it dejectedly. "...Why I always gotta work with the dumba**es?" Skull muttered to himself before lowering his fist and motioning for the executor and his men to continue their advance. Most of the merc's with them had pushed on far ahead, leaving their six exposed. It was unlikely that anyone would manage to get behind them, but he wanted to keep his bases covered. "You," Skull said, hitting Lady on the shoulder. "Double back and cover our six." "You order me around like you're paying me, old man." Lady retorted angrily. Skull turned so that the front end of his whirring mini-gun was pointed directly at Lady's waist. Specifically the seam in between the abdomen and pelvis where the armor was weakest. "Come again?" said Skull, leaning down a little as if he were trying to hear him better. "F***in' a**hole." mumbled Lady before making his way to the back of the offensive. Meanwhile, back at the site of Bravo teams defeat, mercenaries were combing the area in a frenzy. The two heavies assigned to the area were called Gill and Till, two men that did most of their killing together. After receiving updated orders from Skull, the two reluctantly let off the triggers of their mini-guns to prevent any further destruction to the city's property. They didn't much care for Skull, but they'd ran more than a few jobs with the old man and he was usually good for his word. The immediate area had been vacated anyway, so there wasn't much left to shoot at besides each other. Most of them planned to do that once their pay came up, but that was for much later. One of the mercenaries that had been running around without shirt took note of the abandoned tank Bravo had been operating. Eager to blow something up, he and few others rushed over to it. It was a little banged up, but still appeared to be operational. They climbed to the top of it and tried to open the hatch just as Gill was walking over to see what they were doing. Till stayed behind to do a few checkups on his equipment, and that was what saved him. The tank exploded the moment the hatch was lifted, the ammunition inside adding to the boom that practically incinerated the merc's that had been trying to get into it and shredding anyone around it with loads of razor like steel. Gill was blown back hard, landing over a dozen yards away before slamming into the corner of a building. Till, who had only been knocked off his feet, slowly rose from the ground. He'd been standing behind a bullet ridden statue of some official looking woman when the explosion happened. "Ah...ahhhh, s***." he groaned, turning onto his chest as he tried to think through the ringing in his ears. He'd been winded and maybe concussed, but he seemed to be fine. His armor had held. The same couldn't be said for the others. As he rose to his feet and the ringing began to die down, he started to hear the screams. There seemed to be body parts and gore everywhere, most of them burned or charred black. He witnessed dozen of merc's crawling, hopping, or limping around, most of them on fire and holding the stump of a previously attached body part. "Wh-...what the hell?" he breathed, his headache getting worse. "H..HELLLP!" Till turned to the sound of Gill's cry, spotting his partner sitting on the ground by a building. His armor also seemed to have held up. For the most part. "T-TILL!" cried Gill after swallowing the blood that was trying to pool in his mouth. A large piece of metal seemed to have punched straight through his armor at the stomach, and if his lack of movement from the waist down was anything to go by, it'd also severed his spine. Explosions were notorious for turning every day metals into large, armor-piercing projectiles, so Till considered himself extremely lucky to only have a mild concussion. Gut wounds were a bad way to die. "Hmph." grunted Till before grabbing up his mini-gun and making his way over. "Please!" begged the downed heavy through gritted teeth as he tried to resist throwing up the blood that was likely gurgling up from his stomach. "I-I need help!" "Can you move?" asked Till without the slightest bit of empathy. Gill gritted his teeth and tried to move his legs, but they wouldn't even budge. He shook his head. "N-...no...no." said Gill. "Take off your helmet." Till said, his tone a little demanding. "Wha-...why?" "I'm gonna program it to sync auxiliary power to your legs so you can move." "We...can do that with these?" Gill asked, a tinge of hope in his voice. "Yeah." nodded Till. "Now take it off." "Oh...*gurgle* thank you!" Gill said, reaching his arms to depressurize his helmet. "I...won't forget this Till. I'm in your debt." There was a hiss before Gills helmet detached from the gorget and breastplate. Gill grunted in pain as he lifted it off his head. His chin was covered in blood that he'd regurgitated and his eyes were wide with suffering, but he was smiling. "Here." said Gill, holding the helmet out to his new friend. "Hurry! I think I-" BAM! Gills shoulders slumped and his so did his head. His helmet fell to the ground and rolled over to Tills feet. Blood and bits of brain dribbled out the new hole in Gill's forehead as did the much larger one directly in the back of it. Smoke wafted up from the barrel of the pistol in Tills hand before he lowered it and placed it back in the holster at his side. He then reached down and yanked the piece of shrapnel out of Gills gut. Throwing the jagged piece of metal away, he turned around and scanned the area, spotting a few merc's that seemed to have all or most of their combat essential pieces in place. He chuckled a bit when he remembered how his drill instructor always used to urge him and the other cadets not to lag behind. "ARMOR OVER HERE!" yelled Till as loudly as he could, possibly reaching more than his intended audience. "I GOT A FULL SUIT THAT NEEDS A NEW PILOT! ANY TAKERS!?" "...SURE!" Clive hollered back before lowering his hands and looking downstream. He couldn't see the bridge they were talking about because he was just a bit too far away from it, but he understood the need for it. The current had grown considerably stronger the further he traveled down the river. If he'd tried to swim across now, he'd likely tucker out and drown. And that was even if he decided to leave Zack behind, which was very likely. He'd probably tell himself that he'd come back for him later, but that was if he didn't get drunk enough to forget him. Something he did to Zack rather often. "I'LL START WALKIN' DOWN THATA'WAY TA' MEET'CHA!" yelled Clive, pointing down the river. But he had another request. "...YA'LL GOT ANY BEER?!"
  5. 70% done with mine! Planning on posting it tomorrow after work if I'm able.
  6. The glow in Charlies eyes turned from white hot to a sinister shade of orange as his anger reached well beyond his moral threshold, something that wasn't difficult to cause when women were involved. Charlie clenched Deckel's shirt even tighter as his hands glowed orange hot. "RELAY THIS." he stated as he aimed a flaming palm at the man's head. The fire surrounding his hand morphed and shifted unnaturally as it lit up Deckel's face. One might even start to see things in it when they've experienced things like the Norkotian mercenary had previously encountered, but that's not for me to say. Before Charlie could do the deed, he was grabbed from behind in a powerful hug that threatened to squeeze the air out of his lungs. "Hey, what the he-" started Charlie before he noticed something that made his words catch in his throat. Something soft was pressing into his back. No...two soft somethings. Automatically and without the slightest hint of hesitation, he scoured his mind and sifted through the mental catalogue he'd made of over a thousand female, bosoms. He'd committed each and every single one he'd seen to memory in frightening detail, even having near perfect numerical estimates of their varying sizes and dimensions as well as dates and times. His mind ran a few tests to account for how they were being compressed onto his back and came up with numbers that only pointed to one woman. "Oh...Melanie!" said Charlie, his burning anger immediately subsiding with a literal hiss. His eyes were now back to normal, concealed and dark behind the brim of his hat. Charlie looked over to a man who was wielding an unusually jagged and club-like wrench. It could probably be used to fix machinery and such, but he got the feeling that it was seldom used for anything other than busting a structurally superfluous hole in someones skull. He pointed at Charlie with the wrench, making the pyromaniac a little uneasy. Charlie looked at the man for a bit. Then he looked at Deckel. He promptly let go and let the Norkotian fall to the ground face-first. "Right, right." said Charlie before twisting around in Melanie's grasp to look her in the eyes. "Wouldn't want to get that things tiny, smoldering, brains all over that crazy beautiful face, now would we?" He returned Melanie's hug, lingering a bit too long for obvious reasons. He wanted to grab her hind quarters, but he seldom got this close to any woman and didn't want to screw it up. Again. There would be time for that later. If things went as planned, she'd be copping feels on him. He started to snicker as he played out several sexy scenarios in his mind before clearing his throat and refocusing his mind. "By the way!" said Charlie before pulling away and gesturing excitedly. "The way you torched that one harpy chick? Gorgeous! The way you lingered the blast on it's midsection to let it feel it's intestines roasting, the way it screamed as you burned away its wings and made it desperately try to flap them, how you put just enough force into the blast to let it feel the burn without instantly vaporizing her? Brilliance! You know what it's about! We should totally-" A gunshot from Murray's colt echoed throughout the coliseum and made him turn his head to see who fired. Before Charlie could ask the sergeant just how much he valued Deckel's life and if he would miss him later on, Ilene began speaking as well. "A spectacle huh?" said Charlie as he scratched his chin with a shady grin. Showing off was one of his favorite things to do. Especially when it entailed the loss of life. To him, life was only a spectacle when it was burning. And screaming. He looked over to Melanie. "I've got a few ideas. You?" (Just a flavor post)
  7. @Tyler Nope! I got all I need! ? ... Why does everything I say seem like its foreshadowing bad intentions?
  8. Finally, after so many years of murdering, stealing, swooning, and being rejected, Charlie's most sought after dream was finally going to be a reality. He felt like he was about to get the payoff of his life after walking through the gates leading to the Harpy's den. It filled him with so much joy that he almost shed a tear. Almost. As he and the others entered the den, Charlie started to take off his shirt. "Alright ladies!" said the young pervert as he began to lift the shirt off his head to expose his surprisingly well-toned body. It didn't always used to look like this, but his boss's training regime was...is bat-s*** insane to use the words of another. And that's an euphemism. "Let's get to it! Re-population rules the nation after all!" He couldn't see beyond his his shirt as he pulled it above his head, so he didn't notice the change of scenery until it was off. He stood there frozen with a stagnant, smarmy smile, his eyes darting from left to right as he held his shirt above his head. Where were all the avian women? Why weren't they waiting for him? Where were the huts? Did they expect him to work his stamina out in the open? Also, why did their den look like a Colosseum? Where had all these cheering people come from? "W-...wha..." sputtered Charlie as he threw his shirt to the ground and turned to get a better grasp of their surroundings, his smile deflating. When he noticed that there was no gate or bridge behind him, he started to get really confused. And angry. "Hey..." he muttered, looking every which way like a cornered rat desperate for a way out. His body temperature began to rise in tandem with his anger until his skin was as hot as an oven. All of that heat had previously been in his pants, so it had to go somewhere. Yes, I know, how metaphorical. "HEY! Where are the-...what's going on!? What the f***!? WHAT THE F***!" He balled his fist and smoke started to waft up from his body. He gritted his teeth furiously and whipped his glowing hot glare towards the group of people standing with him. He scanned the group for Fidelitas, eager to get in his face about how he'd lied. But the man wasn't there. In fact, a lot of people weren't there. He recognized a few people, but many of them hadn't been with him on the bridge or on the plateau earlier. It was like they'd simply appeared out of thin air while others vanished just the same. His anger flared when he saw a familiar man wearing a baseball cap. "YOU!" he growled, his voice starting to sound ethereal as he stomped towards Deckel. He grabbed the taller man by the collar of his shirt and shook him violently. "WHAT DID YOU DO!? WHERE ARE THE HOT HARPY BABES!? I KNOW IT WAS YOU! YOU TRIED TO SNATCH THE DROW CHICK BACK AT CAMP! WHERE ARE THEY!? TALK, YOU PIECE OF S***!" @Tyler
  9. There we go! Tried not to make it as long as the other one, but i also wanted to make sure I covered my bases.
  10. The Tin Man merely stood there, staring at the colonel with a look that couldn’t be read. It was a poker face, a practiced one that gave not the slightest clue as to what he was thinking. Then he smiled. It was a coy one though, as if it were only there to cover up a laugh. He gave the executor a lazy salute before tossing his cigar to the ground and stomping it out. “Aye, aye, captain.” he said as he walked passed him towards his men. He pulled out the pistol he had holstered at his side and aimed it into the sky before firing off a single shot to get his men’s attention. “WE STORM THE CITY WITH THE NORKOTIANS IN LESS THAN A MINUTE!” yelled the Tin Man gruffly. His troops responded with battle cries as they formed up with Norkotia’s forces. The more well-armed and armored mercenaries made their way to the front of the line alongside the tanks , their mini-guns whirring and ready. Most of them wore armor that had been custom made for them by smiths in Hell’s Gate, meaning that anything short of a high-powered sniper round or a rocket wouldn’t so much as dent the Tritanium, light-weight suits. Although the other mercenaries behind them weren’t as well armored, their drug-addled, homicidal minds would make them ferocious and unrelenting in combat. Some of them were so hyped up on the performance enhancing drugs they’d gotten from the Tin Man that they’d stripped off the armor on their upper bodies and chosen to only wield close-quarters weapons. The notion that many of them were likely to die due to their carelessness didn’t even seem to cross their minds. When the assault began, the gunners up front by the tanks let loose. The fifty caliber rounds being pumped from their mini-guns tore anything they came into contact with into tiny, little, pieces. Soldier? Civilian? If they were within their line of site, they were promptly shot at and killed in a rather grizzly and quick way as the gunners laughed at the carnage they wrought upon the city. The other mercenaries behind them fanned out to the sides and weaved in between the various buildings, killing any citizens or defenders that got in their way as violently and painfully as they could. The inhabitants of the city tried to fight back through the use of traps both mechanical and magical. A mercenary would burst through a door lined with charges. Another would step onto a magically glamoured spot on the ground that would shimmer before the hired gun fell through it as if it weren’t there to begin with and was skewered on the spikes below. Still more were stabbed or shot from behind corners, windows, and rooftops. Archers would attempt to hail magical arrows down on the vicious killers. The Tin Man’s forces didn’t let up though, barreling forward like crazed animals. Any that were killed were followed up by a barrage of gunfire, grenades, and even expertly thrown knives. The defenders unfortunate to be encountered up close were either beheaded alive, promptly disemboweled, or had their hearts cut out as a mercenary watched the life drain from their eyes. Snipers made their way to the tops of any building the Norkotians or mercenaries secured. making the rooftops no safer than the ground. The Tin Man watched his men begin their assault on the city with apparent disinterest before turning around to face the group of disciplined soldiers that had come out of his ship. He nodded to them. They nodded back in perfect unison. The mercenary’s lips curved up slightly as the soldiers sprinted passed him towards the fighting. “Suit up, Korzuc.” the Tin Man said to his second in command as he casually walked back to his ship. “I want you keeping an eye on things in case some stupid s*** happens. Radio me when it does, and make sure to keep an eye out for the Ace. If you manage to get your hands on Cordoza, before she gets killed, bring her to me. And do it quietly.” Korzuc nodded his head in acknowledgement. Shortly afterwards, the mic in the Tin Man's ear crackled. "Aye, aye...captain." smiled the Tin Man with a silent chuckle before switching radio frequencies. He'd assumed his heavies would have covered the tanks from the get-go, but these heavies weren't what most in the business would call expensive. Still, he was certain that at least a few of them were covering the tanks. Perhaps he needed to be more clear than he was in the briefing he'd had with them the day before. "Heavies," he started, a finger to his ear. "I'm docking fifteen percent of your pay for every tank we lose in there." "You got it boss." answered one of the heavies in a gravely, cold, tone. His armor had bullet ridden skulls painted all over it, so we'll call him Skull for clarity. His real name is Hannah, but I doubt he's ever told anyone he didn't shoot later. Still firing his weapon, he took a look around him for the first time since the start of the assault and noticed that several of the other heavies were alongside him. "YOU DUMBA**ES!" shouted Skull over the radio, his voice gratingly loud in the earpieces of the other heavies. "DON'T STICK WITH ME! FAN OUT AND COVER THE F***ING ARMOR!!" Skull being the more experienced heavy in the group, the others obeyed without a word and started branching off. They didn't care who ordered them around as long as they got to kill something. Taking maybe five seconds to figure out who went wear, they set out in twos to cover each platoon. Although Bravo had been wiped out, two heavies still headed their way to back up the soldiers retreating from the area. Groups of the other, smaller mercenaries followed each heavy, fanning out to the sides of them to give the gunners a wide field of fire. The enemy would need to retreat from Bravo's graveyard if they wanted to live. The heavies mini-guns tore the barricades they'd erected to pieces, fouling up any of Forthshaven's intentions to bastion up there. But they were advancing aggressively into enemy territory they did not know the layout of. Surely Forthshaven's forces would have a way to deal with them. Or at least they'd better. Skull and another heavy with a naked woman painted on the back of his armor stuck with the Executor, keeping their eyes open for traps or enemy combatants carrying plastique or any other form of improvised IED's. "Where we headed executor?!" shouted Skull over the sound of his own gunfire. He was trying to keep the enemy suppressed, but he and the others were bound to run out of ammo at some point, and the weapons took a while to reload. That's why he'd ordered the other heavy to keep his gun spinning, but only fire when necessary. Still, knowing where he was going would be a huge benefit. (About four dashes from the green boundary, by the river road) “Gettin’ yer’ damned blood all over me, punk.” murmured Clive bitterly as he rolled his now blood-slick shoulder to keep Zack from sliding off. Although the water had cooled him off a bit, he was back to sweating now. He’d been carrying Zack for a good four miles now and his shoulder was beyond sore. He’d considered stopping to take a break a few times, but his desire to get this over with in one go was exponentially strong. All he could think about was washing down his frustration and exhaustion with a nice, cold, beer. Maybe two. Or twenty. He usually started to feel a buzz after twenty. Then he started to hear the explosions. He instinctively looked up, drunkenly expecting another Zack to be falling from a black cloud in the sky. He obviously didn’t see that, so he leveled his head back down in front of him and listened. It was faint, but they were definitely explosions. And…gunfire? Clive had mixed feelings about this. The good news? Civilization as the possibility of a bar. The bad news? It sounded like there was a war going on. Perhaps if he got there and kept to the shadows, he could sneak into a bar and get in a few drinks before it was blown to hell. As he contemplate this ludicrous idea, the sound of a vehicle reached his ears. It was coming towards them, but above the slope on the other side of the river. It was approaching fast, so he figured he wouldn’t be able to swim to the other side and climb the slope in time. So he started shouting. “HEY!” he yelled, using his hand to project his voice. “HEY, WHO’S UP THERE!? WE NEED SUM' HELP!” The roar of the engine was loud, but Clive could be obnoxiously loud when the prospect of attaining a beverage was in the cards. His pleas must have been louder than the roar of river and the engine, because he could hear the trucks rpm steadily decreasing. “DOWN HERE!” yelled Clive as he heard the truck stop near him. “BY THE RIVER!” He heard hushed and frantic voices before the sound of rapid footsteps indicated that several people were running towards the edge of the river. His relieved smile dropped when he saw several armed men in combat fatigues point their rifles at him from the edge of the slope. “Ahhhh, s***.” Clive cursed before seamlessly dropping Zack like a sack of potato’s and raising his hands. “I don’ wanna ride da’ ponies.” mumbled Zack, still unconscious. The soldiers were easy targets for Clive even on the other side of the river, but there were a lot of them and they were all ready to shoot. Even with his finest shooting, he might’ve only been able to dome three or five before being killed. It wasn't like on the ship where things were closer and he had more cover. He just hoped they weren’t the type to shoot first and ask questions later. He winced as if in pain when he put them and the sound of war in the distance together. He wasn’t wearing their uniform, so there was the very real possibility of them assuming he was an enemy trying to make a break for it. Or was he? “WE’RE ON YER’ SIDE!” shouted Clive. “DON’T SHOOT!” Clive wasn’t too confident that his ploy would work since he wasn’t wearing their uniform and was no where near the fighting, but on the off chance they were an army keen on hiring mercenaries, which he and Zack technically were, they might buy it. There was also the fact that he’d called out to them, something an enemy on the run wouldn't do. He got to work forming up a story in his head in case they didn’t try to blow it off in the next few seconds. If the old fashioned weapons they were carrying were any indication, they likely wouldn’t believe the truth. (Kinda hopin’ you take the reigns here for the Norkotians.)
  11. Post coming today when I get off work. Couldn't post it the previous 4 days because I was literally busy from 7am to 9 PM and the libraries close at 5. But Om going straight there after work.
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