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/k/ - Weapons

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This thread is for writing /k/ related stuff and the recommendation of books that are /k/ related

>It's been unscientifically proven that a lack of (you)s for writers can lead depression, alcoholism, story abandonment, and an hero.

>But it's so easy to make a difference in a writer's life. Just one (you) a day can make the difference between a happy writer and a writer on permanent hiatus.

>Please, post now. Help make a writer's day.

featured authors:

Rifles of 'Nam



stuff binned by Archivefag (including some stuff not found in the Sticky): https://pastebin.com/u/TryAgainBragg

last thread: >>41345121
Oops, forgot my trip.

>Link to the optional discord:

Just make sure to announce whether you're a lurker or a writefriend.

>joining isn't mandatory
tfw the first non-op post is a bump
we should just make these threads a montly deal instead
I wouldn't say that that's a horrible idea. Although at the pace that I and other writers write at, it would probably be better for a more frequent schedule. It might also be better for the op to post some story to get the thread going.
Doesn't matter, no one will read it anyway
>I'm a rifflesmn
go on
>a rifsleman
take your time
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How do you guys feel about our hero, Hiro? What sort of person does he seem to be st the start and current point in the story? I've been worried that he's a lot more one dimensional than id like. How did you feel about his characterization?

Parks update. I'll be wrapping his arc soon. If I keep up with writing it, most likely this month as I know how it ends.
Writer here, I've been busy writing about my week. According to my woman I live a regimented life, she's correct, it's by design, but not just what I do while I'm on auto-pilot but also what I'm feeling throughout the day. Try it man, huge eye opener, just takes a lot of honesty with yourself to write down what you are thinking, feeling and doing in the moment but you'll get a lot of it. Just wanted to share with my fellow writefag /k/ommandos, the other boards in here suck too much cock and smoke too much weed to be objectionablly self-reflective on themselves.
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>having a woman

Heh, heh, yeah anon...
Honestly, she's just a chick that I fuck, she wants more but I just don't care and I can do so much better. I told her I'm planning on moving out of here once a jobs hits, but whatever.
Frankly, he does seem kinda one dimensional. He has progressed to being somewhat invested in fate of Jia, instead of just the money.

That said, I'm not sure it's really a bad thing. He is a vessel with which you show us an allegory for some our real world struggles. He doesn't need to be dynamic because he isn't really the focus.
That's never been my thing, I really want a relationship with emotional stability.
Matthews and the glowniggers jumped our boys all those years ago. That's one hell of a plot twist. But why? And why is he fucking around with psychoactive drugs now?

This is really getting good.
Honestly, same here, I'm in my 30's, I'm ready to settle down again but I want to get the fuck out if this liberal hellhole and get a job back home first. The sad truth is I'm horny from training which is causing me to head out to bars to find chicks, I hate that so much so I'm settling with her once a week to go to a nice dinner and bang. I'd rather do this then bars, I'm so fucking over going out but I gotta have sex and some human contact, it's making me weird being in solitude with schoolz training and work. I wrote this all down, it's for the better for me and I'm compromising, but it keeps me out of worse situations and her company is nice for the time, but once I move, we'll be done and I'll try to find a wife again. Also, this chicks hates guns, lol, doesn't stop me from talking about them, again, just lonely and horny.
I think I mentioned it somewhere in Don's or Parks's arc but about four years have passed between the convoy incident and the events of the main story.
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>you mean, no one is actually reading my stories?
they should really put it in a pastebin anyway, and drop the link at thread start
I think that the majority of authors already put their stories in pastebins or similar storage mediums, but already seeing some stories posted can help aspiring authors to start writing.

What have your written anon? I'll read it.
Anymore of that weird twilight zone esq, stuck at work story from the end thread? I really like the unsettling feeling from it.
I need some medfags to help me out here.

Where would be a harmless place to get shot by #8 birdshot? As in, enough to maim someone enough.
the shin most likely
I absolutely loathe how that one pilot is standing with his feet turned in like some prancy faggot piece of shit. Fuck him.
Wouldn't they bleed to death?
not if you bind it, besides the femoral is up in the thigh
So, Joel ripping that dude's kneecap open in The Last of Us wouldn't have killed him like in the game?

Well, shit.
I dunno, I ain't a med-fag. All I know is bind the wound and stop the bleeding and as long as it isn't a shredded femoral then you'll be good to go, just a shin short
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Oh, cool!

Hey guys, in two days it'll be the official one year anniversary for the Us Lucky Few universe!
Depending on distance. If it's a straight blast from contact it MIGHT kill you in the leg, bug 8 shot will pretty quickly become less than lethal to a human at distance. Ugly? Painful? YES, DEAR GOD, YES! Lethal? Probably not. anyway, I've been inspired. Also the arm is just about the least lethal place to take a bullet, in case you were wondering. You can TOTALLY bleed to death out of an arm, and god help you if it's blown off. BUT, taking a shot to the arm is the lowest probability of fatality

another parks update. spent about the entire night at work on this one.
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I binned my story for anyone who wasn't around to see it being posted live or is new to the thread.

Old Breed
The popliteal artery isn't as big as the femoral artery. Also, it depends if the limb is severed vs mangled. A severed limb's muscles spasm and contract tight, acting like it's own tourniquet. mangled limbs just bleed forever. If you had to get shot, probably the foot. I saw one dude who shot himself in the foot with a .38, and it was like he just stepped on a pencil or a nail or something. they were like 'oh no, that sucks' and sent him home with a boot and some tylenol.
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Yee, happy early anniversary!

Holy shit. This is big fucking stuff. And finally explains what the hell happened with that truck way back. Cool beans.
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Hey, about to repost something I posted on /ic/

Lots of exposition here, unfortunately most of it is necessary but please hang in there since I'm trying to get something specific

I have a specific vision in mind for a drawing and I was wondering whether any of you had any reference art that fits. The drawing is for a story I might turn into a video game with RPGmaker or something. Keep in mind, this is a post apocalyptic sci fi story and it's in the very beginning stages.

Anyway, the gist of it is that the Earth is on its last leg. The Earth's climate control/defense system is failing, and as the planet slowly freezes, the supercomputer that once controlled the Earth's defense system has now gained sentience and is in the long process of activating the system's kill switch. In the distant future, Earth freezes over. The oceans have almost completely risen above large cities that arent frozen over, and as the climate/defense system is failing, the remains of humanity are rushing to solve the problem. A scientific coalition has been collaborating non-stop for the past 500 years to find lost data on genetics and modifying them by painstakingly scouring the underwater cities.

Pretty much what happens is that they finally find all the information they need. The reason they need it is to basically engineer a human life form to be able to survive the harsh environment of the massive underground supercomputer complex that houses the kill switch. They gotta destroy it.

This is where my vision comes in. In the story, the scientists create a bionic life form from a pre-existing human so he can venture into the complex.
My character is a bionic human which is the expedient work of a scientist who barely has the resources nor the time. I want it to look sort of post-apocalyptic with a bit of sci-fi cool stuff, but most importantly I want it to have a small resemblance of the human it once was. The thing is though, I can't have this looking like some space age cyborg, nor can I have it looking like a rusty toaster on wheels. I'd prefer to veer towards the "post-apocalyptic" side, though.

I made a mock up in Paint that took me about 30 minutes or so. Although there are a few things that I think fit, ultimately, I think it looks too sci-fi and not enough "this is all we had to work with". The part that most fits my vision, though, is the arm with the shotgun and exoskeleton. The tank is the artificial respiratory system, and the golden rings on the armor are "electrical dissipators" that send received electric shocks to an external battery which in turn powers the suit.

The character has a few biological functions replaced with autonomous ones, like the respiratory system, the brain, and a few of the senses. Beyond that, I'd like the character to keep some of its human attributes even if they're not entirely human. Maybe artificial skin, but the muscular system needs to stay.

What happens to the character is that his brain is removed and his "brain program" is transferred to the autonomous part of the cybernetic being. Also, since this is post-apocalyptic, and sci-fi, he has a shotgun on his arm supported by an exo-skeleton. There are no lasers or big giant 20mm wrist cannons since those have been lost from the Earth freezing, so barely any weapons remain.

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One of my inspirations for this was the part in Earthbound where Dr. Andonuts transfers the party's body into robots since they can't explore the cave of the past in their human forms. Another inspiration is Fallout in general. Also, someone mentioned a game called Primordia and the protagonist kind of fit my vision, but was too robotic. I'll post some inspirations

tl;dr I need a reference for a post-apocalyptic sci-fi bionic human design that matches my vision and story. I'm not asking for anyone to draw it for me, but I can't find exactly what I'm looking for. If anyone knows like a video game or a drawing that sounds similar, that would be fantastic
I pretty much explained all of this because I knew someone would probably come in and say the bionic human thing is stupid without context

I really like the design of the raider power armor but I want something like that scaled down and a bit less scrappy

Also the first image is my MSpaint thing if you didn't notice
Also, here's my trip
one thing that I will say is that the water level would actually recede if the Earth was freezing but your concept is pretty solid overall
I didn't want people thinking this was a shitty statement on climate change. The frozen thing is a placeholder but I'll find another reason why the sea is risen. Thanks for the critique, friend
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>tfw still waiting
ill wait as long as it takes senpai, just come back.....
Does anyone have chapter two of "A Zone of Confort"? Archive shows it's been missing for at least a little over a year now.
I think chapter 3 is chapter 2. At least, it picks up right after the blowout, but something could be between that.
This please.
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hm... I guess that was a casualty of the type of story I was writing. If you had to describe Hiro, how would you? what do you guys think about the other characters like Peng or Hei Bai?
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is that a famas bump
I'd sum up Hiro as the standard jaded mercenary type. He's got the hard childhood, followed by the jading that comes with the amounts of combat he's seen. He's got no faith in ideologies, and so he works for the money now. That said, he is getting invested in Jia's future, inspired by his past experience with the Earth Kingdom.

Probably I'd say that Hei Bai is my favorite as far as uniqueness goes. The other characters have their moments, but they are also kinda one dimensional. Again this isn't neccesarily bad. I think it works well in this circumstance.

Hei Bai, as I mentioned, seems like the most dynamic. His job narratively is to serve as a vessel for the will of the Jian government and your message. He's equal parts character and plot device. You'd hinted that there was more to him through the story, but we finally saw what that was in the last section.

That's the sum total of what I could give you, since I'm not even an amateur literature critic.
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That sounds about right. I was hoping for Du Lin to be a sort of embodiment of the Water Tribe ambitions. A sort of proxy for Gamal Nasser and Ian Smith.
Most of the stories I write tend to have a protagonist that is living in 'bad faith' and feature an antagonistic 'Choronzon' (Hei Bai) who confronts or manipulates the main character to reach a higher level of understanding.
Good point on Du Lin, she does seem like that when I read this story.

You're lucky that I really enjoy those sorts of stories. Probably why I've liked this so much.

It also helps that the Cold War is my fetish.
I'm just happy to have any fans
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And now for some shit I just typed straight into the comment field with no forethought or editorial proofreading. Enjoy.
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>An unseasonable rain swept the hills in which Adder team was holed, taken up with observing San Diego for what team leader Irving Bryant was briefed to believe was the single most unethical weapons test in history, even considering the uncomfirmed rumors that'd echoed though history from the battle of fort Pitt.
>The members of the team welcomed the rain for its cooling effects, despite the already somewhat lower temperatures present in the hills, hundreds of feet higher than the ground on which the city was built.
>As summer rains tend to, this one battered at the team, falling harshly upon them as though it were to pelt them to death.
>Nick, the spotter and JTAC for this test of weaponry, felt that this must've been the simplest of the operations onto which he'd been sent.
>Go to the hills over San Diego like some dumb tourist, bring in your equipment concealed, you'll get suppressed MK18 Mod2s and your Custom integrally suppressed pistols just in case you run into the roving gangs of commie faggots and you get to listen to 104.1 THE HAWK and 920AM the vine while passing through the valley on the way to the hills.
>Val Looked on through his own spotting scope at the city below, which had been left spotless, as the US Army didn't make it that far to the south JUST YET.
>"Hey, Staff Sergeant, what the fuck are we dropping here anyway?"
>"It's... gonna be really anti climactic, I'll let you know after it drops."
>"I don't believe that shit for a second. Or they wouldn't be dropping it on a city of live people. Let ALONE a stronghold like San Diego. this better be some effective shit or we're wasting time here."
>"Wasting or not, it's our orders. And we're gonna do it."
>John fiddled silently with the radio for several seconds before he caugth a signal. Quiet Riot started playing loud enough to be heard, but not much more than that.
tl:dr >>41350018

I'm running out of ready text and while I do have an idea of how to end this story, I can't seem to push myself to just sit down and do it.
So, expect the quality and update frequency to go down.

>While Blue squad was checking the boxes, chasing shadows and trying not to look at anything that could kill them, other platoons were busy with their own tasks.
>And while they didn’t have to deal with cognitohazards of their own and had no murderous xeno
>Red has just finished disabling the engine rooms, effectively killing the mobility of the vessel and was now on their way back to exfil zone.
>Green provided everyone with constant updates on enemy movements through the ship for as long as they could, until massed counterattack forced them to retreat.
>They were now chilling inside a dropship, loitering about, ready to redeploy if needed.
>Grey encountered strong resistance, took some casualties and required assistance from Gold squad.
>Together they were about to breach into the conning deck and hopefully find the anwsers they were looking for.
>Captain Jackson took direct command over both platoons and was now figuring out a way inside.
>Data provided by portable scanners and EAR surveillance indicated a lot of hostiles inside, all armed and ready to defend their position.
>There were only 3 gates leading inside, all defended by security checkpoints.
>The disorganized defenders and outside gates were not that difficult to overcome and were already dealt with.
>But the massed firepower waiting for them inside and the very defendable chokepoints were definitely a bother.
>The reinforced blast doors blocking their path were another problem.
>Entire ship section was on manual lockdown and overriding it from outside was simply impossible.
>Breaching them by force was possible, but according to scans and specialist’s estimations they only had enough charges between them to open up one gate.
>Maybe two, but they couldn’t guarantee that.
>This ruled out an option of multi-point insertion.
>He checked the surrounding area once more.
>There was a breach to the command hub; one of the rooms in there got grazed by shrapnel from Wildfire’s cannons and as a result got decompressed and sealed off.
>However the only way to get there would be to go outside and follow through the shell’s entry cavity.
>And they just didn’t have time to do so.
>Just as he was about to accept the inevitable losses accompanying direct assault, one of the marines contacted him.
>He claimed to have an idea.
The commando fought towards his extraction point. Although he was outnumbered, he refused to surrender. He was less than a mile from the extraction point when he heard a faint clicking sound come up from beneath him. He realized, too late, that he'd just stepped on a landmine. The explosion torn his foot to shreds and left him crying in pain on the ground. His shrieks of agony revealed his position to the enemy; soon he was surrounded on all sides by masked gunmen. They tried to patch up his wounds and take him back to their camp for interrogation, but he'd already lost too much blood. He died within an hour.
> -Are you sure it will work?-
> -I’m only sure of death and taxes, Sir.-
>The marine explained.
> -But I’m fairly certain it’ll work, yes.-
>Jackson once again checked the projection.
>The plan, indeed seemed doable. He turned to the other member of the squad.
> -Hetzer, you sure you’re up for this?-
> -Absolutely sir. I know the risk, but I believe I can do this.-
>The grenadier called Hetzer answered.
>This entire plan hanged on his person. And also on the launcher he carried.
> -Alright. Let’s go with it.-
>He said after a while.
>Having taken a decision he reached for his radio set and started directing his men:
> -Gold 2 and 3, take position in the hallway leading to Gate 2. Grey squad, pick up the security. Get the breachers to set the charges on that door. Hetzer, get ready with that launcher.-
The soldiers moved to position.
>Remnants of Grey platoon were covering the approaches and securing the rear.
>Assault teams from Gold squad formed in the hallway leading to the bridge.
>A couple of troopers were planting the breaching charges at the armored gate, ready to blow it right open.
>A lone grenadier stood beside them, fondling with his launcher.
>Coordinator Jackson observed it all with attention.
>When the charges were set, the demolitionists rejoined their teams and closed the outer door.
>The technician made sure they were locked airtight.
>When everything was in place, commander Jackson pressed the button.
>A series of blazes started dancing on the surface of the blast door.
>When they went out, the main explosives detonated and tore the barrier open.
>The explosion blast was violent, but the lone marine managed to stay on his feet.
>Before the sound of explosion even started dying down, the hallway was filled with laser fire.
>Even though they were fired blind due to the smoke blocking the vision, the sheer volume of fire was enough to score few hits on Hetzer.
>He yelled and pulled the trigger, launching the missile.
>The warhead boldly lunged into the hail of fire, through the shroud of smoke and hit the wall of the command center.
>As the fuse struck the hard surface, a shaped charge detonated and blasted a hole through the thin internal wall.
>The wall separating the still functioning command post, from the breached and depressurized section.
>The hole made by the warhead was relatively small, but the force enacted on the wall by the atmosphere inside ripped it right in half.
>Within a fraction of a second all crew, guns, loose bits and pieces of gear and anything that wasn’t nailed down to the floor was sucked out into space.
>Hetzer was thrown forward, but the anchor line tightened and held him in place.
>He looked down on his chassis and counted at least few dozen burned holes.
>The loss of power in his left leg, several dead sensors and spilling lubricant ensured him that his state could easily be considered critical.
> -Oh well. Too bad. Gonna need new husk.-
>He dropped the launcher, made sure to safely disengage main processing unit and memory bank, set the scuttling protocol off and detached his head from the rest of his wrecked body.
>Last thing he registered before shutting down was the rest of the squad entering the command room
>"Nick, Pick a structure in the most build up part of town. Ideally we'd get one in Colina Del Sol, but lets just go for the most metropolitan area. it'll be well within the effective range. John! scan the tac net."
>The two men set about their tasks, eventually John picked up on the US Army tactical net.
>Chatter streamed through among the background noise of casualties occurring in the San Francisco area. In Los Angeles, some code blacks were occurring, A broken arrow was being called in the south end of the besieged city.
>Irving was perturbed by these reports, but as much as he was disturbed by them, he had to give the communist militias credit, with some shit stolen from the military and the help of some increasingly faggified splinter factions that grew within the US military like tumors, they'd managed to grind the advance of big army into the cities to a tedious crawl.
>Nick stood in awe hearing the chatter on the radio.
>"Alright, John, get off big armies comms and bring me the radio."
>"Coming your way, bud."
"Hey, I got a map, you're gonna like this one, Nick." Irving called.
>"What you got?"
"Okay." Irving started as he brought his map in front of Nick "You see that greenspace there?"
"That's the Mission Trails regional park. Now if you point your designator about right THERE..." He said, pointing about the width of the park to the left of it "...No further distant than the park, that's La Mesa, and it'll be the best spot it hit all the built up parts of the city."
>"But, Irving, what about geography?"
"Don't worry, it's an air det."
>Nick went about coding the laser for his designator and setting on their specialty freq.
>As Nick went about making contact with the specialty asset, Irving grabbed a few pairs of binoculars for the spectacle to come.
>Nick would lase the target, then call in the air asset.
>Iriving acquired it, and handed Nick a pair of binoculars, pointing out to him where it was in the sky.
>As nick looked up toward the plane, he managed to just catch it before what appeared to be a MOAB fell out the rear end of it.
>"Are we dropping a MOAB on San Diego?"
>"What ARE we dropping?"
>Irving and Nick stared at the bomb as it burst and dispersed several darker baseball sized submunitions into a dark disk, which soon dispersed over a wide area.
"Roach Feces."
"We're dropping roach feces."
>"Fucking WHY?"
"Good Nuke substitute. Causes instant anaphylactic shock. I don't even know how they collected that much roach feces. Shit's worse than Ricin."
Today is the anniversary for Us Lucky Few. Yay.
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So anyway, something really fun is going on. Just to let you know (and bump the thread) /pol/ is watching cops. It's funny. Also bump


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/pol/ is absolute cancer and I want it as far away from /k/ as possible
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you can put your trip on, everybody knows who you are. And my point still stands
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if your "point" stands, then let k give up their guns to the state because it is merely a hobby and nothing at all to do with any notion political or otherwise, and let them ban the gadsden too, for the idea it represents should be as far from k as possible.
go to the catalog, and then the second pinned thread. Read it carefully
Nice try at diversion. Follow your line of reasoning, and condemn the following statement.
How is board rules a diversion?
because rules are not the point we're contending, look over there.
oh, except i'm pointing them about because i agree with them. /pol/ is trash, and shouldn't be on /k/. The rules also state this. How is this difficult?
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alright. Condemn the statement of SHALL then, and be consistent. You were saying pol should be as far away as possible, so give up your guns because the right to arms is also underpinned by a political sentiment which is incorrect in the eyes of those who feel entitled to define such things.
Look, i don't really give a fuck what you think. Many boards have overlap, this thread is proof of that as well as the /ak/ threads. This is usually fine, because the discussion is kept somewhat civil, i assume.

/pol/ and /k/ overlap in gun control, that's it. And it clearly states in the goddamn sticky that it is not a discussion for this board, probably because /pol/acks behave like funcking manchildren, the discussion got too infected, and it was decided that it doesn't belong here. Now git, and don't let the door hit you on the way out, it might get dirty
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Is this fucking legit? You can gas folks with roach feces? If so, explains your choice in music.

That said, your stories continue to prove entertaining, and your taste in music continues to prove exceptional.
If Parks gets greased I'm gonna be sad. It sure feels like it's building to that though. I just like the guy.
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Hey, I found a thing I made a while ago. Cleaned it up a bit and am gonna post it here. Might continue it if anyone shows interest.

Lone Wolf

>Then you saw her, a girl crying in the street. Her sobs echoed between the buildings as you closed in on her, rifle scanning for targets. You see the enemy round the corner before you rush in front of her, shielding her from the gunfire.

You were out of food, water running low, but most importantly, you were alone. Your squad had been wiped out almost 3 days ago now, leaving you stranded in a burning city with no hope of escape or rescue. The whir of your suit was the only thing that kept you company in these trying times.

You don't know why, but you always liked it better this way. Being part of a unit just slowed you down and made stealthy operations much harder than they needed to be. You check your bullpup rifle one last time before moving forward through the rubble of the bombed out city. The sound of distant gunfire puts you on alert, checking your scanner and taking your rifle off safe. You engaged your over shield, charging it to maximum before rounding the corner.

You're thrown to the floor as a round slams into your back. Scrambling off the ground, you fire in the general direction of the attacker before ducking inside a building. Your shields are beeping incessantly as they warn you of imminent danger. After the beeping stops, your shield meter slowly recharges and you make your way through the building.
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10 hours later

Day soon turned to night as you waited patiently behind cover, having found the optimal place to lay fire down from. You cleared every single room in this building twice before setting up on the steps that overlook the 2 openings to the building.

You'd been waiting there for almost 5 hours when you came to the conclusion that nobody was coming for you, and that it was probably a sniper that shot you. When you snap out of your tunnel vision, you realize just how dark it is and turn on your integrated night vision. Time to see if that sniper is still out there watching.

You make it to the roof of the building before turning on your camouflage, sneaking over to the edge of the building. When you got there, you took out a pair of heavy duty binoculars and looked down on the ground, seeing where you made a huge dent in the concrete. Upon closer inspection, you can see a small dot moving around slowly where the door is. You zoom in on it with the helmet's integrated zoom and see it's a laser.

You shake your head at the sloppiness and create some dust with your hand. Not enough to alert the sniper, but enough to show the laser's angle. You drop the dust and see the laser is coming from a building at the very end of the road. That shot was at least 1000 yards, well beyond the range of your small bullpup. You need a bigger gun.

You make it back downstairs and open the weapon cache you found inside one of the rooms. Inside were a bunch of old military surplus rifles from the 2200s, nothing of use to you until you found a very large and long rifle. A SAMR20D. The SAMR20 was a 20 millimeter high velocity gun that was designed to fire a variety of ammunition out to almost 2000 yards from a mount. However, that's the catch, it has to be mounted to fire it with any kind of accuracy by a normal man. Lucky for you, you're not any normal man.
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You lift the rifle up and shoulder it normally, like you would shoulder any other weapon. It felt surprisingly comfortable to hold, considering it was almost 80 pounds of gun. You put the weapon over your shoulder before looking inside the crate for ammunition. You find a backpack of magazines marked 'RAFS' for Rocket Assisted Fin Stabilized. You take a magazine of these rounds out of the backpack and slap it in the rifle, pulling the bolt handle back before it slams forward with a clack. You see a lever on the side of the gun with a bar that attached to the bolt handle as well. Guess that was how you were supposed to rack the bolt if you weren't half a ton of super soldier.

You bring the massive rifle to the roof and lay yourself down by the ledge, unfolding the bipod. Steadying yourself, you flick the safety off and turn on the thermal scope. You zoom in the scope and scan the general area you found the sniper hiding at. You eventually find him and find a solid part of the building to laze. The laser flicks on and off, giving you a range of about 1100 yards. The corrections are done automatically by the scope and you focus yourself, lining up the crosshair with the glowing white silhouette of the sniper. When it's all lined up, you pull the trigger. An earth shattering boom echoes across the entire line of buildings as you watch the shot fly straight towards its target. You see the shot hit and it disintegrates the sniper that used to be there, his rifle falling off the roof.

There was a lightning strike, accompanied by a massive clap of thunder, prompting rain to start pouring from the sky. You were now truly alone.
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After searching through buildings for a few days, you found some extra provisions from the ruined buildings. You've taken a liking to this massive rifle. It's like when men used to use full length rifles in combat back in the 20th and 21st century. It wasn't any good at clearing buildings, but in the city of New Magosha, the long ranges and sight lines required a bit more gun than your bullpup could provide.

You're sitting inside the building you've called home since you first ducked inside. It's raining again, meaning you were collecting water in your barrel up top. The radio in your suit wasn't getting a signal and you haven't seen another friendly since your last squad mate died. You just sit on the steps, making another spear out of rebar with your plasma knife.

The sound of rubble falling makes you jump a bit before readying the new rebar spear. You were ready to throw it like a javelin when you remember your rifle. Grabbing the rifle, you set down the spear gently, as to not make any noise. You check the suppressor on the front of the gun before making sure the chamber was loaded. Everything checked out and you engaged your camouflage.

Outside, you see nothing but allied dropships fleeing the city. They're running from something. You try and tune into the frequency they're on, but it's being jammed by the enemy still. Then, you see what they were running from. An XK-45 heavy walker. It fired a massive laser beam at one of the retreating dropships, swatting it from the sky like a mosquito. It comes spiraling down before skidding down the street, bouncing once before whipping around rear first.
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You run over to the dropship as fast as you can to find supplies, if nothing else. You get behind the dropship doors and pull with all your might, barely ripping them off their hinges. Inside was a grizzly sight, bodies laying limp in restraints, weapons and ammo scattered across the floor, and the racks above the bodies laying open from the crash. Your first priority is to check for survivors, or you'd probably be court marshaled for letting soldiers die. However, none of the soldiers made it out alive, which you can't decide whether that's good or bad. What was good about the dropship crashing was that it was a heavy weapons detachment, meaning you had enough ordinance to cripple the walker for boarding.

After exiting the drop ship one final time, you walk back over to the tarps you had laid out on the opposite side of the street. You give a crisp salute before walking back inside, grabbing the heaviest weapons you could carry.

20 minutes later

You're running towards this massive walker at high speed, a quad barrel rocket launcher on your back and a suppressed pistol on your thigh in a magnetic holster. You finally reach the walker as it charges up another shot. You take aim while running after the walker before locking on to the laser. Pulling the trigger releases all 4 rockets in a salvo, as they track towards the walker. The rockets slam into it, throwing its aim off just enough to miss the dropship it was targeting. When the smoke clears, the laser is no longer on the mount, falling off the sides of the walker onto the streets below. You toss the empty rocket cartridge out and load another one in from the satchel on your side.
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The launcher beeps as you lock onto it's front leg, firing the rockets. When the salvo hits home, the walker slams into the ground and you take out your rifle, tossing the empty launcher and satchel aside. You leap into the air, managing to get on the deck of the walker. You fire 2 shots into the closest crew member, downing him before checking your scanner. There's at least 5 more crew on this walking tank. You kick the door in to the walker and a shotgun blast nearly blows you off the tank. You engage your mag boots and pull yourself back up, spraying the inside of the walker before he has a chance to pump the action. You hop inside the walker and execute the remaining crew before setting a 50 pound charge inside.

Hopping out of the walker, you run to a safe distance before blowing the charge. The walker is blown to pieces from the inside, scattering its remains across the streets of New Magosha.

You're walking back to the building you were camped out at when you hear something off. It's like crying, but muffled. Looking around you, there's nothing but empty buildings and streets around you. When you conclude it's probably nothing, you continue down the street towards your encampment.

As you turn down the street, you notice the crying is louder this time. It's coming from behind you. You turn around and scan the buildings for hostiles before looking down the street. Then you saw her, a girl crying in the street. Her sobs echoed between the buildings as you closed in on her, rifle scanning for targets. You see the enemy round the corner before you rush in front of her, shielding her from the gunfire. The volume of fire coming in nearly knocks you off your feet as your shield slowly gets chipped away by the bombardment. This prompts you to lift the girl off the ground and run her inside a building, just as your shields break.
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She's screaming now, covering her ears with her shoulder and one hand while hanging onto your neck with the other. You hold her tight as you rush into an alleyway, charging your shields before ducking into another alley. You pull up your map and see you're only a quarter mile from your hideout. Nothing is showing up on your scanner, so you keep running towards your camp.

You make it to your camp and set the girl down in a chair before turning back to the door.

“Thank you.” The girl tells you, sniffling a bit.

You nod and get back in position on the stairs, watching and waiting for any enemies to come inside. This goes on for hours before you're sure nobody followed you back. When you turn around, you see the girl is sitting there with one of your spears in her hands.

“Did you make these?” She asks. “There's a lot of them. I counted 116.”

You get off the stairs and realize you were laying on one of your spears. You pick it up and set it down next to the rest. You look at her before holding out your hand expectantly.

“But what if those bad guys try to take me?” She asks.

You just bang on your chest piece a couple times before she reluctantly gives you the spear. You set it down gently in the stack of rebar spears before motioning for her to follow you. The halls you take her down lead to a bedroom that was vacated during the evacuation. The girl knows what you want her to do. She gets in bed and you flick off the light, leaving the door open just a crack before sighing. You didn't know how to take care of kids, you didn't even know how to be a regular human being. You sat down on the stairs, hearing more gun fire about 5 miles out. The soldiers aren't what worried you, it's how you're going to get this girl out of the city alive.
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When you wake up next morning, you get up immediately, putting your helmet back on and sealing it up.

“Are you awake yet?” A voice asks outside your door.

You respond by stepping off the bed, making it creak loudly as you walked towards the door. When you open it, you see she's holding up a little ration packet for you. The girl is about 13 and about 3 feet shorter than you. Then again, you're almost 7 feet tall, so most regular people are shorter than you anyways. You take the ration packet and tear it open, revealing a food tube and some candies, which you handed back to the girl.

“Thank you.” She says gratefully, taking the candies.

You nod and walk back to the stairs, where you flattened out a portion to lay down at. You sucked down the nutrient tube before taking the straw out of your helmet, sealing it back up when you were done. You lay down in your usual spot, checking to see if your rifle was loaded before you began guard duty again.

“Is that what you do all day?” The girl asks. “Just lay there and watch the door?”

You nod and continue your watch as the girl eats her candies.

“Well, my name is Lucy. What's your name?” She asks.

You're about to respond when you pause. What was your real name? The amount of times you've been called '225' and 'Echo-225' are numerous. You've never actually used your real name in many years. If somebody told you, you'd remember, but you don't know off the top of your head.
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You just shake your head and continue to watch the door.

“You don't talk all that much, do you?” She asks.

You shake your head again and keep watching the door.

“Are you human?” She asks.

When you register what she said, you freeze. It made every single part of you feel cold and distant as the weight of the words sink in.

“Hello?” The girl asks.

You stand up and turn to face the girl. You were far enough down the steps that she was at eye level with you. You don't know what to do or say. All you can do is shrug slowly before getting back into position.

When 4 hours have passed, you finally sit up on the steps, surprising Lucy.

“I thought you fell asleep!” She yells.

You shush her immediately and keep your rifle trained on the door. You send out a high intensity pulse from your scanner and find nothing, allowing you to relax a bit. You turn back to her and she's twiddling her thumbs.

“Sorry.” She tells you.

You sigh and open a compartment on your suit, taking out some tools, patches, and oil. You unscrew the suppressor and take it apart completely, seeing it's completely black with carbon buildup. You get to work immediately on cleaning it. Once that's done, you begin disassembling your rifle and begin to dip the parts in cleaning agent while you clean the barrel of your rifle.

“Are you cleaning your gun?” Lucy asks.

You nod and continue cleaning it.

20 minutes later

After you've cleaned your rifle, you put it all back together and wipe off the round counter, which had gotten oil spilled on it. 48 rounds of 7.62x57 millimeter subsonic fin stabilized firepower per magazine. You load said magazine into the rifle before racking the bolt back, letting it drop forward to feed a round. The suppressor was next, being screwed back onto the rifle.
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“Can you talk?” Lucy asks.

You look back at her and clear your throat.

“Yes.” You say in your gentle, yet worn voice.

Lucy is taken aback by it. She sits back down and pulls a book out of her pocket, allowing you to try and contact your HQ.

“Command, this is Echo-225, do you copy?” You ask.

All you hear is static. You repeat yourself, but hear nothing in return. The line is still being jammed. You needed to get this girl out of the city, but you needed transport to do it. You hear a crash and what sounds like metal scraping against pavement outside before something smashes into the hole in your building. It ejects an enemy soldier out into the lobby of the building and you leap off the stairwell. You land on the ground with a loud clank and point your rifle square at him.

The man doesn't move an inch. You walk up to him and kick him gently. No response. You crouch down and check his pulse, no vitals popping up on your HUD. You look back to what crashed into the hole and see it was an open topped transport truck. That's convenient.

“Oh my god, what happened!?” Lucy asks.

You point to the truck before walking over to it, flipping it over with your brute strength before smiling. Now you could get her out of here and take your supplies with you.

After you finish loading the last of your supplies into the truck, you start it up and turn on the navigation, seeing you were in the middle of the city.

“Where are we going?” Lucy asks as she buckles the seat belt.

“To safety.” You reply stoically, having to keep yourself calm for the drive ahead.
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This is where I stopped. First off, despite me posting pictures of Spartans, and the story being named 'spartan' in my files, this is not a halo fan fiction. It's inspired by halo, but isn't halo. Just a sci-fi super soldier story. I never intended on finishing it and wrote the thing while being medicated and drunk as a clam. It's got a lot of repetition in it, which I don't really care for and will fix if I continue the thing, but I'm not sure if I want to finish it.

Hope I can expand the universe I've made for myself, but I don't really know if this is my thing. Hope you all enjoyed my drunken ramblings put to paper, er, screen.
I kinda like it. It's not quite as good as some of your other work (e.g. FoG), but it's a pleasant diversion.
While HALO references were quite obvious, it was equally clear that it wasn't actually a fanfic.
Even though I don't really enjoy this type of stories, I did find it pleasant to read.

Colour me interested.
By all means, please continue.
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lol, hoes mad.
Yes. Humans are allergic to roach feces. Moreso than roaches themselves. it causes anaphylactic shock pretty quick and can also cause an allergy to roaches to become present if it already wasn't.
More reason to kill those fuckers when I see them. Thanks for that.
no problem, didn't think it was a critique on climate change. Just looking at how the sea levels were affected during the Ice Age
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"The roaches scatter when the lights come on. If you see one in the kitchen, I got bad news for you, you don't have one roach, you've got an infestation."
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So I just watched no country for old men and I've read about a tenth through blood meridian so far... Anyone else kinda get the same energy from Chigurh and "The Kid?
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ayo don't die nigga
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nyaa~ bump
WTF? i'm reading Blood Merridian right now (page 50)
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>pic unrelated

If the /k/ube blessed a /k/ommando with superpowers, what would they be? The ability to summon any weapons, equipment, uniforms, etc.? /k/ memes brought to life? Some third option I haven't considered?
>Bout that far as well
get a friend?
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I j-just wanted to brainstorm...
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Jokes aside then? Give me a workshop. Give me tools. making shit appear out of thin air is loser talk. But with good equipment and good materials, you can make a lot of spicy shit. Because isn't that what we really strive for? (excuse the dark souls memes, but) To get good?

Would you rather have a million dollars, or know how to make a million dollars?

would you rather have an old uniform, or the know how to make one yourself?

Would you really buy wooden furniture for your old gun if you can make it yourself?

I don't think i'd want a superpower. I'd want a workshop filled with tools and materials, time, and maybe a cheesy 80s soundtrack. the rest, i want to make myself
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Damn those suits look so badass.
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Like a fucking dolphin.
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This is my first time boyos. Kind of a one off. Tell me what you think of the concept so far and then I'll think up of a story.
Here's the background, parts of the world are still stuck in the 19th century and the "civilized" world is set in the mid 20th century so we get muzzle loaders, black powder along with breech loading weapons, bolt actions, automatics and self loaders for militaries of developed nations along with industry. The other world on the other hand is preindustrial and never invented gunpowder. Instead they use medieval weaponry and tactics, such as phalanxes, shield walls, line charges, horse cavalry type attacks etc.The merge did not happen in our world but rather in an alternate reality where the countries have a different history and ways of events unfolding than in our timeline, however for the sake of my own sanity I will refer it as "our world". The merge world creatures were spontaneously transported along with a portion of their lands over to the MC's world, with some of its inhabitants obtaining refugee status in some (((((cuqued))))) countries like the Kingdom of Norskea, while the rest of the world sees them as either subhuman or demons. Sometimes they build large sovereign settlements in already claimed land and that would cause conflict, either they would get what they want, or they would build their settlements on completely unclaimed land. There are portals that merge with our world to the other world. The governments of the other side of the portals see the portals a bad omen, and so they forbid anyone from crossing over, as anyone who does never returns. So in other words, we are an enigma to them. However people and objects from our world can cross over freely in and out. Eventually the portals destabilized and both world merged together, changing the continents and adding landmass. The ensuing chaos from which destabilized the world governments, and gave rise to new nations human or otherworldly.

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Cont. from before

The story is set in the former Federal States of Nortlande ie FSN (North Land) where the government has lost contact with the local governments and small townships completely, only maintaining control in a smaller portion of the country, so that the rest of the former FSN has Balkanized completely into small independent city states and townships of humans, demihumans, fantasy creatures and "hot zones" that contain artifacts. The merge has brought all sorts of artifacts and creatures from the new world, ranging from your standard elf, orc, goblin, to gemstones that can cause the holder to internally combust at the cellular level. Or grass that can attack you if you try step on it by crystallizing its cellulose cell walls to form spike traps, or moss that can turn its photosynthesis into stored electric potential, to spider silk that is tougher than steel wire and can cut anything that even barely touches it.

Cont. from before
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These artifacts can be sold for a lot of money to the government, but even more to the black markets in the large cities or trading hubs. This is where the MC comes in. He is a Nortlander who did some merc work in the former Republic of Suidlande (now inhabited by humans and other creatures) and Suid Zwarteria (Former colony of the RoS in the continent of Zwateria, now colonized by elves, orcs, goblins, and (((((basketball jugglers))))) post merge) before the Merge happened. The MC has now taken a contract with a PMC in the FSN where he along with a female elf, two other humans, and a civilized orc, agreed to serve in a company sized deployment to south Nortelande to train the local wood elf population on how to defend themselves from orcs, goblins, and the occasional raider party.

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>be Anon
>merge happened worldwide 10 years ago
>governments all over the world collapsed
>especially Zwarterian countries
>who am I kidding Zwaterian """""countries""""" didn't have governments they had like a shaman or some shit.
>the Federal States of Nortelande has completely balkanized and its power is now extremely restricted to the East Coast in areas near the capital.
>the military has collapsed and chaos ruled the streets
>until people started to pull together and form makeshift militias
>no-guns become has guns overnight as orc, goblin, white trash, and (((((nigger))))) raiding parties become the norm
>tfw it took the collapse of society for liberals to realize that the right to self defense is really important
>tfw they only realize this as Grun'rug and Tyrone penetrate miles deep into their women's rear echelons
>Elves live in the woods of the northwest FSN and anywhere with a lot of trees really. Dwarves assimilate well into cities and large human settlements nicely. Orcs and goblins live in tribe like settlements and don't contribute anything to society so they plunder and steal.
>some orcs are actually decent, something about a genetic disorder.
>overall, though some semblances of society and civility remain in the world, outside of the town and city walls, it's like the old Western Frontier Conflicts movies by Mint Weststeele
>in this world, might is right, and the right to bear arms and the arms to bear arms are the mightiest of them all

Fast forward to present day in a new era, in the year 11 AD, in a seedy bar somewhere in north Nortelande
>"so anon, what do you think of the contract? 10 silvers an hour and you're technically never off the clock while you're deployed, so that's... what? 24 golds per day for a whole month, that's 720 gold or 7200 silvers. Pretty good deal to me man." said the elf recruiter.
>"I suppose, what about the weapons situation? Are we to be provided weapons and ammo or just ammo?"
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>"you'll be provided with a standard issue firearm a week prior from our HQ, you can bring along a sidearm too, but we're not paying your sidearm's ammo, what gun you get depends on your operational status, if you're a big guy you'll probably end up lugging around a belt fed, looks like you're just some rando dude with average muscle definition, so I'd say a bolt action or selfloader."
>"what's the protocol for 'field findings'?" you ask
>"any artifacts you find is yours to keep, just make sure that you can safely contain it, last time some dickhead orc accidentally took home some Greenrock and gave his whole unit cancer. Thank the Gods for Bluewater... you know, sometimes I still feel it burning inside me."
>"I'll never be able to bear children again; that's partly why I'm a merc, elven culture dictates that we must contribute life the world for the lives we have taken, but now my village thinks I'm no better than a human..."
>ok current year but since she's cute you let it slide
>wait a minute
>"oh shit it's not contagious is it?" you ask in exclamation
>"no Anon, but just don't touch my bodily secretions and you'll...
>... be fine." said the elf.

>*sighs*, "so the mission is to train a bunch of new wood elf arrivals how to use guns and form a militia?"
>"against what?" you ask
>"the usual, orcs, gobbies, harpies, and what you humans call 'Nortelander-Zwarterians'?"
>"sweet heart you can just call them niggers."
>"oh? okay?"
>"so you'll get paid at the end of each week of your deployment, you'll deploy with a company sized element, so around 150 combat personnel; however the size of the unit you'll be fighting with might vary depending on you operational status. Any further questions?"
>"yeah, I thought we were just gonna be training the woodies, not actually participating in combat operations?"
>"well... expect the unexpected, you should know right? From what I heard you deployed to Markaya during the Markayan Emergency before the Merge."
>you rub the massive machete scar over your right brow and cheek
>"I don't wanna talk about it."
>"ok, sore topic."
>she shifts uncomfortably in her barstool. Her ears twitching, her fair hands playing with her shoulder length auburn hair.
>she loosens her tie and unbuttons her shirt collar and pats down her knee length dress.
>"you know what? drinks on me." she said, "Bartend! A whisky for for my friend here!"
>you and her get finish a whole bottle of whisky together, the knife ear's got a pretty cute identical twin.
>"so Anon? Will you accept the contract? 720 fucking gold!"
>she gets pretty vulgar when drunk too
>"ahhhh, fuck it! I accept!" you exclaim in an inebriated stupor
>she hands you a pen.
>you touch her hands, soft yet hard
>you have a feeling she's probably some hardcore operator.
>"say Anon, I haven't told you my name yet have I?"
>"no, don't bother. I don't want to know."
>she looks hurt, a lock of auburn hair falling over her emerald green eyes.
>"ok" she muttered
>ah shit I hate crying elves
>they remind me too much of what happened
>"look, it's not you, it's me."

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>"I'm just trying to make a living, I'm not trying to make friends with anyone. In this business it's foolish to think that everyone will be able to get along and get out of a contract just fine, like it's a goddamn picnic."
>she just looks at you with a flushed face, brow furrowed in contemplation.
>"alright, I understand Anon." she hesitates for a moment.
>"you have until next week to report to the staging area, I'll write the address down."
>she takes a pen out of her breast pocket and writes down the address.
>"see you on the other side, Mr. Anon."
>she throws a couple silvers down on the counter and begins to walk off with a woodland camo jacket thrown over her shoulders, her knee length OD skirt trailing behind her as she opens the bar door and steps into the dusty streets of Neu Hawe.
>you take the napkin to examine it
>'report to Neu Hawe Warehouse District at Hanger 1 on January 1st at 0500 sharp.'
>'PS, my last name is Liichen.'
>you couldn't help but sharply exhale oxygen from your nose in a mirthful manner.

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One week later January 1st, 12 AM; 0500 hour
>you make your way over to the Warehouse District through the main streets of Neu Hawe.
>it's cold as hell, so on top of your OD fatigue shirt you are wearing
>city was originally a sea port town on the northwest of Nortelande; after the Merge telecommunications were cut off from the government
>the city was on fire for two weeks before the local army garrison decided to say fuck it with riot control gear and went house to house clearing out looters and cracking down on anyone carrying a weapon
>the city was under control, but then rumors about there being 6-8 foot tall green men taking out messengers got out of control.
>the people have been living in abject poverty and living conditions for far too long so they started to ambush army patrols with molotovs, glass bombs filled with feces and urine, and IEDs.
>local goblin gangs would also attack citizens and raid their pantries and the dead. Orcs would just do the same, but worse and with more semen.
>the garrison was too busy fighting the insurgency to deal with the raider attacks on civilians and were instead defending checkpoint and fuel depots
>soldiers hit with the shit bombs sustained septicemia and antibiotics and medicine was running low.
>troop morale hit rock bottom when families of troopers were targeted
>eventually the army garrison surrendered when they realized that they could not win an insurgency with limited resources and dwindling supplies
>it was at this time that the elves came out of the woods to introduce themselves to the humans
>at this point the humans were so high strung they shot the incoming elves, thinking they were hostile
>this ignited a two year war that ended with both sides fighting to a stalemate, with the humans running low on people, supplies, and resources, and the elves running out of forest to live in
>most of the remaining fuel was spent on molotovs
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>eventually a horse drawn caravan of Dwarves and mountain town trappers reached the Neu Hawe
>they brought with them soil samples filled with a type of bacteria that when combined with Spikegrass artifacts and allowed to decompose would create a very similar petroleum substitute.
>Dwarves offered to help with the reconstruction of Neu Hawe in exchange for access to 10% of the city's power from the hydroelectric dam
>Elven refugees at this point had no homes to live in, and many migrated into the city as workers like Roaches into the Kaiserreich after the Second Pancontinental War to aid in the reconstruction
>to this day the elves still have a sense of superiority over human inhabitants in Neu Hawe, claiming they rebuilt the city from the ashes of human folly
>the humans responded by barring elves from entering human run establishments

>you run all this info across your mind as your leather low boots stride across the gravel paved alley
>this is knife ear town, and the shortest way to the warehouses is through the elf hood
>you get glares from blue and green eyes everywhere you look, their ears twitching with anger
>your finger twitches on the trigger of your Johnning Hi-Mag with anticipation
>sweat forming smudges on the parkerized finish
>you hear a clicking noise to your left, and out of instinct drop onto your sides and draw your pistol at the same time
>bang! bang! bang!
>you let loose three 9mmx19mm Antebellum rounds on an elf with a Fields trapdoor rifle10 yards away
>the leaf muncher crumples like a tree after a detcord explosion
>out of your periphery you see a female elf with a bow knocked back and aimed at you
>you roll over into a pronated position and Mozambo'd her
>she had the same auburn hair and green eyes as...
>...no! Finish the fight or flight!
>you get up, kicking dust behind you as a .52 caliber ball streaks past your feet and ricochets into the wall in front of you
>you look up and see a male knifeear clumsily trying to reload, partially obscured by acrid black smoke
>you pop off two shots that connect with handguard, splintering the wood and lodging a round in the barrel
>you continue to run towards the warehouses, looking back and pointing at anyone who dares approach you
>eventually you reach the Warehouses and approach the gate guard
>he gives you a weird look, and asks for your paper work
>he takes a look, recognizing the Company's logo stamped on the notarized paper.
>you're out of breath, and make your way towards Hanger 1 whe...
>"Anon?" said a feminine voice
>you look over to your left, sweat rolling into your eyes, partially obscuring your vision under the incandescent bulbs
>a familiar figure steps forward, it Liichen
>she was wearing a khaki service shirt and woodland jacket.
>she had on a simple OD canvas belt with two OD rifle mag pouches for her OSG-40 held in one hand.
>"I heard gun fire, you were trying to save time going through Elftown huh?" she asked in a concerned voice
>"yeah, well don't worry about me, worry about them, I think I took out like 6 of them on the way over." you responded
>she laughs, "Oh Anon, we haven't even officially deployed yet and you've already racked up a body count?!"
>"well might as well get started, it's almost 0500 isn't it?"
>"you're right Anon, come on, let's get you some coffee."
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Interior of Hanger 1, a middle aged Dwarve speaks

>"I am Commander Darion of the 4th Company of the 1st Expeditionary Battalion. Our mission this month is to deliver arms and munitions to the southern wood elves in south Nortelande and serve in a combat advisory role to the clients."
>"Remember! You are entering into Wild territory! Or as you humans would call it: Indian territory! So expect to be ambushed by anything running on two feet! But keep your wits about you and you will make it out alive! Alright, now collect your gear, find your unit at the areas with your unit number, and prepare to board your transports.We're moving out at 0800."
>The commander steps down and everyone lines up at the makeshift armory.
>You are placed in the Platoon Point Squad 1, Platoon 1, with an orc named Grunk, pretty quiet even by human standards, dude was full on bear mode at a height of 6'2". He carries the squad .308 cal belt fed. Wears all OD Green fatigues and a boonie. Motherfucker must have an excess of green camo paint. Jokes about how his tribal tattoos get all the elf and human girls wetter than a drowned goblin infant
>The squad radio operator was a young 5'8" human dude called Funker. He is a redhead with a 12 gauge Trenchgun, 10 inch bayonet and a bad attitude. REALLY likes to get in close with the enemy, too much for an RTO.
>Then there's a 5'7" guy named Tunnel Rat. He grew up living in the old Metro station under Neu Hawe, so his sense of nightvision is pretty developed for a human. He carries a .45 cal Owen gun with a folding stock and fuckton of grenades. Wouldn't be surprised to find a potato masher up his ass for emergencies.
>there's you with a .308 caliber Mk-14 Battle Rifle and OD fatigue shirt and OD cargo pants and a pair of black leather low boots with gamaschen.
>then there's Lii...
>then there's Liichen with her OSG40 chambered in .308 with her tornister on.
>"what're you looking at Anon?" she asks coyly
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>you blush, "you... you're part of my squad?"
>she giggles, "well of course Anon, what kind of recon squad doesn't have an elf?" replied Liichen
>well shit she's right, these knife ears tend to have better hearing and eyesight than humans
>"well Anon, pack your stuff up, we're leaving in 5."
>she walks off and you can swear that she is shaking her heart shaped ass at you on purpose.
>are those blackberries you smell?
>you shake off any impure thoughts about lewding the knife ear and attach your assault pack to your A-frame and A-frame onto your OD tornister and your tornister onto your webgear. You put on your camo netted K-pot helmet and packed up your ammo and made sure your pack was tight.
>your squad heads towards a 6x6 painted in the M81 woodland scheme with a .308 cal belt fed on a pintle mount on top of the rear roll cage.
>Funker gets in the backseat and mounts his radioset onto the passenger seat back. Grunk gets on the gun and pulls his zeltbahn on, it's finna rain soon and the jeep doesn't have the canopy mounted.
>you get into the drivers seat and Liichen gets in the passenger seat.
>you all don your ponchos and zeltbahns as the weather starts to worsen.
>the convoy begins rolling out of the Warehouse gates, the guards saluting your unit as your company departs south towards you mission.
>Accompanying the convoy are five 5 ton cargo trucks carrying ammo, meds, food, water, and guns for the keeblers.
>3 Gage Kommando Scout Cars with twin .50 cal Johnning MGs and 4 6x6 MUTT guntrucks.
>there are ~150 men strong in convoy, no way anything on two feet are gonna fuck with us you think to yourself
>meanwhile the sun has gone grey and the sky keeps pouring rain down on the convoy as it races down the ruins of the old Interstate highway as you all go deeper and deeper into Indian territory
>it was around 1200 high noon.
>there's a low overcast, because you can't even see the sun anymore. The rain was pouring down harder than usual for this season
>the convoy speeded down the old Interstate at a blazing 60 miles per hour in a staggered formation with at least 100 feet between each vic
>the 5 tons were in the middle, while the 6x6 and command car was spaced out in between the lead and rear guard APCs
>your vic is in front because muh reC0n tip of de sPeer.
>"All vicks status report" said Commander Darion
>"Status nominal, all units operating operationally, copy how copy, copy, over?" Funker joked over the comms
>"Oh cut the shit Funk, you want the butter bar to chew you out again over proper radio comms?" said Lii
>"I wish the motherfucker would, then I'd show that fucking leaf muncher the superiority of a knife in close fights." retorted Funker whilst twirling his 10 inch bayonet
>"You do realized that he could just pull out a pistol right? Just cause us elves like to use bows over guns more often than not doesn't mean that we don't how to handle a piece."
>she clicks off the safety and press checks her OSG-40 just to make her point, her emerald eyes gleaming in the dark afternoon sun.
>oh holy shit mane she scary
>but why is it so arousing?
>oh shit eyes on the road!
>you see a small squat green shape on the gravel road just in range of your periphery, you yank the steering wheel hard right, causing the 6x6 the swerve hard into the right side of the road.
>Grunk is going crazy over the smell of blood
>calm down boy
>calm down you elven maiden
>Tunnel Rat is still asleep.
>thank Dog for wide Nortelander roads.
>you fight over control of the 6x6 and come to a spinning stop three inches from the bumper
>the Commander and his other XOs start chattering over the comms
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>"Anon what in the Gods' name was that? Oh Gods, it's like a female orcs first moon up there!"
>you feel a soft yet strangling sensation on your right arm
>it's Liichen grabbing onto your arm, your arm sandwiched between her heaving C cup chest
>you can feel her heart beat with yours, synchronized in fear and adrenaline
>she looks at you with wide open emerald eyes, before letting go with an embarrassed countenance
>"umm... you alright Liichen?" you ask
>"sure Anon, I'm just cherry" she curtly replied, shyly hiding her cheeks by looking away from you
>they're so red
>like her's in Markaya...
>or it could be red because the windshield's covered in blood.
>the convoy grinds to a halt as the mercs take position around their vehicles, the .50 cals on the Gage Kommandos swiveling around looking for movement on the overgrown grass fields near the highway
>"I want a status report on the vic Anon!"
>visibility is shit, the no one can see anything past 50 yards in the heavy rain
>Grunk sniffs the air
>*sniff* *sniff* "Smell that? Fucking gobbies, can't believe how I'm related to 'em. Look at how easily they get pulverized. HAH! Pathetic, an orc would've torn apart this iron chariot on impact." remarked Grunk as he dismounted from the MG.
>Tunnel Rat finally wakes, "what'd I miss guys? What's with the blood?" he asked nonchalantly
>Yesus und Marea what the hell is up with this guy
>you dismount from the driver's seat, wiping off whatever gore was left from the hood with your bayonet.
>Funker was playing with the long range radio, eventually settling down on a station playing old world tunes
>Lera Vynn's soothing voice as she sings "We'll Meet Again" never sounded so relaxing
>Liichen seems to stop vomiting and actually calm down as Lera song reaches her ears
>you walk up to the grill, checking it for damage
>shit, looks like green roach was a fatty, there's like blood and fat all over the radiat...
>"Ahh goddammit you work you piece of shit!" yelled Funker as he repeatedly hits the radioset
>static gradually distorted Lera's voice into white noise
>must be interference
>"Will you stop doing that Funker? It's not going to work like that." responded Rat
>how the hell is this guy so calm?
>"hey! I'm the RTO here so I'll hit this damn thing all I want until it works!" responded an aggravated Funker
>"don't tell me what to do tunnel boy!"
>Funker hits the radio once more
>there was a noise of electrical shorting
>Tunnel Rat sighs. "What did I say?"
>"fuck you!" Funker's eyes bulging out, bayonet drawn

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>a large gust of wind blows through the road, rustling the overgrown grass fields along the highway
>and then, a god almightly roar came from above
>even Tunnel Rat looks mildly concerned
>it's a fucking dragon
>everyone and their mothers open up on the motherfucker
>the sky goes from gray to red as a thousand red tracers light up the storm
>the .50s and various .308 rounds just bounce off like pebbles off a tank
>holy shit no wonder the storm was so bad, the radio going apeshit.
>on the other side, there were legends of dragons who came from the sea to bring rain to the land
>but there was catch, in exchange for breathing life into the earth, it must take life as well
>the scales were composed of an unknown material which can generate high amounts of electromagnetic energy
>enough to silence radios with white noise and generate electrical storms at will
>motherfucker must've been generating its own concealment with the storm and scouting us out
>Liichen swears in elvish for the first time
>"Good Gods Anon, literally! It's the Rain God!" exclaimed Liichen
>"The fu... you people worship that?" you yell through intermittent gunfire
>"What? No! It's just a general name for its species. We need to go now!" said Liichen
>the dragon pulls off what must've been a 10G maneuver, bending its body gracefully in the air, like it was swimming
>it then dive bombs towards a bunch of AFVs
>the dwarven gunners were burning through belts after belt of ammo as it draws near. The twin .50 cals barrels turning as red as the tracers they were shooting out
>dragon swoops up, the force of its wingwash rolling over the command car with the Commander in it
>screaming occurs through out the convoy as several vehicles are crushed.
>"Someone get on the fucking AT rifle!!!"
>the food and water 5 tonners, all the AFVs and the command vehicle goes up in flames.
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>one of the gunners exit out of one of the upside down Gage Kommando's bottom escape hatch
>Liichen looks on in horror as the Dwarve stops, drops and rolls, but the fire kept sticking to his clothes and skin
>the gunner screams in incomprehensible Dwarvish as the fat drips off from his excess fat stores, his skin forming heat bubble and eventually popping the skin as his epidermis erupts from building steam pressure
>his screams suddenly shut off. He's swallowed some of the napalm, it's burned off his vocal cords and lungs completely
>to you it seemed like someone suddenly and violently tore away his vocal cords.
>the Dwarve's ammo belt starts to go off as his ammunition cooks off
>you all take cover behind the 6x6, looking on in horror as the merc burns in his own fat
>BANG! The burning merc's face capsized, throwing back red blood ad bits of burning napalm 10 feet back
>Liichen looked on with a stern determination on his face, the muzzle brake of her Outomatiese Stryd Geweer 40 smoking
>"no one deserves to die like that" her face hardened as she takes a 10 round stripper clip from her bandoleer and tops off her mag.
>Grunk nodded, closed his eyes and began to recite a prayer to the Kube, his face in what can be described as a face of contemplation in holy reverence as opposed to his usual crass demeanor and grin

>"Oh Almighty Kube. Hallowed be thy name."
>"Blood be spilled in your grace"
>"May your hand guide our artillery to our enemy's doom,"
>"Elevate our spirits and morale"
>"And save our souls from our own damnation."
>"May you send us your Valkyries in our time of need"
>"For you are the Almighty"
>"You are the Arbiter of Victory"
>"And may our souls forever serve you in eternity"

>Grunk opens his eyes, the burning Dwarve's inferno reflecting off his yellow eyes
>Like the an orc possessed with the burning anger of a hundred flaming souls
>"Now, how do you pansies like your dragon steaks?"
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>"Medium rare" you reply
>Grunk laughs heartily
>"I KNEW there was a reason why I liked you softskin!" Grunk looks at the Rain God, melting the AFVs and guntrucks
>a shotgun racks in the background
>Funker fixes the bayonet onto his trenchgun, gently stroking the steel heatshield
>"I'll deal with you later tunnel boi."
>"Maybe try hitting it like the radio, radio boi." Rat remarked
>"Maybe I should hit you!"
>"HAH! Fat chance ginger." said Rat as he readies his Owen gun
>Looks like everyone is ready to fight
>but how can we ever protect and fight with our tiny swords?
>that's it! You look towards the weapons truck and race over to the back
>there is a dead elf laying against one of the weapon crates, the back of his skull blown off
>in his hands lay a .357 Magnum
>God help him, he was only 190.
>you look towards the back end of the truck and there you see it
>by the gray hairs of Tony Neophytou
>its a 25 millimeter mag fed pre-merge Antipanzergewehr
>these things can penetrate a Gaul Shar A IV's frontal plate armor from 200 yards away
>the ammo looks custom made too
>the standard 25mm APDUS (Armor Penetrating Depleted Uranium Shot) rounds each weigh at least 10 pounds each were originally designed for use on the Eastern Front of the Second Pancontinental Conflict against the Zhukova medium tanks by Nortelander Tenk Jagters
>the rounds were meant to pick off the crew one by one or detonate the ammo rack
>but this one's casings were marked with special markings
>correction: highspeedstone is accelerite

>Acceletites are artifacts that can accelerate to extremely high speeds once thrown or launched like a projectile
>you pull back the bolt of the APG, and insert one of the five 25mm rounds into the breech
>fuck me this thing is heavy, it weights like a ton
>meanwhile Point Squad 1 is engaging the dragon going around it in circles in the 6x6 in the grass field
>Grunk is unloading both his personal and vehicle mounted Johnning MG into the Rain God's nostrils while screaming "RIP AND TEAR!!!!" and unleashing a torrent of orcish war criee
>Liichen is aiming for the dragon's eyes wit her OSG40 with extreme prejucide
>Tunnel Rat keeps tossing grenades and firing his Owen gun at the base of the dragon's paws everytime they pass between the dragon's legs
>Funker is firing his trench gun at any hole in the dragon's scale and driving at the same time
>you race to the hood of the 5 ton truck, taking careful aim at the dragon's as it tries to divebomb napalm the car
>lead your targets
>take into account the wind direction of a 200 yard shot on a cargo ship sized target
>pull, don't squeeze
>bring it down
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uWiyA5Q-Gp4 [Embed]

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>an earth shattering thunder breaks the sound of the gunfire and roaring
>a massive belch of fire lights up the dark skies, burning the hood of the 5 ton and shattering its windshield
>the shot hits the right shoulder of the dragon and completely shatters its dragon equivalent of its clavicle bone
>the shockwave of the recoil and muzzle flash shakes your body to the core
>your testicles are jarred as the recoil reverberates throughout your body
>the dragon lets out an earsplitting roar as it falls down to the earth
>the 6x6 nearly toppling over from the 6 scale earthquake, they quickly move out of the line of fire
>you pull back the bolt and eject out the spent casing
>the rich Cordite smoke saturated in the chamber slowly wafting up into your nostrils
>you put another round into the breech and then slam the bolt forward, ramming the 25mm shell into the chamber
>the bolt is locked into battery
>you look through the 10x scope and aim for the beast's heart
>without hesitation you squeeze the trigger
>the shot hits the dragon right where the heart should be
>but with great struggle the dragon rises from its crash crater, wings flapping and ascends
>it flies away from the highway, towards the ocean
>when the dragon is out of sight, the rain ends
>the sun looks really pretty

So ends the first arc: Baptism By Napalm
Stay tuned for the second arc: Green Berets
I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I did, it's the first time I've taken on writefaggotry so any criticism is welcome
Second arc should begin the come out tomorrow or in the next week.
Please continue, if this is your first time writing then you are already on the right path.
This is a good start. The exposition is useful, but can hurt the pacing some I feel. Additionally, sometimes the way you structure sentences is odd. Other than that, the story is a unique setting with great promise for future adventures.
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Well it’s an OC universe so I wanted people to understand the background history and politics.
>strange sentence structures
care to elaborate friend?
For example: >they brought with them soil samples filled with a type of bacteria that when combined with Spikegrass artifacts and allowed to decompose would create a very similar petroleum substitute.

Nothing grammatically wrong with it, it's just a little long-winded and awkward. I might've rephrased it as: >they brought with them soil samples filled with a type of bacteria that could convert Spikegrass artifacts into a viable petroleum substitute.
Not entirely sure it isn't just a matter of preference, but I thought I'd offer it.

As for exposition, I think this works, but if you want to consider something else in the future, I offer two alternatives. 1) Offer a separate piece that does nothing but describe the background of the world in-depth. JD Anon has done this once before, I believe. 2) Reveal smaller chunks of necessary lore through conversations. It risks leaving the audience a little confused, but would flow better, I think.

None of this should be taken as gospel; shit, I don't even write. Just a few suggestions for your consideration.
yeah okay I see what you're saying.
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wrote an intro to the story that I hope should do a good job of explaining the premise to new readers

In the first year before Sozin’s comet, the young avatar Aang was able to master the four elements and defeat Phoenix King Ozai, ending 100 years of colonialism and imperialism. Aang spent the decades after trying to heal a broken world, founding the United Republic of Nations, and striving to bring his culture back from the point of genocide. All the while, Aang sought to overcome collectivism to find deeper understanding between individuals.

Seventy five years after the defeat of Ozai, Aang’s successor -- Avatar Korra -- faced many challenges. Thrust into a world in a state of change, she put down the Equalist revolt, prevented the summoning of Raava during Harmonic Convergence, thwarted the Red Lotus anarchist terrorists, and stopped Kuvira -- the Great Uniter of the fragmented Earth Kingdom -- from fulfilling her conquest of the world by establishing an authoritarian dictatorship. Throughout all of this, Korra both learned and taught the lesson of finding the good things in every system, and listening to the merits of your enemies without resorting to extremism. Her goals accomplished, she retired to explore the Spirit World to help guide the newly conjoined Mortal plane through this time of great change.
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But what if the message and principles of Kuvira continued to spread while she was imprisoned?

What if the Earth Kingdom’s newly formed democracy simply voted her back into power following her prison sentence?

What if Korra, returning to our world, found herself powerless to stop this?

What if we continue this trajectory for another seventy five years? Avatar Winnu, an earthbender has succeeded Avatar Korra and has been taught by the Earth Kingdom from the start. Kuvira’s Party seeks to spread her ideals whilst running the Earth Kingdom under an iron fist. Limitless industrialization has changed the landscape of the world, and no tradition is too sacred to be offered on it’s altar. Without the Avatar to guide it, can balance ever be restored to the world? Come and see.

“we always used to have the same people who would say ‘don't hit the brake until the glass breaks. Don't stop until you hear glass break.’ And so I always think the point of writing is to coach yourself to that point that you would never have gone voluntarily and also to coach a reader to the point where the reader would never have gone voluntarily”

~Chuck Palahaniuk
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Second Arc: Leaf Berets

>you collapsed from exhaustion

an hour passes
>"Oh thank the Gods he coming to. Quick, Funker, fetch me my canteen." says a feminine voice
>where am I? You're in the 6x6, but the canopy is on this time to keep the rain and windchill out
>a single incandescent bulb lights up the interior of the 6x6 Milly's Jeep
>what happened? You try to get up only to feel a dull pain on your right shoulder
>your eyes open, only to meet them with the emerald green eyes of Liichen and her furrowed brows
>"Anon you've come to!" she brushes her hand by your forehead.
>"Here have some water Anon, you've earned it soldier."
>you shift up to get a drink from her steel 1 liter canteen, grimacing all the way.
>she frets, "Don't move Anon, your shoulder's been dislocated, so don't move it too much."
>"One hell of a job with that Antipanzergewehr shot anon, the fucker had to run away instead of fly after what you did to it. I would've taken out its other wing too, but I didn't want to lose my arm."
>"Oh fuck off Rat." you manage to force out
>"Oh okay, I'll just activate the cruise control and hop out while we're still moving at 60." he replied with a smirk
>you chuckle at his remark, ow FUCK that hurt.
>Liichen glares at Rat at the drivers seat, "Rat, please. Anon needs his rest right now and you're not helping." her eyes stabbing icicles into Rat
>"Woah there boss lady, I'm just trying to help. Humor's a great stress reliever where I'm from."
>"Hah, serves you right fucko." said Funker as he sharpens his bayonet.
>Liichen looks at Funker, "And you Funker, stop antagonizing Tunnel Rat, just cause he's from the Underground doesn't mean he's not human."
>"I never said he's an untermensch, I simply don't like him."
>Rat stares forward, keeping his eyes on the road, face steely after what Funker said."
>the rain was back but it wasn't storming or windy anymore, now it's just a light rain.
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>wanting to break the tension in the small interior of the jeep you speak up
>"Say, where's Grunk?" you ask, you don't see the green giant anywhere."
>Rat gestured with his thumb "Look out the back window Anon."
>"I can't Rat, my shoulder."
>"Gah, he's driving one of the 5 tonners with the other remaining survivors."
>"How many of us are left?"
>Everyone looks gloomy.
>Liichen spoke out, "They're all dead. The Commander, the lieutenants, other mercs, dead. All of Platoons 2 and 3 are KIA. Between us and 1st Platoon, there's only 7 survivors left of the 4th Company.
>She swears in Elvish. "Greedy fucking execs. Whose idea was it to not bring any more AT guns other than that 25 mm rifle? I've never felt so much hatred for my own kind!" she punches the roll cage bar in anger
>she's crying again.
>fuck me I hate it when elves cry.
>too many bad memories.
>you scoot closer to Liichen, wrapping her towards your chest with your good arm.
>"it's gonna be alright Liichen." she stops sobbing, her tears darkening your OD fatigue shirt.
>she smells like lavenders right now, the car is so comfy and warm, there's a light pattering of rain on the canopy, and Liichen's in your arms right now
>you just want to sleep and then wake up the next day from this nightmare
>but this is reality, and 143 mercs were crushed and burned alive
>"what happened to the bodies?" you asked.
>Funker spoke up, "we couldn't do anything about them. Most couldn't escape from their vehicles fast enough when the dragon set their cars on fire; and those who did manage to bail out in time, well, we all know what happens to them.
>the redhead shudders
>you flashback to the image of the burning dwarve merc as he tried to get the napalm off his skin.
>not your first time seeing someone burn alive, you've seen plenty of that before the Merge.
>but it's still not something a sane person would get used to.
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>"Grunk tried his best, he really did. He even burned his fingers trying to pry apart a burned Gage Kommando by hand." she said
>"but by the time he got it open we couldn't even tell apart the bodies from the scorched metal. The dogtags were...were... were so..." she stops to choke back her tears and point at a small burlap sack
>you reach out to grab it and open it. A bunch of badly burnt metal plates fell out, their etching warped by heat to the point where all the letters are jumbled together and you can't even make out the writing.
>the names, their nationalities, their ethnicities, races, blood types, religions, were all scrubbed clean by heat, melding into one warped piece of steel.
>it's fitting really, doesn't matter who you are, an officer or contractor, at the end of the day we mercenaries are all bound by the same flames of war.
>"what's the plan of attack Lii."
>"we can't go back, we simply don't have enough fuel left to head back, and our contract stipulates we won't get our pay if we quit now."
>you speak up, "then we should at least call for reinforcements!"
>Funker looks at you guiltily, "sorry bro, the radio's fucked and I don't have enough parts to fix it."
>you all quietly sit in the yellow glow of the incandescent bulb
>"how much did we salvage from the ambush?" you ask breaking the silence
>"this 6x6 and the 5 tonner with the all the weapons and ammo meant for our client, two hitch trailers of extra ammo, grenades, whatever ration cans we could scrounge up, socks, winter clothes, some extra gas, the AT rifle and three rounds left for it." said Funker
>"how long can we expect the Company to ignore our radio silence before they declare us MIA and send in reinforcements?"
>Funker hesitates before responding
>"4 weeks"

>"so it's decided then. We have to push forwards? No looking back?" you muse
>"well we're mercs anon, these kinds of situation are what kids look up to isn't it?" said Funker
>you look out the window, the overgrown grass fields along the highway have become forested with large trees and thick brush
>perfect for an ambush
>looking at the passing trees passing by almost has a hypnotizing effect on you
>you look down at Liichen head on your chest
>looks like she's asleep, her shoulder length auburn hair has become messy and undone from her usual pony tail
>that's what smells like lavender, her hair.
>your eyelids begin to falter, closing heavy with sleep, maybe she gave you painkillers?
>yeah, you're just gonna close your eyes for a second, it's been a long day.
A nice start. The perfect intro to your story.
Is this a training exercise or something?
You think this is sturdy to fight gobbos with?
Is that a stalker story?
Probably. That, or staged for propaganda.
I once asked if it'd be good for melee, and a few anons thought it would be alright. They also said that a solid, wood- or steel-handled shovel would be sturdier. But in the end, it is meant for digging, so it should be good for bashing.
This is why we keep getting the same guy complaining about these threads.
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really? Because yours is the first negative response to that pic I have seen the whole time I have been in /wfg/ (which is apparently "pretty much from the beginning")
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Don't fucking die, thread. Also, bump. Additionally, check'd
Inb4 he's ded.
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Don't die before I can finish my fucking story chunk dammit.
Definitely enjoyed and awaiting next parts.
Also, good job with the images.
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>tfw no cont from roman waifu anon
>tfw no further episodes about witch-eating skinwalkeranon
>tfw no news on merc anon and his waffengeis ak raifu

I really liked these.
Gonna be retconning some of Parks's story for consistency and for what I had planned. Specifically, the section where Parks and Dawn find Ash.
I can't say that surprises me. It did feel a little weird with her just turning up out of the blue.
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oh boy, it's happening

Part 2: New tricks


You look behind you and see a single MiG-23 riding up on your tail, attempting to get on your back side as you continue to scissor with the aircraft. You had to try that move again. You activate the airbrakes and throw the throttles back to idle, slowing the aircraft down immediately as the MiG tries to do the same. It succeeds and you continue the maneuver you've been practicing and perfecting.

Left rudder, right engine max throttle, release the airbrake. You hear all kinds of stall warnings in the aircraft as the wings fully extend, trying desperately to keep you in the air as you fight against the aircraft's natural balance. Eventually, you win, and the aircraft begins to spin violently. You pull the right throttle back to idle and give it more right rudder, managing to balance out the yaw just enough to get a brief sight picture on the MiG-23. You didn't even have enough time to call out Guns Guns Guns before you pull the trigger, a burst of cannon fire shredding the front of the MiG as your flat spin continues.

“Flat spin, twenty thousand!” Your RIO yells behind you. “Full right rudder!”

You continue to use full right rudder, now running off instinct as the correction does nothing.

“Fifteen thousand feet!” He yells.

Fuck this. You slam the throttle forward on the left engine, feeling the aircraft jolt as the spin starts to stabilize.

“Ten thousand feet! Make your move Daniels!” He yells, more RWR contacts showing on the display as the aircraft begins to pitch down.

“Got it!” You yell back, slamming the right engine home and engaging the afterburner on it.

The aircraft shudders as the vortex lift at the back of the aircraft begins shaking you violently, your AOA being completely and utterly fucked at the moment.

“Five thousand feet!” Your RIO yells, beginning to panic. “We gotta eject!”

“I got this!” You yell, the aircraft powering itself towards the ground as it continues to gain speed.
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The aircraft finally stops buffeting and the AOA indicator shows you're back where you should be, prompting you to pull up sharply. You pass 10 Gs as you pull out of the dive, nearly destroying the aircraft as you desperately try to pull up and away from the ground. However, it's not enough and the aircraft's tail slams into the deck, dragging the nose down with it and ending the sim.

“DANIELS! YOU STUPID FUCK!” Your RIO shouts, throwing the helmet at the back of the ejection seat. “YOU GOT US KILLED AGAIN!”

“I thought I had it that time.” You say, disheartened by your failed attempt at a stall maneuver.

“Well I'm done with the sim for today. Everyone who came to watch is gone. I suggest you get some sleep too, we have an operation in 2 days.” He says. “We gotta escort the B-58s back over the border again.”

You nod, sitting in the cockpit simulator as he exits the room, shaking his head in disappointment. You look down at your own flight helmet, seeing it still had all those scratches in it from desert storm and desert shield. Every one of those scratches was earned by maneuvering hard to avoid a SAM, or dodging enemy missiles and gunfire. You look back up at the sim and see you've crashed 27 times trying to do this maneuver. You were TOPGUN for crying out loud! You HAD to do this.
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You slap your helmet back on your head and connect the oxygen mask, lowering the visor down as you began the simulation again, letting it move the throttles before closing the cockpit canopy.

“I can do this.” You say yourself. “I can do this!”

It starts you right back where you started last time, evading the MiG on your tail as the sim tilts the cockpit all over the place. Just as you thought, you can't shake it by maneuvering. Son of a bitch.

“Airbrakes, right throttle idle, full left rudder.” You say, repeating the actions as you say them.

The sim shutters at your input, the Tomcat violently shaking as it tries to stabilize itself. You won't let it, feeling yourself go into a flat spin before long. You gun the MiG-23 down and take immediate correction.

“Airbrakes off, full right rudder, left engine afterburner.” You say, keeping the stick steady as you feel the spin begin to nullify. “Come on baby.”

You're too late pulling out of the flat spin and slam your fist into the side of the canopy.

“Again.” You say to nobody. “Airbrakes off, full right rudder, left engine afterburner.”

The spin slows again and you're pointing nose down, slamming both throttles forward and holding them there as you begin to use the stick to counteract the roll.

“Come on you fucking bitch, FLY!” You shout.

The Tomcat grounds itself again and you groan, restarting from the flat spin.
“Come on! Full right rudder, airbrakes off, left engine full afterburner!” You yell, getting more and more frustrated.

You push the stick down and the aircraft dips as the vortex is created, the nose beginning to bob on the vector.

“Full throttle!” You yell, throwing both throttles forward.

The Tomcat straightens out again and you're screaming towards the ground, pulling up and going through a 10G pullout. The Tomcat does the same thing it did with your RIO, it slammed the tail into the ground just before it could make it.
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“FUCK! What am I doing wrong?!” You ask, hitting the plane again.

As you do that, a replay pops up on screen, showing you moments before you crashed. The aircraft begins gaining altitude, but the tail slams into the ground before you can get sufficient height and speed to keep from experiencing a tail strike. So that's what you've been doing wrong. You load up the sim, starting again from where you left off.

“Full right rudder, airbrakes off, left engine full burner.” You say, more calm and collected this time.

The spin stops and you nose down, already at 7k feet above the surface. The vortex lift kicks in and you're fluttering against the vector, pushing both throttles forward as far as they'll go. The burners kick on and the aircraft stops shaking 1k above the surface. You pull up hard, pulling the same 10 Gs before watching the altimeter. It finally holds steady and you let off the stick, only giving it enough authority to stay level as the altitude begins to rise. You did it.

“I did it.” You say to yourself. “I fucking DID IT!”

You open the canopy and begin taking off your helmet and oxygen mask, fist pumping as you rejoice in the fact you just pulled out of something not many pilots can. A flat spin at 20k feet.
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2 days later

You're flying alongside the B-58 Hustler you flew alongside the first time it dropped that nuke on California. You've been flying for over 5 hours, having had to stop and refuel mid-flight to make it to your destination, Kauai. The Russians and Chinese have set up a supply stop on the beach for all their ships to refuel, since most of them run on coal and diesel. Command had suggested bombing Pearl Harbor, but the risk of country wide backlash was too great, not to mention it would destroy a valuable military base that would be required to get non-nuclear ships to Asia.

Your Tomcat was loaded up with 12 Mk.82s and 2 sidewinders, hopefully enough firepower to take down any threats you might come up against. If not, you always had the trusty gun you could rely on.

“Cap, we got 12 contacts coming in. Look like MiG-25s.” Your RIO pipes up. “Jesus they're fast!”

You look down at the RWR and see all 12 of them coming in fast.

“Victory 1-3, Tall man 1-1. We see 12 contacts on our radar. There's no way we're outrunning something that fast.” The Hustler tells you. “We might be able to take on 1, but the rest are up to you.”

“Got it, Victory 1-3 out.” You tell him, waving over to the man. “Alright boys, you heard the man. Keep these planes off him until we can drop that nuke and our bombs.”

“Copy, Fox 3.” Victory 1-4 says, firing an AIM-120.
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20 minutes later

You've dropped your bombs on the harbor, having destroyed all of the boats and refueling stations inside. However, your nightmare has finally come to haunt you, as a MiG-29 was just able to take off before the hangars were destroyed. He was tailing you while your other flights were busy engaging the MiG-25s, which proved to be surprisingly maneuverable. Only one of them snapped their wings and had to bail while the others resorted to energy fighting to try and defeat your F-14 brethren. This led to a wild goose chase nobody in the flight had a hope of winning, but leaving them alone would mean a shot down B-58 with a live nuke.

“Break right!” Your RIO yells, snapping you out of your trance as you begin to break right.

You feel the aircraft begin to buffet as the vortex lift kicks in, allowing you to barely out turn the MiG. However, as soon as you run out of energy or lose control, he's right back on your six. You're getting tired and so is your RIO.

“Break left!” He yells, making you break left to keep the MiG off your tail.

There's no way this isn't going to end with you down in the ocean and captured unless you think of something. Something stupid.

“Baby girl, you gotta hold on for me, can you do that?” You ask the plane. “Can you hold yourself together while I do something stupid?”

“What? Wait...” Your RIO says before he comes back on the radio screaming. “DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE!”

You have to hope your plane agrees with you and wants to hold itself together.
“Alright, Airbrake.” You say, popping the air brake.

You feel yourself being pulled against the straps on your harness, your RIO screaming for you not to do it.

“Idle left throttle.” You say, pulling the left throttle back. “Full right rudder.”

You feel the aircraft begin shaking violently, obviously not liking whatever you're doing. You look behind you and see the MiG has its airbrakes on full and it's barely able to slow down in time.

“Right engine full throttle.” You say, putting the right engine on reheat as the aircraft finally loses stability. “Guns guns guns!”

You line up the MiG for a split second and hold down the trigger, a burst of 20mm ripping the front of the plane apart and more than likely killing the pilot.

“GREAT, YOU'VE KILLED US!” Your RIO screams as you're both pushed to the left side of the aircraft.

“Correcting!” You yell, reversing the engines and giving it full left rudder.

The aircraft begins correcting the spin as the left engine goes into reheat.

“10 thousand feet! Jesus Christ we gotta bail!” Your RIO yells.

“If you bail I'm going to shoot you when we deploy parachutes!” You yell back.
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The plane finally stops spinning and you slam the stick forward, getting a response in the form of a downward pitch as you push both throttles forward.

“Come on baby. You gotta hold together.” You tell the plane. “Come on!”

The AOA indicator reaches an acceptable number and you pull back on the stick hard, feeling yourself being pushed into the bottom of the seat as the blood rushes out of your head. The aircraft groans in protest as you hear things snap inside, your vision narrowing as you watch the altitude gauge. If your RIO could scream, he'd be screaming right now. You see the aircraft finally level off and let off the stick, keep the aircraft level as your vision returns to you.

You begin gaining altitude and look back at your RIO, who has passed out by now. You pull the aircraft up gently, not wanting to put the aircraft through any more stress.

Yes, I know. The rudder input and everything else doesn't make sense, just pretend it's a maneuver to go into a flat spin. I realized it half way through writing and I didn't want to keep all of you waiting after I said I'd get an update out soon. Hope you all enjoyed.
At the cost of spoiling some of my story, what reasons would a CIA spook have to false flag a well-coordinated attack inside the United States? I feel like the reason I have is flimsy at best, with said reasoning being a vague:

>"To increase the security apparatus of the United States government"
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Alrights boys I'm back in action for one or two more posts today, or maybe more

Angiang Valley, Markaya; Year 1869
>the rain wouldn't stop pouring
>what the fuck man it's been raining for the past two days
>the highway hasn't been completely paved yet, so the vehicles can't go forward without getting stuck in the mud
>no way forward but to go on foot
>it's fine, those APCs were pretty much metal coffins anyway
>"Platoon! Dismount and proceed on foot! I want a 10 yard spread, organized by squads, and a staggered line formation!" you shout out
>"Yes sir!" replied the members of the 12th Motorized Infantry Brigade, 6th Platoon
>you make switch off your Karbine M98's safety and proceed forward with your platoon.
>you don't like how you won't have any motorized fire support, but with an inch of flooding as far as the eye can see, you've got no choice but to push forward without the Gage Kommandos and their 25mm Vofors autocannons.
>your RTO jogs up to you, with a headset in hand.
>"Sir! It's company HQ! They want a sitrep!" you take the headset and put it on
>"HQ, this is Recon-1, we have dismounted 2 klicks from the village and are proceeding on foot due to adverse environmental conditions. Our position is currently coordinates grid: Alpha 01-2319, proceeding to grid: Charlie 02-2420, proceeding southbound on Highway 14, over."
>"Recon-1 this is HQ, copy that. Proceed to grid point Charlie 02-2420 on Highway 14 as per the mission objective and radio in for further instruction, HQ out."
>you fix your woodland patrol cap and signal your platoon down the highway.
>"Remember boys! Watch for any movement, if you see anything, signal for a stop and we'll send a squad in to investigate! If you need to take a piss, don't stop going and just piss off the side of the road, do not stop this platoon because you drank one too many cups of coffee gentlemen!"
>a couple guys chuckle, rain bouncing off their net-covered K-pots.

A small addition to Parks inside of Knight Pharma.
Could be political.
See: Russian Collusion investigation

You've also teased this with Operation Northwoods, so you could roll with the original premise: spooks see X as bad, but America doesn't feel that way. So we'll kill a bunch of Americans and make it look like X's fault, and that will get us what we want. You wouldn't even have to get the President involved, since many three letters have at least one, if not multiple, scandals in which a portion or even the whole agency went off the reservation and did stupid shit without executive approval. It's really not as far fetched as many people would have us believe, in my opinion.
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>you've all been marching for 30 minutes before your feet started to hurt
>ah shit you can feel the blisters forming in your damp low boots already
>fuck it, you're tired and miserable and so are your men
>"Platoon halt! 30 minute break, change your socks, heat up your rations if you can, fill up your canteens with rain, if you have to take a shit, make sure you go with a buddy, and for God's sake make sure you shits don't flow into the camp!"
>the men laugh and visibly relax as they take off their A-frames and retrieve their ration cans from their assault packs
>you follow suit with your's and attempt to light your pocket stove with your metal Rippo lighter.
>ah shit the fuel tablets are wet.
>cold pork it is then. You sigh, taking out a waxed brown paper packet of hardkeks from your assault pack and retrieve your P38 from your dogtags.
>your hands couldn't stop shaking from the cold.
>Goddammit, of all the times for this country to be not unbearably hot and humid and it's on a rainy day.
>your RTO pipes up, "Lieutenant Anon, let me help you with that."
>she grabs your ration tin and P38 can opener from your shivering hands and proceeds to open it up
>"Thanks Monika" you smile at her
>"Should've listened to me and packed your gloves" she remarked
>"I gave them to that kid the last time we visited Raigon City remember?"
>she gives you your opened can, and stuffs your P38 back into your fatigue shirt, her slightly wet but warm hands brushing against your cold skin
>"Your chest is so wet and cold sir, you should've never given me your zeltbahn..." she says with concern in her voice, her green eyes looking on with equal worry
>"We can't have you catching a cold sir, it might... damage your..."
>"... performance... sir." she says in a teasing voice
>her hands now rubbing on your wet chest
>"I'll be fine, and besides, you're always plenty wet too, don't want you to get a cold." you say with a smirk
>her blush seems to radiate warmth into the cold day.
>"here, have some meat." you scoop a chunk of pork from your tin onto a hardkek cracker
>you hold the cracker to her mouth.
>"Remember when you tried doing this during prom and you spilled your spaghetti all over my skirt?" she giggles and eats the cracker
>"Oh Yesus, are you trying to kill me with embarrassment"
>she takes a bite from the cracker, chewing hard to break down the cracker
>you smile all the way. Goddamn, what did you do to deserve this girl?
>"Don't mind if I take another bite Anon." ooohhhh, she using your first name now
>she takes a deeper bite, your fingers now in her mouth.
>she looks up with her emerald green eyes, sparkling with mischievousness
>you take a deep gulp, shit are we gonna do it now? In the mud?
>she takes in your finger deeper, suckling on it lightly
>"h... hey Monika, let's not do on the field yeah?"
>she lets go of your finger, and starts chewing hard on the hardkek, "Sorry Anon, had to make sure I got all the juices."
>she giggles, "Besides, I saw how cold you were, so I decided warm you up by making you a bit... hot... and bothered."

>you take a look at your watch, it's been 25 minutes, you quickly change your socks and finish your ration tin.
>you light a cigarette and take a long toke, savoring the rich tobacco flavor and contemplate your life so far
>how long is this war going to last? This was your first deployment in Markaya.
>Nortelande wanted to contain a certain Kaiserreichian socio-economic ideology from spreading to surrounding countries
>you signed up after senior graduation, went through boot before being recognized for your talents in teamleading
>God help me I was only 19
>for 10 months you've led your platoon through the thickest of action, in Ia Draco Valley, Jue City, L'Ashkar
>being the tip of the spear your men are all pretty brave, but it means that the 6th platoon has a higher mortality rate than any other platoon
>your men look up to you, but you're on your last mental legs
>you've seen too many good men and women die in this fucking country
>if you had your say, you would've saturation bombed this whole damn place to the ground
>you were on the verge of suck starting your Hi-Mag when your old highschool friend showed up to replace your RTO
>every night she would enter your tent and talk with you, like none of your men had before
>at first you tried to act like a stoic professional and not like a nervous sophomore, but the waterworks started to come out after she starts to get you talking about how you've been doing those past 5 months
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>she was so caring and understanding, not like her usual tomboy self you were so accustomed to
>"It's alright Anon, I've got you, you've been so brave for your men. You can cry if you want Anon, I'll bear your pain with you, I'll always be here for you Anon. We're gonna make it through this. We're gonna make it out alright Anon." she says as she runs her soft hands across your short army reg hair.
>you remember how radiantly her auburn hair looked under the glow of the kerosene lamp that night
>her eyes seem to penetrate into your soul and take you breath away. In that moment, you you decided to take that leap of faith
>her face was so close to your's already, she looks into your eyes, seemingly confused
>you leaned in and kissed her on her soft, yielding lips. Her eyes widened.
>she gasped, shocked at first, but then she slowly whispered, "Oh Anon" as her tears started to roll down her blushing cheeks and melted into your embrace
>"I love you Monika, I've always loved you." you manage to say in your crying
>she put her fingers on your lips, wiping away your tears.
>"I love you too Anon, please, can we, stay the night... t... to... together?"
>that was the night both of you lost your virginities, at the age of 21, to your best friend.
>you explored each other's body the whole night, licking, biting, laughing, tickling...
>... entering...
>you explored her lean abs, her muscular arms, her musclebound thighs as you "went beneath her enemy lines"
>you "rammed your shell into her chamber"
>eventually the both of you tire out, you rested your head on her soft bosom, taking in her sweat scented aroma
>she just plays with your short army red hair, giving you the occasional kiss on the head
>she was your rock, your world, your reason for still being alive
>"It's time to go Anon." Monika shakes you out of your reminiscence.
>you snap back to Monika. Your cigarette's burned out.
>"Alright sweety, I'll get the men ready to go."

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>"Platoon! Strike camp and move out! If you haven't taken a shit in these past 30 minutes then you're shit out of luck because we ain't stopping anytime soon!" you yell
>"Radio it in to HQ, tell them we're on the move again Monika."
>she's all business now, she snaps to attention and gives a salute, "Ja meneer! HQ, HQ, this is..."
>you step out from the cover of a tree and move with your platoon southbound down the highway
>your platoon continues to march down the flooded highway which cuts through a large patch of bush, jungle and some rice paddies
>eventually, you take an exit into the jungle, everyone's on their nerves now
>the leaf canopy's so thick that not a drop of rain can be seen, but it's also gotten much darker
>eventually, your platoon reaches the outskirts of a clearing, and it lays a small hamlet filled with bamboo houses and straw huts
>you see the Markayans going about their daily business, unaware of what is surrounding their small village in the treelines
>"Monika!" you whisper, "Come to me!"
>Monika nods, taking her Karbine M98 by its center of mass in one hand and low running to you
>"HQ, this is Recon-1, we have arrived at coordinated grid Charlie 02-2420, please advice over."
>"Recon-1, this is HQ, copy that, proceed to enter the village and search around for any weapons caches, tell your men to take their time and watch for booby traps. Remember, one of our patrols made contact with the enemy just a mile east of the village just two days ago. If there aren't any weapons in the village, search the jungle. Give me a sitrep when you're finished with the search, out."
>you nod, telling Monika to switch her radio to all squad leads.

>"All squad leaders listen up, I want squads one and two to conceal themselves in the treelines, do not make yourselves seen. Squads three, four and five are to enter the village and begin searching. When we make contact, I want squads one and two to begin covering fire while squads three takes cover and returns fire. Squads four and five will then bound back from the treeline and cover squad three while it bounds. Understood?"
>each SL says ja meneer
>"Alright, gentlemen, leave no man behind, we're all going to make it through this you hear? Alright, watch for tripwires, be careful when you're searching through supplies."
>you look at Monika, she gives you a curt smile, she's ready, your ready.
>"All units, take your positions." You wait until all the squads go where they're supposed to.
>when you have confirmation, you give the signal, "Squads three, four, and five. Move out!"
>the villagers were surprised to see you in their village
>your finger is on the trigger of your rifle, you never like these villages, too many straw and bamboo huts, not enough solid cover.
>you would've preferred fighting in Jue City over these tiny villages, at least there you got solid cover.
>you order your men to spread out and search the huts.
>you head with Monika to the village chief's house and start speaking to him in Markayan
>you ask him if he knows anything about the insurgents that were fighting a mile east of his village just two day ago
>it's been an hour and still nothing from the elder
>I'm getting so sick of this shit
>oh shit, it sounds like M98s are going off
>an explosion can be heard from the outside, throwing shrapnel through the hut
>you push yourself and Monika down
>a piece of shrapnel hits you in the K-pot
>it's the size of a .50 cal
>we gotta get outta there
>"Come on Monika, get up" you grab her and feel something warm
>"It's fine Anon, I'll be right behind you" she pulls herself off the floor and readies her rifle


>you both barge out of the hut, seeing black smoke blooming up from the burning huts
>you grab headset and radio in Squads three to five.
>no response
>shit they're all dead
>there's gunfire coming from the treeline where squad one and two were set up
>you radio them to give you covering fire too
>"Come on Monika! We gotta get to the treeline!"
>"On you Anon!" she yells
>you both begin to move towards the treeline, checking your corners
>50 yards
>there's a street you have to cross, you check both ways, deciding it's smarter to cross at the same time to save time.
>big mistake
>as soon as you begin to sprint across, automatic fire comes from the bushes on the treeline
>you hear a yelp of pain
>Monika's been hit in her right calf
>you pull her into cover and keep you and herself down, as the gunfire tears through the straw hut at standing torso level.
>"Shit, you're gonna be alright Monika!" you yell in her face
>"Oh shut up I'm fine" she starts crawling with you towards the jungle
>30 yards
>the machine gun crew no longer have line of sight on you and Monika
>you support Monika as she limps, suppressing her whimpers of pain
>"We're going to get you a medevac Monika. They're going to fly you to Nipponland for that leg, you're going to get a hot meal and you're going to go home Monika, you're gonna be all right sweety, just hang on!" you say, trying yo hold back your tears
>"A... Anon..." she whispers, her voice is getting raspy
>"Y... Yes sweety?" you ask
>"Look out"
>you barely have enough time to react as a Markayan soldier charges at you with a machete

alright, i'll release the latest one

also, pastebin

>you've been walking through the jungle for about two hours
>the russian is still missing
>you have seen nothing of interest so far
>some time later you see smoke rising over the horizon
>it could be a campfire or some wildfire
>with nothing better to do you start to trek over to it
>its a fair distance away

>as you near the scene you see that it is a campfire
>its still a light although nobody is near it
>there is one tent off to one side of the site
>around the campfire are a few guns laying besides some logs
>you head over to the tent, AK raised
>you open the front flap
>nobody inside
>there is some camping equipment inside
>you head back over to the campfire
>one of the guns looks like a mix of a dragunov and a bullpup rifle with a scope
>another almost is an AK12, but something looks off
>the last one you see is a OCIW, although as with the AK12, something looks wrong
>as you take a closer look at the guns, you see chink markings all over them
>it seems that some chink SF team was camped out here
>but now their gone
>but they will probably be back
>you grab all the guns and strap them on your pack
>its a fair amount heavier than your normal load, but since you've lost most of your normal load in the ambush its not impossible to hike with
>you march away from the campsite until the sun starts to set
>its a good time for some campcraft of your own
>you setup your sleeping bag on a clear patch of the jungle
>you set your bag right next to you
>you crawl in the bag and zip it shut
>you finally get some shut eye after a long day
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>but she does
>time seems to slow down as you look her in the eyes
>she whispers something, but you can't quite hear what it is
>she pushes you back, pulling her Johnning Hi-Mag from her leather drop leg holster
>she shoots, but her shot doesn't connect
>the Markayan soldier slashes his machete down on her
>she screams and falls, dropping her pistol as she falls the ground, clutching her neck and chest
>the soldier looks incredulously at her, mouth agape
>you rush to unsling your M98 and aimed it at the young Markayan
>you fire, but missed him
>quickly you rack the bolt to get another round into the chamber
>he ducks and yells a war cry, charging at you with his machete full speed
>shit he's too close to aim at
>he's about to bring down the machete when you raise your rifle to block it
>you feel a sharp pain on your right brow as the machete cuts into your right brow and upper right cheek
>blood leaks from the wound like a river, washing it self into your eyes and mixing with the rain
>the young soldier is gritting his teeth, saliva dangling from his bared fangs, his eyes frozen in a look of desperation
>you scream and kick the Markayan off of you
>right in the balls
>he howls in a high pitched scream and falls backwards, crawling away from you, cupping his groin as his blood starts to darken his khaki cargo pants
>you bring the rifle level with his center of mass
>he starts to plead with you in Markayan
>"Please sir! Don't kill me! I have a family! PLEASE DON'T HURT ME!!!!"
>you wordlessly stand up, towering over the young soldier
>he couldn't have been more than 17 or 18.
>he continues to stare at you with those pleading eyes
>you aim the rifle at hid kneecap and pull
>the 8.2mm Krauser round enters his right kneecap and fragments, completely shattering his knee cap with shrapnel
>his screams were louder than gunshot
>he tries to crawl away backwards
>you cycle the bolt of your M98

I found it:
If Archivefag could add it to the rest in the sticky that would be nice.
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Also A. Shephard, if you're still lurking, please continue this one day. It's my favorite /k/ lit.
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>you shoot him in the other kneecap, this time the round tears a whole chunk of bone and flesh from his left leg
>you cycle the bolt
>he's shaking his head eyes wide open as he screams
>you kick his left arm and pin it against your boots
>you aim at the area where his arm and torso meet and pull the trigger
>his screams at this point are getting raspy
>blood from your wound gets into your eye, obscuring your vision with red
>last round
>you rack the bolt
>the teen boy voice is hoarse now, the only resistance is his shaking head
>you put your left boot on his neck
>his teeth are clenched shut
>you drive your muzzle into his teeth, breaking them
>you pull the trigger
>his head explodes like a watermelon falling from a 5 story building
>pieces of his skull pierce your leg, but you don't feel anything
>you stand in the heavy rain, the kid's blood pouring from his assorted wounds into the flooding waters
>your own blood is mixing with the kid's blood in the yellow and muddy flood.


>"Ano... Anon" whispers a raspy voice
>your bloodrage quickly dissipates, you drop your rifle and run to Monika's side
>"Monika! Stay with me soldier! I... oh shit that's a lot of blood."
>a two inch slash wound ran from her clavicle to her upper abdomen.
>you hold her hand in yours, her green eyes becoming glassy, her skin becoming paler by the second
>"Anon... I'm so sorry, you... you have to be..." she struggles to talk
>"No please... no... don't leave me. You're supposed to make it! I... I had everything planned out for us!" you're sobbing now, your tears mixing with the rain and blood
>"It's not fair... It's not fair... we were supposed to go on a road trip together in my Fjord! We were supposed to be happy together Monika... please don't go..."
>"Anon, promise me you'll be strong for me. Promise me you'll go on without me. Don't let me drag you down..." she pleaded with you with her green eyes
>"Anon, you look cold." she was freezing, "Take my zeltbahn, it's your's anyways, I've got no use for it where I'm going."
>her hand slowly loosens grip
>"Hold me Anon."
>"I'm right here baby. I've got you." you manage through your sobs
>her hands go cold.
>She's gone.
>Killed in Action
>Lost to the Area of Operations

>you wake up in the 6x6.
>Funker is driving now, Rat's asleep, it's still raining.
>someone turned off the light bulb, so the interior of the 6x6 is dark, save for the gray light coming from the outside.
>you feel Liichen snuggling on your left arm, her cheeks smushed against your deltoids
>her breathing is so peaceful.
>you smooth her hair.
>she's spread your zeltbahn over the both of you
>you can still see the repaired slash mark on the cloth.
>Liichen stirs awake, "Anon? You up? How's your shoulder?" she rubs the sleep from her eyes
>you wipe away your tears with your right arm, it still hurts, but thank god for aspirins.
>"No Anon don't move your arm!" she wipes your tears for you
Last post before bed time boys, have a good one. Maybe I'll post again tomorrow

>"Liichen, thank you. For taking care of me." you say while holding her hand
>her eyes were looking straight down, not daring to meet yours
>something's wrong.
>you hear her sobbing, tears falling down from those pretty green eyes of her's.
>she bear hugs you tightly and cries into your arm, wetting your sleeves with her tears.
>my God she must've heard everything
>"I'm so sorry Anon, I didn't know. I thought you hated me Anon, I'm so sorry."
>"Don't cry Liichen. What are you sorry about?" you say as you wipe away her tears with the zeltbahn
>"The first time we met in that bar, in Neu Hawe, I, wanted to hit it up with a guy in the bar, when I saw how you were drinking alone in there I thought you wanted to do it with me. But then I realized how different you were from the other men. Human men would leer at us elf girls, but not you, you're so polite and modest around me..."
>"... I thought you liked me. I thought you were just playing hard to get. I didn't know that... you had her in mind... I'm so sorry if I disrespected you... and her."
>"It's fine Lii, you're not being disrespectful. I forgive you." you said in a comforting tone
>"Re... Really?"
>"Yes, really. But like I said before, I don't want to become too attached to anyone. I don't..." you hold back your tears, "I don't want to be hurt like that ever again."
>she shakes her head regrettably, "I understand Anon, I'll give you some space."
>you smooth her hair, "Listen, maybe when this is over, if we finish this contract and both make it out alive, meet me at the bar again."
>she sniffs, "And if one of us don't?"
>you hesitate, "Then we'll pour a drink for the other. I'll have a cold mug of pale Dwarven Lager then."
>she smiles, such a pretty smile, "I'll have a glass of Elven wine then."
>you're smiling, she's smiling
>Rat's snoring.
>God's In His Heaven, and All Was Right In the World.
>For now.
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best girl. If for no other reason than her artist is really good
muh feels.
Good job anon. Keep going. This story is gold.

yay. he lives.

nice one, as always Michiganon.
That "crashing a plane only to reveal it was a simulation" scene reminded me of the one made by that spaceship anon, who had very similar moment.
agreed, also checked
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Also, why do people ship Springfield with Enfield so often?
because "special relationship", plus the pics of Lee-Enfield with a troubled expression because of something Springfield did put a smile on your face
page 10 bump
Still no creepy warehouse security/twilight zone-y story update?
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Prepare for the coming ending of the Us Lucky Few storyline which leads into The Things We Protect. I'm almost done here, just trying to edit everything so that it flows as cohesively as possible before I send it to an editor.
Which one?
I just finished Us Lucky Few.

I'm scared to post it because I don't know if it's good enough.
I want to thank you guys that have stuck by for the past year following this project. I can't wait to get to the next step. In the meantime, I'll be writing out the MSR Houston incident of 2015.

Without any further delays.


Also I made a thing in paint .net that looks similar to how I'd want the site set up.
The one that started with the security guard tazing the trucker.
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I did enjoy it. Glad we get these little gems from time to time.
I'm glad you've done this. It could certainly be implied where these freakouts have been coming from, but it's always nice to have that smoking gun.
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That's rough. Good rough, but man, my feels.
Chinks too? The plot thickens.
Wowee, that's a hell of a finisher. Bit of a rough finish for Parks, but at least I can take consolation in Matthews getting BTFO. Thanks for this Don, I've enjoyed following it.
Nice webpage, too.
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>thought people would be upset I didn't finish a story
>no one mentions it

Is this getting away or being forgotten?
Both, probably.
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I present a short story: The Target.
>tfw only FALs and no Howa Typ 64s
I can't be the only one who likes that shitty rifle that beats itself up each shot right?
Also what software do you use to draw these? Do you use a pad and pen or is it all mouse and cursor?

Relax, next part coming soon, prepare to be dumped on
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Back again, bostin'

>Funker tells you he's tired, so you take over for him at the driver's seat
>Liichen is sound asleep, tucked under your zelt
>Funker makes a point of sleeping away from Rat at the rear end of the 6x6
>it's night now, you check your watch
>it's around 8
>shit how long did you sleep?
>must've been one hell of a painkiller she gave you, because your shoulder feels almost fine now
>you roll down the window and reach into your breast pocket
>you pull out a metal tin and pull out a mushroom cig
>elves and Dwarves love this shit, it's like tobacco, with a bit of spice to it
>you buy these because you can't afford tobacco anymore since the weather in the northwest is not suitable for tobacco
>you make a mental note to buy some cigs in bulk when you travel to the southeast someday
>you light up the cig with your dented Rippo
>as you finish lighting it up, you look at the dents and scratches on the nickel plated finish
>this thing has been with you for years now
>it was your father's gift to you before your first deployment
>you recognize some of the rust in the dents and scratches from your time in the army
>you remember how Monika would always somehow find you lighter fluid to use instead of gas for refills
>a sting of pain on your brow pulls you back to the present
>you tenderly rub the quarter inch deep machete scar on your right brow
>the machete had managed to crack the brow bone
>the sheer shock of the force with which the machete had hit you brow chipped off a piece of the bone
>the doctors couldn’t do anything about the quarter inch deep cavity in your brow ridge, so they left it empty
>everytime you touch it you’re reminded of the emptiness you felt after she died
>no, you’re not going back down that rabbit hole again, last time you did you almost tried to siphoned a slug from a pump action

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>you look out the window to take your mind off of thing, looks like the moon’s out tonight
>there's enough visibility to see ~maybe 10-20 yards out, but beyond the 6x6's headlights you're pretty much blind
>you're feeling a chill go down your spine, and it's not from the wind rushing through the open window
>you feel like you're being watched, the feeling you get from the two deployments to Markaya and Suid-Zwateria
>you see a gas station up ahead, and decide to stop and scrounge up some gas
>you stick your hand out of the window, forming a fist to signal for Grunk to ready to stop the 5 tonner
>you pull off to the side of the road and wake Rat up
>you tell him to pull security on the 6x6 and to not wake up Funker or Liichen
>"Alright anon, you sure you don't want me to come with you? I'm pretty good at CQB" asked Rat
>you tell him it's fine, and to just look after the car
>Grunk dismounts from the driver's cab of the 5 tonner, grunting as he ducks his head to avoid bumping into the top of the driver's cabin
>"Anon! That was some work back there with that APG! What a good shot, normally I'd say to give a clean death to your enemies, but after what that dragon has done..." his mind wanders, "So! How's that arm of your's? Still hurt?"
>"Y... Yeah, it kinda still does" you say nervously


>"Ehhh? What's wrong boy? Don't tell me you've lost your nerve after that fight with the dragon?!" he exclaims, louder than he should might you add
>"Goddammit Grunk! I don't like this, I feel like we're being watched." you whisper loudly
>Grunk seems to come back to his senses, nose twitching
>"Hmmm, I don't smell nothin' Anon, but now that you mention it, I do feel tingling." says Grunk in a lower voice
>"Come on, let's clear this place get find some gas so we can get out of here." you say in perhaps a higher pitched voice than usual
>you lead the way, your Mk14 set to full auto and tucked hard under your armpit, the heatshield mounted flashlight switched on, bathing the abandoned gas station in a narrow beam of yellow incandescent light.
>Grunk's left his .308 belt fed in the 5 tonner, and instead has retrieved a sawn off .700 Nitro Express coach gun from his browned leather holster, holding a spare clip of two .700 Nitro Express rounds in his left, bracing the sawn off with his left wrist, a large lamp on his boonie hat
>the both of you stack up on the right side of the wooden door
>"I'll clear right, you clear left, execute on three."
>you kicked down the rotting door, rushing into the room with your battle rifle tucked under your armpits, ready to point shoot into any hostiles
>Grunk clears the left, running through rotting wooden chairs without even being phased or tripped
>"Clear"you both announce simultaneously
>you look around the dusty room filled with collapsed metal racks and toppled shelves, crushed bags of moldy bread and pre-Merge potato chips on the ground
>a puddle on water accumulates from the leaky, saggy ceiling boards, colored dark with God knows what swimming in it
>the cashier's checkout table has a rifle on it, looks like a sporterized M98

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>seems like Bubba had gotten to it though, the once wooden stock replaces with a skeletonized paratrooper style triangular folding stock an OSG muzzle brake is attached to the muzzle, the "cheesegrater" styled heatshield is removed and has an 8x scope attached to a weaver style rail welded on top of the chamber area of the barrel
>the bolt is racked back, no rounds in the chamber nor internal magazine
>it might be Bubba'd, but the welding job is exceptionally well done, looks like an experienced gun smith worked on her
>the Kube is happy
>a sudden and faint sound of empty cans ring out through the station is heard
>it's coming from the employee's only storage area
>Grunk sniffs the air, "I'm not smelling anything boy."
>you edge towards the door behind the register, slowly pulling the handle down and opening it.
>it's a short and straight corridor with boxes lined on the sides and an ajar walk-in freezer door on the opposite side of the hallway
>you give your rifle to Grunk, who makes the large battle rifle look like a children's toy by comparison
>taking off your patrol cap and tucking it into your web belt, you silently draw out your old Nortelande Army issue 9mm Hi-Mag
>the click of the safety being disengaged can be heard loudly in the tiny hallway
>you take the flashlight from your rifle and proceed towards with your hands somewhat shaking
>you feel sweat building in your armpits, dripping off in the excess space of your fatigue shirt
>your clammy hands feel numb from how hard you're gripping the diamond textured wood grips of your Hi-Mag
>Grunk's whisper breaks the silence
>"Well get on with it boy! We haven't got all night!"
>you shoot Grunk a death glare and proceed toward the walk in freezer door silently, slowly
>you grip the rust dotted handle and pull, the hinges creaking loudly
>you cringe at the sound
>you walk into the room, the room was pitch black, the dusty metal racks filled with long since rotted away pieces of black meat


>a chill runs down your spine
>you hear shallow breathing sounds
>underneath you
>you look down and see a square metal trapdoor
>it's coming from down there
>oh God why didn't you bring Tunnel Rat with you
>you signal to Grunk that you're going down there
>he nods silently
>you lift the door open, peering your head into the 5 foot high crawl space before jumping down
>you scan around the crawl space with your flashlight, there are some cans of food down here and a rotten cotton bedroll, some of those cans are opened
>the opened cans still have some fresh food in it
>one of them looked kicked over
>ah shit here we go again
>the room looks bigger than you had anticipated and was pitch dark to boot
>you hear shivering and shallow breathing behind you, echoing through the big empty room
>you're sure it ain't your own breathing and shivering
>you turn around as quickly as you could in the cramped space, pointing your flashlight and Hi-Mag towards the source of the sound
>"Oh holy shit" you whisper out

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>you see a pair of eyes reflecting your flashlight
>you debate whether you should shoot it or not
>it's just staring at you, maybe it's a raccoon?
>your finger is itching when you stop
>you hear feminine whimpering coming from the eyes
>you slowly step forward, each step you take the whimpering gets louder and more desperate
>you hear the eyes blinking and moving as sounds of moving can be heard on the dusty concrete floor
>you move faster towards it now
>when the your shitty incandescent bulb light gets in range of the target you finally see who it is

>the light illuminates a pair of pale, bony legs and small blistered feet
>as you move the light up you see her... oh
>... private parts and slender, skinny pelvis
>you move your light up to her exposed chest area
>looks like a B-cup to me
>her emaciated ribcage moves with each quick breath she takes
>you see whispy, messy shoulder length blonde hair running down her sunken in shoulders
>her skinny arms are raised, her pale and bony hands cupped over her mouth
>occasional whimpers can be heard as her hands fail to contain her sounds of fear
>she has pale blue eyes and what appears to be freckles or dirt on her fair face
>her cheeks look shallow and her eye sockets looks sunken in
>the left side of her head is hairless, covered by burn scars instead
>her left ear lobe also covered in burn scars.
>they look disfigured, like someone crudely cut them off with a razor
>her eyes lock onto yours for what seems like eternity
>by God she can't be more than 17 or 18 years old
>they tell a thousand words

the kids are going to be devastated by their teacher "leaving" as it no doubt will be told to them.
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>"Hey! Little girl! Are you okay sweety?" you holster your piece and reach out with your right hand, hands open
>she recoils in fear, legs kicking dust up as she tries to backpedal into the brick wall behind her
>"Ayyy! Ayyy! It's alright I'm here to help!" you whisper/yell out
>"Anon! What in the name of the Kube is going on down there?" yells out Grunk from above
>"I've found a girl!" you yell out
>"That's good, that's really good!" exclaims Grunk
>calm down you green nigger
>she tries to low run past you, the only hint to her escape attempt being the patter of her bare feet on the cold concrete floor
>you quickly react, jumping after her and getting a hold of her leg, causing her to fall
>she screams, kicking your head with her free leg to try and get free from your grasp, skinning her knees and legs on the harsh concrete floor
>but you're stronger, and quickly get on top of her waif like body
>Yesus und Maria she is bony and cold
>her screams turn to whimpers as her strength wanes, her almost non-existent muscles giving up
>"I've got you sweetheart, you're safe now, we're here to help." you've wrapped your whole body around her's
>you stroke her on the head, whispering into her ears words of affirmation
>her whimpers turn to soft sobs as tears run down her scarred face
>"It'll be alright, you're gonna make out alright sweetheart, I'm here for you." you say as she shivers and sobs
>she tucks her head into your chest and cries into it
>shit, even her tears feel cold
>the floodgates have been compromised
>you cup your head into her chest, feeling her shiver less as she warms from your body temp
>you take care to avoid the burnt part of her head as you gently caress her face
>the both of you just laid there in the dark crawl space, her sobbing seemingly stops gradually
>you see a light coming from the trapdoor, a familiar boonie hat and green head popping down
>"Boy, get a move on." says Grunk in a stern voice


>you pop out from the trapdoor, with her in your arms in a bridal carry
>you hand her over to Grunk, who has a wide smile on his face
>you hesitate, "Grunk I swear to God you will serve the Kube in pieces if you do anything with this girl."
>Grunk squints at you, before chuckling to himself, "Relax Anon, she's in good hands. Hand her over."
>she squirms in your arms, eyes wide in fear as you hand her over to Grunk
>"It's okay sweety, it'll be alright, he's a nice orc, he won't rape you."
>she calms down as you talk to her
>Grunk takes her, and you push yourself out of the trapdoor, he hands her back to you
>"See? Not all orcs." say Grunk with a toothy grin
>not all...
>just most
>the both of you walk back out to the vehicles parked near the fuel pumps
>you grab the Bubba'd paratrooper M98 from the register and make your way out the door
>Rat is scanning the dark road and surrounding woods, his brown eyes glinting the 6x6's headlamps
>one hand on his Owen gun and another on one fingering the pins of his pineapple
>looks like he's been filling up jerry cans for the 6x6 and 5 tonner


>"See anything Rat?" you whisper
>"Saw a deer about 50 yards out, nearly shot it." he whispers back tersely
>"The vehicles all juiced up?"
>"Yeah, I'm just filling up the jerry cans." he does a double take, "Who's the woman?"
>"Some chick from a bar I picked up, what do you think?"
>you put the girl into the 6x6, grabbing your zeltbahn and draping it over her
>her eyes are constantly on you, wide as dinner plates as you drape the ERDL pattern poncho/tenthalf over her emaciated body
>"A... Anon?" she speaks in a raspy whisper for the first time
>"Ahh! Oh shit you scared me, what do you want sweetheart?" you lean down to her and cup her non-burned part of her head
>"She's coming for us Anon. Don't let her get me, please." she rasps.
>"Over my dead body before yours sweetheart." you respond, beaming her a smile
>she snuggles into your zeltbahn, hiding her face behind it, showing only her pale blue eyes
>"Anon?" she asks
>"My name is... my name is Sonja. Sonja Stahl."
>"I'm Lieutenant Anon, Lieutenant Anon Anon."
>you unsling the Bubba'd rifle and hand it to her
>"Is this yours little girl?" she nods her head
>she takes the rifle under the zelt, wrapping her arms and legs around it like a body pillow
>"Sit tight, I'll see if I can't get you some hot schokola."
>she buries her head under the zeltbahn
>you run over to the fuel pumps, capping the jerry cans. You put them into the 6x6 and 5 tonner, securing them on the exterior cargo racks and fuel racks
>"Rat! Rat let's go!" you whisper/yell
>Tunnel Rat was standing in front of the 6x6, aiming his Owens gun at the dark, just beyond the range of the 6x6's headlights
>"Rat. Rat what's going on?" you run up to him, Mk14 unslung in hand
>"They're here." he whispers back, not once taking his eyes beyond the headlights
>you look at where he's staring at
>"There's nothing there Rat, come on you're freaking me out." you whisper back
>"Look again, you don't need night vision to see those things now."

I saw that pic in another thread, this shit's gonna make me sad, isn't it?
Well, that's actually a somewhat endearing story, I'll give you that anon.
(Brings back some bad fucking memories though)
"Last night, 2100 hours, the island of Stratis.
Tell me what happened, Sergeant."
"We moved to secure Camp Maxwell. It was a standard detail Move into a potentially hostile base and capture it. We approached in four squads, one of which was a weapons squad. Seems we weren't alone in our intent, because we soon took contact to the right. Apparently we were approaching on a similar heading to one of the four CSAT squads we came into contact with. At least two of the squads must've engaged the squads which were advancing up the slope."
"What was the thing that went wrong? How did this incident come to result in the loss of sixteen of the forty men present?"
"It's very simple, Mister OGA man. For the first time in ninety years, four squads of well trained American forces came up against a near peer adversary. I don't know about YOU, but I was surprised as anyone left alive when we realized that just like us, CSAT soldiers are equipped with NVGs. They appear to be standard issue, no less."
"Standard issue?"
"Yes. They had nods. It's hard to aim when the lasers start going both ways. And it's a real bad idea to aim with a laser when the enemy has nods too. Soon everyone, literally everyone, US troops and CSAT alike, had turned off their fucking lasers and started shooting down their collimator sights. Soon enough, I'd cleared the Woods and reached the hesco barriers. I just kept shooting at shapes helmets that had a weird shape to them and I eventually killed a guy on the other side of the camp. I ended up to his right and he was looking for guys coming from the entrance to the camp."
"What happened next?"
"Nothing. We'd secured the area. The four elements had been eradicated. We'd lost sixteen men. If you'll excuse me, Three of them are still lying where they fell in the central zone of the camp, and I'd like to get them recovered and sent home. Two of them are about lying about ten feet from that back wall there."
"I have to report your findings. Dismissed, Sergeant."

>you stare at the road
>you can't see anything beyond the headlight's illumination range
>"I can't see shit Rat let's just get the fuck out of here!" you turn back your head to face him
>Rat flips the fire selector on his Owen gun to full auto
>"How about now?" he asks
>you turn your head back on the road and see several glowing eyes beyond the headlights' range
>they're moving, getting closer
>their eyes are piercing your soul
>you flip the fire selector of your Mk14 to full auto
>the creature moves forward
>he's flanked by what appears to be...
>but they look strange, their eyes are glowing red, their rib cages exposed, lungs and entrails hanging out, their fur falling off
>the stench hits you and you nearly gag, but Rat keeps his steely gaze on the creatures
>the bipedal steps out
>the smell of rot and iron hits you like a train and you vomit
>thank God you haven't eaten anything since this morning
>its eyes are as red as blood
>it has the head of a... deer? But the body of an emaciated... woman?
>ah shit must be what Sonja was shitting herself over
>the thing has torn and bloodied rags of clothing barely clinging to her 9 foot frame
>scraps of what appears to once be sneakers cling to her monstrous feet by shreds of torn rubber and fabric
>it's like, she grew out of her clothes and shoes or something

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As the two men walked to the door, the sergeant opened the door and walked out, looking to his right, seeing the three corpses, fallen upon the ground, almost in a line, their nvgs still in position, though the batteries had died or the tubes had burned out. One of the men was face down, his NVGs forced toward his eyes, craning his limp neck, tilting the well tightened helmet suspension to a tension that made ligature marks on his neck. The OGA agent was unsure just how he'd come to this end, but he'd be sure to tell someone down the line to make sure bodies that died securing Maxwell were treated well.
"Agent. To the left, if you wanna go down the hill, there's a lot of our boys down there still lying where they fell. A bunch of CSAT boys too. And uh... I know you've dismissed me, and I'm not supposed to say anything more to you, but... Somehow CSAT gets the same NODS we do. Same model, same tubes, same mount, same battery packs, lemo cables, they even have the same LAMs we do. Theirs are just brown and ours are black or green."
"I'll take a look, thanks." the agent replies before he sets off to the left down the hill.

The agent found himself believing every detail of the report more and more as he saw the bodies strewn across the slope. CSAT, were undoubtedly better camouflaged for the slope, dressed in mottled green and brown uniforms rather than the brightly standing "low vis" solid color tan uniforms and short sleeved shirts of the US troops. For moments at a time, he could catch a look at a dead US soldier, distinctly making out his shape as a body, while catching not much more of the CSAT personnel than an anomaly unidentified among the ground clutter, solid in its appearance rather than sporadic like a bush.
As he approached one of the CSAT dead, he noted that indeed, the NODs were identical to those used by US forces, which meant that General Dynamics, the dominant supplier of such wares, was surely engaged with hostile foreign governments.
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Cont. last one for tonight

>"Anon, listen to me." Rat whispers to you the plan
>you nod in acknowledgement.
>the zombie deer start moving closer
>"NOW!!!!" yells Rat as you and he unload your weapons at the ground
>the 9mm and .308 rounds ricocheting off the asphalt ground, near parallel to the ground as the deer charge to you
>the combination of the ricocheting rounds near the ground take out their legs
>you grab his grenades from his bandolier and pull the pins
>you chuck the grenades at the charging as the both of you get as far as you can and dive for the ground
>a loud explosion rocks the empty backroad, throwing pieces of asphalt and deer into the air and back down to the earth
>Funker and Liichen are both awake by now and Funker's on the wheel of the 6x6
>the creature rocks its head back and roars in an inhuman voice
>"OH FUCK THIS SHIT NIGGER!" yells Funker as he puts the 6x6 in gear, his booted foot flooring the pedal
>you and Rat barely gets out of the way before the 6x6 rams into the creature
>"DIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" yells Funker as the 6x6 overruns the creature, which is yelling in pain by now
>Goddammit Funker
>the 5 tonner rolls up
>"Get in boy." says Grunk as a merc survivor in the passenger's seat fires away with Grunk's belt fed, unloading hot red tracers on the pile of rot that is the creature
>you and Rat get in the back of the truck and reload
>"Covering fire!!!!! Get in!!!!!" yells the merc in the back
>the trucks accelerates quickly forward, following the 6x6
>you feel the 5 tonner bumping up and down as it goes over the creature with a sickening crunch and animal roar
>you and Rat keeps shooting into the creature as the 5 tonner speeds away down the dark road
>its screams get further and further away.
>you've lost it

Cont tomorrow, it's 1 am where I am right now, have a good night Anons.
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The battery pack on one of the CSAT troops, who'd landed on his side rather than face down appeared to be, just as the sergeant had described, a standard issue US battery pack.
The agent turned himself back up the hill, in order to leave the repose of the slope behind him, a slope, upon which, the united states, he knew, had sacrificed and permanently strewn about eleven of her greatest sons for the purpose of taking a single rundown camp filled with rundown prefabricated structures on a hill with no particular value in and of itself on an island of no strategic importance, in the pursuit of a conflict neither side wanted, though the United States nevertheless continued to attempt to force into reality.
Somewhere, it occurred to the agent, that at the sight of this travesty, the Mediterranean arm of the Canton Protocol Alliance was probably employing some similar investigator who, unlike him, wouldn't have access to the site, but like him, would conclude in turn, that forty of the best sons of whichever country had been permanently strewn across the woods, for the same reason, with only a difference of result to reflect upon.
As The Agent approached the helipad at Camp Maxwell, he made a stop to tell one of the privates that they could recover the bodies, and that they should collect the bodies of the CSAT and set them somewhere for eventual repatriation.

Okay, now that that's over, I'm wondering. SHOULD I continue "The Street Lights Stayed On?" I have more pictures of F5032's now. And even STILL, I have not yet seen a single one that's outside of a site advertising that they have them.
>"make is look like accident"
>gave her cyanide pill instead of just bashing her head on the corner of the desk and spilling some coffe at her feet.
you had one job.
She hit her head in the desk as she fell down. Technically, he did his job. You should read it again ;)

Thanks for taking time out to read. :)
and the minute a coroner gets his&her hands on the body they notice the tell-tale signs of cyanide poisoning & figure out it was murder.
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I suppose that's it, then
>>thought people would be upset I didn't finish a story
>>no one mentions it
take a number, I have two or three stories I started & people seemed to like, two years or so later no-one has asked about any of them
K, thx for your input fren. Contribute a story next thread, we like getting more people involved.
is that a Civvie reference? owo
no don't die
not sure what you mean there. civilian? CV?
>Contribute a story next thread, we like getting more people involved.
I have been involved for well over two years
(since we have hit the image limit I'm reposting some stuff I haven't updated in a while.)
>You wake up once again, unsure how long you slept this time around.
>You look around, you are still in the same pawn shop your last owner sold you to. You are overcome with sadness as you remember his disgust when he heard what the lack of a waffenamt stamp meant.
>He wouldn't let you explain, he took you straight to the pawn shop and sold you for what ever the store's first offer was.
>The store owner knows of your existence & feeling sorry for you has tried his best to find you a new home, but so far anyone who has taken a closer look has decided not to buy you.
>You have lost hope of ever finding a loving home again, nowadays your only joy is in hearing other geists find a new home.
>The store owner is talking with someone, you wonder if someone is going to be bought today?
>"I don't know, the bolt is sticky & barrel has some pitting, your asking price is a bit much for a rifle in this condition", you hear the other person say, he has an accent which sounds oddly familiar. He must be talking about the 91/30 someone brouht in some time ago, the owner wasn't present to negotiate the price with which the previous owner sold it to the store & the employee ended up paying too much for it.
>You can sense the owner's uneasiness as he tries to think of a way to get rid of the Mosin, this one doesn't have a Geist, so the owner's dilemma is purely financial, after a moment he makes a suggestion.
>"How about this? for $300 more you can get this 1940 98k as well."
>What is he saying, you are the only 98k in the store at the moment you think as the owner takes you off the rack and sets you on the counter.
>"$300? What's wrong with it?" the man asks, clearly suspicious of the low price.
>"Uhh, nothing mechanically, the rifle is in a rather good condition for her age, its' just..." the owner stammers as he tries to answer the question without revealing the piece of information that has so far caused everyone to decide against buying you.
>"'Her age', huh? Can I take a look?"
>The man picks you up and after testing your bolt and the trigger he checks your barrel as well, he handles you with care, unlike most of the others who have handled you recently.
>"This rifle is in a suspiciously good condition for the price you are asking, care to tell me why?" he asks the owner.
"There's no catch, she's a good rifle, it's just that she's been here for so long & I am running low on space in my rifle racks..." the owner tries coming up with excuses.
"Oh well, I can always solve any problems that might surface as I rechamber her for a larger caliber" the man remarks, causing you to panic.
"No! Wait, let me explain!" you shout out as you appear before him, to your surprise he's anything but surprised, instead smiling as he replies.
"So you really *are* a Geist, out of curiosity, how painful would it be for you to increase your bore diameter from 7.92 to 8.2mm?"
"I-I don't know, please don't do that, I'm begging you!" you plead with him.
"Ok, I'm sorry, I was just curious, the reason I brought up rechambering you was to check if you were in fact a waffengeist" the man hurriedly explains with a hint of panic in his voice, but then he suddenly goes silent an just looks at your collar.
>Confused you look down, only to realize that in your panic you appeared before him dressed up in your default clothing, a German uniform from WWII. A uniform that doesn't belong to Wehrmacht.
"Let me guess, the reason she has been here for so long is related to the uniform?" the man asks, receiving a confirming nod from the store owner.
"You should have said so from the beginning, I don't really care if she was carried by the most deranged sadist of "Dirlewanger", it's not her fault, so $300 on top of what you asked for just the Mosin?" the man continues, receiving another nod from the store owner.
"Deal" he says as he takes out his wallet and starts counting bank notes.
>He picks the Mosin up and takes you to his car, placing the Mosin in the back seat.
>After driving for a while in total silence your new owner speaks.
"I know I said that I don't really care about what kind of person carried you during the war, but I am still curious, were you issued to an SS-mann?" he asks while looking at you.
"...Yes, a foreign volunteer in 1941" you answer his question.
"´Was the unit by any chance part of the Wiking Division?" your owner now asks with far more interest.
"Yes, how'd you guess?" you ask him back.
"Just a wild guess, I think, what kind of person was he?" he asks, now with a more casual tone, indicating he probably wouldn't really mind if you didn't tell him, but you decide to tell him anyway.
"He was just a kid, had just turned 17 that year & volunteered in order to get revenge for losing his home the previous year" you reply casually, only to see him practically jump in his seat, it is only now that you realize how much information your reply actually contained for someone who knows his history, and it seems your owner does, he pulls off the road into a parking lot & turns to face you.
"The unit was Finnisches Freiwilligen-Bataillon der Waffen-SS, wasn't it?" he now practically demands.
"Ye-yes" you reply, taken back by the sudden change in his mood.
"Does the name Aihela mean anything to you?" he asks.
"Yes, it was my first shooter's name, why do you know it?" you ask.
"I just realised I haven't introduced myself, my name is Anon Aihela, he is my great-grand-father."
""He *is*"?" you ask, now it's your turn to practically jump in your seat due to the massive surprise.
"Yes, he's still alive back in Finland, I could arrange for you to talk to him over the phone if you want."
"Yes, please." you reply, expecting to wake up to find out this is all a dream.
>A few days later you are at the range with your new purchases, you decided to give Erika a go first. Her last owner had given her a name, but you both agreed she needed a new one, so you named her after that german march, you *were* going to go with the name from the Finnish version, but she said she preferred the german one, so Erika it is.
>She's a good shooter, but because of the cost of the ammo you won't be able to take her shooting as often as you'd like. You are already feeling guilty for having bought the Mosin, 54r is much cheaper & you have a feeling that if you hold back shooting the Mosin, Erika will feel bad.
"...What's this?" you mutter out as you try loading the Mosin and notice something's off about the bolt face.
>You take a closer look, this is your first Mosin so you can't be 100% sure, but the bolt face doesn't look like it belongs in a rifle chambered for a rimmed cartridge.
>Puzzled, you empty the magazine and try dropping a 7.92x57mm directly into the chamber, and it fits.
"Unbelievable" you say while you take another look at the markings on the rifle, it's a standard Soviet 91/30, excepting the fact that it's chambered for 7.92x57mm Mauser, the bolt is probably from an interbellum -era Polish Mosin, but the rest of the rifle is definitely a 91/30.
"This just got a lot more interesting" you think, then you realise that this also solves your dilemma.
"Change of plans Erika, someone seems to have rechambered this rifle for 7.92x57mm Mauser, so I'd better take my time making sure that Someone did the work properly."
"A Mosin in 7.92x57mm? Must be one of the Polish rifles" Erika says.
"Actually no, the bolt might be from a Polish rifle, but Karabinek wz. 91/98/23 and later Polish Mosins chambered for Mauser are WWI -vintage Mosins with shorter stocks and barrels & as such predate 91/30 which this most certainly is" you reply before continuing:
"You know, since the barrel is pitted I just might have this converted to 8.2x57mm and use this for hunting"
"There really is such a caliber?" Erika asks, remembering your 'threat' of doing the same to her.
"Yes, I believe it was created in Finland after the Finnish government banned moose hunting with rifles that had a bore diameter of under 8mm or so & hunters with Russian and/or German milsurps wanted to keep hunting with their Mosins and Mausers, the respective calibers, 8.2x53mmR and 8.2x57mm have since become rare as the law was repealed in '60s or '70s, but there are still some people in Finland who use them for hunting, I'll have to start hand-loading but I was planning on starting doing that anyway."
>You don't have the tools nor the expertise to check the worksmanship of your Mosin so you take it to a gunsmith who confirms that the rifle has indeed been converted to 7.92x57mm Mauser & that the work has been done properly, you ask if he'll be able to further convert it into 8.2x57mm, to which he says he'll look into it, so you leave the Mosin with him and go home where Erika is waiting for you.
"Nabend fraülein, what are you doing?" you ask as you walk into the living room and find Erika reading a book, you smile as you recognize the book as the first out of three books your great-grandfather wrote about his time in Waffen-SS.
>Erika looks up and pouts at your intentional use of "fraülein", used for girls under 16 instead of the more appropriate "frau", and before she can reply you correct yourself:
"Entschuldigung, of course I meant to say "mein frau"" you say with a mischievous grin.
"I was reading your great-grandfather's book, I had forgotten all of the shenanigans he and his comrades pulled back in training" she says, ignoring your teasing.
"Did they really wreck the soldatenheim in a brawl with their new german NCOs?" you ask.
"They did, among other things, my last owner's stories about American infantry Marines' shenanigans had nothing on your countrymen's stunts, I am still amazed how they managed to not only survive the hellish training they were put through, but actually surpass all the other units while partying so hard they were banned from half of the establishments serving alcohol" she replies.
"He explains that in the book, though" you reply before continuing:
"It appears that when Himmler apparently told Hitler that the Finnish volunteers were the finest soldiers in Waffen-SS, it wasn't just lip service."
"He did? This is the first time I have heard that" Erika says, surprised.
"That's the rumour anyway, but considering the battalion's record on Eastern front, they most certainly more than pulled their weight, wasn't there even a plan to have the battalion spearhead the operation to break the siege of Stalingrad, but then Paulus ordered the surrender and the plan fell through?"
"There were rumours about a large operation being planned & Stalingrad was mentioned, but officially no-one heard anything about the battalion being considered for such an operation."
"But enough of that, what did the gunsmith say?" Erika changes the topic.
"He'll look into it, I left the Mosin there so he can see whether 'opening' the barrel to 8.2mm is feasible" you reply.
"I don't like it one bit" she says.
"Nothing has been decided yet, I intend to take it to the range before committing to a decision anyway."
>You are uncomfortable with the idea of the Mosin being converted from 7.92 to 8.2mm, not only because you are a rifle yourself, but also because you are certain Anon is only doing this in order to have an excuse to shoot the Mosin less than he shoots you.
"You are only doing this because of guilt, aren't you?" you demand.
"Wha-no, I just think 8.2mm is an interesting caliber, and since the barrel isn't exactly pristine the conversion might actually make it better shooter" he replies, surprised at your tone.
"I thought you'd be the kind of guy who views conversions of milsurps like that as criminal acts" you put pressure on him.
"This is different, I'm not cutting down the stock or the barrel, nor am I adding optics to a rifle that isn't supposed to have them or anything of that sort, opening the barrel for a bit bigger bullet isn't the end of the world" he says, and before you can respond he continues:
"But if you feel so strongly about this, I guess I don't have much choice."

>After a long day at work you are driving to the farm you call home, as the roof of the main building appears behind the hill you hear a shot
>"Those two are at it again" you curse as you speed up, you'll need to put a stop to this before they break something (again)
>You park your car and walk towards the barn from which the sound seems to have orginated, you see a girl in Confederate uniform clutching a Richmond rifle ducking behind a pile of planks, shouting:
>"Come out yah damn yankee bitch an' ah'll kill ya!" to which another girl with a Western Massachusetts accent replies:
>"You wish you fuckin' rebel slut!"
>"Stop it you two, what brought on this civil war re-enactment this time?" you ask as the Southern girl, Anna, is just finishing loading her rifle.
>"Ah cain't stand that bitch any longer, always pickin' on me for no reason!" Anna says as the other girl, wearing a 1860s Union uniform, comes out holding a model 1861 Springfield.
>"What do you mean "for no reason" you whore? You are always clinging to Anon & trying to sneak into his bed at night!" the Union girl, named Haru, yells at Anna.
>"You're just pissed 'cause ah always beat ya to it" Anna replies as she tries to put a new percussion cap in without anyone seeing.
>"Wait, what? That's what the ruckus you two cause almost every night is about?" you ask as you grab a hold of the Richmond and take it away from her.
>"I-I have no idea what she's talking about, it's just not right for a rifle to be like that with her owner!" Haru says with panic in her voice.
>"You two do realise there's plenty of room for all of us in my bed?" you say as Anna starts reaching for her bayonet.
>Your words stop them in their tracks as they look at you with flustered faces. They look at each other and even though they don't say anything, it's clear they are discussing your proposal.
>"...if Anon says it's OK, I guess I'll have to allow her to sleep with you, but only on the condition that I'm there as well to make sure she doesn't force herself on to you", Haru says with a cute tsundere face.
>"Whut ya actually mean is ya actually want a threesome, don't ya?" Anna asks with a knowing expression. You expect Haru to go ballistic, but instead she just blushes.
>"So, now that the Civil War is finally over, I've got some fresh meat, beer and bourbon in the truck, shall we have a barbecue?" you ask.
>"Anon is a pervert", Haru says
>"Ya'll both perverts" says Anna.
>"Pervert, me? What makes you say that?" you ask.
>"Ain't ya just tryin' to get us drunk?" Anna asks before adding:
>"Not that ah mind..."
>"Fine, we are all perverts, now let's go get the food and fire up the grill." you say and the girls agree.
>This isn't the first time you have seen them drink, but you are still surprised by Anna's ability to take hard liquor, Haru on the other hand is a bit different story & it doesn't take long before she's drunk. Now it's Anna's turn to get angry at Haru for being too clingy as you cut Haru off from drinking any more.
>"I'm so tired, don't you think it's time to go to bed Anon?" Haru asks.
>"What are you talking about, it's still light out here" you say as you worry about what Anna will do if this keeps on going any longer.
>"So we'll have plenty of time until morning!" she says while trying to un-button your shirt.
>"Not fair ya li'l yankee skank, didn't we agree to share?" Anna is getting jealous.
>"Then hurry up and join us!" Haru exclaims as she moves on to unfastening your belt & Anna joins her.
>Not wanting to lose to these two, you wrap your arms around their waists and start carrying them towards the house as the two girls struggle, scream and laugh at the same time.
>You were worried that this day would end with yet another uneasy truce, but in the end things turned out quite nicely for you.

Very nice so far, don’t know why there’s green text and regular though, it breaks the flow of the text imo
because I used to do all of it in greentext and people started complaining every time I did it, saying it was hard to read greentext
I can see that happening, but it’s kinda confusing to read because I thought the non green text was a perspective shift. Perhaps breaking them up into paragraphs and labeling them with perspective changes can help with that.
>because I thought the non green text was a perspective shift.
this isn't fucking rocket science, if a line starts with a quotation mark & the next thing after the end quote is "X says" (quite obviously a line of dialogue) & lines that DON'T start with a quote (just as obviously lines that are NOT dialogue) are in greentext, there's a pattern, which part of that pattern suggests "perspective shift" rather than "only non-dialogue is in greentext"?
>Perhaps breaking them up into paragraphs and labeling them with perspective changes can help with that.
breaking WHAT into paragraphs?
Then feel free to join in the discord, if you're not in there already!
Well that was a nice little thing. She accepted her fate. Shows some sense of decency, at the least. She seems like waifu material, such a waste. Good work m80.
I have no idea how this guy made them. They aren't my OC, I just liked the look, so I saved them.

I'll frankly admit, the Howa's a fascinating a rifle, but she's gotta compete with the Big Three, and that hurts her. Gate did a lot for me, as far as the Howa goes.
still waiting for an answer, if you are going to complain about something EVERYONE keeps complaining about NO MATTER HOW I DO IT (i.e. formatting), you could at least explain the unsolicited advice you are giving.
Jesus christ man calm down I not complaining
just giving some tips on how to make it flow and read better. I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up senpai, not like I’m forcing you to do it, it’s just for your consideration as a writer you can ignore it if you want

I thought the blacks were perspective shifts initially because I wasn’t familiar with your writing style but even now it’s jarring for me to read because initially your first post did not follow the rule of greetext as non dialogue rule, and even some of your later posts where there’s more blacktexting you break your rule of greentexts as non dialogue. Usually most posts in greentext stay consistently green, so maybe I just need time to adjust to reading your style.

Nonetheless it is still jarring for me to switch from green to reading black, I suppose it's because of how I like to write my stories.

>>41550183 #
I was initiially suggesting once in a while you can try breaking up the text instead of blackening them to avoid confusion or do people complain about that too?
I get the sneaking suspicion that deer-demon-woman-thing isn't down for the count, and will return for revenge. I'm interested to see if our newcomer can offer any light on this subject.
I'll probably read whatever you post, amigo. Do what you're feeling like most.
Can't bump with images, so let's try videos.

Whatever your opinions on Sabaton, I'm glad Piscator came back. Dude's been gone to long.
Ill read whatever you post, love the attention to detail and the perspective of battlefield investigation.
what stories?
Do you want no criticism? This is how you make sure you get no criticism
>I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up senpai
here's a hint: "...complain about something EVERYONE keeps complaining about NO MATTER HOW I DO IT (i.e. formatting)", every single time I post something people complain about the formatting REGARDLESS of whether it's all in greentext, all in regular text or dialogue in regular and non-dialogue in greentext, someone ALWAYS feels the need to complain what ever format I am using that time, I AM SICK AND TIRED OF THAT SHIT!

>because initially your first post did not follow the rule of greetext as non dialogue rule, and even some of your later posts where there’s more blacktexting you break your rule of greentexts as non dialogue. Usually most posts in greentext stay consistently green, so maybe I just need time to adjust to reading your style.

let's see, do you think I actually wrote all that as I was posting it, or did I perhaps copy-paste it from somewhere? Of course I copy-pasted it from pastebin, after the first post I noticed "this is all in greentext, better edit the rest of the text before posting", then when I posted the second story I went "fuck it, I'll leave it as is"

>I was initiially suggesting once in a while you can try breaking up the text instead of blackening them to avoid confusion or do people complain about that too?
firstly WTF is 'blackening'? secondly you do realize that the text is ALREADY broken into ~20k character segments, right?

>Do you want no criticism? This is how you make sure you get no criticism
everything I get is people complaining about the formatting regardless of what I do (as In I do X, people say I should do Y, I do & people complain saying I should do Z, I do and then people complain and say they prefer X) and pretty much nothing else, even when people say something nice for a change it is STILL followed by "but..." which, I'm told, automatically nullifies anything that came before the "but"
I'm here with not heaven, suppose its a little lost in direction. Air went out, I suppose? I need some more air, or a new angle to fire that up again
>Do you want no criticism?
ok, now that I have calmed down a bit: yes, constructive criticism is welcomed as long as it's not about the formatting, the reason I don't want any more criticism about the formatting is because of the fact that each and every time I have listened to such criticism and changed something ANOTHER person has complained about the new format, then when I have once again changed the format I get another complaint about how my formatting is 'confusing', seeing how every format I come up with gets complaints I am done hearing about it.
>~20k character segments, right?
*~2k segments

also, sorry for snapping at you, I am just frustrated as no matter how I format my stuff people complain, even if others use the same format I am the only one who gets told how the format is stupid or confusing or how they prefer another format yadda yadda yadda
I posted one of them in this thread (starting in >>41549387)
9 (well, 8 after this-) posts until bump limit, which of my stories listed in https://pastebin.com/Q4EZpP0P would you guys like to see continued? I can't promise that I will continue certain story, but who knows? Maybe if one gets enough attention I might get motivated to continue it.
It’s fine senpai. I’m just suggesting it but if you don’t want to then I ain’t gonna force it on you. It’s just that the way I write mine is different from yours so I read them very differently. To me reading these GT stories require all the text the stay green text otherwise I get thrown off for a minute or so and it kinda ruins the fun a bit is all.

Yeah sure, I wanna see what happens.
I have been meaning to catch up on that one, hope you will continue it in the meantime, even though I haven't read it yet I have liked everything else you have written
>Yeah sure, I wanna see what happens.
? Do you mean you want to see more of the K98/mystery Mosin story?
>To me reading these GT stories require all the text the stay green text otherwise I get thrown off for a minute or so and it kinda ruins the fun a bit is all.
now that you mention it I agree, I think I'll go back to all-greentext (editing my pastebin is going to be pain, oh well...)
zero, and now we wait for page 8
do give it a read and tell me what/if you like
new bread in the baking
new bread >>41557252
new bread >>41557252
new bread >>41557252
RIP to all the stories on perpetual hiatus and those who didn't get pastebinned.
Thank you for putting smiles on some faces.

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