Wondershot

On the off chance that you are still looking for participants, I'd like to participate in this as well. The title, as well as its authors, admittedly piqued my interest.

I made my post, which sets up both an impending conflict at Sun Heights and Razorback's revenge plot, the latter of which starts immediately after "Rave" Scruggs and "Machine Gun" Chang conclude their business at the fight club. Feel free to correct me on anything I may have missed or misinterpreted.

[size=1]?Brothers, I?m afraid that we can wait idly no longer.? Boss Fen paced up and down the meeting room, rage evident from every twitch on his face. He pounded a fist on the round table before him, sending shivers down the spines of all present. ?The irreparable damage done to our headquarters...the consorting of our two greatest foes...the treachery of one of our greatest assets. It would be hopelessly naive of us to believe that our Brotherhood would be able to survive another week without striking a decisive blow against our enemies.? Boss Fen continued his circle around the table. It had been set promptly set up in a secondary location to act as the temporary meeting space of the Brotherhood, given the damage done to the Di Yu complex. All eyes in the room traced Boss Fen?s movements with great trepidation, but a few in the room also eyed the phone in front of Genji Chao wearily as well. Several of them had an idea as to whose voice would rise from it at any moment. Genji spoke up from her position at the right of the boss? empty chair. ?We have information that suggests that the Brotherhoods of Eternal Repose and The Jade Forest have now made attempts to establish a mutual ceasefire in hopes of destroying us in the wake of our distribution of Dragon?s Tongue. Our rivals? activities have only increased as of their meeting yesterday, and any further hesitation on our part would only lead to our demise. To this end, we have a plan of action.? Boss Fen returned to his place at the table. ?We attack Sun Heights. Immediately.? A collective murmur rose from the table. The task set before them was at best, daunting, at worst, insane. Sun Heights was the nexus of Eternal Repose?s activity. Any assault on that complex would result in swift retribution from the remaining members if it succeeded, and the unmitigated wrath of the entire Brotherhood if it failed. ?Some of you,? Boss Fen continued. ?Would believe such an assault to be impossible, given the amount of security in and around Sun Heights, as well as the fact that we would have no way of occupying it or demolishing it before being driven out by Eternal Repose and its allies. However, our aim is not to occupy or demolish it, but rather disable it. We will do so with the aid of one of our newest assets.? Genji reached forward and pressed a button on the phone. All eyes turned to the red light on the phone. ?Go ahead.? She muttered into the phone. ?Thank you! Thank you brothers!? Razorback yelled into the skewed headset. ?And let me say again what a pleasure it is to be able to participate in an undertaking of this...this magnitu-tude.? Razorback, still in his apartment, was addressing a number of unconscious or barely stirring individuals in chairs, whom he had arranged in a circle so that each one represented a member of the Brotherhood attending the meeting currently. Razorback insisted on adding the air of professionalism to his meetings by phone. ?Please proceed with the explanation, Razorback.? Genji?s stern voice issued into the headphones on Razorback?s head. ?Very, very well.? Razorback began pacing about the table clockwise, occasionally pointing to the part of the table where Seng, at the actual meeting, happened to be seated, his effigy was the bleeding man whom Seng himself had noticed before. ?As my friend Seng will show you, I have just developed a new drug that will serve to disable operations at Sun Heights for a long time.? A shivering Seng, currently at the meeting, rose and produced a briefcase from under the table, which he propped open to reveal multiple vials of a clear liquid, packed in ice, and a red powder in a clear, sealed bag. ?This is a gas...eous drug that I have been spending the last month and a half developing for this very purpose, and I am pleased to say that it has exceeded all of my expectations in testing.? Razorback took a moment to regard Seng?s chair before continuing. ?The gas is called ?Ataraxia?, and it is formed by combining two simple to develop binary agents which then crystallize and sublime at room temperature. The crystals release the gas itself, so the gas does not dissipate until the crystals themselves run dry or they are forcibly removed.? Seng opened the bag of red powder cautiously, and sprinkled a pinch of the stuff onto the table before him. Two of the members nearest him backed their chairs away worriedly. Razorback stiffened. ?What was that?? ?Two of our guests just distanced themselves from your friend.? Genji muttered into the phone. Razorback immediately circled the rest of the invisible table and began pushing the chair to Seng?s right away from him. He continued talking while doing so. ?The reaction that produces Ataraxia removes heat and oxygen from around itself when it does so, forming the crystals. After about a second, the ambient temperature causes the crystals to heat up beyond their sublimation point, and the gas is released. Because it requires oxygen to sublime, crystallized Ataraxia can be stored in a closed bottle or another container and it will not release gas until it is exposed to enough oxygen to start the reaction.? Seng cautiously opened a vial and held it ominously over the red dust on the table. His hand visibly trembled while doing so. The screeching sound over the phone indicated that Razorback was currently moving the chair to Seng?s left away as well. All eyes watched worriedly as Seng began to tilt the vial to the side. Boss Fen looked at the powder hungrily. ?Do it.? Seng closed his eyes, and let a small trickle of the clear fluid spill onto the table. The fluid ran over the red dust, and in an instant, the liquids hardened and became purple crystal. Before anyone could look twice, the crystal began disappearing and the thick purple smoke began to issue from it. Everyone began to tense in their chairs, but Seng leaned forward and breathed in the gas. Before his inhalation was even complete, he lost control of his legs and keeled over, cracking his head on the table. Once on the floor, he started twitching and babbling incoherently. ?Opiate save inebriated pithy convergence...? ?The gas causes a variety of neurological disorders upon inhalation.? Razorback continued, voice slightly lower. ?They include, as Seng is demonstrat-ating now, aphasia and ataxia. He is unable to control his own body movements, and cannot form coherent sentences, despite being under the mis-mistaken impression that he is speaking clearly.? Boss Fen smiled, and a few people vacated their seats to get a better look at the convulsing Seng, who continued uttering nonsense. Genji rose from her seat, and men parted as she produced a needle, which she pressed slightly to remove bubbles. ?The effects of the gas, however, can be eliminated with a simple formula that lasts for several hours, and can be used to immunize against the effects of the gas, ensuring that we are not affec-ec-ected by it.? Genji handed the needle to a man nearby, who quickly jabbed it into Seng?s jugular. A few moments later, the convulsions stopped, and Seng rose. The attendees backpedaled to allow Seng to return to his seat, holding his neck to prevent bleeding. A man leaned towards the phone and spoke shakily. ?What is this, this formula that prevents the effects of the drug?? Razorback chuckled. ?That?s need to know. Can?t have-have you telling everyone what it is under torture and making my newest creation useless.? The inquisitor shivered and sat back down. Boss Fen turned to the phone. ?Tell them how long it lasts.? Razorback turned to his audience in the chairs. ?Ah, of course. I have here with me a control group who I have tested it o-on...and after roughly a minute of expo-exposure the drug has exhibi-bi-bi-...? Razorback paused, looking at every person in his apartment. ...bited a half life of twenty hours and counting. There has been no sign of improvement in the te-test subjects yet, and based on my lab testing I have reason to believe that they will not improve for at least another forty, and even then they will only regain full control again in very slow steps, starting with speech.? ?Your opinion, Razorback?? Boss Fen demanded. ?...It is my-my-my opinion that the effects will only disappear completely five days after exposure.? Boss Fen rose from his place at the table. ?Five days, brothers. Five days that our enemies will be completely unable to use their hospital and base of operations. Five days that we will have to continue our distribution of Dragon?s Tongue unchallenged. Five days during which we can launch any other offensive strike we desire and fear not the retribution of our enemies. Brothers, if we can introduce this ?Ataraxia? into their hospital ventilation, we will cripple their entire medical team for five days and cause the deaths of dozens of their patients...including our traitor, Ghost Fox.? Boss Fen slammed his fist on the table. ?This is an opportunity we cannot afford to let slip through our fingers. Send word out, we will attack the Sun Heights complex immediately, our priority being to choke the building with Ataraxia to eliminate the effectiveness of its staff. Razorback has already supplied us with enough of the binary agents and immunizations to supply a large force of men.? ?However, it is my understanding that Razorback has asked a particular request of us in exchange for his newest product.? Genji uttered from her place at the table. All eyes in the room turned to the phone. Razorback fell silent for a moment. ?I...I want a man, I want the name of a man.? All eyes traced the room nervously. ?This man...killed a partner of ours, Yue...Yue Fu Shi, and he was a fr-friend of mine.? Boss Fen spoke at the phone. ?Fear not. We will find this man and have him dealt with.? Razorback strode forward. ?No, you wi...? There was a tremendous crash and Razorback uttered a stifled yelp. Parties at the table leaned towards the phone. A number of expletives and muffled sounds issued from the phone. ?Razorback?? Genji asked. ?What is going on?? Razorback, in his impassioned walk around the table, had bumped into and toppled one of his test subjects, chair and all. He was now making an effort to get up and return the subject to her proper place in the chair. ?Razorback?? Genji demanded again. ?Are you all right?? Razorback set the chair back in its place and began lifting the woman back into it. ?You will not harm the man who did this. That will be my responsibili-lity.? Boss Fen leered at the phone. ?You wish to execute this man personally?? Razorback got up and stood in the middle of the table. ?I prefer to just give him a headache.? Boss Fen sat back down, he nodded curtly to Genji. ?Very well, Razorback, you will get your wish.? Genji spoke quietly. ?We will find out who did this to Yue Fu Shi and give you the responsible party?s name and location as soon as we get it, all right?? Razorback looked about the room. ?I assure you that he will be very awa-aware of my pain.? ?You should also know, Razorback,? Genji began. ?That earlier this evening, one of our associates, Zhi Chen, had his house raided and he and his partners were killed in the struggle. Chen himself was thrown from a balcony into oncoming traffic.? Razorback paused. ?Leo? From a balcony? He...he always had acrophobia.? ?We have reason to believe that the parties responsible for their deaths were police, as criminal investigation cleanup teams were dispatched to Chen?s location shortly after the raid. We have reason to believe that, based on their proximity to Yue Fu Shi?s body, the same police officers are the ones responsible for his death as well.? Another terrific crash. People in the meeting room began muttering. ?Razorback? Razorback, are you all right?? Razorback, in his apartment, was now madly stuffing bottles of chemicals and darts into a duffel bag. He had overturned another chair in his consternation, and he began once again fumbling for his dart gun. As he finally picked it up with his trembling right hand, he held it up against the top of his bald head. ?Well, I?m off to handle things, you kids know what to do without me. Don?t play with the Ataraxia, it?s not-not a toy.? Razorback threw the headset off and depressed the trigger simultaneously, and a red dart punctured the top of his head. He stood there momentarily, then took a deep breath, coughed a few times, and flung himself through his apartment door, stomping loudly down the stairs. He paused halfway down, then stomped back into the apartment, and looked around at all his test subjects. ?None of you get better and leave while I?m gone, o-okay?? He cast them all a wary look before turning around, and stomping back out.[/size]

All right, the following is an idea that struck me based on everyone's current needs and positions. Since it involves a few people I'll just post it here. Ken suggested a firefight at Sun Heights, so I'm in favor of going with something similar. My idea involves making a post of Razorback attending an impromptu meeting held by Infinite Longevity and offering assistance on the matter of invading Sun Heights. Even if they can't completely destroy or occupy the building, their attack is more rattling in nature, and would simply serve to disable operations at the clinic for some time. The assistance Razorback offers consists of making available his newest gaseous drug for the assault, and suggests using it against the building guards and potentially introducing it into the ventilation system. The drug in question is "Ataraxia", and it can be neutralized with a simple injection, ensuring that the Infinite Longevity members are not harmed by it. Razorback himself, however, declines to participate in the invasion. In return, Razorback demands information on the identity of Yue Fu Shi's murderer, so that he may confront the responsible parties personally. This idea is simply experimental in nature and would require approval, so parties involved should let me know what they would think of participating in a plan like this...if it's acceptable.

Name: Ivan St. James Power: Dissolution. Human beings are made up of some twenty or more elements total, and Ivan's power allows him to reduce himself to these basic elements and then reform when necessary, assuming that those elements are still available to him. This power also allows him to "hide" the elements in other organic lifeforms, like plants, animals or even other people without them noticing. Personality/Description: A true wallflower, Ivan has described himself as being already invisible and that the nature of his power is purely coincidental. His medium-length brown hair does wonders to cover his eyes and help him avoid eye contact, and his preternaturally low voice assures that few can hear him even in private conversations. He stands at about 5'8", a nice average height, too short to stand out in a crowd. He has his opinions and his beliefs, but no one bothers to ask him about them so he usually just keeps them to himself. He is also suspected of having a personality, but no one has ever observed him long enough to figure out what it is. To this end, he is somewhat selfish and doesn't yet understand the concept of self-sacrifice.

[SIZE=1]?Are you certain?? ?Yes, yes, His head was gone...there...there was blood everywhere, b-but I?m certain that, that it was him!...? ?All right, go and inform Razorback of the news. He?ll want to know.? A long silence. ?Me? Inform Razorback?? More silence. ?...of...of course.? He dreaded the climb up the stairs. It would be his first time in that room alone, and the stairs might as well have been Everest compared to what awaited him at the top. He placed a tentative hand on the guardrail, and began his ascent, treading lightly on each hardwood step. He began to wonder if he should have brought an oxygen tank or something of the sort. He was wearing his thickest jacket, although he regretted the decision as he now worried about getting a hole burned through it. About halfway up the stairs, a rumbling voice started vibrating the walls, and he paused in mid-stride to hear what the voice was saying. [i]The flashbulb, has come, to make the girls, horny. The flashbulb, has come, to make the girls, come. The flashbulb, has come, to make the girls, horny. The flashbulb, has come, to make the girls, come.[/i] The voice began to get distorted as it droned on, and he wondered if there was something in the air making it sound different to him. He decided that it would probably be best if he just goes in, delivers the news, then leaves. He won?t even stay to hear the reaction, he won?t bother to pay attention to what sort of mood Razorback is in, he?ll just go in, shout the single sentence over the music, and then leave. He will have done his job, no one will be able to say that he didn?t do as he was told. He was almost at the top of the stairs, and nearly broke into a run as he moved to the door at the end of the hall. He placed a trembling hand on the doorknob, and twisted it, pushing all his weight against the door. The door swung open invitingly. He took a deep breath to deliver the news... And fell over. He struggled to get up from the floor, but his arms weren?t moving the way they should. Rather than moving straight down, they flailed about to the sides and behind his back painfully, acting independently of his brain. To his horror, he realized that his legs were behaving similarly, and he couldn?t get up. He could hear someone laughing in the distance. With great effort, he craned his head upwards, and saw Razorback lying on the floor, laughing hysterically, also apparently unable to right his own body movements. Razorback looked over, and cried out over the music. ?Seng! Loud mother oversight falling!? Seng rolled over unwillingly, and felt his arms and legs start to tighten up. He yelled out in pain, and then called out to Razorback to help him. Razorback laughed in response. ?Pig wait understated another new captivity!? Seng watched as Razorback managed to pull his arm towards his body, and removed his dart gun from it?s holster. Seng tried to crumple his arms over his head to stop Razorback?s dart, but only succeeded in holding himself upright with his left arm for a moment before it crumpled and he hit his head hard on the ground. He heard the fateful hiss of a dart flying through the air, and twisted his head uncomfortably just in time to see Razorback?s dart fly towards him. The dart hit him in the right temple. Seng screamed and tried to get the dart off his head, but his arms only flailed comically, one of them merely succeeding in striking him across the cheek. Razorback?s laugh continued unabated, and Seng?s bladder, already stressed from the alcohol he had consumed in order to work up the courage to arrive, finally failed him and ruined his favorite pair of jeans. A moment later, Seng reached down to assess the damage, and realized that he was in control of his body again. He heard another hiss, and this time looked up to see Razorback shoot himself. Seng got up, almost unused to his own body, and looked down at his pants in despair. Sadly, he looked up too late to see Razorback throw his arms around him. ?Seng! So nice to see you! Do you know what you said when you called out?? Razorback?s grin remained, and he started laughing prematurely. ??Light me Screwdriver!?? Razorback?s laugh became louder as he released Seng from his embrace, and Seng looked around worriedly as the music faded into oblivion. He saw that the room was bathed in a purple gas, emanating continuously from a massive beaker on the far table. All the windows and other doors in the room had been closed, and, through the mist, Seng could make out the silhouettes of other people in the lab. They were lying on the floor, limp, and Seng was convinced one of them was bleeding from the mouth. He almost forgot the news he had been asked to deliver, but before he could open his mouth again, Razorback began yelling in a voice higher than usual. ?Ataxia, aphasia...was there...was there agraphia? Hey, Seng, did you feel like you couldn?t...ahahaha...couldn?t understand writing?? Seng tried to utter the news, but was cut off again. ?Agraphia...three a?s...alliteration...a syndrome...asymmetry...? A long pause, Seng opened his mouth again but Razorback suddenly exploded. ?I have it! Ihaveitihaveitihaveitihaveit...you...you-you-you know what I?m going to call it?? This time, Seng held his tongue. ?Ataraxia!? Razorback started chuckling again, then it evolved into riotous laughter. Seng was so taken aback at what he saw that he almost forgot the reason he came. Razorback?s laughter continued, and then stopped abruptly as Razorback turned to look at Seng. He was smiling curiously, his head tilted slightly to the side. There was a moment of silence, and then Seng began to speak again. ?Yue...? ?I didn?t think the chemicals would sublimate that quickly. At least I got a chance to test...to test, test what it was capable of, right?? Seng?s mouth closed again, Razorback stood in the same awkward, head tilted pose. Seng tried again. ?Yu...? ?I figure not that many people would be interested in something that prevents your motor functions and language center from functioning properly, but there?s always some sort of of of of market for that.? Seng stopped, then started again as soon as he saw Razorback inhaling. ?Yue Fu Shi is dead.? ?I figured that something that wouldn?t even get as far as the street wouldn?t need a name, but so long as, so long as, so long as...? Razorback stopped mid-stride and turned around. ?...Overdose?? ?No...? ?THAT IDIOT. That motherfucker going on a vacation with my things and turning himself into a corpse while he?s at it. I, I, I, I, I tell him not to take what he doesn?t know about it, some mixture of the wrong stuff leading, leading to respiratory arrest and...Dragon?s Tongue! He took it and died, didn?t he! That stuff is brilliant, some of the finest craftsmanship I?ve ever seen in my life. Overdose with just one whiff...sets about, about the brain noodles like termites...I should take credit for it. I really...really, really can?t understand why Yue would...for fuck?s sake, he didn?t die of an overdose? You?re sure sure sure?? Through his tirade, Seng noticed that Razorback?s smile didn?t fade in the least, and he started to become perturbed. He looked down. ?Uh...R, Razorback...your shirt...? Razorback slowly followed Seng?s eyes to look at his own navel, and saw a widening patch of blood appearing on his shirt. He watched patiently as the blood eventually began trickling, drop by drop, down the legs of his track pants to pool in what remained of his sneakers. He craned his head to look at it, then slowly, as though unveiling the results of a magic trick, began pulling his shirt up past his waistline, and Seng nearly retched at the sight of the gash running from Razorback?s left hip to his belly button, bleeding from a torn stitch. Razorback continued to stare at it until Seng brought himself to speak again. Or at least attempted to. ?Uh...? ?I?ll, I?ll fix it, hold on...? Seng watched in shock as Razorback, slowly and methodically, reached his right arm down to the wound and began unravelling more stitches until he was able to reach two fingers into the cut itself. Seng finally lost it, vomiting what remained of his lunch (chicken and rice, he can still make out grains of rice) all over the floor before Razorback. Razorback started to laugh again, but was cut short by the pain from his wound. After rooting around for what seemed to be an eternity, Razorback finally removed a blue vial from inside himself triumphantly, and held it out for Seng to see, see, see, see... ?...See? See? I knew it was right there! I?ve been looking for it for a month!? Razorback turned back to his lab table, and began fiddling with his dart pistol. Seng looked around, and noticed the bleeding man in the corner stirring. Seng heard what he thought to be ?Wanton bass coverage? before turning too late to dodge the incoming dart. It struck Seng in the base of the skull, and Razorback giggled. ?My finest creation, to date...Kiss, Kiss...I...I forget the...? Razorback failed to finish his sentence before collapsing to the ground, dart having been implanted in his own head. Seng did the same. He attempted to get up worriedly, but then realized that he had no interest in getting up, that he would rather just lie there and take in Razorback?s words... ?Kiss from a...a...a dictionary...or...or a...a...? Seng shivered at every ?a? sound, as they sent electric jolts down his spine. He turned his head, and the sound of his skull rolling against hardwood sent a jolt that reached down to his fingertips. Seng couldn?t believe it, he could feel sounds. ?A word, word, word kiss, word tongue, tongue kiss, tongue...? Each word sailing through the air made Seng?s body tighten and heat up. He couldn?t understand what was happening, but Seng found himself hanging on to every sound that Razorback was making. He saw the stereo system under a table next to him, and reached out to flick it back on. The song from before began transforming into a raucous drum solo, and Seng visibly twitched with every beat. ?Word salad, salad, sa, language, language, language words, language kiss...? Seng could hardly think, he was completely consumed with the noise before him. In the background, he heard Razorback scream, and he screwed his eyes shut as beads of sweat began to cascade down his forehead. ?I have it!? Seng orgasmed. ...fell uncon... ?...alled it Le...? Razorback turned around to see Seng limp on the ground. Razorback got up, continued to stand there for a full minute, until he finally bent down to check on his messenger. Razorback then rose and briefly muttered to himself. ?It can, though, cause se...ser...serotonin toxicity.? Razorback picked up his gun again, and looked around for a new dart... Seng... He awakened in...in an alley of some sort...he wasn't completely certain what alley, but he had an idea that he wasn't where he was supposed to be. His pants were stained, he smelled terrible and he was covered with sweat, but he was only vaguely aware of the impression that he had to run away as quickly as possible. He had no idea where, but he knew it wasn?t safe where he was. He began running away, becoming vaguely aware of his limb movements as he did so. He then decided it was probably a good idea to scream, yeah, scream for help. That?s wasn't a bad idea. No one was out on the streets, but he just found himself standing in place, screaming, wondering what he may have been running away from. He just knew that it was important that he run away. He turned to look back down the street, and a most unusual sight met his eyes. An apartment building with a closed top floor window, which appeared to be bleeding a trickle of purple smoke into the night sky. He remembered that he had an errand of some sort to run, but he couldn?t remember what it was. He just dreaded the climb up the stairs.[/SIZE]

Hey all, I know it's a little late in the RPG, but I've written a sign up and will be joining The Brotherhood of Infinite Longevity until...well, I likely die at the hands of someone. With that in mind, my first post will be for the sake of character exposition, and I was also asked to work in tandem with Kitty and Gavin's characters, if possible (though I don't know if there's a specific plan involved). In any event, it's been some time since I've done this, so critique my first post as you will and let me know if there's any plan for the future I should be in on.

I've been reading this RPG lately, and I would like to join in, if that's okay. Name: Yan Chen Gender: Male Organization Name: Razorback Age: 32 Chinese Zodiac Sign: Pig Organization of Choice: The Brotherhood of Infinite Longevity Function: Drug Designer/Smuggler Appearance: Sweaty, trembling, and perpetually disheveled, it is anyone's guess as to what Yan's actual height is, given that he is usually sitting down or slouched in some awkward pose over a lab table. To this end, his height is estimated as being somewhere between four and a half to five and a half feet. His daily attire consists of a fading gray T-shirt with the undissolved remainder of the name of some since-forgotten medical school on the front, a pair of black track pants spotted with an almost frightening variety of chemical stains, and a pair of sneakers so worn down and burned with acids that they have been reduced to deformed lumps resembling sandals more than sneakers. Yan's head is shaved completely bald, and prominently features a variety of white scars from a number of surgeries. If one were to look under his shirt, one would see multiple other scars, some with stitches still remaining as they have not completely healed yet. His teeth are yellowing and his brown eyes are consistently either bloodshot or jaundiced from liver damage, and the only thing that seems to remain constant about Yan is his unnatural smile, one that suggests curious amusement at whatever it is he happens to be looking at, regardless of the situation. That expression has not left Yan's face for years. Weapon of Choice: Being a drug designer, Yan has a preference for fighting with drugs. He has a tranquilizer dart gun which he prefers to load with his own products, and they can cause a variety of (sometimes instantaneously) fatal illnesses or symptoms in their targets. The gun is an experimental model, and resembles a compact six-shooter that features a compressed gas cartridge in the grip rather than a firing pin. Furthermore, the darts are specially designed to twist and unfold to reveal fletches as they travel through the air, and the fletches unfold completely when the needle hits its target, preventing the dart itself from penetrating the skin too deeply. This assures that even a shot fired at point-blank range is non-lethal, and that the dart itself does nothing to the victim beyond delivering its cargo. For this reason, Yan is sometimes seen using the gun to give himself injections of his latest product, usually directly into the brain. Biography: Once an idealistic med student who aspired to becoming a great neurologist. Yan became disillusioned with his practice while working on his thesis (which dealt with modern research on the effects of recent illegal designer drugs) and decided to test some of the subjects of his research on his own brain. Though he knew enough about neurochemistry to stave off a full-blown addiction, his habit eventually landed him in trouble with a small-time gang who demanded compensation. As a result, Yan started swallowing balloons and carrying a variety of substances across borders. Yan continued this practice over four years until one of his boss' products ruptured inside his stomach and caused a near-fatal reaction. Though Yan survived, he knew he wouldn't survive attempting to explain the situation to The Brotherhood of Infinite Longevity, whom he was delivering the drugs to. In a panic, Yan drove a syringe through his own stomach and, through some brief research and mad dash to a variety of stores, Yan managed to discover the identity of and synthesize some of the drugs that he had been given in time for the shipment's delivery date. Yan's troubles did not end there, though, as the Infinite Longevity became aware of the fact that that Yan's drugs were synthesized hastily and sub-par. A few furious minute-long phone calls later, the Infinite Longevity demanded that Yan explain himself, and so he described the experience of having nearly overdosed accidentally and having to rebuild the drugs based on his analysis of their effects and basic components. The Brotherhood's rage at the situation, however, was only stymied by their awe of this mule's ability to recreate the substances so quickly. As penance, they told him, Yan would be working in their labs until he could repay the debt on the drugs lost in the transaction. It has been another five years since then, and though both the Brotherhood and Yan acknowledge that Yan's debts have been paid off, Yan continues to work under them as both a designer and a mule, purely for the purpose of continuing his research on designer drugs and the human brain, and, of course, the opportunity to reap the benefits of experiencing his own creations. Currently, Yan is often either working in a lab or traveling quickly and noiselessly from one drug deal to another, usually concealing drugs inside his own body. As a result of his near-fatal overdose, Yan now makes a point of hiding his drugs elsewhere inside his body, usually opting to have them surgically implanted inside his ribcage or among his bowels until such a time as he can remove them, hence the great number of scars on his body. Yan also makes a point of never distributing anything he doesn't test on himself first, and this habit has caused him a number of brain problems that he has had to correct through surgery. To this end, Yan is already intimately familiar with everyone within the Brotherhood of Infinite Longevity and its allies who has any knowledge of field surgery or neurosurgery, as he is known to call upon their services often. Yan's habit of introducing whatever he pleases into his body has earned him the name "Razorback". Though his appearance reeks of a man approaching his death before his time, Yan is unafraid to let others know that he is very much alive, and assures them that no brain-addling substance on the earth will be able to end him. Personality: HIGHLY variable, depending on what combination of chemicals happens to be in his system at the time. However, his most often-recurring personality is surprisingly jovial and finds amusement in absolutely everything. He tends to punctuate sentences with the tiniest of chuckles and only laughs outright when a chemical of his design forces him to do so. Most aren't sure whether to consider Yan an object of pity or annoyance, and it remains anyone's guess what sort of emotion or brain dysfunction he will be experiencing next. Despite this, Yan makes a point of completing assignments punctually and with a fervor apt for a practitioner of medicine, and his skill remains valuable regardless of his mental inconsistencies.

Name: Patrick "Montreal" Desbiens Age: 35 Ethnicity: French Canadian Personality/Style: Being a carpenter from [i]La Belle Province[/i], Montreal (despite being from Trois-Rivières, [i]mon câlique[/i]) is prone to speaking quickly and sometimes speaking in "Franglais", combining French and English colloquialisms. Other symptoms of his heritage include improper verb conjugation from time to time, as well as the tendency to add soft "h" sounds to words starting with "o" or "a". He is not patient by any means, and despite the protests of others is prone to charge off and do his own thing unless he's absolutely certain he can't do what he sets out to accomplish. Montreal is also never absolutely certain of anything, usually not giving himself or anyone else much time to think before acting. In an almost ironic twist, Montreal also exhibits signs of Ganzer syndrome, reacting to violence or the presence of death with the tendency to laugh or crack jokes, often with more frequency as the situation becomes more grotesque. Weapon of Choice: Being a carpenter, Montreal never goes anywhere without his trusty hammer and an ample supply of nails, which he, in a moment of inspiration, decided to drive through a baseball bat to carry around with him as a primary weapon. Though he has a preference for the melee weapon, Montreal does also have an old .280 Ross rifle, borrowed from a friend back home that he never returned. The thing is meant for taking down charging animals, and is said to be able to punch a hole through a straight line of people (or zombies), but ammunition is scarce, and Montreal won his last box of rounds off an Internet auction. According to Montreal, the only reason he has lived up to now is so he can get his hands on a circular saw, a weed-cutter, a gas-powered auger or a rock drill so that he can have "du vrai fun" (some real fun).

I can see how this is only a fragment of the greater project you had in mind, but I do get the idea, even if the whole thing seemed a little rushed in general. If you ask me, even barring the lack of characterization immediately, the whole action of ramming into the wall and Dango's realization that she couldn't escape the car seemed a little rushed, given the situation. If and when you get a chance to write this section again, I suggest working a little on Dango's description, if possible, of her car really smashing into that wall; or, when she is trying to escape, the feeling in her pulverized legs or maybe the sulfrous stink of burning metal and paint or something of the like. That's just my preference, but this scene will have as great or as little importance in the project as you like. If you want it to have more importance, I suggest adding some richer details to add to the tension and shock of the final impact. In the meantime, though, I am curious as to what precedes this segment.

Montreal's latest claim to fame certainly impressed me, and I'm slowly trying to get all of my friends into a little more of the indie rock scene. Being Quebecois, I was glad to see that our Montreal was getting better and better known among music fans further to the south and east, so to speak. Also, it's fun being able to understand the occasional lyric "en Francais", even if Win Butler has an unusual accent (I can understand Regine without incident, though). In terms of favourite tracks, I happen to think "Une Annee Sans Lumiere" (One Year Without Light) is one of the best, French lyrics notwithstanding. Also "In The Backseat" is sort of eerily calming and terrifying at the same time. Regine's voice at that pitch almost seems ethereal and disembodied, which, if you ask me, seems like an appropriate touch to the song and album in general, as it deals heavily with deaths in the band member's families. I think that The Arcade Fire became popular because their combination of unusual vocals, instrumentation, and subject matter just seemed to piece together perfectly. It's hard to sing about death and family and love without sounding sappy or over-the-top, but the band seems to capture it by showing that they are all strange and magical things, hard to describe or picture, but nonetheless astounding. People like ourselves like these stories, of humanity and living and dying, and there is no denying that The Arcade Fire are master storytellers in this respect. Oh, and in temrs of Bloc Party: I find them to be worlds apart from the Arcade Fire. Not excactly much better, but very different.

Class 2: The Big Stuff ------------------------- "What period is it again?" "Fourth." "Film?" "Yep." Rebecca put on a strange grin just before beginning the descent down the stairs towards room 011. Although not exactly certain what would be happening in their second film class, Rebecca seemed rather confident that this one would be as bizzare and unsettling as the last one. Jordan was following her closely, as she did not feel like entering Film class without at least some company, or, in her case, backup. At the bottom of the stairs, the duo encountered Leo sitting against the door to the hall. "Just what are you sitting around here for?" Jordan asked, looking at the cross-legged student with a mix of interest and contempt. Leo just flashed back a toothy grin and folded his hands behind his head. "No point in being early for Film, right? Senpai is probably asleep in there." "How would you know that? And it's only a few minutes to the next bell!" Jordan replied with anger, Leo simply grinned back up at her, when a huge pounding noise made him jump from his sitting position. He turned, half expecting to see Senpai banging on the door behind him, but there was nothing. He stared down the hall, and confirmed, indeed, that this loud thumping was coming from 011. Myrtle, meanwhile, was pounding down the stairs at her own pace, almust ruing the day she had decided to join senior Film. Several younger students were already on their way up the stairs, laughing about some inane topic or form of gossip that had gone on in what must have been the previous Film class. One of the students brushed her elbow, and she replied by shoving the elbow outwards and sending to younger girl spawling a few steps. Myrtle continued on without looking back at the girl now casting a very annoyed look at her retreating form. Myrtle pressed the door open for the Film hallway, and was immediately thrown back by an explosive pulsing noise in the halls. Walking down, she confronted almost the entire Film class crouched outside Room 011, listening to the noise coming from inside. "What in the world are all of you doing?" Myrtle half-shouted at the eavsdropping Film students. A few heads turned and looked in her direction, but most were still paying attention to the sound of the exlposive bass coming from behind the door. Leo chuckled. "Man, I bet Senpai is on some kind of drugs if he can listen to music that loud." Jordan laughed slightly and pressed a finger to her lips, half-laughing out a hastened "shh.." "Of course not, we all know this is something his therapist must have told him to do..." Jason began, and Jordan was already laughing even louder at this. Myrtle folded her arms in annoyance. "Well, I see no reason why we should stay out here and waste our time..." Myrtle reached a hand for the doorknob... I'm so happy now, I've got them big fat tires on my devil machine. My great big monster truck, we've come to show you up. You big shots... I can destroy all who cross my way. I can even destroy TV shows... And your plan and joy... I'm a monster truck and I'll come down and destroy you... I'm a monster truck and I'll come down and destroy you... I'm a monster truck... Cause I can destroy you! Senpai, head cocked to one side, was clearly mouthing along to these lyrics while rotating slowly in his spinning chair. His eyes were closed, and did not even seem aware that his door had opened and half his film class had poured into the room. Leo surveyed this scene, complete with rotating Senpai, and spoke aloud. "I told you it was drugs." At this, Senpai abruptly stopped spinning, and, in one lighting motion, reached up and flicked the speakers off and the deafening noise ceased immediately. Some of the students continued to hear the blood rushing though their ears thanks to all the bass. Senpai looked up at his class, his face a study in absolute defeat and insomniac tendencies, and declared aloud: "Dios mio! It's lunchtime already?" "No, Senpai, it's only fourth bell. Lunch is next." Rebecca stated plainly. In the background, Jordan still appeared to be laughing. Senpai groaned loudly. "Aw...senior Film? Why can it never be lunch..." Myrtle stared at the very shrivelled and clearly disoriented Senpai, and asked: "How long have you been here for?" Senpai replied with a casual glance at his watch. "Let's see...plane landed at 8:00 on Tuesday...got here at noon, lunch, met teachers, meetings, few cups of coffee..." Senpai looked up with a broad smile. "About eighty hours." The class stared at him in amazement, and Jordan's fit of hysterics had now become very audible. Senpai's expression changed immediately. "Chairs! Now!" He barked, and the class all found chairs and arranged themselves in their usual film class circle. Upon doing so, Senpai's smile returned almost immediately, and it unnerved some of the students. "When you are in university, especially out-of-province university, time and money start meaning less and less as you go on. However, when you are in my situation, you just take what you can and live how you can..." Senpai indicated the classroom. "This has been my sleeping space for the past three days. All of my clothes for the rest of the year are in a gym locker at the other side of the building. Food is entirely dining-hall provided." Senpai then looked at each and every member of the class in the eye, and finished: "I...am your future." Expressions in the room ranged from unnerved to horrified to amused to Jordan, who was still trying to suppress her laughing. Only Myrtle was able to maintain her poker face, and she calmly raised a hand, whereupon Senpai looked her in the eye, as though daring her to ask her deadly question. "How old are you?" She asked, completely monotone. Senpai arched an eyebrow. "21." "I've dated men older than you." Myrtle replied, still keeping her droning voice. Senpai smirked. "Great, so now I have even more to look forward to when I'm older." Not bothering to take in any of the reactions in the room, Senpai clasped his hands together. "Alright, everybody ready? Let's get down to the big stuff!" "As you all know, you have been studying mostly film theory and technique over the past year, everything from camera to directing to lighting to acting to scriptwriting, so you seem all set for the real world." Senpai glanced around. "Nothing could be further from the truth." A few people exchanged worried looks. "No Film class is worth its salt if you do not go over practice and reality in addition to theory. If this does not work, nothing will prepare you for reality if you decide to actually continue in this field of study come University. This is why the practice starts now. On that note, Senpai reached behind his chair and produced a stack of small papers, passing one to each student. "Tomorrow, you will give me a synopsis of a story you would like to see put on film. Given the size of this class, however, only two of these synopses will actually be put into production. The synopsis must explain the beginning, middle, and end of the story, as well as locations and any important themes or techniques you intend to use when editing. Remember always that the power of the camera is greater than your own eyes, so be creative when considering what kind of techniques you would like to use when shooting." "How long does it have to be?" Leo asked aloud. "As long as you need to tell the story." Senpai replied without pausing, as though having anticipated the question. "Feel free to go beyond the length of that sheet if you need to. I always welcome creative thought." "Anything in particular we need to do?" Jordan asked, having finally gotten over her laughing. "Just remember that you have to present this as a movie, and when it's a movie you have to get an audience interested in the story, characters, and, to a certain extent, the style. Even I know that completely random humour can sometimes be funny, but that is not the reason that people go to the movies. The story is the driving point, not just an endless gag line and people getting bashed around. None of that, if you please...Oh, and one more thing." Senpai's face lowered, and his voice became considerably deeper and more threatening. "Everytime you try to intentionally create a blooper clip, I eat a small kitten." A few people looked around, and Senpai's face brightened up again. "Anything else?" As though in reply, the bell for lunch rang out in the hall. "Oh, good, lunchtime." Senpai replied. As though having forgotten the existence of his class completely, Senpai walked out of the room and left his bewildered class still in their seats, who, one by one, looked at each other and filed back out of the room and into the chaos of lunch.

Many apologies for the long delay, but I promise that should this happen again, feel free to lynch me at your own discrestion. Of course, if you do, there will be no guarantee that this story will finish. Serge looked at his feet, studying intently the pattern of the grey woolen socks that stood out against the light brown of the tile floor in the kitchen. The floor was dotted with small pellets of plaster dust where he had come through the ceiling, and the room was only barely illuminated by a dim ceiling light set very low, as if to conceal the greater details of the room. Serge leaned to his side and clumsily stroked the wall in an attempt to find the dimmer. Feeling its smooth texture against his fingers, he slowly twisted it to the right, only causing the dimmer to go lower. In annoyance, Serge twisted it in the other direction, but the light continued to recede. Serge stared at what was barely left of the ceiling light before walking around the kitchen island and reaching an arm behind the coffee machine to flick madly at the lights in the adjacent dining room, separated only by a thin pair of shutters. It ruins the mood, mon cher. Serge stopped trying the lights, and calmly reached his hand out from behind the coffee machine, turning around to face the dining room area, as the shutters were open. The dark wood table and ivory candles were all set up, and there was even a clean white matchbook nearby. He couldn't even remember the last time he had eaten in there, as he had a tendency to simply take instant food up to his room. Overcome by a mysterious sense of withdrawal, Serge began to reach out into the dining area when a small tingling sensation began prickling at his arm, and he looked to his left to see the food pantry right next to him. Having then recalled all his past hunger, he tore open the pantry with expectation to find it full of spices and cooking implements and food that would take a long time to prepare. Serge shut the pantry in frustration, as he didn't have any clue how to use most of the items in the kitchen any more. Turning back to his left, Serge came face to face with the dining room shutters, closed. He had been locked out. Serge tried the shutters in frustration, and they did not move. He kicked them in anger, but the thin wood withstood his fury. Serge collapsed and sat right on the kitchen floor. He was being toyed with. A wild animal in a zoo, a prisoner in his living space, a castaway in his own neigbourhood. If that's where he actually was. Serge, wash up first and then you can eat. Completely disgusted, Serge threw himself to his feet and stormed towards the bathroom door. He threw it open in a rage, hearing it slam against the washing machine in the corner. Serge proceeded to turn his wild eyes onto the bar of soap in the sink, and snatched it up, rubbing it against his dry hands. "Ah, mon dieu, how glorious it would be to simply eat this bar of soap and laugh at those determined to drive me mad!" Serge turned on the hot water tap, and felt the rush of warmth creep up his hands and forearms, until it started to sting and he turned the water off. Looking up at the mirror above the sink, Serge did not see himself, the wild terror in a t-shirt with pen on his arms, but rather a clean shaven man in a calm blue shirt and black pants. Serge jumped back, and the man in the mirror replied in kind. Serge stared for a moment, tap water still running, before reaching down and splashing some of the hot water on his face. He reached for a towel, and suddenly found a blue buttoned shirt sleeve over his arm. Reaching up, he grazed his chin softly. Smooth. Serge looked out the bathroom door, and turned his attention back to the dining room at the other end of the kitchen. The shutters were open again, and there was some kind of yellow light emenating from inside. Stepping out of the bathroom, the freshly clothed Serge took a cautious step towards the kitchen, and a soft tap came from underneath his foot. He looked down to see a pair of polished black shoes, laces done tightly, a stark contrast to the light brown of the tile floor. He began walking again, slightly speeding his pace with each step, the dancing and playing yellow light in the distance. Serge loooked into the dining room, barely glancing at the fact that the bay windows had been blackened before stopping fully as though hit by a strong wind. The dining room was full. The table was stacked with wonderfully presented foods, turnips and mashed potatoes and peas and a dish of bread stuffing. There was butter and gravy and a massive bottle of red wine on the side, as well as a white baguette neatly sliced and lying in pieces in a cloth wrap which was held up by a wicker bread basket. The yellow lights had been created by the ivory candles in their holders, casting a warm light over the whole ensemble. The table was even centered by a huge red roast right in the middle, and the finest silverware had been already set out for him in front of a chair, complete with a neat white cloth that covered only his spot on the table. Serge approached this monstorsity with the look of utmost terror crossing his face, and he finally stared down at the small bit of space near where he sat down, only to see a small, clear, heart-shaped box of chocolates. Just for him. Serge seized the box of chocolates, and, in one lightning motion, hurled it with all his strength against the bay windows. "Pourquoi?!" The box of chocolates studdered in midair, and stopped completely before hitting the window. It hung there, right at eye level, still as peaceful and still as when it had been on the table. Serge, please don't give up, s'il te plait. Serge walked around the table, very slowly, and picked the box of chocolates out of the air. Turning around, he saw that the huge banquet had disappeared, but his portion of the meal was there on the plate before his seat. Sitting down, he put the box of chocolates down on the table beside his plate, and removed the napkin on his plate from its ring, draping it over his black pants. He reached and picked up his fork and knife off the table, and slowly ran the knife over the roast. He could almost hear it separate under the pressure of the blade. Looking down at the meat, he slowly opened his mouth and let the tender roast run over his tongue. It was the best meat he had ever tasted in his life. He felt the caressing wamth of a tear running down his face. He woke up in his bed, and the world had returned to blackness.

[IMG]http://img187.exs.cx/img187/4268/absolutephoto21rs.jpg[/IMG] Looking morosely at the blackened window in his room, Serge sat back in his office chair and reached for a cup of water on his desk. The water had been acquired from the toilet in the bathroom down the hall, as his taps did not seem to be working, and the cup was left over in his room from a while back. Serge could not even remember what he had last drunk from the cup, but he was rather relieved to finally have some relatively fresh water in his mouth, even if he was now sorely in need of food. Food, Serge swivelled around in his desk chair, regretting the last few meals he had eaten in the living room downstairs. Stomach growling, he thought bitterly that had he any idea that these strange things would be happening to him, he would have at least tried cooking a little more often, rather than just buying instant noodles at the Depanneur every week. On that thought, however, Serge froze as he was about to get up. Hands gripping the armrests of his chair, he turned his head slowly towards his desk, then looked down at the aluminium wastebasket immediately underneath. A strange thought just occured to him, and, ready to embrace it with unfettered euphoria, Serge bolted down the hall, past the chained up stairs, and towards a hall closet opposite the bathroom. Throwing himself at the bottom shelf, Serge proceeded to pull out a suitcase and tear it open, sifting through a neatly packed pile of clothes, some toiletries, and, finally, a few packs of instant noodles at the bottom. Serge tore the first one he saw open with gusto, and proceeded to crunch up the package with his hands and eat the noodles dry. "Next time I could try boiling the second pack somehow." Serge thought smugly as he crunched up the dry noodles. He felt like one of those reality television people, only surviving in his own home was a little more taxing ordeal than he had imagined. With that in mind, Serge turned around and threw open the door to the bathroom, ready to fill the second pack with water... The window was open. Serge stared with incredulity at the far double window. It was wide open, no black covering, no indestructible window panes, it was open and the clouded sky streched out before him. Serge walked slowly towards the window, as though expecting it to slam shut as he got close. It did not. Serge continued to stare skyward as he approached. He had not seen natural light for a long time, and even the white hue of the clouds seemed to sting. Serge did not close his eyes, he was in shock. He looked at the ground, and jumped. His house was not where it used to be. He was surrounded by trees and one tiny road and a smaller house across the street. This was not where he lived. Serge reeled and put a hand on the bathroom counter to support himself. [i]Serge! Cette maison est très belle![/i] Why don't we buy it? Both of Serge's shivering hands gripped the countertop as though they knew he was going to fall. He continued to stare out the window in horror, there was snow on the ground. The last time he had seen the earth it was still early fall. Why had the snow come so quickly? And why was his old neighborhood displayed out the window like that? A female voice issued from the sink. "[i]Serge! Votre diner est prete![/i]" Serge flew back from the counter in terror and felt his knee hit the bathtub hard. He could not stop himself, he was beginning to fall. Hands flailing helplessly, he did not even feel the back of his head smash into the bathroom tile, did not even notice the tile split underneath the back of his head, did not even percieve his knees buckling suddnely as he dropped to the ground, head sliding down the wall. Following closely, a small trickle of blood ran down the spot where the tile split. Serge awoke, back in bed, alarm clock radio still fixated on 12:00. Without even waiting to think, he threw himself to his feet and pounded furiously towards the bathroom, throwing the door open. The window was shut and blackened. The tile remained unbroken. What's more, his bathtub had vanished. Serge stared helplessly at the spot where the bathtub had been moments before. There was now a massive hole in the floor where it had been, and he could see the kitchen below from where the tub used to be. Staring morosely at the hole, Serge crouched down and sat on the edge of the hole before letting himself drop into the kitchen. He wasn't even thinking about food. He wanted this nightmare to end.

[font=courier new][color=white]"Caduceo, this is the last part of your induction into military training, so there is no room for error." Caduceo, unshaken by the warning amplified by the speakers in the coridoor, proceeded to remove his sunglasses and polish the lenses with his index finger. A thin solution then spread out from the pores in his finger and made the black lenses shine against the walls. "I'm sorry, but I still don't see why you use the name Caduceo, my name is..." "That is unimportant, as Acontium Pharmaceuticals' release model of Reploid, you have to be able to survive in live combat as well as take orders with the utmost efficiency. Your programming is still slightly incomplete, so you will have to gather data and develop experience in the field on your own, which means that you must be able to take orders under your code name or your actual name with the utmost importance and attention, is this clear?" Caduceo stared at his reflection in the black lenses, his pupils dialated rather large due to the low amount of light in the room. His eyes had smaller, but more numerous numbers of synthetic fibres to dialate the pupils with greater effeciency, so he could work under adverse light conditions. In lieu of iris in his eyes, Caduceo stared intently at the transparent, almost imperceptible Acontium Pharmaceuticals logo embedded in his left eye. Putting the glasses back on, he stared intently down the corridor. "That is clear, I am ready to begin." All at once, the corridoor walls began shining with yellow lights, intertwined and linked at numerous 90 degree angles like a massive maze. Caduceo stared at the lights on the walls before becoming aware of the fact that the coridoor was moving. Wals began twisting and spltting apart neatly and with a minimum of noise, until the straight hallways now became a messy looking labyrinth of sorts, with edges jutting out at odd angles and grooves in the walls just barely large enough for a person to fit into. Caduceo stared around at this mess before the voice came through the walls again. "The stage is set, and your objective is to find your 'victim' and get it and yourself out of the area undamaged." Caduceo turned his head towards the maze and heard the sound of several engines starting up and some movement occuring in the maze. He could identify a few treads and could guess more or less what he was up against. The voice came through again. "The 'victim' is to be considered your mission priority, like a wounded ally in combat. It is the same drone model as all the others you will see in that maze, but it will not try to fire at you and it will follow you once you find it. Enemies will shoot at both it and you, and you must both get through undamaged, is this clear?" "Clear as ever." Caduceo pushed his sunglasses up his face for a moment to attempt to plot a route among the edges and grooves in the room, but soon heard the sound of gunfire deep within. "The drones are moving towards the victim, you have to hurry." Caduceo paused and then launched himself at one of the top corners of the hallway maze, flying over several large blocks in his way before ducking down into a tunnel. From there, he began crawling around on all fours using both the floor and walls for maxiumum speed in the tight quarters. With all the agility of a lizard, Caduceo crawled around a corner and dropped down into a more open area, where he saw a small treaded drone with a chaingun on top. Caduceo stared at it, it made no move to fire. Pushing his sunglasses back up, he turned around to look for an exit for both of them, when a small whirring issued from behind him, and he launched himself at the right wall just in time to avoid a spray of chaingun fire. Attaching himself to the right wall, Caduceo then threw himself at top speed towards the drone, ducking under a hail of bullets aimed for his head before the stun sword on his wrist sprung to life and he quickly dug the tip of the prongs into the gun, twisting his wrist to make sure he hit the firing mechanism. A fine stream of smoke from the gun told him that he had hit his target, and pulled the weapon out, which retracted into his wrist. "So, they know how I'll react, they'll try to get me off guard." Caduceo told himself before crawling into a corner tunnel. At the end of the tunnel, however, he could see that there was a drone in the way. He prepared himself to lunge at it, before the thought occured to him that this might be the "victim" drone. Looking out carefully at it, he waited for it to turn the treads parallel to the exit before making his move. With one push on all fours, Caduceo exploded out of the exit and grabbed the underside of the drone's chassis, hiding underneath its treads. The drone swivelled around in confusion as it obviously detected movement nearby. On a closer look, however, Caduceo noticed another one on the far side of the room. Since neither of the drones were firing at each other, it was obvious that neither drone was the victim. With another push, Caduceo launched himself out from underneath the drone, and slid halfway on his back towards the other one. Flipping himself onto his feet, Caduceo jumped back to avoid another stream of bullets, before ducking behind the second drone and driving the stun sword into the ammunition clip. Both the sword and the gun had been jammed, so Caduceo simply ducked behind the drone and let the other one finish it off with it's fire aimed at the hidden Caduceo. Caduceo then pulled the sword out of the clip and kicked the wrecked gun at the other drone, giving Caduceo an opening to drop down into a hole. Upon landing, he saw one more drone at the far side of the room which did not seem to notice him. Caduceo took the opportunity and raced across the room and draw the sword a third time, this time aiming for the drive system. Before plunging the weapon into the drone's back, he paused as the thought ocurred to him again. He then reached out and tapped the drone on the back of the chaingun, and it swivelled around and looked at him with the camera lens. The lens dialated a few millimetres and swept Caduceo over once, but it made no other movements. "I guess you're my victim." Caduceo looked behind it and saw another alcove, this one larger and at enough of an angle to lead upwards and allow the drone to follow. He looked at the drone, and it seemed to understand as it began moving towards the entryway, Caduceo leading. He then proceeded to crawl up to the top where the tunnel flattened out again, and he could see some movement at the end. Thinking quickly, he began crawling more rapidly on all fours and pounced at the machine, driving the sword into its engine. Fuel slowly leaked out of the bottom of the immobilized drone, and the victim was still quite a ways behind. Caduceo looked at it as it reached the top of the slope, but then flashed his palm at it and it stopped. Caduceo looked to his left, to the end of the tunnel, where the exit seemed to be, and one more room was en route to objective. This one, Caduceo could tell, was a little more occupied, as he could make out at least four or five pairs of treads from his vantage point. Thinking carfully, Caduceo looked back at the drone behind him, still leaking fuel, and crouched himself on top of it, holding on to the grooves in the walls, aimed horizontally at the exit. Almost as an afterthought, Caduceo ripped Devin's shirt off his body and tossed it to the victim drone, leaving it hanging off the side. He then looked at his arms, as they were now being slowly covered by a clear liquid that began enveloping his body. He braced himself, eyes intent on the hallway ahead. 3... 2... 1... Caduceo reached down and drew the stun sword again, driving it into the fuel tank a second time and generating a few sparks which fell dancing to the floor. In that same instant, the clear liquid on his body began to smoke and generate a gas. The ignited fuel then exploded in its tank and shook the walls with a concussive blast that sent Caduceo rocketing out of the tunnel into the room, where at least eight or nine drones pointed their lenses at him to acknowledge this entrance. Caduceo inhaled deeply in midair, then used his arms and forward motion to spin around once, the white fluid on his body then burst into clouds of gas, which sprayed to all corners of the room and enveloped it in a thick mist. Caduceo landed on the far side of the room and held his breath, waiting for it to happen. Withing moments, the drones which had their guns pointed at him during his entrance were now making a peculiar hissing sound, and their guns began jamming on them. Furthermore, the metal on their bodies had begun to corrode almost instantly. Turning around, Caduceo then launched himself at the nearest drone, kicking its camera lens off and destroying the hydraulic controls with the sword. He then crouched behind it and grabbed the chain gun, jolting the firing mechanism with his sword. The drone now began spraying bullets all around the room, the gun being guided by Caduceo's other arm. Each shot hitting the other drones in the room did massive damage, their armor having been weakened by the acid already in the air. Several of them exploded after a few rounds, some of them sparked and their guns ceased to function, and, within moments, the acid bad begun corroding the treads, rendering all the drones completely immobile. Caduceo looked around as the acid fumes began to thin and float up to the ceiling. Within a minute, the victim drone entered the room after it was safe, still dutifully carrying Devin's shirt. Caduceo removed the shirt and slipped it back on, before both drone and reploid walked through the sliding double doors, and the maze rearranged itself back into a regular corridoor. The double doors closed slowly, and Caduceo felt the floor vibrate as the platform carried the two of them up. "Well done, Andrew O'Reilly." "I thought my name was Caduceo now." "That is unimportant, you are a successful graduate now as an elite Acontium Pharmaceuticals field medic. This is cause to celebrate." --------------------------------- "Devin?" "Hey Dad, how is the work life?" "You should be the one to ask, you practically live it yourself." "..." "That was just a joke, son. I..." "Did Caduceo pass his test?" "Yes, Caduceo passed, and he was phenomenal. I wish you could have seen him." "So do I, but did he destroy my shirt?" "No, your shirt is fine, he took great care of it this time. It might smell a little of rocket fuel, though." "Haha, I bet he did great." "Of course, he would never let you down like that." "No, I guess not." "...Devin, you do understand, of course, that this means we will be sending him out immediately for his new mission..." "Yeah, I know, and I hope he does his new job well." "I'll be sure to give him your wishes, then." "Maybe he can write sometime?" "Hahaha, maybe he will, but this new job will be very important to him, so he might not have time." "That's okay, I'm sure he'll be thinking of me, too." "I'm sure he will, Devin. I have to go now." "Ok, but could you tell Caduceo that I'm happy he passed, and that he can keep my shirt?" "I'll tell him that, so long, Devin." The C.E.O. of Acontium Pharmaceuticals looked out of his office window, where a small dropship shot by in an instant, carrying his son's best friend.[/font][/color]

Wow, thanks for the responses, and I'm glad I was able to convey that sense of intrigue. This is my first attempt at a story of one in a supernatural situation, so I'm glad I'm doing okay so far. Oh, and the story is divided into "Rooms", which are longer than one post each, so keep in mind that this is still "Room 1". "[i]Ou suis-je maintenant?[/i]" Serge twisted around slowly in his bed in an attempt to recall the thoughts of the previous evening...or whenever it was at the time. He wasn't even very convinced that it was actually morning at this point, as he had lost all sense of time. Serge proceeded to slowly unwrap himself from the bedsheets around him, although something about his sleeping position didn't seem right to him. He threw one of the covers off in frustration, and proceeded to scratch his head with one hand and look down at his wrist for that reminder about why he shouldn't burn his house down. The letters on his forearm were still somewhat legible, but something about them had struck Serge as fairly odd. He glanced back at his desk in an attempt to regain some of the events of the previous evening. "That stupid bump on my head better not have given me amnesia..." Halfway to the desk, Serge froze completely, even stopping his almost mechanical scratching. "Wait..." Serge took another look at the notes on his forarm, and the words "can't breathe" stared back at him as always, in his usual terrible cursive. However, something was very different about the writing from the previous day. The mark was gone. Serge distinctly remembered banging his arm on the desk before reaching down under it, and it had left a huge red mark across the words on his arm. However, this morning (if it actually was morning) there was no mark. Surely such a mark on his arm would have left a bruise for at least a few hours. For how long had he been asleep? Serge let his hand drop to his side as he continued to ponder the meaning of this seemingly instantaneous healing process, when a horrible thought occured to him. His arm snapped up rigidly and he stared long and hard at his left hand, wondering what was happening to him. The glove was gone, as well. Serge collapsed into his desk chair, breathing becoming immediately more laboured and tense. Just what was happening to him? He could now clearly remember the glove on his left hand, the one that had appeared out of a pair of pants on his massive laundry pile. It was gone, and, furthermore, now Serge could remember why he woke up feeling so strange. He had fallen asleep on the couch sideways, but when he woke up he was sleeping on the normal side of the bed. He glanced back in the direction of the bed to confirm his fears, and what he saw nearly stopped his heart completely. The clock radio was there. The clock radio, the one he had smashed on the window previous to falling asleep. Still there. Still flashing 12:00. Serge fell to his knees and practically crawled back to his bed weakly. This was too much. He did not understand, and he saw no sign of anything improving. He knew he was going to die in his room, but he knew that he would be driven insane just before he died. He finally reached the side of his bed, and put his elbows up, clasping his hands together in prayer. "[i]Notre Seigneur,[/i] I do not know why this is happening, [i]ni quel péchê que je suis coupable de commetre[/i]. Please, before I die, please tell me what is happening." A single tear rolled down Serge's face, when a massive bang, as though a grenade had detonated just outside his door, blasted any thoughts of God from his brain, and he jumped back with a cry of terror. Clasping one hand over his heart, Serge waited for his breathing to slow down enough for him to stand up. His legs were unsteady and he held his desk chair for support as he reached a shaking hand up to about chest level. Taking small steps, he walked towards the bedroom door at the foot of the bed, reaching a hand out tentatively for the doorknob. As though in fear that the knob would bite him, Serge's trembling hands reached for the doorknob almost soundlessly. He grabbed the doorknob and twisted slowly. The door opened with a small creak, and Serge glanced out into the hallway. The lights were on, but there was still zero indication of what time of day it was. Serge, almost completely overcome with the gravity of the situation, bounded for the stairs leading down to the front door. That is where he stopped dead when he saw what lay before him. The path down the stairs had been blocked completely. A messy fence of what appeared to be chicken wire and chains lay before him, completely blocking the stairway downwards. Serge threw himself against the fence in desperation, rattling it loudly in the hope that it would give. It did not. Serge took a small look between the chains and saw his front door. The window panes on the door were blacked out as they were on his room, and Serge's heart became cold as that once bright flare of hope inside him began dimming by the moment.

Apologies for the long delay, all. I was uncertain what to do with Godel having remained incommunicado for so long...so we'll just have to move on for now. Class 1: Gray Eyes The atmosphere in the class was now one of such absolute silence that people could practically hear the band class in their own building while they practiced. Senpai was now staring in total focus at Myrtle Ground's face while she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, albeit failing to avert her eyes from Senpai's unblinking gaze. Everyone else in the classroom was now watching Senpai and Myrtle as they continued their staring contest, and, even as the bell for next class rang, no one moved. Senpai's body was rigid as stone, and a the class did not even hear him breathe. Myrtle, however, seemed determined not to crack under her teacher's icy glare, even as the next film class began banging on the door in an attempt to get in... The rest of the class had gone something like this: ----------------------------------- Senpai rubbed his chin thoughtfully as Leo sat down with his grin seemingly cemented permanently onto his face. He was liking the look of things more and more as this class went on, he had a wide array of characters, and seemingly, a lot of talent to work with. Senpai's eyes then shifted towards Myrtle, who did not seem too keen on speaking up. His eyes remained locked on her for about a full minute, while she sat in silence, before Senpai himself spoke up: "You're in no mood for talking, I take it." Myrtle did not move. "Class, am I hallucinating, or is there, in actuality, a girl with way too many ribbons in her hair to still be tasteful sitting in front of me right this second?" Everyone looked around the room for a moment, as though expecting someone else to answer, before Jason nodded slowly. "Thank you, Jason." Senpai replied without averting his eyes from Myrtle. She shifted her feet slightly, but otherwise did not move or break eye contact. "Class, what you are about to learn about is a lesson in building tension in your audience. What if, hypothetically, one could develop a situation where both parties have something to lose, and have to make some kind of sacrifice to maintain their empathy and connection with the audience? That's tension, when you can identify with the characters as they play out their roles, as well as lose yourself a little when they are engaged in a weird situation like that." The class nodded more or less in unison. "So, this is why I'm doing this. If Myrtle breaks eye contact with me, she fails this class and I will not be allowed to let her back in. If I lose eye contact, the she can go to each and every class for the remainder of the year and never have to say a word to me again." Myrtle's eyes widened, and some of the class looked at each other in confusion. "You're not serious, are you?" Myrtle asked Senpai, voice laced with uncertainty. Senpai smiled eerily. "I guess there's only one way to find out." ----------------------------------- Now, the class had been reduced to this, everyone staring at the two eye-locked gladiators in one corner of the room, no one paying attention to the banging on the door as the second-year class wondered if anyone was inside, no one playing attention to the second-class bell as they could hear students pounding the floors above them in a mad rush for their next classes. Even Leo's grin had disappeared in the thirty or so minutes during which the class remained completely motionless. The second-years banged on the door a third time. "Come in!" Senpai said finally, without breaking his gaze on Myrtle. The second-year class filed in hastily, but soon realized what was going on and looked with interest at the event that was going on in the corner. Senpai smiled at Myrtle. "Don't you have a class to go to?" he asked mockingly. Myrtle glared defiantly at him. "Don't you?" she replied in kind. Senpai laughed mirthlessly. "I'll get a word out of you one of these days, I know it." Senpai then turned to the crowd around the circle of chairs and barked: "Class dismissed!" Second-year and senior students alike dashed for the door before Senpai roared out: "No, no, no! I meant the seniors, you tiny smart-alecks!" The second-years burst out laughing as they filed back into the room, and Leo crept up behind Myrtle before jumping out in front of her in one motion. His grin had returned to his face. "I guess you're going to see those gray eyes staring at you for the rest of your life before you go to sleep, huh?" "Shut up." Feel free to deliver your own account on today's class, if so you please. Otherwise, we get into scriptwriting next class, so ask me any questions you may have to read the Underground thread if you want to know more about scriptwriting.

[IMG]http://img157.exs.cx/img157/5264/absolutephoto16it.jpg[/IMG] Serge glared defiantly at the stained oak door in front of him, as though expecting it to wither under his cold stare and matching grimace. Serge, however, did not seem quite as confident as his face entailed, and, instead of continuing his hapless staring contest, opted to fall to his knees before the door in an attempts to peek under the frame. The door covered almost everything above the white permanent carpeting, but, from what he could tell, everything was completely dark beyond his room, as though it were nighttime. Serge glanced back at the bedside table, the only object occupying it being the ancient clock radio which incessantly flashed the numbers 12:00 throughout the room. Serge turned to the radio after getting up from his kneeling stance, and proceeded to turn on the radio function. White noise now filled the otherwise static room, and Serge tried all of the channels he was familliar with, the news, the rock station, talk radio, only to be greeted with the same ceaseless flood of white noise. Serge twisted the knob in frustration, when the white noise was broken by a garbled sound similar to a person's voice. In haste, Serge twisted the knob back in an attempt to find the voice again, and found himself listening to white noise with a small, warbling voice in the background, rendered completely indecipherable thanks to all the noise in the foreground. Serge meticulously turned the knnob in an attempt to tune in the voice, when all sound stopped completely and the 12:00 continued blinking as though nothing had happened. Serge vaulted out of his bed in frustration and opened his closet, only to be met with the stench of a week's worth of laundry waiting for him. Having been unable to open his door, he now had to live with the laundry he himself had avoided doing up until that moment. Serge clamped his left hand over his face and proceeded to fumble around in the dark for something he could use to break down the door, when he felt a small breath of his air down his back. Serge froze, and, a second later, took one huge bound towards the thick cream-coloured curtains in the corner and threw them open. His windows had been blacked out completely, not a speck of light could be seen outside, and, contrary to what Serge had been thinking, nothing had managed to get in or out through his window. Serge spun around on one heel and walked towards his desk lamp, which, miraculously, still functioned along with his PC, even though he could not seem to use his phone or connect to the Internet. Serge had previously toyed with the idea of attempting to set the room on fire to either burn a way out or get the attention of someone outside, but eventually scrapped the idea after writing all the things that could have gone wrong on his arm. His arm still bore the marks of: -can't breathe -f_re blo__ing the _ay ou_ -n_ __e w__ld _et i__ide The rest had been rendered completely illegible. Serge stared back at the closet, where some of the stench had begun to leak out into his living space. Serge, after having been trapped in this room for...longer than he could remember what time it was when he last was outside, knew that the invasion of the smell of his own clothing was the one thing that would surely drive him insane from being sealed inside his own living qauarters. Reaching inside, he proceeded to salvage the last of his clean clothing out from the closet in an attempt to ensure that it would stay at least reasonably normal-smelling. Slamming the closet shut, Serge threw the rest of his clothes on his desk chair and proceeded to file through all the clothing he would wear for the next few days. His train of thought was interrupted, however, when a small lump tumbled out of a pair of blue jeans and landed on the floor under his desk. Serge returned to his kneeling position in an attempt to discover what what had fallen out, and, in his haste, banged one hand hard on the side of his desk. Serge watched as a large red mark began to materialize on the words "can't breathe" and what was left of "blo__ing". Cursing under his breath, Serge returned to his search for the missing brown lump, and came up with it not a few seconds later in total darkness. Serge, unable to tell quite what it was, ran his fingers over it in an attempt to discern its shape and what it was made of. He came up with a small opening which his hand fit into smoothly, and he realized that he was wearing a single perfect leather glove. Serge couldn't help but grin, as he usually had the worst habit of losing all his best pairs of gloves and, in some rare cases, finding single gloves in the oddest places, even public environments. Oh, Serge, they fit you perfectly! Serge jumped up in shock, and banged his head hard on the desk above him. Grasping the back of his head with both hands, Serge collapsed onto the floor, curses now becoming quite audible. "Câliçe, qu'est ce que va arriver maintenant?" As though in answer to his question, Serge banged his head on something immediately after exiting the darkness under the desk, as, thanks to the shock of skull colliding with hardwood, one of the desk drawers had opened right above his head. Serge proceeded to rub his head with more ferocity as he peeked into the desk drawer, examining several things that had shifted around in the confusion... "Où vas-tu coucher ce soir, Serge?" Serge whipped his head to the right, because the voice had issued from the clock radio on his bedside table. Serge jumped onto his bed to get a closer look at the radio, when a piercing shriek issued from the radio, and Serge jumped up in suprise. Covering one ear with his left hand, Serge ripped the alarm clock radio's wire out of the wall. The noise did not cease. The clock still flashed 12:00. Serge, with one hand, hurled the radio violently against the blackened window with all his might. The radio shattered on impact with the glass, but the window did not even crack. The noise stopped, but Serge could still feel it pinging around in his head. He flopped back onto the bed, rubbing his temples agitatedly. "Merde, quand est ce que ça va arrêter?" Serge's arm went limp, and he fell asleep instantaneously. This is the first part in a medium-length story. I'm not sure exactly how many parts there are, but I know exactly how it ends. In the meantime, Enjoy it for all it has to offer.

Well, the first post in Senpai is up, but I have decided that I can accept signups for just a little while longer. At this point, if anyone cares to join a little late, I'm sure we can work them into Film class without any trouble. That having been said, I can only accept another two people at most, because if too many jump in then it probably won't be very interesting for the people that don't have their movie produced. Again, if up to two more people want to join, then they are welcome to for a while longer. And, lastly, if anyone wants more help with understanding the script form, I'll be sending you a PM sometime soon.

Prologue "Language barriers?" ----------------------------------- "Just so that the senior film class does not get any...unexpected surprises, I just wanted you guys to know that there is a university student going to teach your class today." The Film and Drama teacher sat down heavily as the morning assembly turned their attention to the next announcement, but some of the younger film students looked at each other warily. Expressions ranged from worry, to excitement, to anxiety, to disappointment, and all points in between. Two young girls in the second year class whispered a few hushed remarks to each other before erupting into a fit of giggles, and a senior student from behind them pressed a finger to her lips and glared at the two girls accusingly. They stopped almost immediately afterwards, and the senior girl, Myrtle Ground, glanced back at her classmate in Film. "Stupid little kids..." Myrtle began with an almost inaudible growl, "Some people just should not have kids..." Rebecca Linne, her classmate in Film, rolled her eyes slightly, as everyone who knew Myrtle at least a little was already familliar with her position on people supposedly unfit to have children. Rebecca simply glanced back in Myrtle's direction, repeating her own finger-to-lips signal as one of the English teachers stood up and informed them that her senior class' essay about life lessons was due today, so they wouldn't forget. "Aw, man, just what is it with that woman and rubbing it in when she knows hardly any of us did the stupid assignment?" Leo Fibonacci looked back in the direction of another film student, Jason Firmd, who was sitting a few rows down from him, who stared stright ahead, unblinking and without moving a muscle. That guy was something, Leo thought as the entire morning assembly stood up in unison and proceeded to file out by rows to get to classes. Leo checked his timetable in hand and, lo and behold, he happened to have Film class first. Eager to figure out the mystery of their new student-teacher, Leo called enthusiastically over to Jason, who was about to head down another hallway. "Jason! We have Film first!" Jason stopped with one hand on the doorknob, and then proceeded to rifle through the pocket of his blazer in search of his timetable. Leo just shook his head and proceeded to walk down the main hall to the theatre building. Just as he passed through one of the double doors, a shady figure in a coat passed through the opposite door, a huge manlia folder overflowing with papers and covered in post-it notes tucked under one arm. Leo watched as this person slipped through the open door without saying a word and, despite the hurry the person seemed to be in, moved almost soundlessly down the hall, as though gliding with each step. Leo quickly blasted the image of this person out of his mind as he walked down the hall to the film class, but what he saw upon looking at the door nearly stopped him dead in his tracks. Myrtle and Rebecca had already arrived, but there was a huge notice tacked to the board before they had gotten there: [IMG]http://img140.exs.cx/img140/3153/senpainotice6za.jpg[/IMG] Now the three of them stared at the notice in confusion, not only bewildered by the poster's unusual choice of writing and words, but also by the calligraphy at the end. "Hey, Myrtle. Doesn't this look like Japanese to you?" Myrtle glanced at the writing and frowned. "Hm, I haven't seen an expression like this written down before, I'm not sure what it means." Leo rolled his eyes at the message, as, in the past, several of the younger students played pranks on some of the classrooms near the assembly hall, putting fake notices up to misdirect entire classrooms at once. Leo couldn't help smirking, though, as he had even done it to the History class once a feew years ago, but the three of them continued to stand at the door, waiting for some indication of where they were supposed to go, when Jason walked in. Leo immediately pounced on him with questions: "Did you see any kids out there laughing?" "No." "Did you see our new teacher yet?" "No." "Did our old teacher say anything about us changing classrooms this morning?" "No." "Does this message look like it was written by one of the juniors?" Jason looked up at the massive notice. "...I can barely even read it..." "Look, this isn't really getting us anywhere." Rebecca exclaimed suddenly, "This notice probably isnt a fake, as, you know, fakes usually try to look remotely convincing in order to confuse the students. This one looks just plain weird, so maybe it is a prank, but it is just as likely that the new teacher may have written it." Myrtle nodded in consent. "Yeah, I mean, the old guy told us not to worry about any 'unexpected surprises', so maybe this is what he was talking about?" Leo nodded his head, ever so slightly. "Yeah, No one's showed up for almost ten minutes now, so we might as well follow the message." The four students looked down towards the stairwell to the basement floor, where most of the maintenance and groundskeeping equipment was kept. Only very few students knew that there were actually classrooms down there, but apparently they were, for the most part, unused because of their supposedly very small size and unusual appearance. However, as the four of them proceeded down the stairs, the walls started to vibrate oddly. "That's not just the boiler..." Leo said, staring at the white-painted brick. Rebecca did the same. "Maybe...Somebody is doing some construction?" "No, it's too constant...but the pitch changes." Leo pressed one hand agains the wall. "It sounds like...an acoustic bass." Myrtle looked up at the two stragglers still on the first floor landing. "Some on, class has nearly started for fifteen minutes." The two of them continued their descent, only this time noticing that a voice seemed to be accompanying the rumbling of the walls. Myrtle opened the door tentatively, and the sound immediately became much clearer, and was almost definetely identifiable as an acoustic bass. The four students edged towards the opposite wall, and all slowly turned their heads to the left, where the music seemed to be coming from. A door loomed at the end of the white-brick wall, the lucite-encased plate next to it reading "011". The four students nearly tiptoed over to the door, as though expecting something to lunge out at them from behind the door over the din of the music. All four of them looked at each other, almost as though expecting anyone but themselves to try opening the door first. Finally, Leo found himself with more pairs of eyes on him than anyone else, and, with a small shrug, reached for the iron door handle. Feeling it vibrate for a few with the pulse of bass, he pushed down the handle and threw the door open wide. The room was incredibly dark, but the students could see a massive stereo was already set up in the room, facing the door. Bass and organ music piped out of the massive black speakers while a single voice drowned out lyrics in a foreign language. The four students glanced around the room in astonishment, as the walls were lined with posters from movies, live theatre productions, music concerts and video games in multiple languages. A massive marker board covered a large portion of the wide wall just off to the right. On the opposite side of the room, several coputers sat in a neat row, each one having a small camera immediately next to it. In contrast to this, a huge stack of tapes sat in a heap next to this neat arrangement, each one labled and marked meticulously with a completely illegible cursive. On the desk, manlia folder upon manlia folder formed a wall almost barring the black swivel chair behind it from view. Finally, a sharp voice, which overpowered even the roar of the music, piped out from the chair, even though no one could see who was sitting in it. "Hola, Juan Manuel! Puedo conseguirle algo beber?" The figure in the swivel chair stood up and spun around to face the bewildered Film class, and stopped dead in his tracks. A young man with dark brown hair which seemed to spike up by itself stared at the class, almost looking even more dazed than the four of them. He was wearing a bright purple and gold striped tie, and a sleeveless shirt which was buttoned up completely and had not a single crease on it. Glancing back at the massive stereo, he reached down to his desk without looking, and produced a small black remote, shutting off the sound with one lightning motion. Looking back at his class, he grinned broadly, and proclaimed with enthusiasm: "Buena manana, clase! Como usted esta haciendo?" Each of the members of the class looked at each other unsteadily, they had hired someone to teach them Spanish? He motioned to the four of them to sit down, and they all puled out blue plastic chairs from the far side of the room. The teacher walked out in front of the class, producing a single red marker from his pants pocket. "Me nombre es..." The teacher paused for a moment, and then proceeded to draw a massive figure onto the marker board in front of them. "Me nombre es..." The teacher finished his creation, and used the marker to point at the massive two characters written out on the board, the same ones at the end of the notice on the theater door: "Sen-pai." Myrtle's hand shot up into the air. The teacher pointed the marker at her. "La menina." He said, nodding. Myrtle looked at him unsteadily, voice low. "Your name is...Mr. Senpai?" The teacher looked at her, equally unsteadily, as though he were about to shift direction and walk right into the marker board. "...Nao." He replied simply, turning around to write something else on the board, when Rebecca's hand shot up: "La outra menina." the teacher said, pointing the marker in Rebecca's general direction. Rebecca lowered her hand and stared at the teacher in bewilderment. "Then...why did you say that's what your name was?" The teacher stared at her with an equally puzzled expression, and replied: "Porque?" Myrtle nodded. The teacher stared at the class of four for a few seconds before moving back to his desk and rolling the black swivel chair over to the front of the class. He sat down in the black swivel chair and spun around, facing the marker board so no one could see him. When he turned around, his expression had changed completely. He was no longer quite so strange and bewildered-looking, but his face showed a kind of smugness and condescending grin of absolute confidence. He looked each of the members of his class in the eye and said, with a softer but equally clear voice: "Because that...is the magic of film." Each of the classmates looked at each other, wondering what in the world had just happened, when the teacher continued talking: "Why do you go and see a movie? What is a movie, essentially?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "A story, and a story that is told by a series of characters, played by actor,." he motioned emphatically to the rest of the class, "with the intention of finding ways of getting your attention and taking you for a ride. I ask you, what was the first trigger that set this chain of events going?" Rebecca raised her hand, and Senpai nodded at her. "The notice on the theater door?" Senpai grinned. "Not quite, there was one thing that happened before that." Senpai turned his gaze to Leo, when an image flashed through Leo's mind and he raised his hand. Senpai nodded at him. "I saw you in the hallway near the theater..." Leo glanced at the pile of manlia folders on the desk, and recognized the one covered in post-it notes. Senpai's grin grew wider. "Exactly, you did not know who I was at the time, which creates a sense of mystery. The sense becomes just a little more obvious when you saw the notice on the door, but you were still rather uncertain about the direction these events were leading you in...why?" Myrtle raised her hand. Senpai nodded at her in turn. "Because we thought the notice was a joke. We could barely read the writing, and the thing at the end was just weird." Senpai's grin grew from ear to ear now, and he turned to look at the entire class a second time. "Exactly, you all had to take a leap of faith, which is good dramatic experience. You had to make the descision between going for an uncertain risk and simply trying to wait around any longer to see if I would show up. Without a conflict, there is no story. What else happened, though, as you started to walk down the stairs?" Jason raised his hand. Senpai nodded. "We could hear the music." Senpai looked at them. "Nothing generates more suspense and puts the audience in better touch with the characters than with bombardment of the senses. If it's dark, we imagine that the characters can't see, but neither can the audience. If it's loud, the audience hears it as the characters would. Essentially, the audience and characters are in the same boat, which makes them easier to identify with. What else happened, though?" Leo raised his hand again, he was starting to understand the answers that were expected. Senpai nodded. "We got in here...but you were acting all weird and speaking Spanish." "That's right, something happened, you reached a partial climax. When you opened the door, I'm sure you guys were feeling a little nervous with all the weird stuff going on, so when you opened the door to find me acting like a neurotic Hispanic person, you probably must have been reaching the peak of your anxiety and incredulity, right? What happened, though, that set everything on a different level?" Rebecca raised her hand, and Senpai did not even have to nod. "You told us what you were doing for real." "Exactly, the climax was over, I had my fun, the story can start cooling off from there, and now we are here. The story does not necessarily end here, as it keeps going as long as you guys have lives, only I just thought we would pay special attention to this one scene in your life to explain how film makes a story enjoyable for almost anyone and how the strong rising action will keep an iron grip on even your toughest critics." Senpai turned to write something more on the marker board, but then turned and looked back at the class. "Oh, but one more thing happened this morning...that probably told you that today was going to be a little different than usual, what was it?" Myrtle raised her hand slowly, and Senpai's eyes turned to her. "Our teacher told us that we would be having a sub today, and that we shouldn't be too surprised if there are any changes." "But you were surprised, weren't you?" Senpai's grin head reached it's limit, and even Myrtle smiled a little. "Yeah, I guess we were." The entire class nodded slightly, some of them still uncertain if Senpai was in fact their real substitute teacher or just some practical joker. Rebecca raised her hand. "Ok, I think we got all that...but just what is your name, then?" Senpai pointed a thumb back at the marker board, his writing still looming large. Rebecca's hand dropped, and she sighed, wondering when this guy was going to get serious. Senpai fell back into his chair. "Well, then. Since I poured my heart out to you, you might be able to do the same for me. Tell me a little about yourselves, say, why you took Film of all things and what you were taught by the old guy? Maybe I could stand a chance of doing fairly well myself?" Senpai looked around at some of his class, as they seemed to be loosening up a bit and growing more used to his attitude. He nodded slightly while the others spoke. [i]Not bad....not bad at all....[/i] It's finally started, as, after some wild exams, I am ready to take this seriously and start this RPG moving. In case anyone else is interested though, [color=red]signups will remain open[/color] for just a little while longer after this RPG starts. We can definetely have space for one or two more people, if anyone is still interested at all. Above all, though: Have fun, young actors.

"An unnatural selection?" "Something like that, but these are desperate times...right?" "I don't wee why we have to send him out instead of pushing developement in the military district. Acon is just chasing a pipe dream." "That, someday, Reploids will be in need of medical facilites and treatments suited to their needs exclusively?" "That's exactly what I was going to say, why a medic? Reploids are built with the capacity to regenerate more efficiently than humans." "Nothing is perfect, even Reploid units require human-built medical treatment from time to time. Besides, Acon's flagship model seems quite fitting for the work." "I still don't see why Acon has to get the budget for the project...though. The UN knows that unit isn't going to fight for them, and yet they still funded Acon to aid in its completion..." "Don't jump to conclusions, Acon's unit actually showed excellent performance in our initial testing. It has a maximum capacity for speed and balance, and its tactical and reconaissance skills showed far greater promise than some of the military units." "That was only the initial testing? This thing hasn't even gone through military training yet?" "Acon says they didn't want to push it. They still seem undecided as to whether or not their flagship is prepared for combat." "Well, can it fight or can't it?" "Acon's report said..." "I don't want to hear what Acon..." "No! This part is important, Acon claims that their flagship model cleared basic military tactical training with exceptional results. It has excellent capacities for combat and is known to be extremely fast and effective at taking down targets. Furthermore, the Acon unit does not seem adverse to fighting for the UN's cause, as it is completely aware of the situation going on in the outside world." "Then why in the hell hasn't Acon sent the model down to the UN Defense for advanced testing yet?" "Well, Acon says that the flagship model...actually, no, that's not the right way of saying it." "Then what is the right way, damnit?!" "Acon's CEO is currently holding the unit as a private experiment...because..." "Because what?" "Because the CEO has a son..." --------------------------------------------------- "Okay, so, if I were to manually adjust the drive like this..." "Whoa, wait, don't do that." In the middle of his experiment, the teenage boy looked up at his work sitting in front of him. Coloured wires stuck out of its belly and chest. "Why not?" "Devin, if you try to manual adjust without shutting off the ear canal testers first, they'll overheat and drain all of the fluid out of my ears, and I'll lose my hearing and balance. You have to find another way to adjust the spinal column without interrupting the rest of the experiment." Devin looked up at his work with incredulity, then laughed as he let himself fall backwards onto the floor from his sitting position. His work turned back and looked at him. "Just what is so funny?" "I'm good at doing this, I really am. Whenever we have a test on this at school I usually ace it; but whenever I try and work on you, I always make a stupid mistake like that somewhere." "Is your humour supposed to reassure me, Devin? Come on, you can do this right." Devin sighed and returned to a kneeling position, whereupon he moved around to the back and tried twisting a few different knobs. "Devin, you can't do that either. Activating spinal column testing while I'm in active mode will cause me to manually shut down from a command error." Devin ignored his work as he continued to twist the knob further upwards, trying to hit the right signal. "Devin, are you listening to me? I'm going to shut down and the experiment won't work, Devin...Devin!" Devin twisted the knob slightly higher and then pressed a small button on the terminal in front of him. His work immediately shot it's back into a full upright position, and did not move a muscle. "Devin...how did?" "The spinal tuning does not cause an automatic shutdown, silly. You're thinking of automatic organ and nanomachine tuning." The work gave Devin the same look of incredulity he himself had given just a moment ago. Now it was the work's turn to laugh. "Gee, that's strange, the data I was given said that testing on a Reploid unit's spine will cause an automatic shutdown if it's not in active mode." "You're right, but my dad's people must have forgotten to add in the updated information from your own model type." The work looked down and plucked a long white cord off its chest. Devin then proceeded to type a bit on the terminal and then remove a few more wires. The work looked back over his shoulder as Devin typed a few notes into a laptop. "So, what does your teacher happen to say about your work?" "That I belong in the senior class of Cellular Mechanics at Acon's university, and should quit wasting my time in high school." "Well, I suppose it helps being able to do this stuff to me everyday, does it not?" "Yeah, and the Acon U thing shouldn't be a problem, considering, you know, my dad owns it." The work stood up when Devin finished typing and walked over to the back of a chair, whereupon he pulled out a gray shirt out frun underneath a plie of laundry, shoes, and even a few pieces of machinery. "Aren't good scientists supposed to be neat and orderly, though?" "I find order in almost everything I do, so no, I don't see why Acon would complain about a bit of dirty laundry." "Acon may not, but your parents sure do." "My dad'll probably forget the clothes even exist when the university diploma goes up on the other wall, that's all he ever wants to think about." "Yeah..." The work proceeded to take a few steps out the door, before Devin threw a heavy wrench at its spine. It did not react, it merely turned and looked back at Devin. "That's my shirt, man." "Sorry, I'll only need to borrow it for today. It's just a few more military training exercises today." "Yeah, my last shirt was nearly completely dissolved last time you came back from one of those." "Okay, my only mistake was that I didn't know those things could be modified with corrosive weapons. If I can trust you to take care of my body, then I'm sure you can trust me to take care of your shirt." "Ok, man, but if the shirt does not come back in one piece, then you shouldn't either." "No problem." The work flashed Devin a cocky smile before disappearing out the door. "Later." Name: Andrew O'Reilly Age: Body was synthesized from scratch, so it is actually 4 years old, but it has the appearance of about a 20 year old. Callsign: Caduceo Apprearance: [url=http://www.deviantart.com/view/13134373/]-->Link

If I may, I think that we could explore the subtle difference between an original RPG in terms of [i]story[/i] and an original RPG in terms of [i]structure[/i]. [quote name='Annie']In honesty, it's impossible to create an "original" RPG. We all get influences from movies, songs, books, et cetra; thus giving inspiration for an RPG idea.[/quote] Which is why RPGs like Kill Adam, among many others, are so essential. It's not necessarily the story that is original, but the interested way in which it is presented. I've seen (and participated in) some older RPGs (by Zidargh and Sage, for example) which used older and, to a certain point, overused storylines, but made them new and interesting to participate in because their style was so different. Sage's was even based on the Final Fantasy series, but structured to be more or less like a pen & paper RPG, where our characters would actually describe and follow the flow of an ATB style battle system. It was quite amusing at times, leading me to believe that Sage might have been thinking satire when he started writing it. K.A., somewhat based on the movie, used both changes in story and structure to make a now greatly-revered RPG on the boards. Solo Tremaine also wrote Anime Stereotype High School (how is the title [i]not[/i] supposed to convey a sense of satire?) and he even constructed a regular school day timetable to make things a little out of the ordinary, giving the characters a structure to follow. So...it doesn't always have to be the story that's original, but an intriguing structure can be effective for making one of the "outside the box" RPGs, even if it doesn't necessarily attract more readers/writers. It takes an RPG somewhat beyond just the writing, and tries to make the experience a little more than just following a prose style.

I didn't forget about this, don't worry. I'm glad to see that there is some level of interest in this story, but I believe we can start after...one or two more signups. The class doesn't have to be very large, but we need a group of enough people to actually make a film, which would normally be at least four people in a film class. Oh, and a note to those afraid that I didn't add enough detail about our situation (you know who you are): This takes place in an arts school in Canada, which is why I may be using a system that you guys aren't completely familliar with. As I am unsure how the U.S. school system works, the idea is that these characters are in their senior year, which is Grade 11 up north. Meaning that each of these characters are in the area of 15-17 years of age. I think the work I've seen is open-ended enough to apply to people of this age, so keep the work coming! I really appreciate the work, though, so just one or two more signups and we can start our "film project".

Without any shadow of a doubt, the only boss battle I've fought in my existence as a gamer that has left me with such sweaty palms and shortness of breath would have to be [spoiler]Ultimate Nine-Ball[/spoiler] from Armored Core 2: Another Age. I [i]still[/i] have not managed to beat him without using the [spoiler]PLUS enhancements from my AC2 data[/spoiler] and even then, I have to modify my units like cazy in order to stand half a chance. For those of you who need a little more background, AC is a PS2 game similar to Mechwarrior, only movement is a lot more rapid (except less so than, oh, Zone of the Enders or Gundam Wing). For the most part, it follows the rules of physics rather closely. As for the fight itself, well... He flies around incessantly and at over what I imagine to be overboost speed, fires missiles continuously while he does so, and, on the rare occasions that he slows down enough for you to hit him, he flies close to the ground and comes up close with machine guns blazing and a blade that can easily sap your AC of anywhere between a third and half of its health. Furthermore, he can take well over thirty hits of the most high-powered weaponry in the game, and, if memory serves correctly, it uses ECM defense so missiles will not work on it either. There is no predominant strategy, just move, move as fast as you can and never let your trigger finger relax. If you have a lock on him for more than an instant, take the shot. Close range combat is doubtlessly suicide, and if your AC is too slow, you will be drowning in missile fire from the get-go. Oh, and if you try moving too close to him, then he can circle around behind you before you know it. Basically, I just built my unit as heavy as I could get on two legs and equipped the best missile defense and speed boosters money could buy, and my predominant source of firepower was the Karasawa rifle (the best damage energy weapon), and maybe a grenade launcher for measure. Oh, and 90 degree turn enhancements were a lifesaver, too, whenever it got behind me. After a little while, it just became turn, fire, fire, move around, dodge those shots, try and hit him there, "oh ******* he's bringing out the blade", back away, take a few more hits, dodge a few more missiles, and nine out of ten times I still end up being effortlessly destroyed and throwing the PS2 controller to various corners of the room. The coolest part, though, would have to be the line he says right before the battle begins: [spoiler]"TARGET VERIFIED, COMMENCING HOSTILITIES." in that uber-high mechanically enhanced voice of his.[/spoiler] I doubtlessly lost the first battle because I was laughing so hard. From Software did good, saving that awesome and infinetely frustrating confrontation for last. Great memories.

Well, thanks for the commentary, and, to answer your idea: Yes, I did end up saving the trailer where I got that image. All of the clips in this section of the trailer (I think there are about eighty) were archived in a folder I made for this banner. On that note, here is my second attempt: [img]http://www.otakuboards.com/attachment.php?attachmentid=21628[/img] This time, I tried changing half of it to greyscale, but the image size did not decrease but by a few KB. I did like the effect, though, and thought it made an interesting connection to the new avatar I made recently. Instead of the ending with "micro", I added a few more frames with the section where the missiles actually hit their target, then froze the explosion to start the loop again. I think it's a little cleaner cutoff, even if it's a bit shorter. To compensate for the file size, I took off a bit from the beginning, so now it is at 56 frames. I also added a small border, but, in some ways, I still like the look without it. Maybe I'll try being a bit more creative with the border next time.