Chaos

[i]"Is he ready?" "Yes, I believe so. He was given the data cards as he walked in." "Mm. Well. Where is the observatory?" "No formal observatory. There are floating cameras and stationary ones, however, that direct a live feed to monitors in a waiting room." "Lead the way. I want to see how well he handles this." -- -- -- [size=1]Swoosh. Klunk, klunk, klunk. Swoosh. The mechanical doors slid tightly shut behind, revealing a vast, derelict, urban setting. Gunfire popped and snapped in the distance, but not very far off. Just close enough that all of the cement and steel and glass would absorb the brunt of the noise. Arano jogged forward at a considerable pace, going over the information he just received. Drones. Chain guns, blades, handhelds, mortar and grenade launchers. Prehistoric weaponry, mostly, with modern adaptations. Simple one-on-one. Dangerous in packs. It would be hard to go about this in a matter of stealth with others around, and so many bullets in the air-- As he rounded a corner, Arano came face-to-back with a large Drone. Two chain gun arms, tank-like treads, and a sizable laser cannon mounted on his left shoulder. Indeed, Arano guessed, he also housed blades and spikestrips, along with other secondary weapons. The GP-T^9021. A military unit for guarding bases, mostly, but it can be used as an escort. Usually, it is stationed with two or three more when guarding, but when escorting or searching for reported enemies, it goes alone, due to the weight problem. Since they are so heavily armed, their armor is typically made of hollow steel. If searching for a foe or guarding someone important, you want speed and a harder-to-hit target, not a big, clunking mass of slow steel. But they were thick and big and wide. A lot of room to hit, but a lot of room so that vital spots are thinner and flatter. Slow to move on the treads, but fast enough at the torso. A 120-degree viewing range also helped keeping it up to date on it's enemy movements. Viewing modes included infrared, thermal, night vision, gray scale, and imprint. It was the perfect mass produced drone. And then it turned. For a moment, standing next to a charred car, which had an unlit lamp post toppled resting on it's roof, Arano did not move. The GP-T^9021 had turned suddenly, not very fast, but Arano was wrapped up in his thoughts, and was off guard. For what seemed to be the longest two seconds in his life, Arano stood silently, the sounds of projectile combat ringing a tone of low, dull crackles in the distance and the wind howling through the holes, the cracks, the shattered walls the this urban hell. The GP-T^9021 rotated its treads, coming to fully face the Reploid. It's dual chain guns on each arm began spinning rapidly, the motion causing a gentle whine of metal-on-metal screeching. Arano's eyes went from quizzical to hard, stoney gems of determination. He reached up to his left shoulder with his right hand, the mounted sheath for the Raptor. He grasped the handle tightly and pulled the blade free of the titanium case. the blade glinted as it flashed to rest at Arano's center in the moonlight. The GP-T^9021's barrels still rotated, shrieking all the while. Then, with what seemed after an eternity of waiting, it fired. A path of leaping dirt and dust labeled the rounds several feet from Arano's shoes, and he dove left as the line reached where he was a split second before. The drone turned in response. It fired still, trailing by mere inches. Arano could tell it was that close. He could hear the sharp hiss as the bullets darted by. He was low, his upper torso only a foot from the ground as his entire body leaned forward. Only the tips of his feet made contact with the ground, and when they did, they made divots and streaking lines, each two feet long, behind the divots. He exerted enough force to knock through a solid foot of tempered titanium alloy with each leaping step. With each step, he was also turning, ever so slightly, in a broad circle, around the GP-T^9021. The drone couldn't turn fast enough. Arano suddenly darted in, the beam activating around his Raptor in a flash of icy clue fire. He cross-slashed thrice, and upper-cutted with the curve of the blade, sending a wave of electrons through the GP-T^9021, making it sputter and wheeze and its chain guns stop firing. It stood motionless now, except for the decreasing-moving barrels which now smoked like a wildfire. The GP-T^9021 bowed slightly, electricity bounding from the 'X' that was carved in the drone's chest, and the one that was underneath it, and it ranged from the lower left to the upper right. But what the real damage came from was the gash that punctured a hole right through the middle of the GP-T^9021's visor-like eye. The crystal around the photo-impression lens had melted where the blade struck, and then spiderwebbed as it progressively was distanced away from the wound. But there was still life in the beast of a machine. And as Arano was about to rectify that, he heard the low-bass thunk from over his shoulder. He spun around to see a rocket-propelled grenade hurling his way, slightly above the GP-T^9021. But he knew it would curve down and collide with the drone's head. So with the speed of what seemed to be an impossible magnitude, he turned to run directly to his left, diving behind a chunk of cement that had be previously blown up from the ground below. Then, he turned to see the destruction of the drone. But then, to his horror, he saw the grenade turn, like a laser-guided smart missile. It soared directly for Arano as he lay wedged between a block of charred road and the derelict car from earlier that he stood next to. He waited. The rocket drew closer. Closer. And closer. Finally, Arano rolled backwards, standing on his hands for a brief moment, before pushing slightly and folding his body in. As he spun, his legs came out, and he had rotated a half-circle, from his handstand to his feet, firmly pounded into the gravel, which made a small cloud of dust kick up. Closer. Arano lowered down. Closer. The rocket drew within ten feet, and Arano firmly grasped the top of the slab, shifting his weight, preparing to roll. And closer. At the last possible moment, Arano jumped and rolled in midair over the block. Halfway to protection, the grenade exploded with a rod that was sticking out, at one time acting as a support for the slab of street cement. The Reploid was thrown bodily sideways through a cracked window, shattering it. A firm ringing was in his ears and he felt the slight damage the sudden force of air and the collision with the hardwood floors of what, as he discovered, to be a mockup of a small grocery store. Quickly scanning himself for more serious damage, finding none, and powering down his weapon, but keeping it in hand, the Reploid sneaked his way to the shadowed edge of the window sill, and peered out with just his right eye; no other part of his body showed to the outside world. He saw the GP-T^9021, still sputtering, now coolant and oil was rather quickly seeping from it's slashes, but it was still trying to raise the weapons it had attached to it's arms. His eyes moved to the right, and up. Scanning the skyline. Roof. Roof. Shingles. Broken window. Crumbled wall. And suddenly, there it was. It was mostly treads and lower torso, but on top of the tracks, basically, was a huge cannon and a large box, undoubtedly filled with more rounds. It slowly rotated, just the cannon, a slight hum emitting from the motion. Arano slowly withdrew from the window, into the shadows once more, sitting on the floor harshly. Sheathing his knife again, he proceeded to look around him at his surroundings. There had to be an exit. Just had to be. He needed someone with a buster. He had to find and exit and someone with a ranged weapon. Sure, he could scale the wall, no problem. Physically, he could even [u]run[/u] the five stories, straight up. But even it he tried, the rockets were remote controlled, and he'd be nailed either way. The only choice was to find someone that had a method of attacking from /farther/ away than two feet.[/i][/size]

[size=1][i]Kick. Kick. Kick. Kick. The human kicked. Over and over. Against what? What did he hope to accomplish? Kick...kick... ...Kick.[/i] [b]Guard 2:[/b] "Sir, please put him down [i]now!![/i]" [b]Arano:[/b] "...But... I am confused. I am to be commencing my trial for Sygnosis X. And you are supposed to know that." [i]Arano frowned, and looked back up to the first guard at the terminal. Kick, kick, kick. Hand over his lower jaw, squeezing. Hard, but not enough to do harm. His face was growing redder and redder. Blood pressure was going up. Fear. Arano simply sighed, seeing his doctors rushing off the plane to...what? What could be done? They--[/i] [b]Guard 2:[/b] "Sir, please! Put him down before I call for back-up!" [b]Arano:[/b] "...You were supposed to know that..." [b]Guard 2:[/b] "Sir, please. Now." [i]Kick. Kick. Kick. Running footsteps. Kick. Arano lowered the first guard down, having been holding him up in the air to dangle. He relaxed his grip, and watched the human slide to his knees, weeping. Why was he scared? He was not going to die. Arano turned away, heading for his shuttle to the Defence Facility. He was muttering in a confused tone, his voice breaking, like an upset child.[/i] [b]Arano:[/b] "Supposed to know... ...Then why did you try to take my knife?" [i]Arano stepped aboard the shuttle, and the scientists, in their mid-fifties, finally caught up. They began the lecture again. Arano was still shaken. Why did he try to take his knife? "This is your captain speaking, please either find a seat or a handrail to hold on to, as we are about to leave. We shall arrive at the Novus Concordia Defence Facility in five minutes and fourty-seven seconds."[/i][/size]

[center][spoiler][color=white]Zero hours, fourty-four minutes, twenty-seven seconds before arriving at Sygnosis X designated meeting position.[/color][/spoiler][/center] [size=1] [i]Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. The never-ending muting and umuting of static inbetween lapses in radio blackouts. A half of a second of white noise, half a second of open airspace. Refreshing the frequency of the band. Making sure no scramblers or interceptors were active. Arano sat, slightly frowning, in the plane. Hoverplane, actually. Flying above the clouds now. Not like before, at take-off. Away from New Hokkaido. To only return as an official member of Sygnosis X? Why not just wait for the others to return? Would not that be more effecient? Did these humans, these barbarians, who insisted on making sure the training was on time and never a millisecond behind, only to waste three hours flying across an ocean? And for what? The same thing as what he could have done without going through all the troubles of getting clearance, not being registered and all, to fly; wait? Arano played out his thoughts, over and over and over again. The simple need to do things "by the book" was the redundant episode of moronic circuses and playgrounds of the apes. 'The ones we are supposed to save.' Over. And over. And over. Over. And... ... Over. Memories, now. Training. Testing. Preparing. Repairing. Practicing. Perfecting. And repeat process all over again, seven days in a row. Files. Combat references. Fighting styles. Infiltration methods. Maps. Schematics. Statistics. Libraries of endless facts and bottomless wells of information. Quotes and scriptures and bibles of ways to do this. Encyclopedias and tablets and journals on how to do that. Files. Files. Files. 'TITA-79.EXE' 'Open file "TITA-79.EXE".' Shrill. Endless. Monotonous, ceaseless, piercing, constant shriek. A faint and yet shockingly close wail of unimaginible frequency and decible. A tinny and yet booming drone of stabbing pain. Not physically, but interiorly, the sound grew louder, Arano going into a state of shock. His pupils shrunk to mere dots, as his mouth clenched tight. Before his eyes, screens and screens and screens passed. Images. Thousands of frames in a split second. Binary codes. Recorded data. Test results. Weapon information. Experiences. Emotions. Memories. Pain. Loss. Rage. Sadness. Pride. Arrogance. Hatred. Longing. Resent. Fear. Content. And apathy. Images. Black flashes. Blue flashes. Explosions. Death. Sobbing. Destruction. Smiles. Frowns. Screams. Drowning. Dancing. Running. Terror. Anger. Brown streaks. White lines. Barcode. Lightning. Darkness. Darkness. Darkness. Darkness. It stopped. All of it. The images were gone. The shrill noise was gone. The insanity and horror and confusion and fear and rage and fury. All gone. Arano looked down, feeling the cold, fearful sweat rolling down his face. He saw his hands clutching tight against the handles of his seat, the synthetic fiber and stiff plastic innards began to peel and crack and crush. His hands were constricting the armrests. Arano relaxed at once, not quite wondering why he was stressing his joints. Everything was tense. He caught his reflection on his neighbor's empty plate, to the left. He was pale, flushed white. In his own interior computer, he searched. "Search >> All files and drives >> Containing >> 'TITA-79.EXE'" ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... "-File Found-" "-Do you wish to open?-" "Yes." "-Would you like to scan for viruses first?-" "..Yes." "-Scanning-" ... ... ... "-Scanning complete. No viruses detected. Opening file...-" ... ... ... "/Current Format Not Compatible With File 'TITA-79.EXE'/" "Wha--?" The plane had landed sharply, Arano not even knowing final decent had begun. By the time he seatbelted himself, the plane was already taxiing. Now it was time to leave, just as he was ready to land. How time travels so fast when you try to uncover destiny.[/i][/size]

[size=1][i]Demos stepped forward out of the garage's side door, helmet removed. His wild, untamed, nearly black hair was spiked back as his hand ran through it swiftly. His dark-lemon eyes shimmered as sweat began to pop up on his forehead. He fumbled with the buckle of one of the duffle bags that was still outside, cursing gently to himself as he finally just ripped the strap in two. Various firearms proceeded to fall out. But what he went for was the ball-bearing grenades. He belted two against his waist with a small leather strip, which also held two spare beam sabres and a large hand cannon that launched plasma grenades. Demos slid the bag inside the garage and closed the door, but set his large Antipersonnel gun near the door, with a full ammo belt, ten millimeter bullets, cocked and locked. He breathed heavily, as his dark gray armor rose and fell with each breath. Such mechanics were not required, but it gave Reploids a more human look. Everyone knew they didn't have real blood or skin, nor did they need to breathe or that such, but having something so much more power and is so much more resistant to natural things look, talk, and act like you is more of a reassurance. In the far distance, bodies were shoved away or trampled. Massacre was a huge blotch of darkness stomping over toys, so it seemed. He would arrive in a minute or two at the rate he was going. Shouting from above, footsteps. Two of the three pairs of pounding feet were normal, two steps at the time, at a regular pace. Then the other was more distinct. One normal stride and then the next coming short. It was Havoc. He was still a little below maximum efficiency. Terrific. Time slowly etched a painting of dread. The clouds up above, growing darker each minute, slit the throat of the heat and light as they passed overhead. A thunderstorm in the desert. And titanium alloy and steel creatures in the street about to fight. How lovely. The street seemed to loosen up, traffic diverting away, pedestrians veering down side roads and alleys. They saw four Hunters standing and a large figure steamrollering his way in that direction. Even Mavericks and insane killers have common sense. After what seemed to be a year in the hot yet clouded-over road, Massacre finally came within hearing range. Demos, now stern-faced and steel-eyed, began to charge his buster. Massacre made no move to slow himself. Proteus armed his own cannon and Iota unholstered her revolvers. Havoc stood back, with an array of weapons within an arm's reach. When Massacre reached the other end of the block, his pace died swiftly. He now walked at a relaxed pace, his face a pure block of smug, sadistic, pleasure. His fists were tightened into hunks of sheer strength, and his body was fully healed since the last battle. He stalked closer and closer, until he was within five meters. When he spoke, his harsh voice carried a tone of pure arrogance. He glanced quickly around at the Hunters, chuckling.[/i] [b]Massacre:[/b] "Well, isn't this little team just so rich? Two Hunters, a female with projectile weapons, and a damaged trash can. Now [i]how[/i] can I [i]ever[/i] manage to junk all of you?" [b]Demos:[/b] "Quiet, cyborg. Your sarcasm is not needed. You WILL regret coming here." [b]Massacre:[/b] "We shall see, you loudmouthed fool. But where is my friend? The small one?" [b]Proteus:[/b] "Warlock is currently up on the roof, putting a bead on the back of your skull and about to end this without you seeing it." [i]Massacre half-glanced over his shoulder, to scan the roof of the apartments on the other side of the street. Nothing. He swore mentally, and, out of the corner of his eye, saw Demos move with lightning-fast moves and liquid grace. He heard the small bang from the expulsion of the large plasma round. The massive cyborg dodged left, not even bothering to look. A shame, really. For the blast was larger than he thought. It grazed his right side, and exploded on contact. It was a large fireball that sent the buildings to quake and the windows to rattle. Massacre was sent back several feet, but the brunt of the attack was off-center. The flash of light died away, and the smoke billowed as charred tar filled the air with it's bad stench. And through the smoke, Massacre stormed. Right into Demos, headfirst. Forehead to forehead, the Hunter rocketed on his back on the road as the cyborg turned his attention to Proteus. Proteus dodged backwards, firing rapidly with his buster, making minute scratches and charred divots in his steely flesh, as the beast of a creature swung madly in an attempt to get a good lick in. Eventually, Proteus jumped back into a derelict car, and it slowed him for a half of a second, but that was all Massacre needed. As the Hunter sidestepped a left jab, Massacre upper-cutted with his swift right fist, and connected to Proteus' jaw, sending the Reploid flying a good ten feet upwards and back. He landed with a groan on the cement sidewalk, instinctively rolling to the right, even though Massacre turned his attention to Iota, who unloaded round after round at the Cyborg, who was weaving in and out. One shot found it's mark in Massacre's left knee, and he stumbled face first, just three feet from Iota. Demos and Proteus circled in, busters leveled, trained in Massacre. It was now that the rain started. It was a quiet rain, just the sound of the drops hitting each other and solid surfaces. Thunder occasionally sounded high above in the clouds. The sudden humidity of having the scorching ground's temperature plummet made the area very muggy, but the Reploids did not waver. Massacre was on his hands and knees, laughing as he started to stand again. His laughter wavered as Demos and Proteus fired a few more times, pushing him down back into the mud. But he still laughed.[/i] [b]Massacre:[/b] "You just don't get it, do you?" [i]More laughter, even as Demos drew one of the generic beam sabres, holding it above Massacre, ready to strike.[/i] [b]Massacre:[/b] "This is so much bigger than you can care to understand." [i]Lightning struck nearby, blinding those that had eyes unshielded. Demos was the first to get put on the ground. Massacre had jumped straight up, using only his arms to push him at least eight feet into the air, and axe-handled the Hunter right on the forehead, and then crumpled to the ground moaning. Then Proteus got backhanded right in the square of his jaw. He flew, literally, to the side, into the dash of the derelict car with a loud crunch. Then Iota, trying to squeeze a round into Massacre's face, but got kicked soundly in the chest, and sent into the roll-down garage door, denting the aluminum panel deeply. Massacre roared in laughter, shouting quickly how they were such fools. [b]Ding, kl-kl-klick.[/b] Massacre's laughter stopped, and his eyes shifted to the side, as Havoc smiled lightly, his arm out as if he had just thrown something but didn't bring his arm back down. Massacre glanced down. And there, right at his feet, was an object the size of a softball. It had a translucent outer coat, some metal mixed with plastic, and inside were steel ball-bearings, and a small charge with a slight gear turning counterclockwise.[/i] [b]Massacre:[/b] "Cra--" [i]Time crawled as Massacre slightly bent down, trying to gain extra strength for his jump, when the explosion occurred. The boom was deafening at such close range, but what was the real problem was the countless spheres of metal that bit deep into Massacre's lower torso, and then into his upper. The force sent the cyborg up in the air, and into the middle of the street. When he landed, water around him jumped from the potholes nearby, and splashed slightly. Thunder cracked, and the team arose, battered, but each arming him or herself as Massacre, leaking oil from one of his tube-veins, and loosing coolant through his lower stomach, turned over on his stomach and coughed. Despite having steel rammed into his body, however, he seemed barely scathed compared to the Elite Squad.[/i] [b]Demos:[/b] "C'mon, Massacre. Get up. I have a present for you." [i]Massacre staggered up, drunkenly swaying towards Demos. The Hunter raised his right arm, buster formed, and aimed dead-on for where he guessed the cyborg's power core to be. It was then that Massacre dashed forward with one, strong stride, sending water off his body like a dog shaking with all it's might. A single punch, right in the middle of the Hunter's chest, and the gem embedded in his armor spiderwebbed, but did not crack. For what seemed to be a few seconds, Demos floated back, the force of the blow not yet taking hold. But sure enough, the Elite member flew, nay, hurled backwards, like some sort of dumb missile. Right into the garage's door. No. [b]Through[/b] the garage door. Another loud crash sounded as he landed against the back wall and into Warlock's workbench. Lightning crashed, and Massacre's insane grin flashed in the flare of light. The others took a few steps back, but readied themselves. Havoc took out the DX-Sabre, and activated the sabre, the blue beam springing to life, and spewing off excess energy which snapped and crackled in the cool air. Here's to round two.[/i] -- -- -- -- James and/or Warlock, leave Demos out of the next battle scene. I have plans for him, but it requires him where he is now.[/size]

Haha. I'm not breathing down you neck. I didn't know you existed until now. It's just that you broke several rules. One being off-topic posts. This is a forum in which you talk about different animes, not other anime boards. Another is that you basically advertised for the AdultSwim boards here, which is, again, looked down upon. The members here are just fine. They're nice if you show them respect enough to make legible posts. Rofl. And if you like AdultSwims' boards, then go there. Don't bring it here. Why do we need to lighten up on the "complexity" of ranks? Ranks have nothing to do with who or what you are. How you act is how you're judged here. [And you, by the way, suit the title "Newbie" very well.] P.S.: The word is "people". P.P.S.: It's spelled "rebuttal".

If I were to look you up, I'd see 'idiot'. The AdultSwim boards are for dubbies, plain and simple. And they revolve around the [mostly] crappy anime that they "feature", while OB.com and tO.com are far more. So, no, they aren't better. By the way; don't spam and make stupid topics. Refer to OtakuBoards Infomation Center for further details. Have a nice stay, however short it may be. -__-

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by FartMaster745 [/i] [B][size="1"]I know that I should have read the whole story and all that, but time is of the essence and I dont want to miss anything. I'm pounded with school work. Anyways thats not the problem I'm concerned about right now. I was wondering if you could answer a few questions: Whats a Reploid? Is it like a android? If I choose human, do I have to sitck to reality, or can I give him unique super abilities? Whats callsign? is that like a nickname, or what others call your character? I'm confused about the affailiation thingy. Is it sides your character takes on. Age? Does the age reflect on how the character looks? Can I make up a biography, or do I have to base most of it from the history of this story? I'm very interested in this RPG and I want to be part of it. I got my character started in myOtaku blog...[/size] [/B][/QUOTE] A Reploid is a robot-like creature that has free will and has a wide array of emotions. It is basically a robot with a human soul. It is unlike an Android in the fact that they are built from bottom up, whereas androids are humans that have been gutted and replaced on the inside with all the trimmings. Not if you're a normal human. You can be enhanced, but that would make you a Cyborg. Callsign is effectively, yes, a sort of nickname. Like how Tom Cruise was 'Maverick' in TopGun. 1 a : to bring or receive into close connection as a member or branch b : to associate as a member 2 : to trace the origin of intransitive senses : to connect or associate oneself : COMBINE - af·fil·i·a·tion /-"fI-lE-'A-sh&n/ noun Age really doesn't affect looks, as Reploids and Cyborgs can be redesigned. But if you are a simple, unchanged human, then yes. It's cool and all if you have it on your MyOtaku account, but it needs to be posted here for it to be legitimate. =) And here is my character's Appearance. [Couldn't get a host. -_-]

Love. I would erase love. Why deal with something that ruins your entire point of view on things? Why let something that distorts reality and makes you think things you don't want to? Love is a weakness. When something happens to the ones you care about, what ensues? We cry and whine and beg and snivel. If we simply didn't care to that degree over someone, it would be much easier on all of us.

[color=gray][size=1][b]Name:[/b] Camori Slovoch [b]Callsign:[/b] Arano Karakkaze [Goes by Arano] [b]Age:[/b] One week, three days, fifteen hours, and 27 minutes as of joining Sygnosis X [b]Appearance:[/b] [center][img]http://www.otakuboards.com/attachment.php?s=&postid=477297[/img][/center] [b]Personality:[/b] Quiet and resentful more than half of the time he's awake. He feels insignificant and used most of the time, but he is very trustworthy. Arano also suffers from an inferiority complex and is a bit bi-polar. But in a fight, he's all smiles and jokes. The kind that respects his foe, and takes everyone seriously. He generally shows respect to his opponent, unless they manage to piss him off, which is a very unlikely thing to do. [b]Biography:[/b] Arano was manufactored in a small lab in the industrial sector of New Hokkiado for the sole purpose of being a supporting member of Sygnosis X. He has no parents, no family, just scientists that want to test him, see what'll make or break him. That was the first week of his life. He clearly remembers being cold and vunerable, taken out of a capsule and placed under the glaring quartz lights, exposed to the world, just like a newborn child. All of his senses were airy and distant. Sounds echoed, sights were displaced, feeling was numb, and his throat was dry and haggard. The blurry faces of scientists, behind masks and light blue haircaps hovered overhead. Drained and tiresome words droned on and on, techno-jargon, all of it meaningless to Arano. "...-ombat evaluations soon as he wakes..." "...-nosis X needs him within the week." "...Hurry with the fresh protonue-..." Minutes turned to hours. Hours to days. And finally, the test week was over. Countless times in battle simulation and hours of downloading fighting style techniques. Training with weapons, mostly hand-to-hand, and stealth counter-measures. He even had to infiltrate the lab on it's highest security setting. And he passed each test with flying colors. But now the true trials would commence. The real life difference between rubber bullets and plasma cannons. [b]Affiliation:[/b] Sygnosis X [b]Primary Weapon:[/b] [list] [*][b]Stinger Talon Edition V; "Raptor" [See attachment][/b] -- A special combat knife made of a carbon-base tempered alloy that makes it stronger than even a titanium mixture. But what's special about it is it's handle houses a small generator, similar to that of a beam weapon's, which charges the blade with ionized electrons. The blade gains a faint blue aura when activated, and it is basically surrounded by a beam energy, thus allowing it to block other beam weapons, deflect buster rounds, and cut through almost anything without dulling. Blade is seven inches long, handle is five inches long [*][b]Melee[/b] -- Dispite the use of his beam-enhanced knife, Arano's true power comes in when he goes fist-to-fist with someone. He has superior agility, strength, and speed, even on a Reploid's standards, which makes him a very dangerous person to box with.[/list] [b]Secondary Weapon:[/b] [list] [*][b]Flashbangs[/b] -- Exactly what they sound like. A bright flash followed by a loud sound explosion that generally stuns most. [*][b]Smoke Grenades[/b] -- Once more, exactly what they sound like. Pull pin, throw, grenade explodes at a controlled rate to let loose a smokescreen that can either be used to blind a foe or screen movements. Generally not helpful against smarter Reploids, or at least ones with thermal optics.[/list] [b]Defensive Capability:[/b] [list] [*][b]'Black Holes'[/b] -- On his palms are, regardless of their name, white gems, smoothed and buffed, which are directly wired to a spare generator within his person. This allows him to do several things. One of which is absorb small to medium powered energy blasts and plasma rounds, and add to his energy reserver. Another is to force energy out to either block some type of weapon/attack or to send a foe backwards. And the last is to absorb passive and kinetic energy; if Arano was low on power, he could just turn his hands skyward and get some juice from solar/lunar light; he could stick his hands in moving water to receive a little boost. The last feature is only helpful for recovering secondary energy reserves or regenerating a small bit of integrity, as to fully recharge Arano would take around two days.[/list][/size][/color]

Ouch, old topic. A quite lovely conversation between Ken and I. "Did you have fun?" "Yeah, I jacked a sub and blasted some foos." "..." "And it comes to be that the soothing light at the end of your tunnel...is just a freight train heading your way." -Metallica; No Leaf Clover "In the land of the blind, the One-Eyed Man is king." -Max Payne [center]"I see the walls around me fall around me And everything's alright I see the god amoung me fall amoung me And everything's beside I see the walls around you, tie and bound you Drown cos you're so cold.. Cold.. Cold.." -Machine Head, Silver[/center] [center]"Caress the needle prick in my eye The tears fell like rain I've rode the phoenix as she glides And I've gone insane I've seen the light of suicide And I'm dying" -Machine Head, The Burning Red[/center] "For once, just once, I wish you would just shut the EVER-LOVING F%@# UP!!!" -Myself when a teacher turned her back after bitching me out [center]"Dear god do you want to tear your knuckles down and hold yourself Dear god can you climb up that tree meat in the shape of a 'T' Dear god the paper says you were the King in the black limousine Dear John and all the King's men can't put you head together again Before the bullets before the flies before authorities take out my eyes the only smiling are you dolls that I made but you are plastic and so are your brains Dear god the sky is as blue as a gunshot wound Dear god if you were alive you know we'd kill you Before the bullets before the flies before authorities take out my eyes the only smiling are you dolls that I made but you are plastic and so are your brains" -Marilyn Manson, GodEatGod[/center] "History abhores a paradox." -Raziel

Wow, Egret, I'm impressed. You're on top of this game. :D It's a shame we don't have more members like you. =/ But right, to the topic, MGS3 looks all right to me. Granted, I've never played MGS2 [Was waiting for Substance, and now I can't find it. -_-], but I've been a fan of the MG fame since as far back as I can remember. How can anyone forget the final battle on Snake's Revenge? Sure, not all the stuff in the mix, but it was still fun. Or my favorite moment in MGS, the first battle with Vulcan? That pure display of limber power? Who thought Snakes could jump over ten feet backwards and like six feet in the air? The scene where Meryl gets shot? Wolf's death? The explination of Snake's past through Liquid? The fact that if you look around during that cutscene Liquid says something along the lines of "They're not there; I took your weapons."? I doubt that short of adding flying pink rats the size of panda bears and random, disfigured Pokemon and Jar-Jar Binks, there will never be a way to completely ruin a MG game. Heh, enough nostalgia, eh? If there was MGS3 Online, it would be a bit hard with the game's semi stand-and-rotate control scheme, and it's limited camera [aside from hounding on FP mode], it would be like playing SOCOM with GTA2's angle, almost. Either way, I'm thrilled to see this game will be out as soon as November after next. Now, if only I could find Substance...

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Celia [/i] [B][color=0099FF][size=1]Even though racism is illegal now, but I think lots of people still discriminate other races.[/color][/size] [/B][/QUOTE] Lol, it's illegal for people to have personal opinions? :laugh: What you mean is segrigation is illegal now. If someone was to go out on his front porch, wait for a cop to walk past, and then say "I hate Jewish people!", the cop couldn't arrest him. It's a personal opinion, and as long as he doesn't act negatively towards his disliking, he can't be touched by the law. People need to actually understand what they're talking about before they go and denounce it. [And no, I am not a white supremacist. :P Nor am I racist at all. I just had to set straight an error.]

I really have to bring this down; most of you are giving your congradulations to the staff here on OB, when they belong, rightfully, on tO.com. Someplace like the chat rooms. Hmm, an IRC channel devoted to the obsession of tO.com and of their plans to take over the fan-site industry. How wonderful. *plots* Whatever. That's cool and all. And I can't stand FLCL. It's just a little too out there for me.

Well, let's see. What could [b]I[/b] have done to make [b]complete and total[/b] chaos in a store? Hmm, let's see. Poured dishwashing liquid over the floor near the checkout. A really talkative little kid slipped and busted himself on the floor. :D Put a cherry bomb in one of those big bouncy balls in Toys R Us once. That was fun. I just happened to to it within twenty feet from the exit and out of range of the camera. >_>;; Lit a foam ball on fire once and threw it. I think it landed in the trash can. That or in someone's hair. Put an entire roll of toliet paper in a urinal, clogged up the drain, and tied the handle down so that the water would keep going. Pulled fire alarm. Took every pillow off the shelf in Wal*Mart before. That was fun. It looked like the floor was padded. Had to run when one of the associates turned to look though. Turned all the speakers up, maxed out, on the stereos in Best Buy and changed the station to the rock channel. That was fun. :toothy: But my best ever was getting a K^Mart closed because I let loose some feeding rats. You know, the ones you buy for two dollars each to feed to snakes? I let about a dozen loose in the dairy row.

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Sara [/i] [B][size=1]Glo[i]ry[/i], Chaos. I think I'm just going to stay on [i]this[/i] side of the Mason-Dixon line..[/size] [/B][/QUOTE] Aww, that's no fun. To have a truly full life, you must go to a subtropical Hellhole with crickets that look like they could gnaw your head off, termites that can fly in loop-de-loops, and mosquitos that spawn like rabbits on Viagra. :toothy: And flammable wasps. Those are slightly amusing. ^_^ [QUOTE][i]Originally posted by LostProphet [/i] [B]Just Remember: it would take 1.12 million mosquitos biting you at the same time to drain your entire blood supply. Fortunetly, they aren't that coordinated [/B][/QUOTE] We probably have just enough to do so... How many of those 1.12 million mosquitos have West Nile and Yellow Fever and all that crap?

****, sorry to hear that Denny. >_

Idiots. You ARE spamming. You are making [b]s[/b]tupid, [b]p[/b]ointless [b]a[/b]nnoying [b]m[/b]essages. Stop this now. IMMEDIETLY. Continue your ******** in AIM.

All that is is a feature that does exactly that. It's not a hack or anything. It's not a new feature. It's been around nearly as long as vB itself. And it's not too good for threads with multiple attachments or people with low-speed connections. Plus, how lazy can you be not to [i]move your mouse two inches[/i] to click an attachment?

The crappiest part, though, is that I can't find a Network Adapter...anywhere. -_-;; But I love SOCOM. While it's limited to stealth [my biggest weakness], the firefights you do get into are so nice and realistic. So, I'm definatly getting SOCOM 2. :D

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Sere Tuscumbia [/i] [B][size=1] . . . Wow, I consider myself lucky. As far as I can remember, nothing like that has happened in Tulsa . . . O_o;; Although Lousiana was a nightmare. I'm highly allergic to mosquito bites, and I also attract mosquitos like nobody's business. And where did Mum and Dad decide to take a trip to the [b]very first day[/b] in Lousiana? The swamps. God, talk about evil killer mosquitos. The crickets are big in Lousiana . . . o_o;; --Sere[/size] [/B][/QUOTE] HAHAHAHAHA! You should be glad you aren't here now. It's rained a good seventy percennt of the summer here, and all of that water goes [i]nowhere[/i]. So what happens? The mosquitoes spawn like ****, that's what. What Fall described in his first post? It's like that almost 24/7. Your parents dragged you into the swamps alone? Or you had a guide? And yes, crickets are big here. Specifically, I found one the size of a fully-grown frog yesterday. I had my lighter with me, so I burned it. :D But still. Not too long ago, we had an infestation of termites city-wide. Don't know where the Hell they all came from, but if you walked outside, and stood still for about five minutes, you'd be covered in them. We have a lot of wasps here, too. The big ones the size of a half-dollar piece. They hurt like [i]Hell.[/i]

...Japan_86... ...God. How stupid can you be? Didn't you read the rules? This topic is OVER A YEAR AND HALF OLD!! At this point, we encourage you to make a new topic! God. This would be considered spam, I do believe, since there is no topic about skating on the first page. Just...don't do it again. Nothing says ignorance worse than bringing up something [i]a year and a half old..[/i] Aside from the user 'Forte', of course. [You're welcome, Piro.]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by harpiesbrother1 [/i] [B]im planning on going to the university of liverpool to study criminologhy, egyptologhy and zoology. [/B][/QUOTE] Yes, we need you to do so. Otherwise, those murderous Egyptian chimps may one day rule the world. Seriously though, you want to waste at least twelve years and around one-hundred grand on crap that is in no way related and barely offer any good opertunities?

Why? Because life is like a sampler pack of your favorite product; it gets good...very good. So good that you get to the point that you love it to death. And then it bends you over and rapes you for a few decades. Or it could just be that the guys you're interested in are interested in your friends or your sister. There are more people beyond your house, you know.

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by KnightOfTheRose [/i] [B]You know what I meant Neil. *bares teeth in a menacing fashon then proceeds to bite tounge* [/B][/QUOTE] You prove that we need spell-cheecking on OtaukBoads. [Anyone catch all that? ;)] Hmm. Well. I like fooling people. I like money. I'm a good liar. I can rant and rave about absolute ********. I know..! I can be a television evangelist!! I really hate those shows, by the way. -_-;;; "Give me your money, or God shall disapprove of all that you do, regardless of what you do!"

Don't you mean "psychiatry", DoK? ;P I want to be known as the guy to take over Canada and simultaneously make the world's most complicated crossword puzzle while blindfolded...and only using my feet to do so. That's a short answer for "I don't know what the Hell I want to do with my life".