FunkySpunky

[SIZE=2][B]"Tokyo,"[/B] Bert said, [B]"if it's anything like New York, is a hive of bees."[/B] Roxas cocked an eyebrow. [B]"The stinging insect?" [/B] [B]"Yes, the flying one. More people than you can ever imagine, all living above or below each other. People walk outside in straight lines, and won't move even if you're in the way. People don't [I]stop[/I], they just keep moving, and moving, and moving... the same way a hive looks if you just stare at it for a while. It doesn't sleep. It doesn't feel. It takes things in and spits them out as something different. It does the same thing to people, too - spits them out distorted and destroyed. I think every city does that to you eventually,"[/B] Bert paused for a moment and stared at the colorless black floor. [B]"You know, I think that's just how your goddamn world is," [/B]Roxas replied. His voice was toneless. [B]"That's just how your people are. You know what gets me?"[/B] Bert's gaze left the floor and locked onto Roxas. [B]"What?"[/B] [B] "From when I've been around, after the things I've done, people say things like, 'How can you be so inhumane?' or 'What kind of person are you?'" [/B] Then, darkly- [B]"Of course, I don't think I technically am one of the fuckers. But it kills me, you know? They just don't see how heartless they are independently. I think, every thing I've seen another person do has been for themself in some way. I don't think their actions are impartial to themselves, ever." [/B] Bert nodded twice. [B]"For someone who hasn't been around, I think you understand people exceptionally well."[/B] Roxas smiled wrly. [B]"Quick study.... Think it's about time to go knock down the hive?"[/B] [B]"Sounds like a plan."[/B][/SIZE]

[SIZE=2][B]?Savior??[/B] All the members of the room turned and gazed toward Bert- even two of the three-headed dog's heads. Most of all he felt the cold, piercing glare of Xaldin, one that made him feel as though every thought he ever kept to himself was being sorted through, like a file. He would not have been shocked if it were true. The tension lingered for a very long, stiff moment until the twin star spoke. [B]?Bert Aldridge?? [/B]he asked monotonously. [B]?Yes.? ?The savior is all that stands between us and our goal. We must destroy her- turn her into the dust beneath our feet.? [/B] Bert looked to Roxas for a moment, hoping he was not alone in his utter perplexion. He found no comfort - the look on Roxas' face simply read, [I]'you've got to be kidding me...'[/I] [B]?So we?ve got a black heart who doesn?t even know what he his??[/B] Xaldin hissed. [B]?Look, all I know is that this morning I woke up, killed a teenager, got hit by a cab, walked across Manhattan to a building I?d never even seen in all the years I've lived in New York, and when I got here wings decided to pop out of my back like daisies. Sorry if I don?t have all my shit together.?[/B] [B]?Stay calm, Bert,?[/B] Jena said. She presented the rest as simple fact. [B]?We come to erase the humans from the face of the Earth. You were once one of them. Do you have any objection to this??[/B] [B]"Why?" [/B]Bert asked. Jena sighed. [B]"The reason is of no importance to you, not right now. The way I see it, Bert, you either win this final battle with us and become a prince for eternity, or we send you into hell and you smolder for eternity. Now, do you object to joining us and ending the world of man?" [/B] He stared at the floor for a moment and memories of his life flashed in front of his eyes. Not for the first or last time he remembered how his father had looked lying in the street with blood all around him; remembered moving to New York to live with his aunt and hiding his father's guns - the only thing of his left in the house after the fire - in his suitcase during the car ride. He remembered how terrible that city had been to him during each day he lived in it. As he was lost in his thoughts, Roxas snapped a finger in front of his face. [B]"Yo, you there?"[/B] Bert blinked and turned to Jena. [B]"I don't owe anything to the world. I think it betrayed me a very long time ago.?[/B] [B]?Damn straight,?[/B] Roxas said. [B]"And now it's payback time."[/B] Bert subconsciously clutched at his father's guns inside his jacket pockets. [B]?How do we begin??[/B] [/SIZE]

[SIZE=2] The building stretched for the sky like a black, deformed arm poking out of the aftermath of a mudslide. Not knowing for sure how far he walked or how he knew this tower was the right one, Bert entered the door at the ground floor. What met his eyes immediately reminded him of ?Hotel California? by the Eagles. A black marble floor stretched across a hotel-like lobby. Blood red armchairs scattered the left side of the entrance, with tapestries hanging from the walls. To the right, what would be the reception area in a hotel was left unattended, melted candles on the stone countertop. Flanking the desk was a staircase, dimly lit and surely the descent to Bert?s destination, to the one who had summoned him out of the darkness, the one who had granted him life after death. Perhaps the Stairway to Hell. [B]?You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave,?[/B] he mumbled as he gazed down at the darkness that blanket all that lay below. [B]?Maybe if I?m lucky I?ll get the pink champagne.? [/B]A numbing mist seemed to be clearing out of Bert?s thoughts as he remembered the circumstances of his death. [I]Kid. Ice cream. Parents picked him up, when I looked back. Cab. Burnt rubber. And the Voice? Hellinger. [/I] A quick check of his ribs and legs showed no signs of irregularity. Searching the inside of his jacket, he was relieved to discover his guns still nestled safely inside the pockets, waiting for their next victim. Bert believed he would be using them a great deal more in death than he had in life. After what he estimated to be two flights downward, Bert reached a door on a landing. It matched the sofas in the lobby in hue, and made Bert slightly uneasy. For a moment, he considered wandering off into the darkness forever. Living as a shade. As the thought became rational he heard movement from within the door. Taking a deep breath, his hand settled itself on the golden knob. He twisted- he pulled- he stepped into the room underneath the tower. Another desk, behind which sat a woman shuffling through papers. She looked up and stared into Bert?s grey eyes with a smirk. [B]?You?re late,? [/b]she said. Another woman turned rapidly, wielding two weapons he recognized only from Arcade fighting games. Two black wings reached out of her back, looking as natural as the head on her shoulders. If nature ever personified evil, Bert thought, this who it would have made. Shock shot through his body as his mind attempted to qualify what he was seeing. [B]?Don?t be startled. My name is Jena. This is Eris Hellinger,?[/B] the woman behind the desk reported. Bert blinked, gathering himself. [B]?I never thought hell would have a secretary,? [/B]he replied caustically. [B]?Oh, this isn?t hell,?[/B] Eris said. [B]?We saved you from that. We thought you might be too useful to burn. We had our eyes on you for a while, in fact. Once you began taking lives to fulfill you own we knew we had to have you.?[/B] The words felt like an ice-cold hand scratching Bert?s spine. He trembled at the though of being watched his entire life, at a life of servitude after death, at nearly being licked by the flames of hell. But something about the words pleased him. [I]Purpose.[/I] As he prepared to speak again a searing pain erupted behind his shoulder blades. He collapsed to the floor in syncopated screams as two charcoal black wings protruded in the direction of the ceiling. Writhing in the agony his new appendages gave him, he screamed, [B]?What the [I]fuck[/I] am I here for?!?[/B] [B]?Be patient, be calm, and all will be revealed,?[/B] Jena answered. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=2] A small door clouded by the marks of children?s fingerprints swung open on a street corner of Second Avenue. Running out with an ice cream cone in hand was a boy of five with a mop of brown hair - brown like waffle cone he was intently admiring. Realizing walking and eating was hard enough, let alone running, he slowed to a stop at the corner of the building. His eyes grew exponentially larger as he steadied his hand and moved in for the kill; for the first taste of the sweetness. At the same time a man in a corduroy jacket and faded jeans strolled up 28th Street, not particularly caring that the sky looked extremely bleak, ready to drop a torrential downpour on an already soggy Manhattan. He planned to return to his apartment and enjoy a nice, large pizza, perhaps with a Corona or a Heiniken to wash it down. Perhaps to wash off some of the guilt from the afternoon?s hit. [I] The first four had been easy enough[/I], Bert Aldridge thought to himself. [I]I made two grand today? but that guy was just a kid. There?s some crazy **** going on in this city, and I?ve been through some **** in my life, but I never thought I?d ever end a 17 year old?s life. [/I] While thinking he was reminded of the weight of the pistols in the inner pockets of his jackets. The guns he found at home after his father was killed. The ones that had just killed for the fifth time. [I]I thought the same thing then. I never thought they?d turn on dad like that.[/I] He stared upward at the sunless sky and prepared to round the corner onto Second Avenue. ?Nothing you can do,? he said to himself as he turned the corner. ?Life just deals the cards.? The words left his mouth right as a he felt a squish, a crunch, and a thump in quick succession. He first noticed the dark brown chocolate ice cream mark on his jacket, then glanced down at the small child who had collapsed in a heap at his feet. ?Hey mister! Watch where you?re going! You made me drop my ice cream!? The youthful boy gazed up innocently from eyes that looked ready to tear. Bert forced what he thought might be an apologetic smile, as well as a terse, ?Sorry.? Bert stepped over the boy as he burst into inconsolable tears. By the time the kids parents crowded around him to ask what happen, the man in the jacket was lost in the crowd of New York City. He glanced back while crossing the next road in time to see the parents help their pride and joy up and lead him inside to wash him up or buy him a new cone. Both, probably. [I]Your not gonna get anywhere if you don?t learn to pick yourself up, kid. Learn it fast and remember it for the rest of your life. [/I] He turned around just in time to see a flash of yellow out of the side of his eye. Before he could think, he was struck on the right side and pulled beneath the cab. The last thing Bert Aldridge remembered before the darkness was the smell of burned rubber. After what was either eternity or a moment, a voice rose out of the void. ?Come to me, Black Heart. Come to Hellinger. We have much work to do.? A shrill laugh pierced the ears he was almost certain would never hear again and he rose. [I]What the **** was that? I should be? I might be dead. God damn, where am I supposed to meet this? thing? Does it have the answers?[/I] But Bert already knew the answer to that question. He also knew exactly where to go. Turning back to the direction from which he came, he followed the voice that now coaxed him along the path of the chosen. [/SIZE]

[COLOR=Black][B]Name:[/B] Bert [B]Age:[/B] 24 [B]Gender:[/B] Male [B]Personality:[/B] Bert is not the warm boy he once was. A turbulent life slowly wore him down, and now, after death, he is indifferent and cold, an iceberg. His frigid exterior hides his calculating and precise thoughts. He's always in the present; observing and soaking in surroundings, sitatuions, always analyzing people and reading not just their words but the meaning of their actions. [I]If you learn everything you can about your enemies[/I], he thinks, [I]then there is no way you can be defeated[/I]. This pensiveness passes in the rage of battle. Bert believes that if you shoot before you think you'll never miss; if you think before you shoot your hand will never reach the gun. He treats conversation similarly. [B]Appearance:[/B] At first glance he looks unassuming- it could be the guy who works across the street at Foot Locker. He has short, dark hair that looks as though it's never been touched by a comb. Standing 5 feet and 11 inches, he does not have intimidating size, but his strong presence can make him seem of greater size. In his head sit cool, blue eyes that gaze upon the scenes that make up his life. He often wears a navy blue corduroy jacket with yellow trim around the wrists that once was a letterman jacket, but the letters and other embroidery have since been stripped. His jeans fit him loosely and look as faded as his eyes. The casual, easyging, friendly visage slowly fades and when he smiles, and is replaced with an unsettling and sinister grin. One that is dying to spill blood. [B]Weapon(s):[/B] [URL=http://www.theothersideofkim.com/images/2005files/SW_17-4_K22_LB01.jpg]Two Pistols[/URL], a basic, wood-handled dagger. [B]Position: [/B]Black Heart [/color]

I'm relatively new. I haven't jumped into any RP's yet, I'm waiting for a good one that I'm interested in. I guess that should make sense. I was wondering if anyone has ever thought of doing an RP that is similar to "The Stand" by Stephen King. It seems like it'd be fairly easy to set up, and the book itself is incredible. I don't think using the same characters would make any sense, but something like it could be a lot of fun. Just a thought.

[QUOTE=50 cent] Also yes Halo 2's story is pretty much the same story as the first, but it's not the story that makes us love it's the multiplayer, yes we all know there is other shooters out there and we will say there is other games that we do like better than halo( seriously ask anyone who plays halo 2 and they will say there is better games). so stop ranting about it you aren't proving anything[/QUOTE] Well, I was ranting, but I didn't really set out to prove that Halo 2 is a bad game. I was pointing out that games like Katamari Damacy, which rely entirely on the single player gameplay and experience tend to be the more memorable ones. And the memorable ones tend to be the best. Nothing against gunning down warthogs while a sniper (who is supposed to be covering you) gets ganked by some lucky n00b. I just think the better game is the one that doesn't rely on other people playing to make it interesting.

You know what annoys me? Halo 2. Horrible story. Driven by the popularity of the first one. Good multiplayer and online, but way more popular than it should be. There are other shooters out there. One of the things that really annoys me about Microsoft is their inability to make games on their own. Nintendo's best were created, made and published by their own. Microsoft? Eh...... They only got into it to make money, not games. You know what game is perfect, as far as I'm concerned? Katamari Damacy. It's memorable. This is probable the single most important thing that a game can do, is make you remember specific events and characters, or lines (Wow, that is a nice cancer!) It's about a midget dude with a funky head, pushing a ball around that just keeps snowballing until you can pick up people, or cars, or whatever. The goal is to put the stars back in the sky. Bonus points for sketchy translations. It's memorable. Stupidly Addicting. Has open ended levels. Each person who picks it up draws a unique experience from it. To me, Katamari Damacy represents everything gaming should be, but isn't these days.