Re: Mini-Grand 5105 (Round 2: Game Planet Dome #421)
09-13-2011, 09:36 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.
As Bernal died, The Minister checked his book of law. “Do you know how much we invested in this?” shattered. Another adage dead.
“It seems you hardly take this offer seriously, my flock. Death by coincidence? Seriously?”
The Minister hung like a death sentence over a black void. If the seven remaining moved their lips, they would taste it. The Black Plague, a parasite on other battles, a stench that extended to the rounds and the characters.
“The next setting is a biodome. Currently it's being used for a game of prisoners, vying for the biggest killcount. It is up to all of you whether you make a name on the leaderboard or end up one more for the score. Good luck.”
A knife hid in the forest, unspeakably green. It walked the silent road, the road of creeping and haunting, dying in silence. He would have to wait, but he was patient. It kept him alive. He heard noises. Mostly guns, rattling and thundering through several worlds at once. He also picked up sounds of twigs cracking. The sound of prey nearby.
Like a stalker.
Stimmt crept closer, no sound, up to the back of the man, no sound. Blood hung on him like a second skin, a grin stiff over his face. He was recharging a bazooka. Artillery he earned and cherished. Stimmt stole his voice, but the man never spoke so he didn't notice. As the knife cut through his throat, the man felt fascinated by having blood flow out of him. He had blood? No, he was a winner, he couldn't have blood. Blood was a gift from the weak to the strong he wasn't weak he had blood all over him. The man dropped dead at Stimmt's feet.
Like a murderer.
*** Contestant-11237-Stimmt has overthrown the third of the top ten in combat. The difference in ran--***
Stimmt cut off the automated voice, and stored it in his pocket for further use. He bent over the fresh corpse, looting it for supplies, food, water, weaponry, camouflage. He equipped himself with what he could salvage from the dead body.
Like a poacher.
“Cameo?”
The poacher saw an animal. Oblivious to the hunt, it stood and watched the bullets fly. Water dripped off its snout as it shook back and forth to absorb the surroundings fully.
“Friend?”
Stimmt couldn't approach Alluvion unnoticed, but the spirit, though aware of him, was unaware of his intent. He was magical, unhinged to the world. Unfazed, he licked Stimmt's face.
“Gun!”
Stimmt quickly shut Alluvion up. A mindless gunner had already caught the noise.
he didn't care
nothing was on his mind
nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing
it droned
like a rhythm
sound?
As Bernal died, The Minister checked his book of law. “Do you know how much we invested in this?” shattered. Another adage dead.
“It seems you hardly take this offer seriously, my flock. Death by coincidence? Seriously?”
The Minister hung like a death sentence over a black void. If the seven remaining moved their lips, they would taste it. The Black Plague, a parasite on other battles, a stench that extended to the rounds and the characters.
“The next setting is a biodome. Currently it's being used for a game of prisoners, vying for the biggest killcount. It is up to all of you whether you make a name on the leaderboard or end up one more for the score. Good luck.”
A knife hid in the forest, unspeakably green. It walked the silent road, the road of creeping and haunting, dying in silence. He would have to wait, but he was patient. It kept him alive. He heard noises. Mostly guns, rattling and thundering through several worlds at once. He also picked up sounds of twigs cracking. The sound of prey nearby.
Like a stalker.
Stimmt crept closer, no sound, up to the back of the man, no sound. Blood hung on him like a second skin, a grin stiff over his face. He was recharging a bazooka. Artillery he earned and cherished. Stimmt stole his voice, but the man never spoke so he didn't notice. As the knife cut through his throat, the man felt fascinated by having blood flow out of him. He had blood? No, he was a winner, he couldn't have blood. Blood was a gift from the weak to the strong he wasn't weak he had blood all over him. The man dropped dead at Stimmt's feet.
Like a murderer.
*** Contestant-11237-Stimmt has overthrown the third of the top ten in combat. The difference in ran--***
Stimmt cut off the automated voice, and stored it in his pocket for further use. He bent over the fresh corpse, looting it for supplies, food, water, weaponry, camouflage. He equipped himself with what he could salvage from the dead body.
Like a poacher.
“Cameo?”
The poacher saw an animal. Oblivious to the hunt, it stood and watched the bullets fly. Water dripped off its snout as it shook back and forth to absorb the surroundings fully.
“Friend?”
Stimmt couldn't approach Alluvion unnoticed, but the spirit, though aware of him, was unaware of his intent. He was magical, unhinged to the world. Unfazed, he licked Stimmt's face.
“Gun!”
Stimmt quickly shut Alluvion up. A mindless gunner had already caught the noise.
he didn't care
nothing was on his mind
nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing
it droned
like a rhythm
sound?
it was probably nothing
quidquid Latine dictum sit altum videtur.