I could do better than that...

Full of lies.
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J. Spiffyman
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I could do better than that...

Postby J. Spiffyman » Sun Oct 25, 2009 12:24 am

A response to this thread. A fruitless endeavor, but not without some merit.

...

A stale puff of wind moved listlessly across my meager shelter, kicking up a cloud of sand into my face. Painfully I squinted, but couldn’t afford to brush away the grit from my eyes, both hands too occupied with my weapon. That weapon…it was the only one I had now, my pistol’s ammunition long since run dry and all grenades spent. Beads of sweat plastered the sand to my already-filthy face. If I could have looked into a mirror right then… well, I wouldn’t have wanted to know what I’d have seen.

My back ground up against the back wall, a miserable remnant of brick and mortar, pale yellow fragments piling up on the ground around it as nature slowly took back what it wanted from man’s creations. This building, this bloody, god-forsaken building…I’d heard Captain say it was a cheese factory or something back in the Roaring Twenties. Heh, imagine that, a “cheese factory”. I supposed they did have to make the cheese somewhere, after all. Decades later had reduced it to this, a miserable bombed-out shell of a building with no ceiling, rusted trash from bygone eras littered everywhere.

I hated cheese. I hated factories. I hated this building. I hated the piles of useless spent cartridges on the floor. I hated the repulsive dry heat, only ever made wet by my own sweat, spit, and blood. And most of all, I hated that this hellhole was the only place I could actually feel alive. Death before me, behind me, cutting off my retreat and my advance. But here…this building was their death as much as my life. I’d been holding out here for eleven days, now, in every type of combat I’d ever wanted to imagine. I knew this factory better than the house I built with my own hands. I knew the length and breadth of each room, each pile of debris, whether you measured it in meters, paces, or how accurate a shot you could make. This was my world. My livelihood. And I hated it.

I’d have asked myself “Why am I here?” if not for the simple fact that I’d heard Carl axe himself the very same thing. He’d killed himself ten minutes later. Sort of puts a damper on your thirst for philosophy.
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Ghost
Octothorpe
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Postby Ghost » Sun Oct 25, 2009 9:10 am

It's obviously not up to par. You don't have things like, "his blue eyes pondered my question" or dialog that repeats the thing said before. Please try again.

Also, none of these characters are in college or high school? I don't understand...
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Oread
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Postby Oread » Sun Oct 25, 2009 10:28 am

Is this the story for some new video game?
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J. Spiffyman
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Postby J. Spiffyman » Sun Oct 25, 2009 10:48 am

Backstory to a bonus mode in Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2, "The Big Cheese." Similar in gameplay to CoD5's Nazi Zombies, except silhouettes of weapons on the walls don't magically give you shotguns, the zombies are now called "The Infected", and they're all armed with butter knives. Intimidating at a first glance until you realize they can't slit your trouts.

I imagine it'll need to be playtested first.
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MT
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Postby MT » Sun Oct 25, 2009 4:00 pm

i'm not reading all of that.
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J. Spiffyman
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Postby J. Spiffyman » Sun Oct 25, 2009 10:55 pm

I'm not summarizing it for you.

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