Author Topic: Apocalypse: The Re-apocalyticalizing [Somebody put out his fire]  (Read 171117 times)

Okay.
Here's what I think.
Either Morning makes a new character and until then all of his posts are ignored.
Or.
He wakes up beaten to a blood pulp in the street.
First option would make sense after what I posted.
Second option I can agree with, as long as I still get to rip his balls off.

First option would make sense after what I posted.
Second option I can agree with, as long as I still get to rip his balls off.
Ripping his balls off would result in death.


I shake my head and sit on a bench outside, looking at the flames dance around.

Guys my corpse was in there.

I peek out over the counter, checking the area. Realizing my baseball helmet revealed a lot more than what I thought, I ducked back behind cover.

Okay.
Here's what I think.
Either Morning makes a new character and until then all of his posts are ignored.
Or.
He wakes up beaten to a blood pulp in the street.
I'm confused.  Does that mean I'm back if I quit complaining?  

Also, I'm really sorry, but your corpse being in there made me burst into laughter.  
Also I quoted it as a document on my computer.  

I'm confused.  Does that mean I'm back if I quit complaining? 

Also, I'm really funny, but your corpse being in there made me burst into laughter. 
Also I quoted it as a document on my computer. 
If you stop complaining you either make a new character and accept the death or you wake up beaten to a bloody pulp, not shot at all with your balls still on your body.

wake up beaten to a bloody pulp, not shot at all with your balls still on your body.
I like that option.  Thanks. 


All the fire reminded me of Keith. I smile and wipe a tear from my eye.

Pain.  That is all I have.  Pain.  I try to get up but I am bombarded with pain.  It feels like my sides and chest were kicked, and didn't Alix punch my nose?  It was already broken when she did it. 
I slowly slither my way into the mall to check up on my guns.  The most previous commodity. 
The .22 was fairly intact, but the R700P's scope was pretty shattered.  I rip it off in frustration and am hit by more agony.  They think they can just beat me and get away with it. 

If the AMTS didn't burn them, I will.  Or just cut 'em to pieces. 
But this will not stand. 
They'll have to tape us all back together when we reach hell.

I peek over the desk again. I dive over it and dash over to the stairs. In my rush I trip and my helmet falls up the stairs and down a few, making a rather noticeable clunk for each stair.

Last post of the night, going or bed.  Another busy day tomorrow.  God Maine is full of action.  I've climbed 3 mountains. 

I get up.  the pain... Will not last. I think.  Why is this so hard now?

I stand up and walk inside, looking for something to do.

Somebody was coming. I put my helmet back on and rushed up the stairs.