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2011.07.06 18:14 ev149 Post Processing
2011.10.17 04:58 sms42 The living will never outnumber the dead.
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2011.01.29 04:16 maply Lazarus
This subreddit is dedicated to the Image Comics series LAZARUS, created by Greg Rucka and Michael Lark.
2024.05.14 01:08 Traditional-Cow4298 Started on Saturday!
Weighed myself today the first time this year and I'm at 140kg (178cm). I don't know if you remember that episode of the Simpsons where Homer deliberately overeats even more than usual to become what was then comically large so he classes as disabled and can work from home: he became 136kg.
That really hit it home for me, I've been saying to myself for years I'm not that fat but today I realised I've gone over Homer Simpson at his heaviest and I really need to make a change.
Tried weight loss before and have lost 5-10kg here and there but always gave it up and put it back on. I'm also quitting alcohol cold turkey as I know the calories in the beer are very much not helping, and when I'm drunk I eat way more. So I've got double the challenge.
Did the first jab on Saturday, was a little nauseous after but luckily have felt completely fine since. I've definitely been eating far less since then. I still feel a little hungry but probably much less hungry than I'd feel normally on this amount of calories. I'm hoping higher doses in the coming months can help me feel a little fuller.
There's no room to fail this time. I do wonder as well if the price of the drug is an incentive to not throw it away.
submitted by Traditional-Cow4298 to mounjarouk [link] [comments]
That really hit it home for me, I've been saying to myself for years I'm not that fat but today I realised I've gone over Homer Simpson at his heaviest and I really need to make a change.
Tried weight loss before and have lost 5-10kg here and there but always gave it up and put it back on. I'm also quitting alcohol cold turkey as I know the calories in the beer are very much not helping, and when I'm drunk I eat way more. So I've got double the challenge.
Did the first jab on Saturday, was a little nauseous after but luckily have felt completely fine since. I've definitely been eating far less since then. I still feel a little hungry but probably much less hungry than I'd feel normally on this amount of calories. I'm hoping higher doses in the coming months can help me feel a little fuller.
There's no room to fail this time. I do wonder as well if the price of the drug is an incentive to not throw it away.
2024.05.13 19:38 TypewriterTypeWrote [SF] 'Diamonds' Part 1 (Part of the 'Human Nature' series)
PART 1
“Don’t touch!” Abe commanded, slapping Max’s hand away. They were both bent over at the waist, admiring.“Sorry, it’s just… so… what is it?”
“I call it the Alchemic Thaumaturgator.”
“Of course you do. Is that because you couldn’t think of anything simpler, or you just liked the way it rolls off the tongue?” Max smirked.
“Mmm, it’s a work in progress.” He flung a sideways glare at him.
“Sure. So what is one of these?”
“It’s complicated and delicate and to be honest it’s a bit of a mystery, even to me.”
“Right.” There was a moment of silence as they continued scrutinising.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Abe murmured, almost to himself.
“I mean, yeah, of course….”
“Don’t look at me like that, I can’t tell you what I don’t know!” Abe stood up and let out a disgruntled huff.
“Hmm. Well, it’s confusing enough to give you nausea just looking at it so I’m sure they’d love it as an offering for the Nobel Prize, especially with a name like ‘Alcomic Thordy-whatsit.’”
“Well, maybe, if it gets that far. I nearly broke it last week, which is why I’m telling you,” Abe stood up straighter, one hand on his hip and the other pointed firmly at Max, “to strictly to keep your curious hands to yourself, ok? I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary.”
“Ok ok, I won’t touch it. But really, it looks like it should be in a museum somewhere. Or a Cabinet of Curiosities...”
“Little good would it do in either of those places.” Abe turned to Max and clasped both his hands in his own. “Listen, you are my closest friend and this thing is very important to me. I wouldn’t leave it with you if I didn’t think you were perfectly capable of safeguarding it, so please don’t worry, I know it’s in good hands.”
“If you really think I’m up to it?”
“I do.”
“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment!” Max threw his arms in the air in a sarcastic show of tah-dah! “Go forth, oh Knight of Overly-Complex Science, go do what you have to do and I’ll keep an eye on this beast for you. Shove it on the table and I’ll look after it and Will Not Touch It.”
Abe looked put out, but comically so. “Is that really what you think I sound like?” He laughed. “I’ll put it over here, then. Get in touch if you need me, any time. You have my contacts?”
“I do…” Max fumbled around his pockets. “They’re… here. Got them right here.”
“Good. In which case I’ll leave you to your own devices. See you soon, and thank you.”
“See you soon.”
“Take care. Oh, one more thing. If you talk to it, it talks back.” Abe shut the door behind himself.
***
“So, you’re an Alchronic Thormome… grater? Doesn’t sound right… So tell me, what is one of them?” Max stared at the thing, perplexed.
It reminded him of what the love-child would be between a glass roller coaster and a steampunk jellyfish, though it bore absolutely no resemblance at all to a jellyfish, and fascinated him far more than that nature documentary he had been watching last week ever could. Jellyfish bobbing around and being brainless and boring, and when they weren’t they were stinging people to death and getting eaten by turtles. Even the name is boring. Jelly. Fish. Like those squidgy, dry-goo kids toys that you’re supposed to throw at the window but gets hair stuck to it when it falls on the carpet. Yuck.
Which was weird, considering this monstrosity he had been tasked with looking after was definitely the most interesting and intricate and pretty thing he had probably ever clapped eyes on. It had a heaviness to it, a purpose. And it felt like it was watching him.
Better steer clear for a while. It looks weird, he had been told things that absolutely made it sound weird and to be honest, it frightened him a little.
He wasn’t usually one to be afraid. Hell, he’d always been the brawn of his sturdy group of friends, right since he was a kid. He had worked his way up the proverbial ladder and had been widely recognised as the guy you don’t screw with at his school, though he wasn’t particularly proud of how he got there, (there had been a lot of fights behind the bike sheds and nicked sandwiches under the threat of blackmail at lunch). But he had forgotten all that and settled himself into being the relatively good-looking, popular, flirtatious guy who did a moderately average job in the eyes of his colleagues and had a moderate measure of success with the ladies.
Made no sense then that this contraption he had been lumbered with for a stint had shaken him by its sheer solidness on his front room table. It seemed to be unmovable in its presence, though it was light as a feather when it had been brought in and that fact in itself threw him because how can something that looked so substantial weigh that little? His bloody breakfast weighed more!
“What the hell are you?” Max wondered out loud.
He sat and stared at the thing for the longest time, watching to see if it would move. Only the sparkly inner swirled. Nothing more. It gave him the feeling of lying on the bottom of the ocean, staring at the sun beams though the surface until it started to fade. His eyes stared to fade. His mind went blank. He was being sucked down a long, dark tunnel of still water by his chest, he was sinking and swimming and becoming the empty space around him, it seemed he could feel the particles in the air as they vibrated and resounded in his ears, felt himself being blinded…
Max blinked and snapped back into the room, found himself standing in front of the machine. The studded brass bands holding the tubes together rotated slowly, silently.
Yeah, there’s something not right about that thing. Something unnatural.
Slowly backing out of the room and trying very hard not to show the Alcolic Thormatador… Thermanter… the thing that it was making him uncomfortable, he sidled through the doorway and into the hall. Yeah, that thing is just plain wrong.
In the corridor he paused, tried to laugh at himself.
This thing is just metal and glass and sparkly water, he thought. It doesn’t have the brainpower to understand that I feel some kind of way about it and even if it did, what is it going to do? It’s an invention, a machine and nothing more and machines are made by people, made by my friend, so what the hell is there to be afraid of?
He reached the kitchen, surprised at his own existential awareness that seemed to come quite fluidly, which was most unlike him. Maybe he was getting soft in the head. He heard that happened at a certain time of life but that phenomenon would be a bit premature. He wasn’t much past his third decade, thank you very much!
Max filled a mug from the water boiler and threw in a teabag and a few sugars. He squeezed the bag against the side of the mug until the dregs started dropping, plapped it in the sink and poured in milk. He stirred his tea well, just as always, but now the clinking of the mug took on an added layer of comfort when he knew what was in the front room. He wasn’t in a dark tunnel where he couldn’t do anything but watch, he was in his own kitchen that he had had rebuilt last year. He picked out the worktops and cupboards, he chose the shiny silver appliances, he bought the gourmet herbs and put them on the window sill, slightly over-watered and flooding their drip trays until they almost overflowed. He was in his own kitchen, familiar down to the millimetre, and solid. Nothing could touch him here.
No, he thought, it’s just an invention. A thing.
He put the spoon down with certainty on the worktop and squared his shoulders: he marched down the hall towards the front room with his tea in his left hand and the right balled up into a fist. He paused for a second outside the door. No sound.
This is my house, I won’t be intimidated in my own damned house.
He rounded the corner, planted his feet wide and glared hard at the thing.
“Look, I don’t know what you are,” he said to the machine, “but you don’t look dangerous. And seeing as we’re going to be spending some time together, I’m just going to ignore you and you can ignore me, ok? No making me feel like I’m being watched, no making me feel like I’m swimming around somewhere in space, no more weird stuff and I won’t put you in the loft. We’ll coexist in blissful harmony, like water and jellyfish.”
The Alchemic Thaumaturgator just sat there, glistening.
“Ok. Good. Fine.”
He grabbed the fern and the shamefully stunted lucky bamboo (that damned plant his cat was always rubbing his face on) that were perched next to the door and shoved them onto the table in front of the machine, mostly obscuring it from view. Better.
Max backed up and sat on the couch under the window, across the room from the table and that freakish unicorn turd of a contraption. He wrenched his eyes away for just long enough to put on the television and throw one final look over at the thing on his table, searching for it amongst the foliage. It hadn’t moved. It just sat there. He gestured at it rudely with a slightly shaking hand.
The soothing sound of the narrator drew him back into his TV and another nature documentary, this time about the great apes of the rainforests of Western Africa. This was much more interesting. He swivelled sideways in his chair to face the screen directly, sipping away at his tea.
“See,” he said towards the table, “this is exactly what…”
He glanced back and promptly fell out of his chair. His tea went flying as his mug thudded to the floor in an all too under-dramatic fashion compared to what his adrenaline was doing.
The thing was lighting up! It was glowing! Only a little bit but it was actually putting out light!
“Jeez!” Max shouted at it from the floor. “What is that? How is that happening? What is it doing? Stop it! Stop it!”
He scrambled around, on his hands and knees and still on the floor, trying to shut off the sounds of viciously shaken branches and primates howling at each other. The screen mercifully emitted a heavy click and fell into blackness as the remote fell to the floor. In the resounding silence of the room it was just Max, his adrenaline-fuelled breathing and the glass machine.
He stared at it. It absolutely was staring at him, even from between the leaves, there was no doubt, the liquid in the middle was pooling and somehow gathering at the front of the tubes facing the room. The glowing light had already started to fade and the liquid lost concentration and dispersed again, slowly swirling around in all its glittery glory, just as it had before.
Max was still splayed out on the floor, his breathing struggling to return to normal. He stood up and flattened himself shakily against the wall.
“What just happened?” he muttered under his breath. “What the hell was that…”
The thing looked at him, ‘nothing to see here,’ it said, feigning innocence.
“Whatever you are, just stay the hell away from me!” Max shouted at the machine as skirted around the walls until he got to the doorway. The door was ajar but, because his eyes were fixed in horror at the fragments of the machine that were exposed from within the plants, he bumped backwards into the door, nudging it closed and clicking it shut. Fumbling for the handle he tried to wrench it open, only to find the handle in his hand, horrifyingly detached.
He was stuck in there with it.
Panic flooded his body. A sharp twist in his gut and sweat poured from every millimetre of his skin and a faint whine emitted from his mouth.
Deep breaths, he told himself. Deep breaths, you can figure this out. It can’t hurt you, so just sit down and figure it out.
He sat himself back on the sofa, pushing it further back and rucking up the rug into waves in front of him with his feet. Never had he been so afraid of an inanimate object before. Spiders, yes. The open ocean, yes. Heights, yes. But this?
He sat staring at it, filtering his brain through his usual coping processes. He couldn’t beat it, like he had done in school. He couldn’t charm it, like he had done at the office…
“It’s an elaborate Newton’s Cradle, for Christ’s sake! A fancy-man’s Rubik’s cube!” he told himself. “Some science experiment that a five year old could have done. Yeah, I bet he just put some glow stick stuff in the water and mixed it up and told me it’s real to scare me. It doesn’t even look that bad.” He stood up and took a hesitant half step towards it on quavering knees and reluctant feet, fighting the ‘flight’. “See? Can’t hurt me.”
Max blinked. The thing hadn’t even moved. What was so scary about it anyway? The glowing? It was probably the reflection off the TV. He moved the plants from in front of it with outstretched arms and stepped back as far as he could go.
“I’m going to call you Ruth,” he said, getting bold and pointing at it, “because Alcoholic Thermo… whatever is just ridiculous. Ok? And Ruth was my grandma’s name, and I liked her, she was safe as houses.” Sure, his grandma had died of an embolism nearly ten years ago, but he wasn’t going to admit that to this thing that he didn’t even know what an embolism was. Ruth was a safe name and the familiarity was comforting.
He felt the liquid moving towards the front of the glass again, shimmering and pulling him in. He felt his fear spike, then dissolve. It couldn’t hurt him. He was safe. He was in control.
“I think it was mean of him to call you something so ridiculous. But I suppose if he’s going to go for the Nobel Prize they like that kind of thing, don’t they?” He half laughed, took another step towards it. “Those competitions are always stupid though, nobody ever comes up with anything really new, it’s not like they’ve invented hovercraft cars or machines that can take you on holidays to the afterlife, is it?” He had nearly reached the table now. The tubes were glowing a little still and he could see something moving in there. His curiosity peaked over the top of his fear and had a good look at the prospect of getting closer. Curiosity decided to get closer.
Max leaned down, hands on knees, and stared into the ever-moving swirls that flowed through the glass tubing. Arms extended to their full defensive stance, he gently nudged the plants out of the way and took a good look at Ruth. He remembered his friend saying something about studs and elements.
“Hey, there they are! I didn’t see these before! So those… those are elements? Are they elements?” He asked the glass, dumbfoundedly pointing at the stuff he had assumed was glitter but now wasn’t half as sure. He had never seen elements before…
Ripples glowed in the liquid: it had heard him. They moved closer and were warming now, somehow.
“No way!” Max exclaimed, his mouth hanging open. So this is what Abe had meant! “It’s not possible! It’s not real! Is it real? Are you real?” He asked. “Of course you’re real, you’re sitting on my table! Ha! What a stupid question Max. So, if I ask you a question, are you gonna answer me, huh?”
The glass glittered at him, but nothing else.
“Ok, are you alive?”
Nothing.
“Hmph. Maybe it was a trick of the light.”
No answer.
Max flopped into the sofa, his brows furrowed at Ruth.
He found himself talking to himself, trying to dispel the weird energy that his friend’s invention had brought with it.
“This thing is strange. He said if I talk to it then it responds, but I asked it a question and it doesn’t do anything, but when I was watching that monkey progr…”
He stopped short.
“Yeah! Let’s shove that chimp documentary back on, shall we?”
Click, the screen shot into life of every colour of the rainforest, the howls echoing around the room. But Max didn’t watch the TV, he had his eyes firmly fixed on Ruth, remote still in hand in front of her, waiting expectantly.
Nothing. Dammit. Just the glittery same as glittery before.
Max tried not to let the tidal wave of disappointment wash him away. Maybe it wasn’t the show. Maybe it was a prank, a trick of the light after all.
Max bent to put the remote on the arm of the sofa. The light from the TV shone onto the table and Ruth crescendoed into life and started throwing out beams of light that looked like the solar flares he had seen on that awful show about space and rocks and stuff he wasn’t in the least bit interested in but had watched anyway.
But he had figured out the key: he was standing in between Ruth and the screen and his shadow had been overcasting the table! Ruth needed a full view to do… that thing… whatever it was that she was doing with the light.
Ping, pong, ping, pong, his eyes went between Ruth and the monkeys sailing through the trees by their ridiculously long arms, right up until the credits started rolling and she faded to a faint glow again. She still glittered but it wasn’t the same. She definitely needed encouragement. Inspiration, if you will.
Max flicked across through each channel, watching Ruth closely for any changes (of which there were none,) tock, tock, tock went the remote until he found a different channel, one that was obviously designed for people with limited imagination, because wow, even he can outpace the monotonous nasal narrator and he didn’t consider himself a particularly clever man! He wasn’t stupid either, but on the last one when they started to explain what a bacteria is he had lost his rag and shouted at the screen a bit.
“Everyone knows what a bloody bacteria is!” he had yelled. “Tell me something I don’t know, yeesh! Whoever said these documentaries were supposed to be informative obviously hadn’t got two brain cells to run together.” But the cinematography was nice. Lots of nature-looking things to watch, the natural world an’ all.
This time it was about walruses. All flopping around on the sea shore, getting sunburned and jabbing at each other with their overgrown chompers. He had seen this one before, it wasn’t as patronising as the others. Predictably narrated, yes, but not patronising.
He turned up the volume and spun round to look at Ruth.
She was throwing out flares again, hundreds of short wisps!
And just to test the theory, he tocked across onto the menu screen and selected a random game show that he had never heard of. True to form, Ruth dimmed back to her uninspired state of simple glitteritude.
“AHA! I knew it! You’re a sucker for the nature channel too! Aha! Ahahaha!”
Max threw up his arms in celebration, the remote going flying, cheering into the emptiness of the room. Empty, except for him and this thing which apparently had a liking for chimps and sunburnt sea mammals.
Damn, this thing is incredible, he thought. Why the hell, how the hell does it…?
He sat, flabbergasted, mouth agape.
Suddenly he jumped up, scrabbling around behind the sofa trying to find the remote again, where is it where is it where is it…
He flicked the volume up and down and Ruth still put out light. She shone and shone, the beauty!
He started singing to her, “shine on, you crazy diamond!”
She seemed to like that, too.
2024.05.13 15:42 Danger_Rock Ice Cream Man #39 Speculation Post!
ICM #39 ships this Wednesday, 5/15/24!
Please note that the new “Weekly Pull List” post is up here and I must once again implore any and all fellow Ice Cream Fans to add a top-level comment saying “Ice Cream Man #39” so we can keep the world’s finest existential ice cream horror series near the top of the rankings! And you can also list any other comics you’re pulling this week, and join in any of the ensuing discussions!
February’s ICM #38 garnered 22 pulls out of 83 lists, climbing up to 6th place with 26.5% overall coverage. Thanks to everyone who helped get it back into the Top 10 after ICM #37’s lackluster 12th place finish!
Now let’s take a look at what we might expect from ICM #39...
...
Note that there’ll probably be a preview available soon but I would prefer to avoid outright spoilers in this thread, at least until after the new book hits the stands on Wednesday. For anyone who posts spoilers, please use spoiler tags to hide any spoilery text!
...
Title & Solicitation
The title and solicitation text (presumably written by W.M. Prince) are usually fairly cryptic, but this month we’ve got what looks to be a fairly straightforward description.
Covers
Morazzo’s A covers are always highly reflective of the accompanying story, and this one shows a family of four representing one half of a calamitous head-on collision. We’re treated to a cross-section view of the car’s interior, and we can probably assume the story will also take us inside the car to give us an up close and personal perspective on the whole mess.
Similar to the family car adorning the cover, this issue’s “Ice Cream Man” title logo and accompanying graphics are all crooked and off-kilter, suffering a bit of whiplash of their own from the impact...
We’ve got all kinds of crap flying around inside the car, including a cute teddy bear wearing an ICM hat and a mobile phone with a picture of good old Riccardus on the screen. There’s also a rear seat cushion crumpling up to reveal Morazzo’s squiggly “MM” signature.
Finally, playing into the 2-part story, this issue’s cover will form a connecting image with Morazzo’s cover for the upcoming ICM #40.
…
Unlike the main cover, these B covers by other artists usually don’t have much to do with the story. They’re mostly just random ice cream zombies or whimsical takes on our titular ice cream man, with the latter being what we have here.
...
Additional Context & Speculation
We appear to be heading for a head-on collision, with this issue and the next each drawn from one of the opposing vehicle’s perspectives. This first installment would seem to focus on a full family, father and mother with young son and daughter, and, unfortunately, it’s not looking particularly good for any of them.
Will we be treated to each of their thoughts as their world turns upside down? What kind of horrible secrets and regrets will the adults share with us? How heartbreaking will the children be?
Does Riccardus somehow cause the crash? Or someone in the car? Or the other vehicle? Or some other random happenstance, just one of those things?
We’re going into this one with a good deal of info on what’s happening, but we don’t know why this story is being told to us, what it’s supposed to convey, or what purpose it serves. Is it just another opportunity to explore the inner thoughts of some poor souls who’ve been damned to Ice Cream Hell, or will Prince use it to hone in on some other theme? The only conceptual clues we’ve got at this point revolve around “decompression” and “how slow time can go” but those are probably talking more about how the story will be told as opposed to why it’s being told.
Anything else?
submitted by Danger_Rock to IceCreamManComic [link] [comments]
Please note that the new “Weekly Pull List” post is up here and I must once again implore any and all fellow Ice Cream Fans to add a top-level comment saying “Ice Cream Man #39” so we can keep the world’s finest existential ice cream horror series near the top of the rankings! And you can also list any other comics you’re pulling this week, and join in any of the ensuing discussions!
February’s ICM #38 garnered 22 pulls out of 83 lists, climbing up to 6th place with 26.5% overall coverage. Thanks to everyone who helped get it back into the Top 10 after ICM #37’s lackluster 12th place finish!
Now let’s take a look at what we might expect from ICM #39...
...
Note that there’ll probably be a preview available soon but I would prefer to avoid outright spoilers in this thread, at least until after the new book hits the stands on Wednesday. For anyone who posts spoilers, please use spoiler tags to hide any spoilery text!
...
Title & Solicitation
The title and solicitation text (presumably written by W.M. Prince) are usually fairly cryptic, but this month we’ve got what looks to be a fairly straightforward description.
ICE CREAM MAN #39From that, we can take the following points:
“DECOMPRESSION IN A WRECK,” Part One
In this first part of a two-parter (which does not require reading of either part), we see how slow time can go when your bumper is making its way toward your trunk.
- This kicks off the comic’s very first 2-part story, and, in typical ICM fashion, it’s apparently designed so that itinerant readers can enjoy either book independently (although reading both in sequence will assuredly provide a more complete experience).
- The title and solicitation text both reference a car accident.
- Title and solicitation also reference “decompression” and “how slow time can go” so we’re probably going to experience this car accident in slow motion, lingering on each of the participants and their thoughts in the space between seconds.
- Of course, “decompression” is likely also a reference to how we’re getting a 2-part story in place of the comic’s usual standalone story.
- The “does not require reading of either part” thing could also mean we’re getting a silent 2-parter, but probably not.
- The “bumper making its way toward your trunk” bit does not sound good at all.
Covers
Morazzo’s A covers are always highly reflective of the accompanying story, and this one shows a family of four representing one half of a calamitous head-on collision. We’re treated to a cross-section view of the car’s interior, and we can probably assume the story will also take us inside the car to give us an up close and personal perspective on the whole mess.
Similar to the family car adorning the cover, this issue’s “Ice Cream Man” title logo and accompanying graphics are all crooked and off-kilter, suffering a bit of whiplash of their own from the impact...
We’ve got all kinds of crap flying around inside the car, including a cute teddy bear wearing an ICM hat and a mobile phone with a picture of good old Riccardus on the screen. There’s also a rear seat cushion crumpling up to reveal Morazzo’s squiggly “MM” signature.
Finally, playing into the 2-part story, this issue’s cover will form a connecting image with Morazzo’s cover for the upcoming ICM #40.
…
Unlike the main cover, these B covers by other artists usually don’t have much to do with the story. They’re mostly just random ice cream zombies or whimsical takes on our titular ice cream man, with the latter being what we have here.
...
Additional Context & Speculation
We appear to be heading for a head-on collision, with this issue and the next each drawn from one of the opposing vehicle’s perspectives. This first installment would seem to focus on a full family, father and mother with young son and daughter, and, unfortunately, it’s not looking particularly good for any of them.
Will we be treated to each of their thoughts as their world turns upside down? What kind of horrible secrets and regrets will the adults share with us? How heartbreaking will the children be?
Does Riccardus somehow cause the crash? Or someone in the car? Or the other vehicle? Or some other random happenstance, just one of those things?
We’re going into this one with a good deal of info on what’s happening, but we don’t know why this story is being told to us, what it’s supposed to convey, or what purpose it serves. Is it just another opportunity to explore the inner thoughts of some poor souls who’ve been damned to Ice Cream Hell, or will Prince use it to hone in on some other theme? The only conceptual clues we’ve got at this point revolve around “decompression” and “how slow time can go” but those are probably talking more about how the story will be told as opposed to why it’s being told.
Anything else?
2024.05.13 12:20 Livid-Hornet1035 HBoxContainer draws the first TextureRect outside
 | Hi all, I recently moved from Unity to Godot and hence I might be doing something wrong. submitted by Livid-Hornet1035 to godot [link] [comments] I'm trying to prepare a top UI menu and when I run the project in the debug window my Pause button (TextureRect, later I plan to add Button as a child) is drawn outside of the container. It is drawn on the 0,0 cordinates in the real world. I haven't overwritten anything except Expand and Scale attributes on the TextureRect. Funny thing is that the space is taken in the container and if I just duplicate the TextureRect the second child, second Texturerect, stays inside the HBoxContainer like it should. Using Godot 4.2.2 Thank you very much for any pointers. https://preview.redd.it/lxd44mle560d1.png?width=1903&format=png&auto=webp&s=df3d41096215e8b9fb1844cd704448ddf47624bd |
2024.05.13 10:37 Cummy_wummys Curing Malpractice ch-21
Disclaimer: I have to shorten the words on this one because the chapter had gone on for to long and stole the word count limit. Every person in this section has my deepest and most sincere thanks for the art, memes, and love they have shown my series.
Thank you to: for proofreading, editing, and this art. Check his fic here!
u/Talentlessfurry for this art.
u/Roddcherry for adding Novel to the charismas party he drew.
u/everyveryever for this art.
u/Emotion-Senior for the meme.
u/Orphandestroyer99 for the comic and art.
u/abrachoo for the meme.
u/guaiwutongzhi for the art.
u/United_Patriots for the art.
u/migulehove for the art(s).
u/aMANTEIGAdo for the art.
u/SlimyRage for the art.
Thank you to each and every one of these amazing people!
CW: Accidental Substance Abuse
Memory Transcription Subject: Novel, Kolshian Scientist and Self-Proclaimed “Gamer God”
Date {standardized human time}: October 19th, 2136
The elevator ride took a lot longer than I would have liked, my excitement and anticipation making it difficult to stand still. Ada’s room was almost at the top floor of the building — along with those of the other members of my herd — making it take a bit longer to get to than most of the other Humans’ I’ve visited while here.
Seems they are keeping the various tribes in their own groups. The fourth floor has the Germans, French, Polish, and Austrians, with a few Danes and Swedes mixed in. I wonder if they did that to keep the different tribes from fighting with ones they don’t like? Doubtful really, everyone seems to get along well enough, disregarding a couple jabs here and there. Probably just makes geographical sense to put them together.
My pondering was broken with a soft ding of the old elevator doors opening. I stepped out of the elevator quickly and took in my surroundings. There were very few humans milling about the quiet halls as they went about their business. One human with comfy-looking pelts had noticed me step out of the elevator and had frozen where they stood. After a short, yet still uncomfortably awkward moment, I gave a wave with one of my upper appendages and walked down a different hall.
A few moments later, I pulled out my pad to look at the message Sindre sent me.
Room 441, hailey and i went to get some stuff for the sesh. ada will be there in a bit. see you soon, {censored}
From: Sindre(Human)
I quickly typed out my own message.
Thank you! I’ll meet you there!
From: Me
Stowing the pad, I made my way there. Along the way I encountered several more Humans, each of which having some sort of reaction to my presence. Mostly just freezing in place or casting glances at me as I walked by. Some of them recognized me, either from when we baked together, or when I was in the rec room when the news dropped and gave me a wave in return. There was one case though when a Terran exited their room, saw me, and let out a noise I can only describe as a squeal before diving back into their room.
That last one confused me to no end, as I had never seen that reaction from a human before. I considered knocking on the door before thinking better of it and continuing down the hall to my destination.
How curious… I'll have to ask Ada about that human and why they ran away from me... Heh, prey scaring predators. Not so long ago, such a concept would’ve been seen as the ultimate goal, any real-world examples derided as only that of a dreamer’s fallacy, and yet now… I don’t think I like the idea so much…
I made a mental note to apologize to them if we ever meet again and kept walking, this time with my form hunched and my pace a little faster than before so I could avoid bothering the Terrans as much. It seemed to work, and the humans seemed to look away a little faster than they had previously.
Arriving at Ada’s door, though, I composed myself as best I could, straightening my back and taking a deep breath to calm myself. I knocked on the door a few times, only for it to open a slight amount. Cocking my head in confusion, I listened to the slight groaning of the hinges before I gently pushed it the rest of the way, the door creaking loudly in resistance.
The room smelled of wax and freshly harvested Othll bark, like I had just walked into the home improvement aisle of a store. Walking further inside showed me the source of the smell, which was a set of candles sitting on top of a nightstand in the corner… next to a fire alarm with the battery taken out.
That’s a little concerning… that can’t be safe at least. I should tell her to put it back in when I see her… wherever she is.
Looking around the room some more showed it to be quite unkempt, with pelts and other junk laying strewn haphazardly across the floor. Personal knick-knacks and picture frames sat on shelves and tables around the room, making the places feel a lot more homely than the other rooms I’d been in. A large TV sat on the other side of the room across from the bed, which had been recently used, going by the blanket on the floor and the pillows tossed about. Against the wall next to the bed was a large couch that had clearly seen better paws, the top layer peeling heavily and scattering the little bits of plastic covering everywhere.
Sitting next to the TV appeared to be some sort of Terran gaming console, complete with bright colors plastered across its many faces and with several different wires coming out of it. Far more than there should be, since part of the case it was in had been smashed to fit more cabling into. Tools, used wires, and broken plastic laid scattered next to the patchwork job.
Seems they really did modify it. Makes sense, since I doubt it would normally work on our systems at all… we should really put that fire alarm back in…
Just as I started walking over to inspect it, my lower tentacle caught something soft on one of the suckers. Looking down showed it to be one of the chest pelts Ada had been wearing the paw I met her. Closer inspection showed the whole floor was covered in discarded pelts, including some I had never seen before!
I let out a sigh as I looked around at the mess… I hope she doesn't mind if I cleaned up a bit.
And that's exactly what I did as I waited for my host to return. It did not take long for me to find the garbage can and hamper she used for her used pelts. While I worked though the piles, I took note of the stranger clothes I saw. Most of them were the regular chest pelts that I’d seen every human wear, but others were completely unique or otherwise somehow unusual.
One such example was what I can only describe as some sort of winter gear? It had a very intricate design on the front made of lace and a very soft interior made of a kind of purple fabric. What made it even more strange was that I found several of these scattered around the room, meaning that she was wearing these pretty regularly too!
Hmmm… perhaps it is meant to keep their ears warm? That would explain the strap on the back, as it would be meant to go under their chin. That doesn’t explain why she would be using it though, and to have so many! It must get cold in here when the A/C kicks in, I guess. This place is really old after all.
Either way, they went into the hamper. I left the tools where they were, in case they belonged to different people, but everything else went straight into the trash. The whole process was pretty exhausting, but the room ended up looking much nicer than it had before!
Just as I finished bagging up the garbage can, the door gave a loud creak as Ada stepped in wearing some pretty comfortable-looking pelts similar to the ones she had been wearing a few paws ago, pink prey head slippers and all.
A few {seconds} pass as she starts pulling out clear totes full of what I assume to be her things before I break out of my confusion and flick her a tail wave.
“Hey Ada! Whe-”
“AAAAHHH!!!”
She screamed as she stumbled onto her back, causing me to drop the bag and jump in fright. We stared at each other for a moment before Ada spoke up.
“Nov’?! What the fuck are you doing in here?! You weren't… ya Allah, you scared the crap out of me!”
My arms and tentacles raised up in a pleading gesture after I realized what I did. “S-sorry! I-I thought you would see me! And Sindre said to meet you here? F-for the games?”
Ada took a few more moments to calm down on the floor, but eventually, she stood up and took a few breaths. “You’re fine, squiddie… Sindre didn’t mention how close you were so… oh well, doesn't matter I guess. Uh, what’s in the bag you got there? Also… where are all of my clothes?”
At her observation, I picked up the trash bag and held it up for her to see. “Well… your room was a bit of a mess, a-and you were gone, so I did a bit of… cleaning? Nothing major, just throwing away some trash and putting the pelts in the hamper.”
“Oh, well, thanks Nov. I was gonna get to that befor-” Suddenly she stops herself mid-sentence. Her eyes widen as she casts her forward-facing gaze over to the pelts’ bin.
For some reason, the human's usual light brown features darken considerably with a crimson bloom. Ada turned to look at me, and I gave my best happy expression I could muster to put her at ease. This time, the human's face twisted into an obvious forced snarl before she gave up, running a hand down her face.
“Novel, j-just a heads up for the future, it’s considered rude to go through someone's room and touch their… pelts without permission. They are, um, quite personal belongings, and we don’t let other people touch certain ones. Fuck, uh, don’t tell the other two about this either. It would be, eugh…” Ada’s snarl gets larger as she looks back to the hamper, the crimson still blooming across her face. My tail flicked curiously as I looked between her and the pelt basket.
How peculiar… Hailey seemed just fine with dumping all sorts of pelts on me when she was showing them off. Perhaps that's because she studies it, so in that case it’s seen as okay? Maybe it has more to deal with how I came in here without her supervision? Predators are known to be territorial in the wild, and the Humans seem to be that way as well with their many borders. Letting someone into your ‘territory’ must be a pretty personal thing in the first place. Which would mean that she must be upset that I just walked in here and started messing with things! Speh!
A tentacle reached out, or up I suppose, to Ada’s shoulder while my tail signaled my sincerest apologies. “I-I am so sorry, Ada. If I knew, I would have never touched anything! Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone! Do you want me to… put it back the way I found it?”
The human seemed to find my appeasement worthy as she let out a quiet laugh. “No, Nov’, you’re just fine. Thanks for cleaning up too, I guess; I was gonna do it myself, but oh well… not something we need to talk about.” She lets out another laugh as she walks over to the modified console and grabs a controller.
Yet, before she could get a word out, there was a sharp knock on the door, followed by it swinging open to reveal the last two members of our herd. Sindre came in first, carrying several different bags filled to the brim with snacks of all varieties. He gave a simple head nod and rushed over to the table by the TV to deposit his haul, dropping a few on the floor in his haste.
Hailey walked in right behind him with a plastic grocery bag over her shoulder filled with many different colored bottles of drink and a tray of small dark-brown squares covered in plastic wrap. Her free hand gave us both a wave while she walked to the table in a much calmer manner, at least when compared to her compatriot.
We both gave our own wave in return while I spoke up. “Hey guys! Welcome! What did you get from the kitchen?”
Hailey set her things down on the table. “Not much. Some dried fruit, chips, cookies, soda, juice, and even some fresh brownies someone made! I assumed they were for the taking since they had a few trays sitting out to cool down, but we didn’t really have time to ask since we kinda rushed up here. Oh, and the kitchen stinks to high hell for some reason. Might have to tell Emmanual about that.”
My head tilted curiously at the information as Ada and Sindre moved the couch over to where I was standing. Once it was in place, I took a seat at the opposite end from Hailey. “Well, I’m glad you got what you wanted! Do you mind if I take one of those, uh, brownies?”
She gave me a hand wave as I reached over and undid the plastic wrap around the treats. They were still quite warm from the kitchen! I took a small bite out of the corner to get a taste of it, only to then gobble up the whole thing in one bite.
This is amazing! It’s like strayu but… richer? With an almost cough medicine aftertaste mixed with that strange spice? Such a strange and yet fascinating combination!
“Such a weird taste… but definitely a good one! Are there any more downstairs?” I asked while covering my mouth as best I could for the sake of manners.
She took one herself and took a small bite. “Yep, at least a couple more trays from what we saw. Though I bet most of those will be gone once word gets around.”
My head nodded solemnly as I picked up another.
Might as well enjoy them while we can!
Ada walked over to me and flicked the space in between my eyes with her fingers. Her other hand passed me a human game controller before taking a seat right next to me. “Save some for us, ya green goblin! Pretty sure we’re meant to share those!”
The humans let out a soft chuckle while my face warmed in embarrassment. Luckily, they didn’t stay focused on it for long before she pointed to the controller. “So, do you need help with that? It’s not exactly built for you.”
Moving it around in my appendages was more than enough to prove that fact, but I tried to give her a dismissive tail wave while sitting down. “Don’t worry… I should be able to make this work…” I said while using all four of my limbs to hold the piece of plastic. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it’ll do the job for now.
“Not the first time I had to do this. There are a lot of different species on Aafa, and some of them have very strange, uh, manipulators… you just have to get used to it.”
There may not have been a lot, or really any other species in my home town, but that college certainly did. Me and Cloyta used to hang out with a few different herds whenever we had the time. That Tilfish remote was an interesting experience to use. Having to use smells to figure out a puzzle in a game like it was normal was really something else.
The TV and console suddenly turned on with a bright flash as Sindre held out a remote towards them both. He used his controller to navigate to a menu on the system to reveal a vast collection of Human games. I grabbed my pad out of my pack to translate some of the games as Sindre scrolled by.
Doom of Kevsar, Helldivers: Super Dating Simulator, Papa’s Pizzeria, Skyrim 2… all these seem fine, I guess. At least not super violent like I thought… A good sign!
Sindre spoke up first as he continued to look through the archive. “Anyway, we were talking the other day about which game to show you first, but we couldn’t agree on what would be the best showcase. So instead of one game voted in from all of us, we are each going to show you a game we think you’ll like best. Sounds good?”
My tail thumped against the back of the couch in acceptance. “Yup! That actually sounds really great! Get to see a wider spectrum of human ‘entertainment!’ Who’s going first?”
“Sindre is…” Hailey speaks up in between bites of her confection, “His system, his pick… still think it’s a dumb fucking game though.” He says as he stops his scrolling and arrives at a very brightly colored preview with several… Humans? Human-like creatures in what look like Dossur vehicles?
He presses a button to select the game as a grin grows on his face. “Hey, Mario Kart Galaxy 3 is a classic! You’re just mad because you’re bad at it.” Sindre turns his head to me while Hailey leans forward. “You’ll love it, I swear. Really shows off the real Humanity we have to hide from you guys.”
“That's for a good reason, you dolt. But it’s your choice…” Hailey said while wiping her hands on a napkin.
I hoped he was right as some cheerful music started playing.
{Memory Transcription Time Advancement: 19 Terran standard minutes…}
Sindre was right! This is fun!
The upbeat music continues to play as I make another turn around a corner, drifting a little to build up some momentum. The ‘Birdo’ creature in my ‘Kart’ does a little dance as I time it right and get a small speed boost, sending me further down the multi-colored track.
“Hmmhmmmhm, hmhmhmm~.” I tried my best to hum along to the music as I continued with the race.
I never would have thought that a racing game could be interesting. Cloyta and I played a few when we were much younger, but they seemed slow in comparison. Usually had a goal at the end as well, like delivering some fruits to a market, or maybe trading on spacefaring merchant vessels in the more complex ones.
It was super fun though! Competing against each other felt a little off, but I wrote it off as a Human cultural thing. A way of bonding, as with most things for them it seems. Other than that, I found the racing to be a lot of fun! There was so much going on, and yet it somehow managed to really keep you aware of everything going on at all times.
A projectile here, a fruit peel trap there, there was so much to think about that I almost forgot to pay attention to the humans! Which, if I weren’t here to study them, might have been a good thing. There were times the competitive nature of the game seemed to draw something else out of them, something I hadn’t expected.
It was… well…
“If I run into one more fucking banana, I will kick you down a flight of stairs and jump on your head from the top step!”
“How the hell did that hit ME!? Broken fucking hitboxes in this shitty ass game!”
“GET YOUR CRUSTY TOAD ASS OFF ME BEFORE I RIP YOU ASSHOLE TO ASSHOLE!!!”
…intense.
My enjoyment of the game seemed to be pretty one-sided unfortunately. Even by the already high standards of the Humans’ previous banter, this was truly something else. While I was still learning the game and slowly climbed up the leaderboard, the Humans all led the herd by taking the top 3 spots every time. They were so close together in some of the races that it was nearly impossible to tell who would win until the last moment, making their yelling even more vicious and bloodthirsty.
There were times I thought they were about to get physically violent with each other once it got to the final lap, but thankfully, it never came to that, aside from maybe some light pushing. Their… banter? Fighting? Uh… verbal abuse towards each other made learning the game a lot harder too since every time I tried to ask a question, my voice would get drowned out in all the yelling. They did show me the basic controls before we started, but it’s a little hard to ask for pointers when your coaches are threatening severe bodily harm against each other.
As I drifted around another sharp turn, my mind wandered back to what Sindre said when we’d first started:
‘Really shows off the real Humanity we have to hide from you guys.’
Was this supposed to be the ‘real Humanity’? I sure hope not… I think I’d prefer if they actually came to blows instead of continuing this barrage of foulness they are constantly spewing. They don’t even seem to be enjoying it! They have to be doing it for a reason… right?
I continued to think as I continued down the track and finished my second lap. The argument was starting to build up again as the stakes started to rise.
“Oh, yeah, of course you get a red shell in 2nd and I get fucking bananas in 3RD! Gotta love this piece of shit game!!” Hailey shouted, leaning forward like she was about to pounce on the TV.
“Not my fault you can’t aim for shit, dumbass! Just throw better!” Sindre quipped back.
“How about I throw you out a five story window?! I mean, I would if your fatass wouldn't snap the floorboards if I tried!” Ada finished it as he gave her an aggressive shove with his shoulder.
Yet, unlike how I expected, she didn’t push back. That's what makes this all so confusing! Each time they antagonize each other, the other person does it back, and they just stop! Their words sound like they mean it to hurt, and their actions reflect that… but they aren’t acting on it.
Hmm… the ‘real Humanity’, huh… Maybe I’m approaching this the wrong way? Something less about who the Humans are, so to speak, but more how they feel? They’ve been awfully emotional in every interaction I’ve ever had with them… Aggressive, too, admittedly. Maybe… maybe this is a way for them to vent some of that aggression safely? Around people they really trust with a game you can complain about, but demands too much attention to leave them to do more than yell at each other? Things have been rather… stressful, lately.
My tail thumped a few more times against the dilapidated couch, sending a few more puffs of stuffing into the air. The theory kind of lined up with what I knew, but I was here with the primary source for a reason, after all. I would just ask them, but…
“I am going to FUCKING DEEPFRY THAT FUCKING MUSHROOM {Ass Violin}!!!”
They were busy.
They seem pretty angry… but if it helps them deal with their stress, then I am just fine with it. I’m glad they are getting through it in their own… ‘special’ Human way.
In any case, it was still better than damming it all up until it overflowed and someone really got hurt. Safe in the knowledge that the Humans (probably) wouldn’t actually attack each other, I just resolved to focus on the game instead. The third and final lap was coming around, and things were starting to ramp up even further. The Humans’ false violence got even louder, and coupled with the occasional and really rather distracting limb shooting out and the rapidly intensifying music, my poor heart was not in the best condition as our racers closed in on the finish line.
But then, all of a sudden, something very strange happened. The Humans simultaneously began to curse louder than ever before, screaming and wailing as an odd blue indicator flashed along the top of the screen, indicating some kind of blue spiky ball rapidly approaching us from behind. All three of them illogically slammed on the brakes, clearly trying to dodge the oncoming projectile, but it was to no avail. The ball flew right past my ‘Kart’ and struck the center of the tightly crowded humans, unleashing an explosion of blue fire that stunned all three.
Allowing my Kart, driving at maximum speed in hopes of any shot at outrunning the projectile, to shoot right past them and cross the finish line first.
Wait… what?
A brief silence hung in the air at what just happened until my arms went up in the air
“Hey, look! I won! Hehehe! I didn’t know I would get so lucky on my first try! Is that sort of thing… common…?”
I stopped my celebration as all the Humans were giving me very intense looks with their stares. They lacked the familiar friendliness most Humans looked at me with, but instead seemed much… angrier.
Speh, right. They are still mad from before, and now I just beat them at their own race… O-okay, they don’t mean it, they are upset and need to let it out. Just have to get through it.
Seeing what was about to happen, I curled in on myself and braced myself for the barrage of verbal slurry coming my way. A moment passed as I waited for the insults to fly but… they never came? Opening an eye revealed the Human’s expressions had changed from fury to…
Amusement?
“You alright there Nov’? You’re shaking pretty bad… Was that too much?” Ada asked in a quiet voice while patting me on the back roughly. It took a moment for my brain to catch up before I could speak again.
“O-oh, uh, sorry, I thought you all were going to… yell at me? Like you did with each other?” My voice was a little shaky as I unfurled myself.
All of the Germans seemed to wince a little at that. “Yeah… fuck, sorry about that. Mario Kart is a pretty rage-inducing game. Shoulda thought about that beforehand.”
My tail attempted to signal calm while trapped behind me. “N-no, it’s fine… I did learn a lot actually. It was fun too, besides the yelling part. Um, can we move on though? I think I’ve got enough out of this one.”
Sindre exits the game with a nod while the others let out deep sighs. “Yeah, sorry Nov’. It’s one of the most popular party games Humanity ever made, so I figured it would be a good one to show you. Next is… Ada’s pick… we sure we should do this one?”
The woman turned her head to look at Sindre. “Positive. They have a vegan option in the settings, so it’s not going to get us arrested or anything. Plus, it's a cooperative party game! Feds seem to love that whole ‘herd’ thing, and Nov’ liked the last one so I’m sure it’ll be fine!”
She gave a dismissive hand wave before turning back to me. “It’ll be fine, really. I played this game as a kid all the time, no need to panic, right?” She seemed a little worried at the end of that sentence, so I tried to put on a brave face.
“S-sounds great! What’s it about?” I mentally chastised myself for my stutter and reached towards the table to grab another pastry. “Ahem. There’s nothing predatory in it, right?”
She grabs one herself and a glass of an orange fizzy drink. “Nope, none at all! Just some harmless cooking with your friends! You’ll love it!” Her enthusiasm helped me calm down as the game started booting up on screen.
Overcooked 5: Season of Seasoning.
Looks cheerful at least. Cooking is fun too… It’ll be fine, yeah.
I took a bite out of my brownie as the game's main menu music started to play.
{Memory Transcription Time Advancement: 23 Standard Terran Minutes…}
You know… I think I get it.
A soft relaxing track played in the background as the four little chefs on screen ran around doing various tasks needed to keep the kitchen functioning, like preparing vegetables, or washing dishes. A timer at the top of the screen was slowly counting down while a little ‘onion’ next to it with a Human face rambled on about something or other.
Orders start coming in quick, and all of us get to work in a flash… or at least, all of us SHOULD be.
“Can you three stop licking the dust clouds in the vents and actually do something to help me, PLEASE?!”
A trio of Human giggles was my only response as I leaned forward in concentration.
This game. This brahking game. They should use this for testing for intelligence like those quizzes we took back home, since clearly some people go brain dead trying to do literally anything that isn’t getting in my stars-damned way, or otherwise waste valuable time by huffing the gas coming off the stove!
Finishing up one order of seaweed wraps and lettuce salad, I tried to get back to the kitchen, but was immediately blocked by… a plate on the floor.
“WHO-!! Why is there a plate on the floor?! The counter is literally right there! It’s such a simple job to-” A ding rings out, showing several new orders that needed to be filled. The timer started flashing red as we reached the one ‘minute’ mark.
A deep, frustrated growl builds in my throat, causing my Humans to laugh for some reason, incensing me even further! We all get to work in completing the last orders, however. Things were going well as the Terrans seemed to (finally) get it together to actually make some good food. Sindre had just finished cooking the rice while Ada chopped the carrots. Me and Hailey were putting everything together on the other side and sending it through until—
“Is, oh my stars, did you guys really send over raw rice?! It’s not even partially cooked!! Are you all a bunch of mountain dwellers? Do you eat your dry grass with a side of brahking pebbles and pond scum?! Cook it again!” I threw the rice back, hitting Sindre in the back of the head with the pile of rice, causing his character to fall over with a cartoonish thunk sound effect.
The Germans laughed loudly at the scene, which made my face heat up in frustration. The timer was running short as we waited for the rice to actually be cooked this time.
“Nov’, I, haha, I’m sorry. I’ll get it done this time, have mercy! I thought the last one was done so I-”
My head turned just enough for my eye to be focused solely on the pale Human. “IT WAS BRAHKING RAW!! There's a bar at the top that tells you! Do you need eye surgery?? Can you even pass a driving test??”
More laughter.
“AND STOP LAUGHING AT ME!! IT’S NOT FUNNY!!”
A ding came from the pot to signify it was done. Ada immediately took it out and walked over to the counter to pass it.
“Perfect, now just- what are you doing?”
She wasn’t passing it over. Instead, she was charging up her throw way more than she needed to. I was just about to say something as the clock flashed brightly ‘till she threw the rice at full force.
Directly at my little chef. The rice beamed directly off the side of my character's head, sending me flying away from the plate and sprawled across the kitchen floor as the rice landed gently on the ground.
“ADA!!!!!”
The countdown is drowned out by the humans erupting into laughter as I desperately try and recover. Yet, just as I make it to my feet, the countdown reaches zero, and the mission ends. Defeat fills my chest while the onion man does a little dance to tally up our points.
49600… only two out of three stars…
It’s over…
I slumped against the back of the couch, fury and betrayal stirring in my chest while the predators laughed to each other for several moments. Their raucous, howling laughter eventually started dying down, at least enough for them to actually say something to me.
“Nov’, come on. It’s just a game. I’m, hehehe, I’m sorry okay? We were just having a little fun is all.” She ran her treacherous hands down my back in an effort to calm me, to little effect.
“Dumb game. Stupid… start the next mission…”
She chuckled a bit. “Maybe we should play a different game. You don’t seem real happy playing this one.”
That made my tail flick in light amusement though the frustration. “Now you sound like my Dad…” My anger at the game started to fade more and more, replaced with a growing sensation of guilt. ”I-I think that’s a good idea. Um, sorry about that.”
She removed her hand, but kept her eyes on me and the gooey trail now stringing from her hand. “Eugh… hey, you’re fine. If you can deal with us screaming at each other, then we can handle your little squeaks.”
The other two smiled and nodded in agreement while I looked at her in confusion, feeling a little offended. “My… squeaks? But, um, thank you... W-what's the next game? Hailey’s turn, right?”
On cue, she brushes her mane to the side and starts scrolling down. “Yes, actually! Unlike these two walnuts, I actually picked a relaxing game. A classic. An art piece~” Her hands did a slight flair, yet I remained unmoved.
“Hailey, that's what the other two said too. While those games were… fine, I wouldn’t call them ‘masterpieces.’ Are you sure about this one?” I asked while grabbing another brownie.
I keep eating these things, but I just feel more and more hungry… weird…
The Humans chucked as she selected her game. “Hey, have a little faith in me. I haven't met a Human alive that can say this game is bad. Just watch!”
A flash came from the TV as the game's title came into view.
Minecraft: Anniversary Edition.
“We’ll use one of the worlds we were playing on back on Earth so you can get an idea of what it’s really like. And, uh, make sure it's peaceful too, just in case.”
I took a bite of the treat and settled into my spot, preparing myself for whatever was to come.
{CONTINUED INTO THE COMMENTS}
submitted by Cummy_wummys to NatureofPredators [link] [comments]
Thank you to: for proofreading, editing, and this art. Check his fic here!
u/Talentlessfurry for this art.
u/Roddcherry for adding Novel to the charismas party he drew.
u/everyveryever for this art.
u/Emotion-Senior for the meme.
u/Orphandestroyer99 for the comic and art.
u/abrachoo for the meme.
u/guaiwutongzhi for the art.
u/United_Patriots for the art.
u/migulehove for the art(s).
u/aMANTEIGAdo for the art.
u/SlimyRage for the art.
Thank you to each and every one of these amazing people!
CW: Accidental Substance Abuse
Memory Transcription Subject: Novel, Kolshian Scientist and Self-Proclaimed “Gamer God”
Date {standardized human time}: October 19th, 2136
The elevator ride took a lot longer than I would have liked, my excitement and anticipation making it difficult to stand still. Ada’s room was almost at the top floor of the building — along with those of the other members of my herd — making it take a bit longer to get to than most of the other Humans’ I’ve visited while here.
Seems they are keeping the various tribes in their own groups. The fourth floor has the Germans, French, Polish, and Austrians, with a few Danes and Swedes mixed in. I wonder if they did that to keep the different tribes from fighting with ones they don’t like? Doubtful really, everyone seems to get along well enough, disregarding a couple jabs here and there. Probably just makes geographical sense to put them together.
My pondering was broken with a soft ding of the old elevator doors opening. I stepped out of the elevator quickly and took in my surroundings. There were very few humans milling about the quiet halls as they went about their business. One human with comfy-looking pelts had noticed me step out of the elevator and had frozen where they stood. After a short, yet still uncomfortably awkward moment, I gave a wave with one of my upper appendages and walked down a different hall.
A few moments later, I pulled out my pad to look at the message Sindre sent me.
Room 441, hailey and i went to get some stuff for the sesh. ada will be there in a bit. see you soon, {censored}
From: Sindre(Human)
I quickly typed out my own message.
Thank you! I’ll meet you there!
From: Me
Stowing the pad, I made my way there. Along the way I encountered several more Humans, each of which having some sort of reaction to my presence. Mostly just freezing in place or casting glances at me as I walked by. Some of them recognized me, either from when we baked together, or when I was in the rec room when the news dropped and gave me a wave in return. There was one case though when a Terran exited their room, saw me, and let out a noise I can only describe as a squeal before diving back into their room.
That last one confused me to no end, as I had never seen that reaction from a human before. I considered knocking on the door before thinking better of it and continuing down the hall to my destination.
How curious… I'll have to ask Ada about that human and why they ran away from me... Heh, prey scaring predators. Not so long ago, such a concept would’ve been seen as the ultimate goal, any real-world examples derided as only that of a dreamer’s fallacy, and yet now… I don’t think I like the idea so much…
I made a mental note to apologize to them if we ever meet again and kept walking, this time with my form hunched and my pace a little faster than before so I could avoid bothering the Terrans as much. It seemed to work, and the humans seemed to look away a little faster than they had previously.
Arriving at Ada’s door, though, I composed myself as best I could, straightening my back and taking a deep breath to calm myself. I knocked on the door a few times, only for it to open a slight amount. Cocking my head in confusion, I listened to the slight groaning of the hinges before I gently pushed it the rest of the way, the door creaking loudly in resistance.
The room smelled of wax and freshly harvested Othll bark, like I had just walked into the home improvement aisle of a store. Walking further inside showed me the source of the smell, which was a set of candles sitting on top of a nightstand in the corner… next to a fire alarm with the battery taken out.
That’s a little concerning… that can’t be safe at least. I should tell her to put it back in when I see her… wherever she is.
Looking around the room some more showed it to be quite unkempt, with pelts and other junk laying strewn haphazardly across the floor. Personal knick-knacks and picture frames sat on shelves and tables around the room, making the places feel a lot more homely than the other rooms I’d been in. A large TV sat on the other side of the room across from the bed, which had been recently used, going by the blanket on the floor and the pillows tossed about. Against the wall next to the bed was a large couch that had clearly seen better paws, the top layer peeling heavily and scattering the little bits of plastic covering everywhere.
Sitting next to the TV appeared to be some sort of Terran gaming console, complete with bright colors plastered across its many faces and with several different wires coming out of it. Far more than there should be, since part of the case it was in had been smashed to fit more cabling into. Tools, used wires, and broken plastic laid scattered next to the patchwork job.
Seems they really did modify it. Makes sense, since I doubt it would normally work on our systems at all… we should really put that fire alarm back in…
Just as I started walking over to inspect it, my lower tentacle caught something soft on one of the suckers. Looking down showed it to be one of the chest pelts Ada had been wearing the paw I met her. Closer inspection showed the whole floor was covered in discarded pelts, including some I had never seen before!
I let out a sigh as I looked around at the mess… I hope she doesn't mind if I cleaned up a bit.
And that's exactly what I did as I waited for my host to return. It did not take long for me to find the garbage can and hamper she used for her used pelts. While I worked though the piles, I took note of the stranger clothes I saw. Most of them were the regular chest pelts that I’d seen every human wear, but others were completely unique or otherwise somehow unusual.
One such example was what I can only describe as some sort of winter gear? It had a very intricate design on the front made of lace and a very soft interior made of a kind of purple fabric. What made it even more strange was that I found several of these scattered around the room, meaning that she was wearing these pretty regularly too!
Hmmm… perhaps it is meant to keep their ears warm? That would explain the strap on the back, as it would be meant to go under their chin. That doesn’t explain why she would be using it though, and to have so many! It must get cold in here when the A/C kicks in, I guess. This place is really old after all.
Either way, they went into the hamper. I left the tools where they were, in case they belonged to different people, but everything else went straight into the trash. The whole process was pretty exhausting, but the room ended up looking much nicer than it had before!
Just as I finished bagging up the garbage can, the door gave a loud creak as Ada stepped in wearing some pretty comfortable-looking pelts similar to the ones she had been wearing a few paws ago, pink prey head slippers and all.
A few {seconds} pass as she starts pulling out clear totes full of what I assume to be her things before I break out of my confusion and flick her a tail wave.
“Hey Ada! Whe-”
“AAAAHHH!!!”
She screamed as she stumbled onto her back, causing me to drop the bag and jump in fright. We stared at each other for a moment before Ada spoke up.
“Nov’?! What the fuck are you doing in here?! You weren't… ya Allah, you scared the crap out of me!”
My arms and tentacles raised up in a pleading gesture after I realized what I did. “S-sorry! I-I thought you would see me! And Sindre said to meet you here? F-for the games?”
Ada took a few more moments to calm down on the floor, but eventually, she stood up and took a few breaths. “You’re fine, squiddie… Sindre didn’t mention how close you were so… oh well, doesn't matter I guess. Uh, what’s in the bag you got there? Also… where are all of my clothes?”
At her observation, I picked up the trash bag and held it up for her to see. “Well… your room was a bit of a mess, a-and you were gone, so I did a bit of… cleaning? Nothing major, just throwing away some trash and putting the pelts in the hamper.”
“Oh, well, thanks Nov. I was gonna get to that befor-” Suddenly she stops herself mid-sentence. Her eyes widen as she casts her forward-facing gaze over to the pelts’ bin.
For some reason, the human's usual light brown features darken considerably with a crimson bloom. Ada turned to look at me, and I gave my best happy expression I could muster to put her at ease. This time, the human's face twisted into an obvious forced snarl before she gave up, running a hand down her face.
“Novel, j-just a heads up for the future, it’s considered rude to go through someone's room and touch their… pelts without permission. They are, um, quite personal belongings, and we don’t let other people touch certain ones. Fuck, uh, don’t tell the other two about this either. It would be, eugh…” Ada’s snarl gets larger as she looks back to the hamper, the crimson still blooming across her face. My tail flicked curiously as I looked between her and the pelt basket.
How peculiar… Hailey seemed just fine with dumping all sorts of pelts on me when she was showing them off. Perhaps that's because she studies it, so in that case it’s seen as okay? Maybe it has more to deal with how I came in here without her supervision? Predators are known to be territorial in the wild, and the Humans seem to be that way as well with their many borders. Letting someone into your ‘territory’ must be a pretty personal thing in the first place. Which would mean that she must be upset that I just walked in here and started messing with things! Speh!
A tentacle reached out, or up I suppose, to Ada’s shoulder while my tail signaled my sincerest apologies. “I-I am so sorry, Ada. If I knew, I would have never touched anything! Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone! Do you want me to… put it back the way I found it?”
The human seemed to find my appeasement worthy as she let out a quiet laugh. “No, Nov’, you’re just fine. Thanks for cleaning up too, I guess; I was gonna do it myself, but oh well… not something we need to talk about.” She lets out another laugh as she walks over to the modified console and grabs a controller.
Yet, before she could get a word out, there was a sharp knock on the door, followed by it swinging open to reveal the last two members of our herd. Sindre came in first, carrying several different bags filled to the brim with snacks of all varieties. He gave a simple head nod and rushed over to the table by the TV to deposit his haul, dropping a few on the floor in his haste.
Hailey walked in right behind him with a plastic grocery bag over her shoulder filled with many different colored bottles of drink and a tray of small dark-brown squares covered in plastic wrap. Her free hand gave us both a wave while she walked to the table in a much calmer manner, at least when compared to her compatriot.
We both gave our own wave in return while I spoke up. “Hey guys! Welcome! What did you get from the kitchen?”
Hailey set her things down on the table. “Not much. Some dried fruit, chips, cookies, soda, juice, and even some fresh brownies someone made! I assumed they were for the taking since they had a few trays sitting out to cool down, but we didn’t really have time to ask since we kinda rushed up here. Oh, and the kitchen stinks to high hell for some reason. Might have to tell Emmanual about that.”
My head tilted curiously at the information as Ada and Sindre moved the couch over to where I was standing. Once it was in place, I took a seat at the opposite end from Hailey. “Well, I’m glad you got what you wanted! Do you mind if I take one of those, uh, brownies?”
She gave me a hand wave as I reached over and undid the plastic wrap around the treats. They were still quite warm from the kitchen! I took a small bite out of the corner to get a taste of it, only to then gobble up the whole thing in one bite.
This is amazing! It’s like strayu but… richer? With an almost cough medicine aftertaste mixed with that strange spice? Such a strange and yet fascinating combination!
“Such a weird taste… but definitely a good one! Are there any more downstairs?” I asked while covering my mouth as best I could for the sake of manners.
She took one herself and took a small bite. “Yep, at least a couple more trays from what we saw. Though I bet most of those will be gone once word gets around.”
My head nodded solemnly as I picked up another.
Might as well enjoy them while we can!
Ada walked over to me and flicked the space in between my eyes with her fingers. Her other hand passed me a human game controller before taking a seat right next to me. “Save some for us, ya green goblin! Pretty sure we’re meant to share those!”
The humans let out a soft chuckle while my face warmed in embarrassment. Luckily, they didn’t stay focused on it for long before she pointed to the controller. “So, do you need help with that? It’s not exactly built for you.”
Moving it around in my appendages was more than enough to prove that fact, but I tried to give her a dismissive tail wave while sitting down. “Don’t worry… I should be able to make this work…” I said while using all four of my limbs to hold the piece of plastic. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it’ll do the job for now.
“Not the first time I had to do this. There are a lot of different species on Aafa, and some of them have very strange, uh, manipulators… you just have to get used to it.”
There may not have been a lot, or really any other species in my home town, but that college certainly did. Me and Cloyta used to hang out with a few different herds whenever we had the time. That Tilfish remote was an interesting experience to use. Having to use smells to figure out a puzzle in a game like it was normal was really something else.
The TV and console suddenly turned on with a bright flash as Sindre held out a remote towards them both. He used his controller to navigate to a menu on the system to reveal a vast collection of Human games. I grabbed my pad out of my pack to translate some of the games as Sindre scrolled by.
Doom of Kevsar, Helldivers: Super Dating Simulator, Papa’s Pizzeria, Skyrim 2… all these seem fine, I guess. At least not super violent like I thought… A good sign!
Sindre spoke up first as he continued to look through the archive. “Anyway, we were talking the other day about which game to show you first, but we couldn’t agree on what would be the best showcase. So instead of one game voted in from all of us, we are each going to show you a game we think you’ll like best. Sounds good?”
My tail thumped against the back of the couch in acceptance. “Yup! That actually sounds really great! Get to see a wider spectrum of human ‘entertainment!’ Who’s going first?”
“Sindre is…” Hailey speaks up in between bites of her confection, “His system, his pick… still think it’s a dumb fucking game though.” He says as he stops his scrolling and arrives at a very brightly colored preview with several… Humans? Human-like creatures in what look like Dossur vehicles?
He presses a button to select the game as a grin grows on his face. “Hey, Mario Kart Galaxy 3 is a classic! You’re just mad because you’re bad at it.” Sindre turns his head to me while Hailey leans forward. “You’ll love it, I swear. Really shows off the real Humanity we have to hide from you guys.”
“That's for a good reason, you dolt. But it’s your choice…” Hailey said while wiping her hands on a napkin.
I hoped he was right as some cheerful music started playing.
{Memory Transcription Time Advancement: 19 Terran standard minutes…}
Sindre was right! This is fun!
The upbeat music continues to play as I make another turn around a corner, drifting a little to build up some momentum. The ‘Birdo’ creature in my ‘Kart’ does a little dance as I time it right and get a small speed boost, sending me further down the multi-colored track.
“Hmmhmmmhm, hmhmhmm~.” I tried my best to hum along to the music as I continued with the race.
I never would have thought that a racing game could be interesting. Cloyta and I played a few when we were much younger, but they seemed slow in comparison. Usually had a goal at the end as well, like delivering some fruits to a market, or maybe trading on spacefaring merchant vessels in the more complex ones.
It was super fun though! Competing against each other felt a little off, but I wrote it off as a Human cultural thing. A way of bonding, as with most things for them it seems. Other than that, I found the racing to be a lot of fun! There was so much going on, and yet it somehow managed to really keep you aware of everything going on at all times.
A projectile here, a fruit peel trap there, there was so much to think about that I almost forgot to pay attention to the humans! Which, if I weren’t here to study them, might have been a good thing. There were times the competitive nature of the game seemed to draw something else out of them, something I hadn’t expected.
It was… well…
“If I run into one more fucking banana, I will kick you down a flight of stairs and jump on your head from the top step!”
“How the hell did that hit ME!? Broken fucking hitboxes in this shitty ass game!”
“GET YOUR CRUSTY TOAD ASS OFF ME BEFORE I RIP YOU ASSHOLE TO ASSHOLE!!!”
…intense.
My enjoyment of the game seemed to be pretty one-sided unfortunately. Even by the already high standards of the Humans’ previous banter, this was truly something else. While I was still learning the game and slowly climbed up the leaderboard, the Humans all led the herd by taking the top 3 spots every time. They were so close together in some of the races that it was nearly impossible to tell who would win until the last moment, making their yelling even more vicious and bloodthirsty.
There were times I thought they were about to get physically violent with each other once it got to the final lap, but thankfully, it never came to that, aside from maybe some light pushing. Their… banter? Fighting? Uh… verbal abuse towards each other made learning the game a lot harder too since every time I tried to ask a question, my voice would get drowned out in all the yelling. They did show me the basic controls before we started, but it’s a little hard to ask for pointers when your coaches are threatening severe bodily harm against each other.
As I drifted around another sharp turn, my mind wandered back to what Sindre said when we’d first started:
‘Really shows off the real Humanity we have to hide from you guys.’
Was this supposed to be the ‘real Humanity’? I sure hope not… I think I’d prefer if they actually came to blows instead of continuing this barrage of foulness they are constantly spewing. They don’t even seem to be enjoying it! They have to be doing it for a reason… right?
I continued to think as I continued down the track and finished my second lap. The argument was starting to build up again as the stakes started to rise.
“Oh, yeah, of course you get a red shell in 2nd and I get fucking bananas in 3RD! Gotta love this piece of shit game!!” Hailey shouted, leaning forward like she was about to pounce on the TV.
“Not my fault you can’t aim for shit, dumbass! Just throw better!” Sindre quipped back.
“How about I throw you out a five story window?! I mean, I would if your fatass wouldn't snap the floorboards if I tried!” Ada finished it as he gave her an aggressive shove with his shoulder.
Yet, unlike how I expected, she didn’t push back. That's what makes this all so confusing! Each time they antagonize each other, the other person does it back, and they just stop! Their words sound like they mean it to hurt, and their actions reflect that… but they aren’t acting on it.
Hmm… the ‘real Humanity’, huh… Maybe I’m approaching this the wrong way? Something less about who the Humans are, so to speak, but more how they feel? They’ve been awfully emotional in every interaction I’ve ever had with them… Aggressive, too, admittedly. Maybe… maybe this is a way for them to vent some of that aggression safely? Around people they really trust with a game you can complain about, but demands too much attention to leave them to do more than yell at each other? Things have been rather… stressful, lately.
My tail thumped a few more times against the dilapidated couch, sending a few more puffs of stuffing into the air. The theory kind of lined up with what I knew, but I was here with the primary source for a reason, after all. I would just ask them, but…
“I am going to FUCKING DEEPFRY THAT FUCKING MUSHROOM {Ass Violin}!!!”
They were busy.
They seem pretty angry… but if it helps them deal with their stress, then I am just fine with it. I’m glad they are getting through it in their own… ‘special’ Human way.
In any case, it was still better than damming it all up until it overflowed and someone really got hurt. Safe in the knowledge that the Humans (probably) wouldn’t actually attack each other, I just resolved to focus on the game instead. The third and final lap was coming around, and things were starting to ramp up even further. The Humans’ false violence got even louder, and coupled with the occasional and really rather distracting limb shooting out and the rapidly intensifying music, my poor heart was not in the best condition as our racers closed in on the finish line.
But then, all of a sudden, something very strange happened. The Humans simultaneously began to curse louder than ever before, screaming and wailing as an odd blue indicator flashed along the top of the screen, indicating some kind of blue spiky ball rapidly approaching us from behind. All three of them illogically slammed on the brakes, clearly trying to dodge the oncoming projectile, but it was to no avail. The ball flew right past my ‘Kart’ and struck the center of the tightly crowded humans, unleashing an explosion of blue fire that stunned all three.
Allowing my Kart, driving at maximum speed in hopes of any shot at outrunning the projectile, to shoot right past them and cross the finish line first.
Wait… what?
A brief silence hung in the air at what just happened until my arms went up in the air
“Hey, look! I won! Hehehe! I didn’t know I would get so lucky on my first try! Is that sort of thing… common…?”
I stopped my celebration as all the Humans were giving me very intense looks with their stares. They lacked the familiar friendliness most Humans looked at me with, but instead seemed much… angrier.
Speh, right. They are still mad from before, and now I just beat them at their own race… O-okay, they don’t mean it, they are upset and need to let it out. Just have to get through it.
Seeing what was about to happen, I curled in on myself and braced myself for the barrage of verbal slurry coming my way. A moment passed as I waited for the insults to fly but… they never came? Opening an eye revealed the Human’s expressions had changed from fury to…
Amusement?
“You alright there Nov’? You’re shaking pretty bad… Was that too much?” Ada asked in a quiet voice while patting me on the back roughly. It took a moment for my brain to catch up before I could speak again.
“O-oh, uh, sorry, I thought you all were going to… yell at me? Like you did with each other?” My voice was a little shaky as I unfurled myself.
All of the Germans seemed to wince a little at that. “Yeah… fuck, sorry about that. Mario Kart is a pretty rage-inducing game. Shoulda thought about that beforehand.”
My tail attempted to signal calm while trapped behind me. “N-no, it’s fine… I did learn a lot actually. It was fun too, besides the yelling part. Um, can we move on though? I think I’ve got enough out of this one.”
Sindre exits the game with a nod while the others let out deep sighs. “Yeah, sorry Nov’. It’s one of the most popular party games Humanity ever made, so I figured it would be a good one to show you. Next is… Ada’s pick… we sure we should do this one?”
The woman turned her head to look at Sindre. “Positive. They have a vegan option in the settings, so it’s not going to get us arrested or anything. Plus, it's a cooperative party game! Feds seem to love that whole ‘herd’ thing, and Nov’ liked the last one so I’m sure it’ll be fine!”
She gave a dismissive hand wave before turning back to me. “It’ll be fine, really. I played this game as a kid all the time, no need to panic, right?” She seemed a little worried at the end of that sentence, so I tried to put on a brave face.
“S-sounds great! What’s it about?” I mentally chastised myself for my stutter and reached towards the table to grab another pastry. “Ahem. There’s nothing predatory in it, right?”
She grabs one herself and a glass of an orange fizzy drink. “Nope, none at all! Just some harmless cooking with your friends! You’ll love it!” Her enthusiasm helped me calm down as the game started booting up on screen.
Overcooked 5: Season of Seasoning.
Looks cheerful at least. Cooking is fun too… It’ll be fine, yeah.
I took a bite out of my brownie as the game's main menu music started to play.
{Memory Transcription Time Advancement: 23 Standard Terran Minutes…}
You know… I think I get it.
A soft relaxing track played in the background as the four little chefs on screen ran around doing various tasks needed to keep the kitchen functioning, like preparing vegetables, or washing dishes. A timer at the top of the screen was slowly counting down while a little ‘onion’ next to it with a Human face rambled on about something or other.
Orders start coming in quick, and all of us get to work in a flash… or at least, all of us SHOULD be.
“Can you three stop licking the dust clouds in the vents and actually do something to help me, PLEASE?!”
A trio of Human giggles was my only response as I leaned forward in concentration.
This game. This brahking game. They should use this for testing for intelligence like those quizzes we took back home, since clearly some people go brain dead trying to do literally anything that isn’t getting in my stars-damned way, or otherwise waste valuable time by huffing the gas coming off the stove!
Finishing up one order of seaweed wraps and lettuce salad, I tried to get back to the kitchen, but was immediately blocked by… a plate on the floor.
“WHO-!! Why is there a plate on the floor?! The counter is literally right there! It’s such a simple job to-” A ding rings out, showing several new orders that needed to be filled. The timer started flashing red as we reached the one ‘minute’ mark.
A deep, frustrated growl builds in my throat, causing my Humans to laugh for some reason, incensing me even further! We all get to work in completing the last orders, however. Things were going well as the Terrans seemed to (finally) get it together to actually make some good food. Sindre had just finished cooking the rice while Ada chopped the carrots. Me and Hailey were putting everything together on the other side and sending it through until—
“Is, oh my stars, did you guys really send over raw rice?! It’s not even partially cooked!! Are you all a bunch of mountain dwellers? Do you eat your dry grass with a side of brahking pebbles and pond scum?! Cook it again!” I threw the rice back, hitting Sindre in the back of the head with the pile of rice, causing his character to fall over with a cartoonish thunk sound effect.
The Germans laughed loudly at the scene, which made my face heat up in frustration. The timer was running short as we waited for the rice to actually be cooked this time.
“Nov’, I, haha, I’m sorry. I’ll get it done this time, have mercy! I thought the last one was done so I-”
My head turned just enough for my eye to be focused solely on the pale Human. “IT WAS BRAHKING RAW!! There's a bar at the top that tells you! Do you need eye surgery?? Can you even pass a driving test??”
More laughter.
“AND STOP LAUGHING AT ME!! IT’S NOT FUNNY!!”
A ding came from the pot to signify it was done. Ada immediately took it out and walked over to the counter to pass it.
“Perfect, now just- what are you doing?”
She wasn’t passing it over. Instead, she was charging up her throw way more than she needed to. I was just about to say something as the clock flashed brightly ‘till she threw the rice at full force.
Directly at my little chef. The rice beamed directly off the side of my character's head, sending me flying away from the plate and sprawled across the kitchen floor as the rice landed gently on the ground.
“ADA!!!!!”
The countdown is drowned out by the humans erupting into laughter as I desperately try and recover. Yet, just as I make it to my feet, the countdown reaches zero, and the mission ends. Defeat fills my chest while the onion man does a little dance to tally up our points.
49600… only two out of three stars…
It’s over…
I slumped against the back of the couch, fury and betrayal stirring in my chest while the predators laughed to each other for several moments. Their raucous, howling laughter eventually started dying down, at least enough for them to actually say something to me.
“Nov’, come on. It’s just a game. I’m, hehehe, I’m sorry okay? We were just having a little fun is all.” She ran her treacherous hands down my back in an effort to calm me, to little effect.
“Dumb game. Stupid… start the next mission…”
She chuckled a bit. “Maybe we should play a different game. You don’t seem real happy playing this one.”
That made my tail flick in light amusement though the frustration. “Now you sound like my Dad…” My anger at the game started to fade more and more, replaced with a growing sensation of guilt. ”I-I think that’s a good idea. Um, sorry about that.”
She removed her hand, but kept her eyes on me and the gooey trail now stringing from her hand. “Eugh… hey, you’re fine. If you can deal with us screaming at each other, then we can handle your little squeaks.”
The other two smiled and nodded in agreement while I looked at her in confusion, feeling a little offended. “My… squeaks? But, um, thank you... W-what's the next game? Hailey’s turn, right?”
On cue, she brushes her mane to the side and starts scrolling down. “Yes, actually! Unlike these two walnuts, I actually picked a relaxing game. A classic. An art piece~” Her hands did a slight flair, yet I remained unmoved.
“Hailey, that's what the other two said too. While those games were… fine, I wouldn’t call them ‘masterpieces.’ Are you sure about this one?” I asked while grabbing another brownie.
I keep eating these things, but I just feel more and more hungry… weird…
The Humans chucked as she selected her game. “Hey, have a little faith in me. I haven't met a Human alive that can say this game is bad. Just watch!”
A flash came from the TV as the game's title came into view.
Minecraft: Anniversary Edition.
“We’ll use one of the worlds we were playing on back on Earth so you can get an idea of what it’s really like. And, uh, make sure it's peaceful too, just in case.”
I took a bite of the treat and settled into my spot, preparing myself for whatever was to come.
{CONTINUED INTO THE COMMENTS}
2024.05.13 04:25 EVIL_Danger Looking for a release date for this printing of Kingdom Come (TP) I bought from Half Price Books. All help appreciated.
 | The DC copyright in the front page of the book says 2008 but the DC logo on the cover was debuted in 2012. This exact cover with this logo is nowhere to be found on previewsworld or DC official site submitted by EVIL_Danger to comicbooks [link] [comments] |
2024.05.13 04:14 ptbreakeven Weekly Pull List for 5/15/2024 [Discussion]
Welcome to the Weekly Pull List for Wednesday May 15th, 2024.
Thank you for your continued help in curating the lists we use to track pulls for the coming week. We've added a comment to this thread called 'WPL books shipping week of 5/15/2024' and populated it with the list we are currently working from for this week. We ask that you respond to that comment and add any books you do not see listed that you are expecting this week. The list we create will be used to calculate the WPL Results.
Below are links to other shipping lists where you can see what is expected be on the shelf this week:
Last Week's Most Pulled Titles:
Based on 81 submitted pull lists and 78 books shipping.
Pull list calculations are based on books listed in the 'WPL books shipping week of 5/15/2024'' comment below. Don’t see an issue scheduled to ship this week listed there? Please let us know!
submitted by ptbreakeven to comicbooks [link] [comments]
Thank you for your continued help in curating the lists we use to track pulls for the coming week. We've added a comment to this thread called 'WPL books shipping week of 5/15/2024' and populated it with the list we are currently working from for this week. We ask that you respond to that comment and add any books you do not see listed that you are expecting this week. The list we create will be used to calculate the WPL Results.
Below are links to other shipping lists where you can see what is expected be on the shelf this week:
Last Week's Most Pulled Titles:
Based on 81 submitted pull lists and 78 books shipping.
- BIRDS OF PREY #9 (36)
- BATMAN #147 (34)
- FANTASTIC FOUR #20 (30)
- THE BOY WONDER #1 (30)
- TRANSFORMERS #8 (29)
- X-MEN FOREVER #3 (28)
- POISON IVY #22 (22)
- SACRIFICERS #8 (19)
- AVENGERS #14 (17)
- BENEATH THE TREES WHERE NOBODY SEES #6 (17)11. DOCTOR STRANGE #15 (17)
- DEADPOOL #2 (16)
- KNEEL BEFORE ZOD #5 (16)
- AINT NO GRAVE #1 (15)
- THE ONE HAND #4 (15)
- WOLVERINE #49 (14)
- AMAZING SPIDER-MAN #49 (12)
- CAPTAIN MARVEL #8 (12)
- GEIGER #2 (12)
- THE DEVIANT #5 (12)
- TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES BLACK WHITE & GREEN #1 (11)
- VENOM #33 (11)
- SHAZAM #11 (10)
- DAREDEVIL #9 (9)
- LAST MERMAID #3 (9)
- SPIDER-MAN SHADOW OF THE GREEN GOBLIN #2 (9)
- BLOOD HUNTERS #1 (8)
- STAR WARS DARTH VADER #46 (8)
- USAGI YOJIMBO THE CROW #2 (8)
Pull list calculations are based on books listed in the 'WPL books shipping week of 5/15/2024'' comment below. Don’t see an issue scheduled to ship this week listed there? Please let us know!
2024.05.13 04:00 Fuuta-chan [Weekly Chapter Thread] - May 13, 2024
Korean Raw
English Version
Chapter Blogposts in the Wiki
Chapter Blogposts in the Tumblr (Still unsure if it's going to be kept updated)
This is a Discussion Thread for the latest freely released English Chapter. The discussion of any events that happen in Preview chapters is not allowed and it can lead to a temporary ban.
Please keep the discussions contained in this thread for 24 hours to give everyone time to read the chapter on their own.
Come join us and discuss the chapter live at our Discord!
submitted by Fuuta-chan to TowerofGod [link] [comments]
English Version
Chapter Blogposts in the Wiki
Chapter Blogposts in the Tumblr (Still unsure if it's going to be kept updated)
This is a Discussion Thread for the latest freely released English Chapter. The discussion of any events that happen in Preview chapters is not allowed and it can lead to a temporary ban.
Please keep the discussions contained in this thread for 24 hours to give everyone time to read the chapter on their own.
Come join us and discuss the chapter live at our Discord!
2024.05.12 23:24 Interesting-Pomelo58 Reviews forthcoming but wanted to share - don't buy US LRP mineral sunscreens
I am currently traveling and due to lost baggage I am stuck with Target and CVS sunscreens for a week or until my bags finally manifest with my usual Euro and Canadian formulas.
In the meantime I purchased two La Roche Posay sunscreens sold in the US and not in Canada - their LRP Mineral Gentle Lotion SPF 50 and their LRP Ultra Fluid Mineral (untinted) SPF 50 (not the tinted one since the tinted version is the same as the Canadian one and the tint doesn't work for me) and both of these sunscreens are comically bad - like mime paint bad. I cannot fathom how anyone even the palest people can wear these. They remind me of Ombrelle's mineral face hydrating cream which is still sold and is awful - they're likely similar since all are L'Oreal manufactured products.
I will find a US chemical formula I can tolerate tomorrow (not a fan of homosalate and it's in almost every US chemical sunscreen as they don't have as many filters as we do in Canada) but wanted to give a sneak preview in case anyone is doing some cross border shopping - leave the LRP mineral sunscreens on the shelf. (They're also like 36 USD which is a shit deal with the exchange rate)
Oh also tried Kinship's mineral sunscreen - it's sparkly pink and smells like vanilla cupcakes.🤮 No thank you.
A longer post with detailed reviews of my adventures with US sunscreens forthcoming so the cross border shoppers here don't waste their hard earned CAD in the US on inferior crappy formulas.
submitted by Interesting-Pomelo58 to CanSkincare [link] [comments]
In the meantime I purchased two La Roche Posay sunscreens sold in the US and not in Canada - their LRP Mineral Gentle Lotion SPF 50 and their LRP Ultra Fluid Mineral (untinted) SPF 50 (not the tinted one since the tinted version is the same as the Canadian one and the tint doesn't work for me) and both of these sunscreens are comically bad - like mime paint bad. I cannot fathom how anyone even the palest people can wear these. They remind me of Ombrelle's mineral face hydrating cream which is still sold and is awful - they're likely similar since all are L'Oreal manufactured products.
I will find a US chemical formula I can tolerate tomorrow (not a fan of homosalate and it's in almost every US chemical sunscreen as they don't have as many filters as we do in Canada) but wanted to give a sneak preview in case anyone is doing some cross border shopping - leave the LRP mineral sunscreens on the shelf. (They're also like 36 USD which is a shit deal with the exchange rate)
Oh also tried Kinship's mineral sunscreen - it's sparkly pink and smells like vanilla cupcakes.🤮 No thank you.
A longer post with detailed reviews of my adventures with US sunscreens forthcoming so the cross border shoppers here don't waste their hard earned CAD in the US on inferior crappy formulas.
2024.05.12 23:04 Square-Chemistry4575 Immortal Coil #1
 | Thanks to groups like this, put a team together and June 3rd another horror comic creator and I will be launching our books on Kickstarter. Found half of my team here on this group. Feeling pretty excited. submitted by Square-Chemistry4575 to ComicBookCollabs [link] [comments] If anyone was interested, we have a Prelaunch page up and I’ll be sending finished preview sample to those who want to check it out! https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/gvonstoddard/immortal-coil-issue-1-the-end-of-all-things Thanks everyone! |
2024.05.12 15:43 ShelfClutter Crowdfunded Games Launching This Week [May 13th, 2024]
Kickstarter & Gamefound Campaigns Launching this Week by ShelfClutter!
Support My Work by Watching This Week's Episode
or consider a One-Time Donation or Joining Our Community🙂️🙏
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submitted by ShelfClutter to boardgames [link] [comments]
Support My Work by Watching This Week's Episode
or consider a One-Time Donation or Joining Our Community🙂️🙏
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Related Videos..
📺️ See what's expected for the Month with BoardGameCo
🪖Check out Upcoming Wargames from ZillaBlitz
📺Launching this Week
⏲️Launching this Week in 60 seconds
Want coverage for your game?? Submit Your Game Here| Expected | Name | Publisher | Video Summary | Campaign Page |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| May 13 | #bg Guns of the Old West | Wolf Storm Entertainment | Preview | GF PAGE |
| May 13 | #e World of Kilforth: The Fantasy Quest Games | Hall or Nothing Productions | Preview | GF PAGE |
| May 14 | #bg Hannibal & Hamilcar | PHALANX | Preview | GF PAGE |
| May 14 | #bg Rove | Addax Games | Preview | KS PAGE |
| May 14 | #bg Masters of the Universe: Battleground | Archon Studio | Preview | GF PAGE |
| May 14 | #bg Dark Omen | Dark Omen GmbH | Preview | GF PAGE |
| May 14 | #cg Amsterdam Board Game Design Season one | Amsterdam Board Game Design / Wulfhorn games | Preview | KS PAGE |
| May 14 | #bg The Thinning Veil Cormac Mac Airt on the Other Side of Midnight | Triskelion Games | Preview | GF PAGE |
| May 14 | #bg Good Dog Bad Zombie | TESA Collective | Preview | KS PAGE |
| May 14 | #bg Escape Death Race 2182 Micro | Gooddays Games | Preview | KS PAGE |
| May 14 | #cg Hunted: Mining Colony 15 (2nd Edition) | Best With 1 Games | Preview | GF PAGE |
| May 14 | #bg Feudum Septennial Edition | Odd Bird Games | Preview | GF PAGE |
| May 14 | #c E-Raptor Colorful Inserts | E-Raptor | KS PAGE | |
| May 16 | #bg Whispers of Whitechapel | Self-Published | KS PAGE | |
| May 16 | #bg Hex Effects | Pillbox Games | KS PAGE | |
| May 17 | #bg The 7 Seas | Critical Hut | Preview | GF PAGE |
| May 17 | #cg Vendarla | Moore Games | Preview | KS PAGE |
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- A curated shortlist of Campaigns launching in the next 7 days.
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2024.05.12 09:39 Ashamed-Math-2092 Bakugo is the weakest in the class.
The average power level is raised so much higher that Bakugo is just unironically one of the weakest in the class, if not the weakest.
His actual abilities are left alone.
Tokoyami's done some dark shit with Dark Shadow. That uncontrollable form in pitch black during the camp arc, he can access a lot more easily, in brighter places, with more control. Dark Shadow seems a lot like a chained beast, more animalistic, but controlled.
Sato's got some real super strength here. Instead of the sugar weakening his mind, it strengthens it. Smart Brutes are scary. Also, his general strength is way more increased.
Koda had telepathic control of all animals from the start. He can not only pull a Skitter from Worm without a fear of bugs here, he has the entire goddamn animal kingdom (in his range) at his disposal.
Tsuyu has some Mirko bullshit right here with high kicking strength. She can access some poisons, can go invisible, and a lot of other fun things frogs can do.
Kirishima can go unbreakable earlier, and it's better than canon. He has higher control of the way his body basically gets more matter around him at times, and as such can do things like blatantly make blades from his body at times.
Ashido can not only do Acidman earlier, she can do some Choso/Kamo stuff from JJK, like piercing blood and other similar moves. She can manipulate her acid basically. Takes cues from Vlad.
Uraraka has her weight limit generally increased severely. She can float the 0 pointer with extreme difficulty. She has a degree of finer telekinetic control over the stuff she touches.
Kaminari generally needs a lot more usage of his quirk to get stupid. He can do a lot more stuff. Pull some tricks from Static Shock. Can do some Kashimo stuff.
Iida is just way faster. He was already pretty close to Bakugo. Super speed has always been a crazy tough thing to fight. Hints about an ancestor in red and yellow.
Shoji has less of a limit of limb manifestation. He still gets tired if he does it too much since it's a quirk, but that's a high threshold. He can basically pull a discount domain expansion by trapping an opponent within a limb circle, then they get rapidly punched from all ends.
Todoroki has a higher output, and along with that he can control his ice a bit, something Geten like, but not to Geten's level.
Mineta is not only locked in here, meaning he isn't lazy and thus will score 2nd in class tests under only Momo, his quirk like everyone else is better than canon. He has a degree of control over his balls, not to Pony's extent, but it's not minor either. He can guide a ball pretty easily onto someone fast, if he has even the slightest bit of accuracy, which he does. This can be done very fast. His ball throwing speed is comically fast, even for anime. He could probably cover a person's important parts in balls within barely 2 or 3 seconds.
Sero's tape is some spider-man grade bullshit. Once it's on, good luck getting it off. I'm fairly certain he already had a degree of telekinetic control in canon, considering tape isn't supposed to move like that without a finger pulling it off, and so that aspect is amplified a bit here. As tape comes out, the width can also grow longer, e.g. if Sero stands very far away, and shoots a tape length that's about the length of a pectoral, by the time that length of tape reaches a target, it's wide enough to cover their whole body. Way faster travel speed.
Midoriya has a far better control of One For All of course. He skips over the whole bone breaking phase and has full cowl from the get go, at a higher percentage. Unlocks Black Whip quick.
Hagakure leans on the light usage more here. She can burn stuff a bit if she really focuses, obviously is a bitch to fight since you never know if you're gettin flashbanged, and if she really really focuses she can do minor lasers, but most of the time she teams up with
Aoyama, no belly aches that fast here. He can curve lasers easily, homing lasers, even shit like ice lasers and incendiary lasers.
Ojiro. That tail is actually a part of his true quirk, predator. He can harness attributes of all animals with a tail, Vixen-Expy basically. That tail is probably strong enough to break through a wall in one strike if he focuses.
Jiro. She can blast sound a lot easier, and her ear lobes that have her jacks have a degree of toughness and a lot longer length to them, so she has a lot easier of a time jabbing people. Also, she can pull of a Bakugo, funnily enough, by flying with sound waves, blasting with sound waves, etc. Her recon capability is slightly buffed.
Momo gets all the capability fanon wishes she had. She's got the brain capacity here to create complex devices on the fly, create nanotech, etc. Probably starts to become Iron Man as the canon progresses
submitted by Ashamed-Math-2092 to BokunoheroFanfiction [link] [comments]
His actual abilities are left alone.
Tokoyami's done some dark shit with Dark Shadow. That uncontrollable form in pitch black during the camp arc, he can access a lot more easily, in brighter places, with more control. Dark Shadow seems a lot like a chained beast, more animalistic, but controlled.
Sato's got some real super strength here. Instead of the sugar weakening his mind, it strengthens it. Smart Brutes are scary. Also, his general strength is way more increased.
Koda had telepathic control of all animals from the start. He can not only pull a Skitter from Worm without a fear of bugs here, he has the entire goddamn animal kingdom (in his range) at his disposal.
Tsuyu has some Mirko bullshit right here with high kicking strength. She can access some poisons, can go invisible, and a lot of other fun things frogs can do.
Kirishima can go unbreakable earlier, and it's better than canon. He has higher control of the way his body basically gets more matter around him at times, and as such can do things like blatantly make blades from his body at times.
Ashido can not only do Acidman earlier, she can do some Choso/Kamo stuff from JJK, like piercing blood and other similar moves. She can manipulate her acid basically. Takes cues from Vlad.
Uraraka has her weight limit generally increased severely. She can float the 0 pointer with extreme difficulty. She has a degree of finer telekinetic control over the stuff she touches.
Kaminari generally needs a lot more usage of his quirk to get stupid. He can do a lot more stuff. Pull some tricks from Static Shock. Can do some Kashimo stuff.
Iida is just way faster. He was already pretty close to Bakugo. Super speed has always been a crazy tough thing to fight. Hints about an ancestor in red and yellow.
Shoji has less of a limit of limb manifestation. He still gets tired if he does it too much since it's a quirk, but that's a high threshold. He can basically pull a discount domain expansion by trapping an opponent within a limb circle, then they get rapidly punched from all ends.
Todoroki has a higher output, and along with that he can control his ice a bit, something Geten like, but not to Geten's level.
Mineta is not only locked in here, meaning he isn't lazy and thus will score 2nd in class tests under only Momo, his quirk like everyone else is better than canon. He has a degree of control over his balls, not to Pony's extent, but it's not minor either. He can guide a ball pretty easily onto someone fast, if he has even the slightest bit of accuracy, which he does. This can be done very fast. His ball throwing speed is comically fast, even for anime. He could probably cover a person's important parts in balls within barely 2 or 3 seconds.
Sero's tape is some spider-man grade bullshit. Once it's on, good luck getting it off. I'm fairly certain he already had a degree of telekinetic control in canon, considering tape isn't supposed to move like that without a finger pulling it off, and so that aspect is amplified a bit here. As tape comes out, the width can also grow longer, e.g. if Sero stands very far away, and shoots a tape length that's about the length of a pectoral, by the time that length of tape reaches a target, it's wide enough to cover their whole body. Way faster travel speed.
Midoriya has a far better control of One For All of course. He skips over the whole bone breaking phase and has full cowl from the get go, at a higher percentage. Unlocks Black Whip quick.
Hagakure leans on the light usage more here. She can burn stuff a bit if she really focuses, obviously is a bitch to fight since you never know if you're gettin flashbanged, and if she really really focuses she can do minor lasers, but most of the time she teams up with
Aoyama, no belly aches that fast here. He can curve lasers easily, homing lasers, even shit like ice lasers and incendiary lasers.
Ojiro. That tail is actually a part of his true quirk, predator. He can harness attributes of all animals with a tail, Vixen-Expy basically. That tail is probably strong enough to break through a wall in one strike if he focuses.
Jiro. She can blast sound a lot easier, and her ear lobes that have her jacks have a degree of toughness and a lot longer length to them, so she has a lot easier of a time jabbing people. Also, she can pull of a Bakugo, funnily enough, by flying with sound waves, blasting with sound waves, etc. Her recon capability is slightly buffed.
Momo gets all the capability fanon wishes she had. She's got the brain capacity here to create complex devices on the fly, create nanotech, etc. Probably starts to become Iron Man as the canon progresses
2024.05.12 08:00 ValLikesCheese Adding Widgets
 | https://preview.redd.it/zeb9gzhurxzc1.png?width=4480&format=png&auto=webp&s=ab8675904d172059210e93429768369ebe8da6d5 submitted by ValLikesCheese to WordPressThemes [link] [comments] I've tried three themes that allow for three columns. In the third column is a list of pages. I want to break that into three "blocks" I've tried the add widget, + and the search feature and nothing works. I want three identical blocks where it says generation 3. |
2024.05.12 03:34 Major-Plantain-2036 What does "mince" mean in this sentence?
 | As the title says. submitted by Major-Plantain-2036 to EnglishLearning [link] [comments] I was watching YouTube when I stumbled upon a comic dub of a videogame, I was watching the preview because I put my mouse on it, but something caught my attention and it was the word "mince" since I didn't know the word I looked it up and I still didn't understand the meaning. I even translated it in two translators and I think the results are not correct. So what does it mean? The context of the sentence was someone who was going to say something but suddenly realized that what he was going to say was going to expose him as a traitor of the group so he changes what he was supposed to say in mid-sentence and then tries to act "natural", saying the phrase in the image I have a vague idea of what he's saying, but I would like to see an explanation. (I also want to point out that I think I've gotten a little rusty with my English so I apologize in advance for any bad spelling or anything like that) Thanks in advance! |
2024.05.12 02:28 Sir_Dank37 "Everything is Going to be OKAY." (Omori AU comic cover WIP/Rough Draft)
 | I wanted to show off a preview of the Omori AU I am working on! It's fun to see what it looks like before it is even close to done (pardon my grubby lil fingers)! I want to tie most of the single page comics together. I'll try my best to upload weekly, but I have other projects I have to work on as well! So far, I've got a few more comics drafted. This is very incomplete and rough. This is categorized as parody. Nothing bad at all will happen. Nothing... submitted by Sir_Dank37 to OMORI [link] [comments] Aubrey is the main character, Basil is her side kick, Kel has burgers for brains, Mari went through a rebellious phase, What's his face and Mari are dating in college, Something is really off with Sunny. |
2024.05.11 22:48 isimpforpeppapig Okay maybe I’m just stupid but how do you access the chapter list for a webtoon from the app?
I used to read webtoons from the website, and I was easily able to view a list of all the chapters and jump to whichever one I wanted to read, but I was forced to download the app since now you can only get a preview of the full chapter when reading on the website. Problem is, when I try to access that same comic on the app, I’m forced to start from chapter one and monotonously click through each chapter until I catch up to the most recent one, because for whatever reason, I can’t find a chapter list anywhere. Does anyone know why this is happening?
submitted by isimpforpeppapig to webtoons [link] [comments]
2024.05.11 21:13 SanderSo47 Directors at the Box Office: Wes Craven
 | https://preview.redd.it/5jhcjegtjuzc1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=71a26f361e87730152e07e12f1bc76322db0b023 submitted by SanderSo47 to boxoffice [link] [comments] Here's a new edition of "Directors at the Box Office", which seeks to explore the directors' trajectory at the box office and analyze their hits and bombs. I already talked about a few, and as I promised, it's Wes Craven's turn. Craven earned a master's degree in philosophy and writing from Johns Hopkins University. He subsequently bought a 16mm film camera and began making short movies. His friend Steve Chapin informed him of a messenger position at a New York City film production co, where his brother, future folk-rock star Harry Chapin worked. He started in the industry as a sound editor, before transitioning as a porn director. He said he made "many hardcore X-rated films" under pseudonyms. And then he transitioned into directing for the big screen. From a box office perspective, how reliable was he to deliver a box office hit? That's the point of this post. To analyze his career. It should be noted that as he started his career in the 1970s, some of the domestic grosses here will be adjusted by inflation. The table with his highest grossing films, however, will be left in its unadjusted form, as the worldwide grosses are more difficult to adjust.The Last House on the Left (1972)"Mari, seventeen, is dying. Even for her, the worst is yet to come."His directorial debut. The film stars Sandra Peabody, Lucy Grantham, David Hess, Fred J. Lincoln, Jeramie Rain, and Marc Sheffler. The plot follows Mari Collingwood, a teenager who is abducted, raped, and tortured by a family of violent fugitives led by Krug Stillo on her seventeenth birthday. When her parents discover what happened to her, they seek vengeance against the family, who have taken shelter at their home. Craven, who had no money at the time, was put on the job of synchronizing dailies for Sean S. Cunningham's Together. They became friends, and Hallmark Releasing gave them $90,000 to make another film. Craven considered a hardcore film, but decided to tone it down a bit. The idea for this film came from Ingmar Bergman's The Virgin Spring, and Craven wanted to make a film in which the violence would be shown in detail onscreen, as he felt that many popular films of the era, such as Westerns, glamorized violence and the "vigilante hero", and gave the public a misleading representation of death in the wake of the Vietnam War. The film attracted negative media attention for its heavy graphic content, and there were calls for some theaters to drop the film. But you know, bad buzz is still buzz and that translated to a pretty good run in theaters, earning up to $3 million in its initial run. Even to this day, the film is polarizing due to its violence and themes. But Craven just made his name well known.
The Hills Have Eyes (1977)"A nice American family. They didn't want to kill. But they didn't want to die."His second film. The film stars Susan Lanier, Michael Berryman and Dee Wallace. The film follows the Carters, a suburban family targeted by a family of cannibal savages after becoming stranded in the Nevada desert. Craven wanted to make a non-horror, but he found that his investors only wanted films with graphic content. At the New York Public Library, Craven checked the library's forensics department, and learned of the legend of Sawney Bean - the alleged head of a 48-person Scottish clan responsible for the murder and cannibalization of more than one thousand people. He drew influences from this, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre and The Grapes of Wrath. Craven also had to cut a lot of scenes to avoid getting an X rating. The film once again drew negative attention for its violence. But it made over $25 million at the box office, which was an even bigger success than House. It subsequently earned a cult following.
Deadly Blessing (1981)"Pray you're not blessed."His third film. It stars Ernest Borgnine, Maren Jensen, Susan Buckner, and Sharon Stone, and tells the story of a strange figure committing murder in a contemporary community that is not far from another community that believes in ancient evil and curses. It received negative reviews, but it was another box office success for Craven.
Swamp Thing (1982)"Science transformed him into a monster. Love changed him even more!"His fourth film. Based on the DC Comics character created by Len Wein and Bernie Wrightson, it stars Louis Jourdan and Adrienne Barbeau. It tells the story of scientist Alec Holland who is transformed into the monster known as Swamp Thing through laboratory sabotage orchestrated by the evil Anton Arcane. Later, he helps a woman named Alice Cable and battles the man responsible for it all, the ruthless Arcane. The film made $2.5 million domestically, despite mixed reviews.
A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984)"If Nancy doesn't wake up screaming, she won't wake up at all."His fifth film. It stars Heather Langenkamp, John Saxon, Ronee Blakley, Johnny Depp, and Robert Englund. The film's plot concerns a group of teenagers who are targeted by Freddy Krueger, an undead child killer who can murder people through their dreams, as retribution against their parents who burned him alive. The film was inspired by several newspaper articles printed in the Los Angeles Times in the 1970s about Hmong refugees, who, after fleeing to the United States because of war and genocide in Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam, suffered disturbing nightmares and refused to sleep. Some of the men died in their sleep soon after. This, along with the song "Dream Weaver" by Gary Wright, motivated Craven to craft a horror film focused on people dying through their sleep. The film's villain, Freddy Krueger, is drawn from Craven's early life. One night, a young Craven saw an elderly man walking on the sidepath outside the window of his home. The man stopped to glance at a startled Craven and walked off. This served as the inspiration for Krueger. Initially, Fred Krueger was intended to be a child molester, but Craven eventually characterized him as a child murderer to avoid being accused of exploiting a spate of highly publicized child molestation cases that occurred in California around the time of the film's production. He settled on the name Freddy Krueger, which was based on a childhood bully of his. The process of writing the film went smoothly, the real problem was finding a studio. Craven sent it to most studios, and all rejected it. The first studio to show interest was Disney, but Craven declined their offer as they wanted a more toned-down kid-friendly PG-13 flick. When Paramount and Universal also turned it down, Craven decided to go to the independent studio New Line Cinema. The studio only distributed films, but they agreed in financing the film. As they lacked the financial resources for the production, New Line had to turn to external financiers. Despite opening in just 165 theaters, the film earned $1.2 million in its opening weekend, making it clear that it would be an immediate box office success. It eventually closed with $25 million domestically, and $57 million worldwide. It received critical acclaim, and has been referred as one of the best and most influential slashers ever made. Freddy Krueger would soon be hailed as one of the most emblematic figures of horror, and Craven quickly earned a reputation as a horror legend. But most importantly, it was the beginning of New Line Cinema as a studio, which is why it's referred as "the house that Freddy built." The film would later spawn a franchise, although Craven wouldn't direct any of the "sequels." Why the quotation marks? We'll get to that later on.
The Hills Have Eyes Part II (1985)"So you think you're lucky to be alive."His sixth film. The sequel to The Hills Have Eyes, it stars Tamara Stafford, Kevin Spirtas, John Bloom, Michael Berryman, Penny Johnson, Janus Blythe, John Laughlin, Willard E. Pugh, Peter Frechette and Robert Houston. It follows a group of bikers who become stranded in the desert and find themselves fighting off a family of inbred cannibals who live off the land. The film was shot on a very low budget, and it simply ended prematurely because they ran out of funds. There are no box office numbers available, but it received awful reviews. Deadly Friend (1986)"There's no one alive who'll play with the girl next door."His seventh film. Based on the novel Friend by Diana Henstell, it stars Matthew Laborteaux, Kristy Swanson, Michael Sharrett, Anne Twomey, Richard Marcus, and Anne Ramsey. Its plot follows a teenage computer prodigy who implants a robot's processor into the brain of his teenage neighbor after she is pronounced brain dead; the experiment proves successful, but she swiftly begins a killing spree in their neighborhood. Craven wanted to make a PG-rated science fiction film, with a similar tone to Starman, hoping to prove that he could make something that wasn't horror-themed. An unfinished version of the film was screened to a test audience of Craven's fanbase, and it was poorly received for its lack of violence and gore like his previous films. So WB decided to rewrite the film, adding more scenes with tons of gore. This made the final film appear tonally jumbled, and it went from easy PG to struggling to not get an X rating. The film was poorly received for its story and inconsistent tone. It also marked a huge flop at the box office, not even hitting $10 million. Craven lost interest in the film after WB inserted their own version, and he has since disowned the film.
The Serpent and the Rainbow (1988)"Don't bury me, I'm not dead!"His eighth film. It stars Bill Pullman, and is loosely based on the life of ethnobotanist Wade Davis, recounting his experiences in Haiti investigating the story of Clairvius Narcisse, who was allegedly poisoned, buried alive, and revived with a herbal brew which produced what was called a zombie. The film received mixed reactions, but it was a much needed box office success for Craven.
Shocker (1989)"No more Mr. Nice Guy."His ninth film. It stars Michael Murphy, Peter Berg, Cami Cooper, and Mitch Pileggi, and follows a serial killer who uses electricity to come back from the dead and carry out his vengeance on the football player who turned him in to the police. Another mixed bag for Craven, but it was still profitable.
The People Under the Stairs (1991)"In every neighborhood, there's one house that adults whisper about and children cross the street to avoid."His tenth film. It stars Brandon Adams, Everett McGill, Wendy Robie, and A. J. Langer. The plot follows a young boy and two adult robbers who become trapped in a house belonging to a neighborhood's crooked landlords after breaking in to steal their collection of gold coins as the boy learns a dark secret about them and what also lurks in their house. After a slate of mixed performers, the film received Craven's best reviews since Elm Street. To the surprise of Universal, it was also a box office success.
Wes Craven's New Nightmare (1994)"This time, the terror doesn't stop at the screen."His 11th film. The installment in the A Nightmare on Elm Street franchise, it stars Robert Englund, Heather Langenkamp, Miko Hughes and John Saxon. The film is not part of the same continuity as previous films, and it portrays Freddy Krueger as a fictional movie villain who invades the real world and haunts the cast and crew involved in the making of the films about him. While Craven co-wrote the franchise's third installment, Dream Warriors, he wasn't that involved with the rest of the franchise. He wanted to make a deliberately more cerebral film than recent entries to the franchise, as he considered them as being cartoonish, and not faithful to his original themes. Specifically, he wanted Freddy to resemble his original vision: far darker and less comical. To reinforce this, the character's make-up and outfit were enhanced, with one of the most prominent differences being that he now wears a long blue/black trenchcoat. In addition, the signature glove was redesigned for a more organic look, with the fingers resembling bones and having muscle textures in between. The film received high praise, and was considered as the best film in the franchise since the original (it was Englund's favorite). But the franchise has been bleeding interest at the box office, and New Nightmare unfortunately had to suffer. It was profitable, but it became the lowest grossing film in the franchise.
Vampire in Brooklyn (1995)"A comic tale of horror and seduction."His 12th film. It stars Eddie Murphy, Angela Bassett, Allen Payne, Kadeem Hardison, John Witherspoon, Zakes Mokae, and Joanna Cassidy. It follows a Caribbean vampire who seduces a Brooklyn police officer who has no idea that she is half-vampire. The film had awful reviews, and despite the presence of a huge star like Eddie Murphy, it disappointed at the box office. Craven really needed a hit.
Scream (1996)"Someone has taken their love of scary movies one step too far."His 13th film. It stars David Arquette, Neve Campbell, Courteney Cox, Matthew Lillard, Rose McGowan, Skeet Ulrich and Drew Barrymore. Set in the fictional town of Woodsboro, California, Scream's plot follows high school student Sidney Prescott and her friends, who, on the anniversary of her mother's murder, become the targets of a costumed serial killer known as Ghostface. As he was trying to make it in the industry, Kevin Williamson watched a Turning Point documentary about serial killer Danny Rolling which he said left him unsettled. Williamson later noticed an open window, armed himself with a knife, and called his friend for support. The pair began discussing horror characters that had resonated with them such as Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees. This experience prompted Williamson to start developing a concept wherein a girl is haunted by a caller. He started writing a film titled Scary Movie, and even left an outline for possible sequels. The concept was part of an era where there was debate over the influence of cinematic violence on audience, with Williamson coming up with a brilliant line "movies don't create psychos, movies make psychos more creative." It was inspired by many 1980s slashers, even though the genre was on decline by that point. His characters were intentionally designed to be knowledgeable about these horror films and their typical elements, with the intention of creating a unique killer who was not only aware of horror film clichés but also exploited them for his own advantage. While Williamson struggled with his previous films, this script was part of a bidding war with the studios, to the point that Oliver Stone himself wanted to direct it. Miramax (through Dimension Films) bought the script, and Williamson made some rewrites to scale back the violence. Bob Weinstein also wanted to change the name, as he believed the audiences would think the film is a comedy. The studio considered Danny Boyle, Tom McLoughlin, Sam Raimi, Robert Rodriguez, George A. Romero, Quentin Tarantino, and Anthony Waller as prime candidates to direct the film, but they all preferred to view the film as a comedy. Wes Craven was considered, but the studio believed he couldn't direct a satire. Craven also wasn't planning on directing it, as he wanted to focus on more mainstream films to salvage his career. Craven's assistant Julie Plec (who would collaborate with Williamson on The Vampire Diaries) convinced him in helming the project. By signing, Craven decided to get back some of the gore that was missing in the previous drafts. A huge contrast to the horror films of the era was that the film had established actors as the leads, as Craven and Williamson wanted to prove that no character was safe. Drew Barrymore had already starred in a few recognizable names, Neve Campbell was on the hit show Party of Five, Rose McGowan was known for Encino Man and The Doom Generation, David Arquette, Matthew Lillard and Skeet Ulrich were recognizable supporting characters, and Courteney Cox obviously was known for Friends. Vince Vaughn and Natasha Lyonne were the preferred choices for Billy and Tatum, but external problems caused them to drop out. After viewing the dailies raw footage, the Weinsteins criticized the quality of Craven's work as "workmanlike at best", believing it lacked tension and had an inconsistent tone. The Weinsteins also disliked the mask design, and said Barrymore lacked sex appeal because of the pageboy hairstyle she had chosen. While filming the final fight, Campbell's stuntwoman accidentally stabbed Ulrich with an umbrella tip, missing the protective vest he was wearing and hitting the site of an open heart surgery Ulrich had as a child. During post-production, Harvey Weinstein decided to name the film as Scream based on the Michael and Janet Jackson song. In a surprising move, the Weinsteins decided to release the film during the holiday season as counter-programming, offering teenagers an alternative to more traditional holiday fare. The decision was unpopular with the cast and crew, with Williamson expecting the film to fail. The film opened with $6.4 million and finishing in fourth place, leading analysts to consider the film as a bomb. But the film just kept growing. Buoyed by positive word of mouth, the Weinsteins increased marketing and the film managed to increase in its second and third weekends. It closed with $103 million domestically and $173 million worldwide, becoming the highest grossing slasher film ever and Craven's highest grossing film ever. The film received critical acclaim for its characters and writing, and has since been deemed as one of the most influential horror films of all time. It rekindled interest in horror, resurrected Craven's career and launched the careers of Williamson and the cast.
Scream 2 (1997)"Someone has taken their love of sequels one step too far."His 14th film. The sequel to Scream, it stars David Arquette, Neve Campbell, Courteney Cox, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Jamie Kennedy, Laurie Metcalf, Jerry O'Connell, Elise Neal, Timothy Olyphant, Jada Pinkett, and Liev Schreiber. The film takes place two years after the first film and again follows the character of Sidney Prescott, along with other survivors of the Woodsboro massacre, at the fictional Windsor College in Ohio where they are targeted by a copycat killer using the guise of Ghostface. As Williamson already had plans for sequels, the idea was for Sidney to attend college while being stalked by a copycat Ghostface killer. As filming began, Williamson's script had four killers: Derek, Hallie, Cotton Weary, and Nancy Loomis. But after Williamson transferred his script to the production, it was leaked onto the Internet in full, revealing the identity of the killers and a large amount of the involved plot. This resulted in the production continuing to film with only a partial script while Williamson conducted extensive rewrites, changing much of the film's finale, the identities of the film's killers and drastically altering the roles of other characters such as Randy Meeks and Joel. With a short deadline, Williamson couldn't fully compromise on the final script, forcing Craven to fill in the gaps himself. So the film was one of the very first cases where the Internet leaked major aspects of a film. As the Weinsteins wanted the film ready for December, it was able to capitalize on the audience's word of mouth to the original. It opened with $32 million in its first weekend, almost five times as big as the original, and the biggest December debut. It didn't hold as great as the original due to the competition, such as Titanic, but it still made $172.3 million worldwide, almost matching the original's gross. It also received very positive reviews, and so a profitable franchise was already underway.
Music of the Heart (1999)"She gave them a gift they could never imagine. They gave the system a fight it would never forget."His 15th film. The film stars Meryl Streep, Aidan Quinn, Angela Bassett, Gloria Estefan, Jane Leeves, Kieran Culkin and Jay O. Sanders. The film is a dramatization of the true story of Roberta Guaspari, who co-founded the Opus 118 Harlem School of Music and fought for music education funding in New York City public schools. After seeing the documentary Small Wonders, Craven was inspired to make a full-length film about Guaspari. Madonna was originally signed to play the role of Guaspari, but left the project before filming began, citing "creative differences" with Craven. When she left, Madonna had already studied for many months to play the violin. Streep learned to play Bach's Concerto for 2 Violins for the film. The project marked a huge departure for Craven; it was his first and only film to be rated PG, and his only one to not be horror or thriller. It received generally positive reviews, but it bombed at the box office. It received 2 Oscar nominations for Best Actress and Best Original Song, the only Craven film to get any noms.
Scream 3 (2000)"The most terrifying scream is always the last."His 16th film. The third installment in the Scream franchise, it stars David Arquette, Neve Campbell, Courteney Cox Arquette, Parker Posey, Patrick Dempsey, Scott Foley, Lance Henriksen, Matt Keeslar, Jenny McCarthy, Emily Mortimer, Deon Richmond, and Patrick Warburton. The film's story takes place one year after the previous film's events and follows Sidney Prescott, who has gone into self-imposed isolation following the events of the previous two films but is drawn to Hollywood after a new Ghostface begins killing the cast of the film within a film Stab 3. The plans for a sequel were already underway since Williamson sold the script, although Williamson still didn't write a script yet. When the Weinsteins approached him to write the film, Williamson was already busy with many projects (including his directorial debut), and was unavailable to perform his duties. He only made a 20-page outline wherein Ghostface would return just as production on a fictional film Stab 3 would be filmed. His plan was to show the killers were part of a Stab fan club (this idea would later be adapted into his show, The Following). With Williamson not available, Ehren Kruger was tasked in writing. Shortly before production began on the film, the Columbine High School massacre took place, and many parties began looking for reasoning behind the shooters' actions and there came an increased scrutiny on the role of the media in society, including video games and film, and the influence it could have on an audience. With production of Scream 3 not yet underway, there were considerations about whether the film should be made at that time, aware of the potential for negative attention but the studio decided to press forward, albeit with changes. The Weinsteins demanded to scale back on the gore and emphasize its satiric humor, as well as moving the setting to Hollywood. At one point in the production, the studio went as far as demanding that the film feature no blood or on-screen violence at all, a drastic departure for the series, but Craven directly intervened. One of the aspects changed was that the killer would be revealed to be Stu Macher, having survived the original film. The Weinsteins changed it after Columbine, as they didn't want to associate violence and murder with a high school setting. The film opened with $34.7 million, a franchise record and the biggest February debut ever. But it had weak legs, although it still made a very profitable $161.8 million worldwide. While the previous films were well-received, this film received negative reviews, who lambasted the film for becoming the very own thing it satirizes.
Cursed (2005)"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."His 17th film. It stars Christina Ricci, Joshua Jackson, Jesse Eisenberg, Judy Greer, Scott Baio, Milo Ventimiglia, Shannon Elizabeth and Mýa, and follows two orphaned siblings attacked by a werewolf loose in Los Angeles. Kevin Williamson started working on a script that followed the exploits of a New York City serial killer who discovers that his lethal tendencies are due to his lycanthrope nature. When one of his projects was scrapped, Craven decided to direct, teaming them up again for another Scream reunion. But it wasn't planned like that. Craven was making a film, Pulse, when Bob Weinstein abruptly pulled the movie from the schedule ten days before shooting and cut through all the slow lanes, wanting Craven to get to Cursed as soon as possible. Craven was reportedly not pleased so Weinstein doubled his pay in order for him to direct the film. The director deemed the script too tonally similar to his film Vampire in Brooklyn, but felt pressured by the studio, leading him to ultimately sign on. The film started filming in January 2003, hoping to get the film released in August. In June, they only had six days left for filming. Suddenly, Dimension Films decided to put the movie on hold because top executives at the company weren't happy with the film's ending or how the special effects were progressing, specifically the look of the film's lead lupine. Rick Baker was preparing the final transformation effects when production stopped and asked Weinstein to let his team finish the work in order for it to be ready for the reshoot, but he refused. Patrick Lussier was brought in for massive rewrites, and the film didn't return to production until November. Baker was fired, and the prosthetic make-up was replaced with CGI. Skeet Ulrich filmed his scene as one of the leads, but chose to drop out following the reshoots as he disliked the new direction. It was also heavily edited to get the R rating down to PG-13. The budget was originally $35 million, yet some reports suggest it ballooned all the way to $100 million, making it one of the most expensive horror films ever. With that budget, it was clear it was not going to be a box office success. It flopped with just $29 million worldwide, and was panned by critics. Craven himself dislikes the final product, and a director's cut was never an option because his original ending was never filmed.
Red Eye (2005)"Fear takes flight."His 18th film. It stars Rachel McAdams, Cillian Murphy, and Brian Cox. The story follows a hotel manager ensnared in an assassination plot by a terrorist while aboard a red-eye flight to Miami. The film received Craven's best reviews in years, and was a box office success, earning almost $100 million. While he is fine with people loving it, Cillian Murphy is not really fond of the film, "I love Rachel McAdams and we had fun making it but I don’t think it's a good movie. It’s a good B movie."
My Soul to Take (2010)"Only one has the power to save their souls."His 19th film. It stars Max Thieriot, Denzel Whitaker, Raul Esparza, and Shareeka Epps. It follows Adam "Bug" Hellerman, who is one of seven teenagers chosen to die following the anniversary of a serial killer's death. This was Craven's first film in almost two decades where he would be directing, producing and writing. But that didn't pan out to a success: it was a critical and commercial dud.
Scream 4 (2011)"New decade. New rules."His 20th and final film. The fourth installment in the Scream franchise, it stars David Arquette, Neve Campbell, Courteney Cox, Emma Roberts, Hayden Panettiere, Anthony Anderson, Alison Brie, Adam Brody, Rory Culkin, Marielle Jaffe, Erik Knudsen, Mary McDonnell, Marley Shelton, Nico Tortorella, and Roger L. Jackson. The film takes place on the fifteenth anniversary of the original Woodsboro murders from Scream and involves Sidney Prescott returning to the town after ten years, where Ghostface once again begins killing students from Woodsboro High. In 2010, Williamson and Craven confirmed their plans for a new film. Craven said that endless sequels, the modern spew of remakes, film studios, and directors are the butts of parodies in the film. The main characters have to figure out where the horror genre is in current days to figure out the modern events happening to and around them. This was the first film in the franchise to use CGI, with the knife's blade added in post-production. Even though the franchise was profitable, it seemed like its glory days were long behind it by the time it hit theaters. The film disappointed in its opening weekend with just $18 million, and closed with a weak $97 million worlwide, far less than the previous films. It also received mixed reviews, particularly for its writing and new characters. It was the last film directed by Craven before his death in 2015.
MOVIES (FROM HIGHEST GROSSING TO LEAST GROSSING)
The VerdictQuite inconsistent, but a very iconic figure in the horror genre. You know you made it big when your creations include Elm Street and Scream. Craven often struggled with difficult productions (you can blame the Weinsteins for that), but he still managed to make competent and scary films, even if some are better than others. Some even see critical re-appraisal as time passes; even Scream 3 and Scream 4 have their fans. We don't know what he would've done with the franchise after the fourth film, but he made it clear he was exhausted by having to film without finished scripts. Rest in Peace to a horror legend.Hope you liked this edition. You can find this and more in the wiki for this section. The next director will be Clint Eastwood. I think I'll have to make two posts, given that he directed 42 films. I asked you to choose who else should be in the run and the comment with the most upvotes would be chosen. Well, we'll later talk about... Ang Lee. A legendary Asian director. This is the schedule for the following four:
And that theme is: controversial directors. I'm talking directors who have attained a polarizing response to their films (like Zack Snyder), or the directors themselves are also controversial figures in real life (like Oliver Stone). Basically, a director that has as many fans as haters. |
2024.05.11 13:56 nulll_ DEADCOAST Book 1: "HEAT and the Grizzly Reds" - Intro / Chapter 1 - 15-20 Min Read -- Dystopian Future -- Science Fiction.
NOTE FROM AUTHOR: Hello Hello! I am a first-time writer embarking on my first dumpster fire; input is most welcome. I'm not the best self-editor, so get your hiking boots on. It's rough out there. Whenever I read it, I find or create more errors (:
OPTIONAL READS: For the Retro Computer or Programming Enthusiast OR if you are open to other formats of story telling. I tried to combine my love for programming as an UNDERSTANDABLE way to tell a story through a Visual Experience in the Command Line Interface;
A Stand-Alone VISUAL ASCII 'Programming Terminal' Story Prologue. Follow through(Screen Shots of my Command Line Interface) the UNE-EYE Observational Satellite Terminal as Kable extracts Classified Data about his Beloved Military Unit, THE HUMMINGBIRDS, a flying exoskeleton unit. This includes the origin story of a Technology Tree in Book 1.
The story unfolds with the chilling invasion of Vancouver, marking a turning point as DAGGR makes its ambitions clear, culminating in the assassination of the Canadian Prime Minister. This act of aggression leaves the country reeling, exposing vulnerabilities and igniting a global reaction.
The UNE-EYE satellite is central to the international response, a significant narrative element representing the world's most advanced orbital tracking system. Once decommissioned in favour of privacy, the Dutch reactivated the satellite as a strategic move to monitor DAGGR's movements and coordinate a unified international effort against the aggressors. This revival of UNE-EYE symbolizes a crucial turning point, highlighting the global stakes and the interconnectedness of nations in the face of a common enemy.
As Canada grapples with its plight, the DAMU (Deserted American Military Units) rise in solidarity, breaching borders to fight alongside their Canadian counterparts. This act of defiance is mirrored by international forces, including the Netherlands and Ukraine, each bringing their unique strengths to the coalition, underscored by the strategic oversight provided by the UNE-EYE satellite.
Amidst the geopolitical chaos, a man who had all but given up, a boxer on the ropes, emerges from Vancouver's Gastown. Known as HEAT, this leader of the Grizzly Reds becomes a symbol of resistance and hope. HEAT's story, and that of the Grizzly Reds, is one of resilience, rallying not only Canadians but also global citizens to stand against DAGGR's tyranny.
" Deadcoast Book 1: Heat and the Grizzly Reds" is a compelling narrative of survival, alliance, and resistance. It deftly weaves together elements of advanced technology, international politics, and the indomitable human spirit. The inclusion of the UNE-EYE satellite serves as a testament to the complexities of modern warfare and the critical role of global surveillance and coordination in maintaining security and freedom. But something else stirs amongst it. The UNE still shrouds its use, albeit assuring it is for record-keeping purposes- there is no way to be sure. Join HEAT and the Grizzly Reds as they navigate the challenges of Time, War, Science and liberating their fellow man in Vancouver. THE GRIZZLIES NEED YOU, in this action-packed, emotional saga, speaks to the resilience and camaraderie inherent in the human condition.
CHAPTER 1 - The Blood Spattered Maples
ILLUSTRATED VERSION -> HERE <-
The early morning sun cast a serene glow over Vancouver, its golden rays gently coaxing the city from its slumber. The harbour lay still, bathed in a tranquil blend of crimson and amber, defiantly calm as if aware of the day's latent potential for tumult. The awakening streets, pulsating with the vibrant beat of daily enterprise, transformed into bustling arteries of life.
Amidst this urban renaissance, Ryan stood by his apartment window, one eye still tinged a fading shade of deep lavender from last night's ordeals. He absorbed the duality of the world outside – a peaceful façade masking an undercurrent of chaos, much like his own existence. The apartment, a silent guardian of his life's chapters, was awash with tangible memories; some stood proudly like trophies, and others lingered like indelible scars.
"Eugh, need to sort out this money mess," Ryan muttered, his voice a gravelly mix of resolve and weariness. He gingerly touched the bruise beneath his eye, a stark reminder of the previous night's fight. He wasn't just a boxer but a living, breathing paradox. His undefeated record of 12-0 was more than a tally of victories; it was a map of a life spent dancing in and out of shadows. At 17, he was a beacon of hope for Canadian Olympic Futures. Now, at 33, he was a spotlight in his subconscious, illuminating the relentless passage of time and a road riddled with 'what ifs.' Eleven of those wins were echoes from a past steeped in the sweat and blood of the ring before life's currents swept him into the city's gritty underbelly. There, he became an enforcer, not out of choice but a necessity, bound by ties, not of blood but of unbreakable bonds forged in adversity. Stepping back into the ring at 33, Ryan wasn't chasing glory; he was hunting redemption, a chance to rewrite a narrative that had veered off course.
Today's boxing was far from what he once knew; it had transformed into a digital spectacle, a charade he refused to partake in. The sport now paraded fighters adorned with loud chains and face tattoos, pretending to live a life of crime they don't. Vile symbols of fame he doesn't wish for. Ryan had always skirted the fringes of the spotlight, respecting the sport but despising what it had become - a glorified masquerade that he believed led the youth astray. He stared out at the awakening city, contemplating his place in this ever-changing world, just as the first notes of a familiar yet unwelcome voice crackled from the vintage radio on his shelf.
"Ah, jimmy2piece," he scoffed, the name leaving a bitter taste. The vintage radio crackled on, announcing the dazzling exploits of the heavyweight boxing champion, an embodiment of everything Ryan detested about the sport's current state. Ryan's hand lingered over the old radio, a relic amidst the bountiful thrift and trinket that abundantly filled his apartment. The announcer's voice, overly flamboyant in its praise of 'jimmy2piece,' clashed with the morning's tranquillity, grating against Ryan's every nerve. With a flick brimming with contempt, he silenced the intrusive chatter. The ensuing silence was a stark reminder of his path's divergence from the once-noble art of boxing to a life mired in moral ambiguity.
"Enough of this nonsense," he muttered, the disdain in his voice mirroring the snarl on his lips as he spun the dial back to silence.
*Click*
Ryan was a man of contemplation; opening his balcony door, he let the morning breeze mingle with the memories that haunted him daily. These reflections were a tormenting ritual, no matter the joys and love surrounding him. His only respite was constant movement – hobbies, work, art – anything to fend off the sharp claws of the past that threatened to shred the remnants of his self-respect. He had lost ten years to choices and actions that replayed in his mind relentlessly every single day.
"This 'jimmy2shoes' or whatever...pal throws pillows, a poser pretending he's about that gang life; I can see it in his eyes, he's not a killer," he grumbled, gazing out at the awakening city. This day promised a respite from his underground fights – at least for a while. His recent backstreet brawls, a far cry from the glory of the boxing ring, were what paid the bills now. "At least I've bought myself three more months..."
Leaning on the railing of his miniature balcony, Ryan cradled a cup of steaming coffee, his gaze drifting over the streets below. At this moment, the chaos of his life seemed distant, replaced by a transient calm. Despite his bruised, rough presentation, a certain peace enveloped him, a rare stillness that belied the storm of his existence. His thoughts meandered through the serene hum of the city and the gentle brush of the ocean breeze. The skyscape, with clouds dancing to the ocean's rhythm, offered a brief escape from his turbulent past.
Memories of Robin, his mentor and friend, floated into his consciousness. Robin's untimely death in Dubai was a wound that never healed. The sacrifices he had made to keep Robin safe, only to be absent on the fateful trip that claimed his friend's life, weighed heavily on him. "Why did it have to be you, Robin?" he whispered to the horizon, the question, a haunting torment upon his daily routines.
Ryan was a thinker; as he slid over his ashtray from the stool, he sparked up A morning 'dart' (cigarette), as he called them. His past began to creep into his head, as it did every morning. With each inhalation of addiction-soothing nicotine, his blazing thoughts followed as his brain began to become fully active from his sleep. It was a raven on his shoulder tormenting him, pecking at him ever haunting his consciousness. No matter the love he may have found or the happiness, friends, or family surrounding him. The time to reflect was always grim and consistently unbearable. If he stood still, the Ravel's claws sunk more profoundly; the only reprieve was constant distractions. It's why he kept so busy, creative, and active. Ryan constantly kept moving with hobbies, work, or art. Pushing off the switchblade thoughts ready to cut into his subconscious and bleed out whatever self-respect he had left that day. He threw away ten years of his life, and he relives them every. Single. Day.
"Damn man, what's the point of it all?" Ryan's voice was barely a whisper, lost in the morning breeze. His gaze lingered on the horizon, eyes clouded with confusion and pain. "Robin's gone, and here I am, a ship adrift; up shits creek without a paddle. What good can I do? What purpose do I serve? My skillset? My knowledge? Ive wasted my life, nothing is applicable." The questions hung in the air, unanswered. Ryan's life had indeed been a storm of violence and turmoil, from the gritty days working alongside Robin, watching his back to his hard-fought victories in the boxing ring. He had dreamt of leaving the world of fights behind, yet fate seemed to have woven a different path for him, one that he couldn't escape...
The distant sound of boat horns broke his train of thought. These weren't the usual rhythmic calls that echoed along Vancouver's shores; they carried a sense of urgency, growing louder and more frantic by the second. Ryan leaned forward, squinting into the morning light. The sight that greeted him was anything but ordinary. Dark, ominous and foreboding shapes were cutting through the waters toward the Seawall – military-grade ships that seemed like phantoms against the sun's bright backdrop.
"What the...?" Ryan murmured, a wry smile touching his lips as he recalled a line from a 1930s radio show. "Ah yes, the 'Anti-Frackers' upping their game, bravo!" He often found solace in humour, a shield against the world's harsh realities. Ryan was an unbreakable anvil to the world, always struck to sharpen others' steel. But what about his iron resolve? He bore the burdens so others didn't have to, a silent guardian shouldering the world's weight in stoic silence. Yet beneath that armour of stoicism beat the heart of a man grappling with his vulnerabilities, a man with a core as soft as it was intense.
Just like that- The world as we knew it, changed forever.
The morning's peace shattered abruptly as sirens wailed into life, slicing through the air with a sense of impending doom. The tranquil dawn was now a backdrop to a nightmare unfolding in real time. Ryan's eyes, mirroring the turbulent hues of a stormy sea, narrowed in primal alertness. These were not friendly vessels coming to grace the city's harbour; they were harbingers of chaos, their arrival a silent scream in the gardens of Vancouver's tranquility. As the city around him carried on, blissfully unaware of the looming threat, Ryan's mind shifted into high gear, honed by years of confrontation, conflict and reading other peoples intentions. He understood the unspoken language of death, the subtle shift in the air that preluded catastrophe. The serene calm that had greeted the day now seemed like the deceptive stillness before a devastating storm.
PFFFFT~~
Ryan's coffee ejected out his mouth, a clean mist dispersed, dancing in the ocean winds.
His eyes widened in shock. "That... No, that's not right. That honeycomb structure on the bow – that's rumoured military tech, not something you'd find on a civilian vessel. That's definitely not one of our decommissioned ships; Canada has always had a modest military budget- It's not the U.S. either; they've moved on to those massive city carriers," he muttered, recalling the recent unveiling of the U.S.'s latest naval behemoth designed to be a self-sustaining war ecosystem.
"These are destroyers...carriers...and what in the world are those landing crafts?" His voice trailed off as a wave of realization washed over him. A heavy breath escaped his lips, his heartbeat thundering in unison with a growing sense of dread. This kind of military might, sleek and menacing, was straight out of the pages of a dystopian novel. Ryan's pulse quickened, adrenaline coursing through his veins, mingling with an unsettling fear. Vancouver, with its serene beauty and peaceful reputation, was the last place one would expect a military invasion. Yet, as he stood there, the city around him persevered in blissful ignorance. Laughter and the sounds of daily life echoed up to his balcony, starkly juxtaposed against the darkening horizon of his thoughts.
Something sinister was unfolding, and he felt an urgent need to act. "Ah, damn it!" he exclaimed, frustration boiling over as he hurled his mug to the ground, where it shattered into razer sharp ceramic shards—a glimpse of futures past.
The walls of Ryan's apartment, once a gallery of memories from a life half-lived, now felt like they were closing in on him. The space that had been his refuge, adorned with mementos of a tumultuous past, suddenly felt like a prison. He felt trapped, not by physical barriers, but by the weight of the unfolding crisis. Who could he call? Who would believe him about an impending military assault? Was there even time?
Each option seemed as hopeless as the next, leaving him feeling powerless. His fists, which had once brought him victory in the ring, now seemed futile in the face of this immense and unknown threat.
BOOM
A thunderous crash tore through the city's fabric, piercing the veil of laughter and routine. Giggles changed to Shrieks, the buzzing of cars in the city turned screeching of panicked tires. It was a boom resonating with such force that it seemed to shake the very resolve of the most robust steel, a sound that demands attention and captivates a person, a sound of death; it rattles you to the bone. This explosion marked a pivotal moment that would forever alter the course of Vancouver's history and, indeed, the world's.
The resounding echo of the first explosion heralded a declaration of war on all that was ordinary. In Ryan, the shockwave ignited a transformation. Despair morphed into an unyielding determination, a fire kindled deep within. His skin prickled, each hair standing on end as if his nerves were braille, spelling out the moment's urgency.
"Are they firing at us?" Ryan's voice was a mix of disbelief and rising panic. The thought seemed almost too surreal to entertain. He hesitated momentarily, grappling with the reality of the situation. The explosion's roar, so fierce it shook the foundations of his apartment, jolted him back to the present. Racing back to his balcony, what he saw confirmed his darkest fears.
The ships in the harbour were no longer silent, ominous spectators; they had unleashed their fury, sending plumes of smoke and debris skyward. Vancouver's skyline, once a proud testament to peace and progress, now served as a harrowing backdrop to an unfolding apocalypse. Below, the streets descended into chaos. People scattered in a frantic attempt to escape, their screams piercing the air, a chorus of dawning terror.
Ryan's heart pounded against his chest, each beat a call to action. He was no hero, never the 'good guy' in his story, but he did value life above all. Standing there, witnessing his city being torn apart, he knew he couldn't remain a passive observer. Indecision and shock gave way to resolve.
"MOTHA FU-" he cursed, his words lost in the burst of an explosion, spotted at the last second.
The world around him had erupted into a maelstrom of fire and fury.
An air burst shell detonated with ferocious intensity a mere 50 meters from Ryan's sanctuary. The explosion ripped through the building, an unforgiving hatred that jolted reality itself. The blast wave, a monstrous force of destruction, assaulted his apartment, shattering the windows with an ease that mocked Vancouver's fragility. Glass shards, transformed into lethal projectiles, hurtled through the air with a hunter's precision, each piece seeking its target. Instinctively, Ryan lunged for cover, his only protection a vintage oak promotional board, a relic of a bygone era. This wooden guardian, decorated with the iconic image of Stan Lee, stood as a stoic defender, a symbol of comic heroism now repurposed to shield flesh and blood from the brutal onslaught.
A low hum erupts from the depths of his being as the fireball swirled around him. "Breathe... I can't... don't fall asleep... don't...sleep..." he whispered, fighting the encroaching darkness. His cobalt eyes, glazing over open, fighting to the last light, flickered between consciousness and oblivion. The distant, muffled voices of mentors past echoed in his mind, a fading chorus in the theatre of his memories. Ryan looked to his left, cast one last lingering look at the Vancouver sky, a canvas of blue that seemed so distant now. As his vision began to narrow, a tunnel drawing him away from the light, Ryan felt the grip of darkness pulling him under heavy, yet weightless. Once so vivid and alive, the world around him was fading into shadows.
Amid shrapnel-induced unconsciousness, Ryan's mind catapulted him back to a pivotal moment from his youth – the Ontario Canadian Olympic Trials.
The stadium's noise swirled around him, but it was an entirely different world within the ring. There, it was just Ryan and his opponent, every move a testament to the sacrifices he and Robin(Ryan's longtime mentor both inside, and outside the ring) had made together.
Ryan's style in the ring was unique, a blend of calculated ferocity in speed and agility. He adopted the elusive, angular movements that Robin had honed while serving alongside the hardened Ukrainians on the frontlines of Kyiv. This style was compelling and unpredictable, frustrating his opponents with swift and efficient strikes. Ryan's ability to slip away from counters, almost serpentine in its execution, left them grasping at straws.
Point fighting for the Olympics was a system that worked well with Ryan's style but not necessarily with his mindset. Ryan was a fighter at heart, and sometimes, when pushed, the disciplined techniques would give way to a rawer form of combat. Robin, who always believed in Ryan's potential, saw this as his greatest fault and biggest asset to "push past." In his gruff but encouraging voice, Robin would often spew "The stink in that mind, You've got a head on you that'd make an onion cry," highlighting Ryan's occasionally impulsive nature, and inability to control his emotions when it mattered. This characteristic made Ryan fearless in the ring but also sloppy, open, and vulnerable. It often led him into trouble outside of the solace in prizefighting.
In these trials, Ryan's physical attributes – his slender frame, broad shoulders, wide back and a peculiarly long wingspan that gave him an imposing presence in his weight class – it made him stand out. His frame synchronized with his style, creating a truly unique spectacle of genetic gifts, hard work, and skill.
These memories blended nostalgia and pain as they flickered through Ryan's mind. They were reminders of a path once trodden, a journey shaped by the influence of a mentor and the determination of a fighter's spirit.
As the Olympic Trials set to begin, Robin looked to Ryan to instill confidence for his upcoming bouts, but Ryan was in his element. It was fight day, the fun day, the day to show off all of the hard work. Ryan had confidence, and his style in the ring displayed it in full. He moved with an angular rhythm that was both art and battle – slipping, landing a quick stiff counter cross, then gracefully stepping out of reach inches from returning fire. He made it look fun and easy, as if playing with his prey before fangs clench throat, delivering the killing bite. Looking closer, you can only see fire and determination in his bright eyes. He found purpose in the beautiful science of boxing. His strategy was that of a technical boxer, The Counterpuncher; 1. To bait his opponent into committing, then counter, fight long, fight smart. 2. Beat em' up, Frustrate em', then start slinging the heat in the uppercuts and lead hooks.
The bell rang and the fight was officially underway. Ryan controlled the ring with his long frame. Each exchange was rapid yet controlled, a dance of precise strikes and evasive maneuvers. The world's complexities faded in these moments, leaving only Ryan and the pure essence of the sport he loved. He felt invincible, a force of nature within the confines of the ring. To Ryan, the fight was more than a competition; it was a performance, an exhilarating escape from the mundane. It was true Purpose.
The intensity of the round reached a frustrating outburst by his opponent, who grabbed Ryan by the back of his head– 'SPLIT' called by the referee, his hand placed between them. A judge calls for a correction, catching the referee's attention only for a split second. In this second, Ryan's Opponent saw an opportunity. Lifting his head to move away, Ryan locks eyes with his Opponent, sporting a grin and delivering a sly headbutt as a parting gift. It's against the rules, but part of the game's harsh reality if gone unnoticed. Expelling energy and detesting it was a waste of fuel. It was a jolting reminder of "at all times"(protect yourself), a stark contrast to the discipline and respect Ryan upheld, starting his boxing journey in Thailand under "Muay Thai" rules, ideology of the worrior spirit and discipline. There was a sense of Honor in Lumpinee Stadium.
The outcome of these unsavoury tactics here is an advantage for the opponent. Ryan's inner pools erupt, his mind swirled with raging white waters, crashing and colliding against each other, two oceans with opposite currents meeting in his consciousness. His once technical thoughts, muscle memory mixed with fight iq burst with flames, erupting and incinerating all strategy in his path. His eyes widened, open like he'd found his primal genetic ancestry hidden deep within. The slaughter and the war of history. The bloodshed of 1000 lifetimes. He felt it all. Manic in thought. Ryan wanted to take his glove off and rip his cheeks open from the inside out--
BREAK - Ryan snaps back into it, erupting in stoic, silent, primal rage.
The ground rushed up to meet him as he crashed onto the canvas, the taste of iron and the sting of defeat mingling in his mouth. The crowd's roar faded into a distant echo, a stark reminder of how quickly the tides of battle could turn. Robin's voice sliced through the ringing from the corner, resonating with a force that commanded attention.
"Get your shit together, JUMPIN JESUS RYAN! HEART OF GOLD AND HEAD OF STONE – GET UP, YOU LITTLE COWARD! YOU'RE LETTING IT WIN, AGAIN! STOP THIS ONION HEAD NONSENSE AND DANCE, BOX THIS FELLA – YOU'RE BETTER THAN THIS, ACT LIKE IT, BELIEVE IN IT!"
His words were more than just a call to action; they were a lifeline thrown into the stormy seas of Ryan's mind. Each syllable was drenched in the raw, unfiltered wisdom that only a life spent in the cauldron of combat could forge. Robin's tone was a volatile cocktail of fury and concern, the urgency palpable in his voice. His palms crashed against the ring mat; each hit thunderous punctuation to his fiery sermon.
"You've got the talent, kid, but it's as good as ash if you keep burning it to the ground. I'M HERE FOR YOU, IM RIGHT HERE. SNAP OUT OF IT AND BOX THIS PLASTIC PATTY! MOVE GOD DAMNIT, GET UP!"
On the canvas, Ryan lay dazed, the echo of Robin's voice ringing in his ears. It was more than a mere pep talk; it was a wake-up call that struck a chord deep within him. Amidst the haze of the crowd murmurs and the pulsating pain that coursed through his body, clarity began to emerge. Lying there, Ryan grasped the essence of Robin's message –
"coward? letting it win? Playing my ego are ya Robin...hes right though. Im throwing this shit away."
This moment, sprawled on the canvas under the glaring lights and the crowd's gaze, became a crucible of transformation. The raw emotion and the hard-hitting truth in Robin's words ignited a spark in Ryan. It was time to rise, shake off the shadows of rage, and embrace a fighter's true spirit like he had learned in Thailand – not just with fists but with heart and mind in unison.
Staggered yet stirred by the dual impact of the physical hit and Robin's piercing words, A padded fist crushed into the rings canvas, followed by a kneee and the eruption of the crowd. Ryan was back, and he began to pull himself up from the canvas. His resolve, momentarily dimmed, now reignited with a fierce, clear, calculated intensity. Memories of the gruelling hours spent in the gym flooded back to him – the relentless sparring sessions, the time spent in Thailand, the sweat and toil, and the invaluable lessons etched into his being under Robin's stern tutelage.
With a renewed spirit, Ryan stepped back into the battle, his movements now embodying controlled power and a fluidity to his step. He recalled his time fighting beside the backdrop of the "Sarama" a traditional Thai music played when in combat. The times of learning to move, fight with the music, to flow, to be fluid, to be concise. Ryan finally put it all together in the heat of battle. He had merged his inherent ferocity with the disciplined technique that Robin relentlessly drilled into him, and the mindfull practises of the years he spent under Burklerk Pinsinchai in the jungles of Chiang Mai. His style was now fully displayed, raw and visceral yet refined by countless hours of practice in mind, body and spirit.
The final rounds bell clang to a start in a clinic of skill and sheer willpower. Ryan, driven by a blend of desperation and unwavering determination, unleashed a barrage of calculated and explosive strikes. Each punch and maneuver was a nod to the efficient, no-nonsense Ukrainian style that Robin had imparted to him. Ryan moved rhythmically across the mat, steps measured and precise, executing short, angular movements and deft outside counterpunches. He had returned to his element – the dance of combat, where he felt most alive, a symphony of movement where every step and punch was a testament to his life's journey and experiences as a human being first, and as a fighter second.
In this wake-up call, Ryan reinvigorated and reminded himself of his love for the sport, the exhilarating blend of art and athleticism. He was not just fighting to win; he was celebrating boxing, combat, honouring the path he had walked with Robin, and reclaiming what it meant to be a true fighter through Burklurk Pinsinchai's Teachings.
The round pressed on, and Ryan executed his maneuvers with a surgeon's precision. First;
-- The counterpuncher; a display in timing and accuracy, delivered with the full force of training and innate skill. --
ONE!…TWO!…THREE!…FOUR!…FIVE!…SIX!...SEVEN!..EIGHT!
Ryan's opponent stands, admirable, but futile, driven by sheer will but hampered by sluggish movements, the man rose to his feet, it was clear the fight was reaching its zenith.
The opponent, gathering his remaining strength for a final stand, launched a jab, a last-ditch effort relying more on brute force than finesse. But this was a fatal mistake in Ryan's world – playing right into what Ryan was best at. Counters.
Ryan read the move with the clarity of a seasoned fighter. As the jab came, he effortlessly slipped to the right, evading the punch with a short angular step that spoke of his ring intelligence. Instantly, he countered with the same sharp cross from his right hand, followed by a devastating hook that cut through the air with lethal intent in his left. Grasping at straws, reeling from the counter, Ryans opponent threw a desperate, looping last stand punch, Ryan dipped down and left, rolling the punch with an elegance that made it seem almost effortless. He was Hunting for the Kill Shot. Seizing the moment, Ryan unleashed a ferocious left uppercut, the force of the blow lifting his opponent's chin skyward. He followed up with a right overhand, but just before impact, he halted the punch. There was no need for it; his opponent was already collapsing, the "Lights were on, but no one was Home". The fight was effectively over, Ryan's last combination is the final note, a crescendo that echoed through the ring.
As his opponent hit the canvas, the crowd erupted. Ryan stood in the center of the ring, his chest heaving, every fibre of his being alight with the thrill of victory. This wasn't just a win; it was a performance, a display of skill, heart, and the indomitable spirit of a fighter who had walked through fire and flames to the otherside and emerge victorious.
The final bell Rings with not a single chair in the arena warm; a thunderous clap erupts from the crowd. It was more than just applause; it was an acknowledgment of a battle fiercely fought by both men. In that moment ringside, in a triumphant victory, Ryan and Robin shared a look that spoke volumes, a connection far beyond the usual bounds of mentor and protégé. Their bond, tempered in the crucible of hardship and struggle, was now sealed in the glory of this defining triumph.
Standing amidst the cheers and the adrenaline-fueled euphoria, Ryan found himself momentarily lost in the tide of memories. It was a poignant reminder of the journey that had brought him here, a path marked by triumphs and losses. Robin's teachings transcended the confines of boxing; they were life lessons imprinted deep onto him. Ryan began to slowly step out of the ring; the weight of these reflections settled upon him. The victory was sweet, but it carried the weight of all sacrificed to achieve it. Robin's presence was felt strongly, a guiding force that continued to shape his path, illuminating the way forward even in the most challenging times.
submitted by nulll_ to HFY [link] [comments]
OPTIONAL READS: For the Retro Computer or Programming Enthusiast OR if you are open to other formats of story telling. I tried to combine my love for programming as an UNDERSTANDABLE way to tell a story through a Visual Experience in the Command Line Interface;
A Stand-Alone VISUAL ASCII 'Programming Terminal' Story Prologue. Follow through(Screen Shots of my Command Line Interface) the UNE-EYE Observational Satellite Terminal as Kable extracts Classified Data about his Beloved Military Unit, THE HUMMINGBIRDS, a flying exoskeleton unit. This includes the origin story of a Technology Tree in Book 1.
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INDEX
- DEADCOAST - THE HUMMINGBIRDS PROLOGUE -> HERE <-
- DEADCOAST - COMPLETE ILLUSTRATED INTRO -> HERE <-
- HEAT & GRIZZLY REDS - CHAPTER 1 ILLUSTRATED -> HERE <-
The story unfolds with the chilling invasion of Vancouver, marking a turning point as DAGGR makes its ambitions clear, culminating in the assassination of the Canadian Prime Minister. This act of aggression leaves the country reeling, exposing vulnerabilities and igniting a global reaction.
The UNE-EYE satellite is central to the international response, a significant narrative element representing the world's most advanced orbital tracking system. Once decommissioned in favour of privacy, the Dutch reactivated the satellite as a strategic move to monitor DAGGR's movements and coordinate a unified international effort against the aggressors. This revival of UNE-EYE symbolizes a crucial turning point, highlighting the global stakes and the interconnectedness of nations in the face of a common enemy.
As Canada grapples with its plight, the DAMU (Deserted American Military Units) rise in solidarity, breaching borders to fight alongside their Canadian counterparts. This act of defiance is mirrored by international forces, including the Netherlands and Ukraine, each bringing their unique strengths to the coalition, underscored by the strategic oversight provided by the UNE-EYE satellite.
Amidst the geopolitical chaos, a man who had all but given up, a boxer on the ropes, emerges from Vancouver's Gastown. Known as HEAT, this leader of the Grizzly Reds becomes a symbol of resistance and hope. HEAT's story, and that of the Grizzly Reds, is one of resilience, rallying not only Canadians but also global citizens to stand against DAGGR's tyranny.
" Deadcoast Book 1: Heat and the Grizzly Reds" is a compelling narrative of survival, alliance, and resistance. It deftly weaves together elements of advanced technology, international politics, and the indomitable human spirit. The inclusion of the UNE-EYE satellite serves as a testament to the complexities of modern warfare and the critical role of global surveillance and coordination in maintaining security and freedom. But something else stirs amongst it. The UNE still shrouds its use, albeit assuring it is for record-keeping purposes- there is no way to be sure. Join HEAT and the Grizzly Reds as they navigate the challenges of Time, War, Science and liberating their fellow man in Vancouver. THE GRIZZLIES NEED YOU, in this action-packed, emotional saga, speaks to the resilience and camaraderie inherent in the human condition.
ILLUSTRATED VERSION -> HERE <-
The early morning sun cast a serene glow over Vancouver, its golden rays gently coaxing the city from its slumber. The harbour lay still, bathed in a tranquil blend of crimson and amber, defiantly calm as if aware of the day's latent potential for tumult. The awakening streets, pulsating with the vibrant beat of daily enterprise, transformed into bustling arteries of life.
Amidst this urban renaissance, Ryan stood by his apartment window, one eye still tinged a fading shade of deep lavender from last night's ordeals. He absorbed the duality of the world outside – a peaceful façade masking an undercurrent of chaos, much like his own existence. The apartment, a silent guardian of his life's chapters, was awash with tangible memories; some stood proudly like trophies, and others lingered like indelible scars.
"Eugh, need to sort out this money mess," Ryan muttered, his voice a gravelly mix of resolve and weariness. He gingerly touched the bruise beneath his eye, a stark reminder of the previous night's fight. He wasn't just a boxer but a living, breathing paradox. His undefeated record of 12-0 was more than a tally of victories; it was a map of a life spent dancing in and out of shadows. At 17, he was a beacon of hope for Canadian Olympic Futures. Now, at 33, he was a spotlight in his subconscious, illuminating the relentless passage of time and a road riddled with 'what ifs.' Eleven of those wins were echoes from a past steeped in the sweat and blood of the ring before life's currents swept him into the city's gritty underbelly. There, he became an enforcer, not out of choice but a necessity, bound by ties, not of blood but of unbreakable bonds forged in adversity. Stepping back into the ring at 33, Ryan wasn't chasing glory; he was hunting redemption, a chance to rewrite a narrative that had veered off course.
Today's boxing was far from what he once knew; it had transformed into a digital spectacle, a charade he refused to partake in. The sport now paraded fighters adorned with loud chains and face tattoos, pretending to live a life of crime they don't. Vile symbols of fame he doesn't wish for. Ryan had always skirted the fringes of the spotlight, respecting the sport but despising what it had become - a glorified masquerade that he believed led the youth astray. He stared out at the awakening city, contemplating his place in this ever-changing world, just as the first notes of a familiar yet unwelcome voice crackled from the vintage radio on his shelf.
"Ah, jimmy2piece," he scoffed, the name leaving a bitter taste. The vintage radio crackled on, announcing the dazzling exploits of the heavyweight boxing champion, an embodiment of everything Ryan detested about the sport's current state. Ryan's hand lingered over the old radio, a relic amidst the bountiful thrift and trinket that abundantly filled his apartment. The announcer's voice, overly flamboyant in its praise of 'jimmy2piece,' clashed with the morning's tranquillity, grating against Ryan's every nerve. With a flick brimming with contempt, he silenced the intrusive chatter. The ensuing silence was a stark reminder of his path's divergence from the once-noble art of boxing to a life mired in moral ambiguity.
"Enough of this nonsense," he muttered, the disdain in his voice mirroring the snarl on his lips as he spun the dial back to silence.
*Click*
Ryan was a man of contemplation; opening his balcony door, he let the morning breeze mingle with the memories that haunted him daily. These reflections were a tormenting ritual, no matter the joys and love surrounding him. His only respite was constant movement – hobbies, work, art – anything to fend off the sharp claws of the past that threatened to shred the remnants of his self-respect. He had lost ten years to choices and actions that replayed in his mind relentlessly every single day.
"This 'jimmy2shoes' or whatever...pal throws pillows, a poser pretending he's about that gang life; I can see it in his eyes, he's not a killer," he grumbled, gazing out at the awakening city. This day promised a respite from his underground fights – at least for a while. His recent backstreet brawls, a far cry from the glory of the boxing ring, were what paid the bills now. "At least I've bought myself three more months..."
Leaning on the railing of his miniature balcony, Ryan cradled a cup of steaming coffee, his gaze drifting over the streets below. At this moment, the chaos of his life seemed distant, replaced by a transient calm. Despite his bruised, rough presentation, a certain peace enveloped him, a rare stillness that belied the storm of his existence. His thoughts meandered through the serene hum of the city and the gentle brush of the ocean breeze. The skyscape, with clouds dancing to the ocean's rhythm, offered a brief escape from his turbulent past.
Memories of Robin, his mentor and friend, floated into his consciousness. Robin's untimely death in Dubai was a wound that never healed. The sacrifices he had made to keep Robin safe, only to be absent on the fateful trip that claimed his friend's life, weighed heavily on him. "Why did it have to be you, Robin?" he whispered to the horizon, the question, a haunting torment upon his daily routines.
Ryan was a thinker; as he slid over his ashtray from the stool, he sparked up A morning 'dart' (cigarette), as he called them. His past began to creep into his head, as it did every morning. With each inhalation of addiction-soothing nicotine, his blazing thoughts followed as his brain began to become fully active from his sleep. It was a raven on his shoulder tormenting him, pecking at him ever haunting his consciousness. No matter the love he may have found or the happiness, friends, or family surrounding him. The time to reflect was always grim and consistently unbearable. If he stood still, the Ravel's claws sunk more profoundly; the only reprieve was constant distractions. It's why he kept so busy, creative, and active. Ryan constantly kept moving with hobbies, work, or art. Pushing off the switchblade thoughts ready to cut into his subconscious and bleed out whatever self-respect he had left that day. He threw away ten years of his life, and he relives them every. Single. Day.
"Damn man, what's the point of it all?" Ryan's voice was barely a whisper, lost in the morning breeze. His gaze lingered on the horizon, eyes clouded with confusion and pain. "Robin's gone, and here I am, a ship adrift; up shits creek without a paddle. What good can I do? What purpose do I serve? My skillset? My knowledge? Ive wasted my life, nothing is applicable." The questions hung in the air, unanswered. Ryan's life had indeed been a storm of violence and turmoil, from the gritty days working alongside Robin, watching his back to his hard-fought victories in the boxing ring. He had dreamt of leaving the world of fights behind, yet fate seemed to have woven a different path for him, one that he couldn't escape...
The distant sound of boat horns broke his train of thought. These weren't the usual rhythmic calls that echoed along Vancouver's shores; they carried a sense of urgency, growing louder and more frantic by the second. Ryan leaned forward, squinting into the morning light. The sight that greeted him was anything but ordinary. Dark, ominous and foreboding shapes were cutting through the waters toward the Seawall – military-grade ships that seemed like phantoms against the sun's bright backdrop.
"What the...?" Ryan murmured, a wry smile touching his lips as he recalled a line from a 1930s radio show. "Ah yes, the 'Anti-Frackers' upping their game, bravo!" He often found solace in humour, a shield against the world's harsh realities. Ryan was an unbreakable anvil to the world, always struck to sharpen others' steel. But what about his iron resolve? He bore the burdens so others didn't have to, a silent guardian shouldering the world's weight in stoic silence. Yet beneath that armour of stoicism beat the heart of a man grappling with his vulnerabilities, a man with a core as soft as it was intense.
Just like that- The world as we knew it, changed forever.
The morning's peace shattered abruptly as sirens wailed into life, slicing through the air with a sense of impending doom. The tranquil dawn was now a backdrop to a nightmare unfolding in real time. Ryan's eyes, mirroring the turbulent hues of a stormy sea, narrowed in primal alertness. These were not friendly vessels coming to grace the city's harbour; they were harbingers of chaos, their arrival a silent scream in the gardens of Vancouver's tranquility. As the city around him carried on, blissfully unaware of the looming threat, Ryan's mind shifted into high gear, honed by years of confrontation, conflict and reading other peoples intentions. He understood the unspoken language of death, the subtle shift in the air that preluded catastrophe. The serene calm that had greeted the day now seemed like the deceptive stillness before a devastating storm.
PFFFFT~~
Ryan's coffee ejected out his mouth, a clean mist dispersed, dancing in the ocean winds.
His eyes widened in shock. "That... No, that's not right. That honeycomb structure on the bow – that's rumoured military tech, not something you'd find on a civilian vessel. That's definitely not one of our decommissioned ships; Canada has always had a modest military budget- It's not the U.S. either; they've moved on to those massive city carriers," he muttered, recalling the recent unveiling of the U.S.'s latest naval behemoth designed to be a self-sustaining war ecosystem.
"These are destroyers...carriers...and what in the world are those landing crafts?" His voice trailed off as a wave of realization washed over him. A heavy breath escaped his lips, his heartbeat thundering in unison with a growing sense of dread. This kind of military might, sleek and menacing, was straight out of the pages of a dystopian novel. Ryan's pulse quickened, adrenaline coursing through his veins, mingling with an unsettling fear. Vancouver, with its serene beauty and peaceful reputation, was the last place one would expect a military invasion. Yet, as he stood there, the city around him persevered in blissful ignorance. Laughter and the sounds of daily life echoed up to his balcony, starkly juxtaposed against the darkening horizon of his thoughts.
Something sinister was unfolding, and he felt an urgent need to act. "Ah, damn it!" he exclaimed, frustration boiling over as he hurled his mug to the ground, where it shattered into razer sharp ceramic shards—a glimpse of futures past.
The walls of Ryan's apartment, once a gallery of memories from a life half-lived, now felt like they were closing in on him. The space that had been his refuge, adorned with mementos of a tumultuous past, suddenly felt like a prison. He felt trapped, not by physical barriers, but by the weight of the unfolding crisis. Who could he call? Who would believe him about an impending military assault? Was there even time?
Each option seemed as hopeless as the next, leaving him feeling powerless. His fists, which had once brought him victory in the ring, now seemed futile in the face of this immense and unknown threat.
BOOM
A thunderous crash tore through the city's fabric, piercing the veil of laughter and routine. Giggles changed to Shrieks, the buzzing of cars in the city turned screeching of panicked tires. It was a boom resonating with such force that it seemed to shake the very resolve of the most robust steel, a sound that demands attention and captivates a person, a sound of death; it rattles you to the bone. This explosion marked a pivotal moment that would forever alter the course of Vancouver's history and, indeed, the world's.
The resounding echo of the first explosion heralded a declaration of war on all that was ordinary. In Ryan, the shockwave ignited a transformation. Despair morphed into an unyielding determination, a fire kindled deep within. His skin prickled, each hair standing on end as if his nerves were braille, spelling out the moment's urgency.
"Are they firing at us?" Ryan's voice was a mix of disbelief and rising panic. The thought seemed almost too surreal to entertain. He hesitated momentarily, grappling with the reality of the situation. The explosion's roar, so fierce it shook the foundations of his apartment, jolted him back to the present. Racing back to his balcony, what he saw confirmed his darkest fears.
The ships in the harbour were no longer silent, ominous spectators; they had unleashed their fury, sending plumes of smoke and debris skyward. Vancouver's skyline, once a proud testament to peace and progress, now served as a harrowing backdrop to an unfolding apocalypse. Below, the streets descended into chaos. People scattered in a frantic attempt to escape, their screams piercing the air, a chorus of dawning terror.
Ryan's heart pounded against his chest, each beat a call to action. He was no hero, never the 'good guy' in his story, but he did value life above all. Standing there, witnessing his city being torn apart, he knew he couldn't remain a passive observer. Indecision and shock gave way to resolve.
"MOTHA FU-" he cursed, his words lost in the burst of an explosion, spotted at the last second.
The world around him had erupted into a maelstrom of fire and fury.
An air burst shell detonated with ferocious intensity a mere 50 meters from Ryan's sanctuary. The explosion ripped through the building, an unforgiving hatred that jolted reality itself. The blast wave, a monstrous force of destruction, assaulted his apartment, shattering the windows with an ease that mocked Vancouver's fragility. Glass shards, transformed into lethal projectiles, hurtled through the air with a hunter's precision, each piece seeking its target. Instinctively, Ryan lunged for cover, his only protection a vintage oak promotional board, a relic of a bygone era. This wooden guardian, decorated with the iconic image of Stan Lee, stood as a stoic defender, a symbol of comic heroism now repurposed to shield flesh and blood from the brutal onslaught.
A low hum erupts from the depths of his being as the fireball swirled around him. "Breathe... I can't... don't fall asleep... don't...sleep..." he whispered, fighting the encroaching darkness. His cobalt eyes, glazing over open, fighting to the last light, flickered between consciousness and oblivion. The distant, muffled voices of mentors past echoed in his mind, a fading chorus in the theatre of his memories. Ryan looked to his left, cast one last lingering look at the Vancouver sky, a canvas of blue that seemed so distant now. As his vision began to narrow, a tunnel drawing him away from the light, Ryan felt the grip of darkness pulling him under heavy, yet weightless. Once so vivid and alive, the world around him was fading into shadows.
Amid shrapnel-induced unconsciousness, Ryan's mind catapulted him back to a pivotal moment from his youth – the Ontario Canadian Olympic Trials.
The stadium's noise swirled around him, but it was an entirely different world within the ring. There, it was just Ryan and his opponent, every move a testament to the sacrifices he and Robin(Ryan's longtime mentor both inside, and outside the ring) had made together.
Ryan's style in the ring was unique, a blend of calculated ferocity in speed and agility. He adopted the elusive, angular movements that Robin had honed while serving alongside the hardened Ukrainians on the frontlines of Kyiv. This style was compelling and unpredictable, frustrating his opponents with swift and efficient strikes. Ryan's ability to slip away from counters, almost serpentine in its execution, left them grasping at straws.
Point fighting for the Olympics was a system that worked well with Ryan's style but not necessarily with his mindset. Ryan was a fighter at heart, and sometimes, when pushed, the disciplined techniques would give way to a rawer form of combat. Robin, who always believed in Ryan's potential, saw this as his greatest fault and biggest asset to "push past." In his gruff but encouraging voice, Robin would often spew "The stink in that mind, You've got a head on you that'd make an onion cry," highlighting Ryan's occasionally impulsive nature, and inability to control his emotions when it mattered. This characteristic made Ryan fearless in the ring but also sloppy, open, and vulnerable. It often led him into trouble outside of the solace in prizefighting.
In these trials, Ryan's physical attributes – his slender frame, broad shoulders, wide back and a peculiarly long wingspan that gave him an imposing presence in his weight class – it made him stand out. His frame synchronized with his style, creating a truly unique spectacle of genetic gifts, hard work, and skill.
These memories blended nostalgia and pain as they flickered through Ryan's mind. They were reminders of a path once trodden, a journey shaped by the influence of a mentor and the determination of a fighter's spirit.
As the Olympic Trials set to begin, Robin looked to Ryan to instill confidence for his upcoming bouts, but Ryan was in his element. It was fight day, the fun day, the day to show off all of the hard work. Ryan had confidence, and his style in the ring displayed it in full. He moved with an angular rhythm that was both art and battle – slipping, landing a quick stiff counter cross, then gracefully stepping out of reach inches from returning fire. He made it look fun and easy, as if playing with his prey before fangs clench throat, delivering the killing bite. Looking closer, you can only see fire and determination in his bright eyes. He found purpose in the beautiful science of boxing. His strategy was that of a technical boxer, The Counterpuncher; 1. To bait his opponent into committing, then counter, fight long, fight smart. 2. Beat em' up, Frustrate em', then start slinging the heat in the uppercuts and lead hooks.
The bell rang and the fight was officially underway. Ryan controlled the ring with his long frame. Each exchange was rapid yet controlled, a dance of precise strikes and evasive maneuvers. The world's complexities faded in these moments, leaving only Ryan and the pure essence of the sport he loved. He felt invincible, a force of nature within the confines of the ring. To Ryan, the fight was more than a competition; it was a performance, an exhilarating escape from the mundane. It was true Purpose.
The intensity of the round reached a frustrating outburst by his opponent, who grabbed Ryan by the back of his head– 'SPLIT' called by the referee, his hand placed between them. A judge calls for a correction, catching the referee's attention only for a split second. In this second, Ryan's Opponent saw an opportunity. Lifting his head to move away, Ryan locks eyes with his Opponent, sporting a grin and delivering a sly headbutt as a parting gift. It's against the rules, but part of the game's harsh reality if gone unnoticed. Expelling energy and detesting it was a waste of fuel. It was a jolting reminder of "at all times"(protect yourself), a stark contrast to the discipline and respect Ryan upheld, starting his boxing journey in Thailand under "Muay Thai" rules, ideology of the worrior spirit and discipline. There was a sense of Honor in Lumpinee Stadium.
The outcome of these unsavoury tactics here is an advantage for the opponent. Ryan's inner pools erupt, his mind swirled with raging white waters, crashing and colliding against each other, two oceans with opposite currents meeting in his consciousness. His once technical thoughts, muscle memory mixed with fight iq burst with flames, erupting and incinerating all strategy in his path. His eyes widened, open like he'd found his primal genetic ancestry hidden deep within. The slaughter and the war of history. The bloodshed of 1000 lifetimes. He felt it all. Manic in thought. Ryan wanted to take his glove off and rip his cheeks open from the inside out--
BREAK - Ryan snaps back into it, erupting in stoic, silent, primal rage.
░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ░ ░░░ ░░░ ░░ ░ ▒ ▒▒▒▒ ▒ ▒▒▒▒ ▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▓ ▓▓ ▓▓▓▓ ▓ ▓▓▓ ▓ ▓▓▓ █ ███ ██ █ ████ █ ███████ █ ████ █ ████ ██ ██ █ █████████████████████████████████████The fight escalated, Ryan's disciplined technique unravelled under the seething tide of his rage. The finesse and agility that once defined his footwork gave way to a heavier, more aggressive stance. His feet, usually light and swift under his commanding frame, now felt anchored to the floor, each step driven more by fury than finesse. This transformation in style played perilously into his opponent's advantage. Ryan, usually a master of stick-and-move tactics, found himself engaging in close-quarter brawls, trading his advantage for a risky gamble. His in-and-out maneuvers, once a blur of grace, turned into brutish, in-the-pocket exchanges. This was a terrain where his more muscular and compact opponent had the upper hand. A raw, primal contest of power replaced the tactical dance that Ryan excelled at. Ryan's precise strikes became wild swings, his movements predictable to his seasoned adversary. Seizing the moment, the opponent unleashed a devastating barrage of inside hooks with their compact frame. A vicious right hook, lands clean in the exchange, thrown with the grace of a milkbag, the power hooks brute force, cut through Ryan's defences. The blow landed with a bone-jarring impact, sending a shockwave through Ryan's frame. His world spun as he stumbled, his once dominant presence in the ring now faltering under the weight of his unchecked emotions.
The ground rushed up to meet him as he crashed onto the canvas, the taste of iron and the sting of defeat mingling in his mouth. The crowd's roar faded into a distant echo, a stark reminder of how quickly the tides of battle could turn. Robin's voice sliced through the ringing from the corner, resonating with a force that commanded attention.
"Get your shit together, JUMPIN JESUS RYAN! HEART OF GOLD AND HEAD OF STONE – GET UP, YOU LITTLE COWARD! YOU'RE LETTING IT WIN, AGAIN! STOP THIS ONION HEAD NONSENSE AND DANCE, BOX THIS FELLA – YOU'RE BETTER THAN THIS, ACT LIKE IT, BELIEVE IN IT!"
His words were more than just a call to action; they were a lifeline thrown into the stormy seas of Ryan's mind. Each syllable was drenched in the raw, unfiltered wisdom that only a life spent in the cauldron of combat could forge. Robin's tone was a volatile cocktail of fury and concern, the urgency palpable in his voice. His palms crashed against the ring mat; each hit thunderous punctuation to his fiery sermon.
"You've got the talent, kid, but it's as good as ash if you keep burning it to the ground. I'M HERE FOR YOU, IM RIGHT HERE. SNAP OUT OF IT AND BOX THIS PLASTIC PATTY! MOVE GOD DAMNIT, GET UP!"
On the canvas, Ryan lay dazed, the echo of Robin's voice ringing in his ears. It was more than a mere pep talk; it was a wake-up call that struck a chord deep within him. Amidst the haze of the crowd murmurs and the pulsating pain that coursed through his body, clarity began to emerge. Lying there, Ryan grasped the essence of Robin's message –
"coward? letting it win? Playing my ego are ya Robin...hes right though. Im throwing this shit away."
This moment, sprawled on the canvas under the glaring lights and the crowd's gaze, became a crucible of transformation. The raw emotion and the hard-hitting truth in Robin's words ignited a spark in Ryan. It was time to rise, shake off the shadows of rage, and embrace a fighter's true spirit like he had learned in Thailand – not just with fists but with heart and mind in unison.
Staggered yet stirred by the dual impact of the physical hit and Robin's piercing words, A padded fist crushed into the rings canvas, followed by a kneee and the eruption of the crowd. Ryan was back, and he began to pull himself up from the canvas. His resolve, momentarily dimmed, now reignited with a fierce, clear, calculated intensity. Memories of the gruelling hours spent in the gym flooded back to him – the relentless sparring sessions, the time spent in Thailand, the sweat and toil, and the invaluable lessons etched into his being under Robin's stern tutelage.
With a renewed spirit, Ryan stepped back into the battle, his movements now embodying controlled power and a fluidity to his step. He recalled his time fighting beside the backdrop of the "Sarama" a traditional Thai music played when in combat. The times of learning to move, fight with the music, to flow, to be fluid, to be concise. Ryan finally put it all together in the heat of battle. He had merged his inherent ferocity with the disciplined technique that Robin relentlessly drilled into him, and the mindfull practises of the years he spent under Burklerk Pinsinchai in the jungles of Chiang Mai. His style was now fully displayed, raw and visceral yet refined by countless hours of practice in mind, body and spirit.
The final rounds bell clang to a start in a clinic of skill and sheer willpower. Ryan, driven by a blend of desperation and unwavering determination, unleashed a barrage of calculated and explosive strikes. Each punch and maneuver was a nod to the efficient, no-nonsense Ukrainian style that Robin had imparted to him. Ryan moved rhythmically across the mat, steps measured and precise, executing short, angular movements and deft outside counterpunches. He had returned to his element – the dance of combat, where he felt most alive, a symphony of movement where every step and punch was a testament to his life's journey and experiences as a human being first, and as a fighter second.
In this wake-up call, Ryan reinvigorated and reminded himself of his love for the sport, the exhilarating blend of art and athleticism. He was not just fighting to win; he was celebrating boxing, combat, honouring the path he had walked with Robin, and reclaiming what it meant to be a true fighter through Burklurk Pinsinchai's Teachings.
The round pressed on, and Ryan executed his maneuvers with a surgeon's precision. First;
-- The counterpuncher; a display in timing and accuracy, delivered with the full force of training and innate skill. --
- He deftly slipped his opponent's cross, a move as fluid as it was swift.
- He angled off, creating a space wide enough for his next move.
- With an almost predatory precision, Ryan unleashed a powerful right cross, targeting his opponent's cheek from the angle he had just created. But Ryan wasn't done yet.
- He slipped out again, evading any potential counter from his disoriented opponent. The rhythm, he danced in and out with his precise timing, perfected down to inches and angles.
- In a final, decisive movement of the exchange, Ryan slipped in. He timed his step with a long cross that came off-beat, catching his opponent utterly off-guard. The punch landed with a satisfying impact, culminating in a perfectly executed combination. As he watched his opponent stagger, Ryan couldn't help but think, 'cya sleepy boi,' a silent acknowledgment of his dominance in this singular exchange.
ONE!…TWO!…THREE!…FOUR!…FIVE!…SIX!...SEVEN!..EIGHT!
Ryan's opponent stands, admirable, but futile, driven by sheer will but hampered by sluggish movements, the man rose to his feet, it was clear the fight was reaching its zenith.
The opponent, gathering his remaining strength for a final stand, launched a jab, a last-ditch effort relying more on brute force than finesse. But this was a fatal mistake in Ryan's world – playing right into what Ryan was best at. Counters.
Ryan read the move with the clarity of a seasoned fighter. As the jab came, he effortlessly slipped to the right, evading the punch with a short angular step that spoke of his ring intelligence. Instantly, he countered with the same sharp cross from his right hand, followed by a devastating hook that cut through the air with lethal intent in his left. Grasping at straws, reeling from the counter, Ryans opponent threw a desperate, looping last stand punch, Ryan dipped down and left, rolling the punch with an elegance that made it seem almost effortless. He was Hunting for the Kill Shot. Seizing the moment, Ryan unleashed a ferocious left uppercut, the force of the blow lifting his opponent's chin skyward. He followed up with a right overhand, but just before impact, he halted the punch. There was no need for it; his opponent was already collapsing, the "Lights were on, but no one was Home". The fight was effectively over, Ryan's last combination is the final note, a crescendo that echoed through the ring.
As his opponent hit the canvas, the crowd erupted. Ryan stood in the center of the ring, his chest heaving, every fibre of his being alight with the thrill of victory. This wasn't just a win; it was a performance, a display of skill, heart, and the indomitable spirit of a fighter who had walked through fire and flames to the otherside and emerge victorious.
The final bell Rings with not a single chair in the arena warm; a thunderous clap erupts from the crowd. It was more than just applause; it was an acknowledgment of a battle fiercely fought by both men. In that moment ringside, in a triumphant victory, Ryan and Robin shared a look that spoke volumes, a connection far beyond the usual bounds of mentor and protégé. Their bond, tempered in the crucible of hardship and struggle, was now sealed in the glory of this defining triumph.
Standing amidst the cheers and the adrenaline-fueled euphoria, Ryan found himself momentarily lost in the tide of memories. It was a poignant reminder of the journey that had brought him here, a path marked by triumphs and losses. Robin's teachings transcended the confines of boxing; they were life lessons imprinted deep onto him. Ryan began to slowly step out of the ring; the weight of these reflections settled upon him. The victory was sweet, but it carried the weight of all sacrificed to achieve it. Robin's presence was felt strongly, a guiding force that continued to shape his path, illuminating the way forward even in the most challenging times.
2024.05.11 13:32 Merari01 r/Comics AMA with Neil Kohney from The Other End! Live at 10am CT
 | Hello everyone and welcome to our first Comics AMA event! submitted by Merari01 to comics [link] [comments] Our first guest is Neil Kohney from the webcomic duo Neil + Marissa Kohney who create the unrivalled comic The Other End! Their Instagram can be found here. And the Other End Patreon is found here. The AMA will start roughly around 10AM CT and this thread has been posted a little earlier to give you all the chance to ask some questions before it starts. You can find an example of their exceptional and absurdist work here. Have fun everyone! https://preview.redd.it/f5d6h9li9szc1.png?width=419&format=png&auto=webp&s=9abdebfc3eeb2afe9cdeeffe4fd580627b3e862d |
2024.05.11 06:14 bmkad07 Comic preview number something.... I just want this done *cries*
 | I'm not going to lie doing this comic is a pain in the ass lmao submitted by bmkad07 to TheArcana [link] [comments] |
2024.05.11 03:46 MyIpodStillWorks Justice League of America #208
 | submitted by MyIpodStillWorks to ComicBookCovers [link] [comments] |
2024.05.11 03:34 Sonia341 [COMICS] Marvel Preview: Venom: Separation Anxiety #1
submitted by Sonia341 to thevenomsite [link] [comments]