[KoAII][2-1] Shit Talking Lounge

[Kazuya]

Entries are up. A little suspenseful pause until I get up the results. =D

[Piper Juunanagou]

I think any suspense wore out about two weeks ago =(

[Kazuya]

True.

[Juno]

I can't believe Nappa and Uno are gonna win their rounds. XD.

Even though I'm going to lose, I shall continue to pick the tasks I like and write for them, posting my masterpieces in here =)

[Kazuya]

I still hold the right to disqualify anyone, btw.

[Juno]

So, there has to be a specific amount of people competing next round?

*gets hope*

[Kazuya]

Results are up.


Thanks to everyone who has participated so far. Zangya, depending on how this next round comes about, I may shuffle you in there.

[Juno]

Thanks, Vi.

I got mixed feelings about this round mainly because it sucks to be the only one to lose after actually putting (even if it was just a little bit of rushed) effort into it, but then I also was the only one who got beat fair and square, so that's always good.

[Jesper]

Hm.

I wish I didn't have to split my PM up. That kind of took away from it.

Oh well, I won. xD

[Kazuya]

What really disappointed me was that all these people got to win by default, people who said they'd get something in, even with the extentions, didn't, so that kinda makes it really lame. One case I can understand, because there was something going on in real life that kept them away from doing their entry, but I don't know about the rest.


EDIT: Nappa has been disqualified, Zangya will take the sixth spot for the second round. Round Two scenarios and matchups will be available tomorrow evening.

[Medraut]

Nice everyone wanted this, but none of them participate.

[Juno]

YAY

Sorry Ben. I loved your entry =D

[Saz]

Good thing I didn't post. Bujin would have waffle-crushed me.

[Juno]

Felt like showcasing what I would have written had I gotten a topic I liked. =)

Zangya

I am Gerard Henson, a soldier in Iraq, and I will now give you the details of the most brutal event I have ever witnessed in my entire life.

***

The jeep chugged away. I looked back to it, watching as it just abandoned me in the middle of this Hell on Earth; I watched it for a long time, hoping that maybe, it would turn around, and the driver would say, “You know what, never mind. I’m taking you back home.”

But somehow, deep inside of me, I knew I would never get that pleasure.

The clanking of the grenades fastened to my belt made the process of walking uneasy—I had an irrational fear that somehow, perhaps, one of them would unhook from its clip and blow us all to smithereens. That I’d never get to see my wife and kid again. I held my assault rifle down by my side, looking around at the makeshift campsite—it wasn’t exactly the glorious military base I had expected, but I supposed that it would have to make do.

“Henson!” someone called; I turned towards the voice, wondering perhaps who and why someone had called me. It was a man whom I had come to know intimately just by staring at a picture of him on my way here, in the rough, rocky ride that the jeep had provided—it was my commanding officer, Lieutenant Daniels. He was a white man, looking abnormally like Gary Sinise, and as he walked up to me, I found myself intimidated… almost afraid. He had such a prominent form, such a commanding appearance with his beard, and pistol clutched tightly in one hand. His uniform was already stained with blood; that, perhaps, made me fear more than any other trait of his brutish appearance.

“Yes, sir?” I replied curiously. Somber as I was, I could not help but be eager to do whatever it was I was supposed to do here and then get out of here—I couldn’t stand there much longer, idly. I needed him to give me a purpose, to guide me… maybe once I was done, I would go home somehow. How naïve that thought was.

“Listen, Henson, I just wanted to welcome you to the unit,” he remarked gruffly, extending a hand. I wanted to take it, but I just couldn’t—he understood, I was sure, as he nodded as he lowered it. “You look pale, Henson. Go get some food from the mess—I’m sure the chef’ll treat a new recruit like you to the best we’ve got.” With that, he patted me on the back and shuffled past me, as if I was his assignment; but I was left with an empty feeling, not that feeling of accomplishment I knew he must have had with giving me that impromptu briefing.

He hadn’t given me a purpose. I knew that somehow, I was supposed to be involved in this war, and yet here I was, with no instructions but to treat myself to some sustenance. I questioned it for a moment, but then decided that perhaps my purpose would come in some other way than I had assumed—that perhaps I was stupid for waiting for someone to give me a purpose.

Initiative: a beginning or introductory step; an opening move. I had to take initiative, and find my own way in this war. I’ve discovered now that war is like a chess game, for both the commander and the pawn. The pawns must move first so that the commander can eventually find a way to defeat the other commander, or so that they themselves can be beaten. It is a circle, and I am a pawn. I had to move first, to give an opening and to make one.

But that metaphor was just something that was circulating in the back of my mind—my purpose, if only tentatively, was to find food. “Lieutenant Dan” as I learned the other soldiers sometimes mockingly called him had pointed slightly in one direction as he continued along his merry way in this merry world, so I followed the invisible line that his finger had drawn and eventually found a tent labeled ‘Mess.’

Entering, I found this about as impromptu as the camp itself was; it had a few tables arranged in an unsymmetrical fashion that any obsessive-compulsive would’ve had a field day with, and then a makeshift kitchen in the rear of the tent, with the chef himself serving food frantically, as the soldiers lined up for lunch. It reminded me of MASH, with the mess hall being a central meeting place—people seemed to be swapping stories over the disgusting looking food, and I was now the last in line to join these conversations, both as the new guy in camp and, literally, because I was the last in line for food.

I got my tray, and took my place next to a band of ragtag troops at a table—they were a rather disgusting lot swapping some of the most disgusting stories. But I did not have the energy to move away from earshot of them; I just hoped that perhaps they wouldn’t speak to me.

Then, it began. A large crash came from outside, and I stopped chewing my mashed potatoes long enough to look up and watch as fire erupted into the tent, and another loud bang crashed through the air in forceful sound waves. “Grenades! Bombs! Explosives!” I could hear the Lieutenant shouting from outside, but I was already a victim of the massacre; I collapsed as the table burst into splinters, and did not come back to a state of relative consciousness for a few good minutes.

When I did awake, I heard gunshots flying, and saw through the dust that I was outside again, but that the reasoning for this was that, indeed, the mess tent had been thoroughly destroyed. I felt a pain in my side, but thought I was strong…

I got up and lurched over, clutching my wet ribcage as blood poured out of the wound. I looked back and saw a puddle of the red liquid where I had been lying, and my fingers encroached around the obstacle that caused my bleeding—a large splinter of the wooden table had dug into my ribs, barely sliding between the bones; I freed the obstruction and tossed it aside, grabbing my rifle from the ground beside me and rushing out into the fray.

Men collapsed in pain, but so far, I saw no evidence of death on our side. I watched as people were shot, and lurched back into buildings, but they all refused to die, all kept the strength in them to live and kill these terrorists that dared invade upon our land. I turned a corner, and my own battle began.

As I came around the corner, I saw a robed man, holding a pistol. A simple pistol—I felt as if I was being mocked, as if this purpose that had just come to me—defend my country—was just a joke to this man. I raised my rifle and gunned him down, and his bloody pulp collapsed to the ground in a huddle mass of robes and gauze and skin. I heard chuckling from behind me, and somehow I knew that it was over.

But not in the sense I thought.

I turned to the chuckling, and saw a terrorist standing behind me, pistol raised into the air. He fired off several rounds, and I toppled backwards, doubling over to the ground. I laid here, on this spot, for several hours, listening to the terrorists mock the Americans that they had killed. I listened as they left us all to die, and then you came along. And I told you this story.

I knew I was supposed to do something—I knew I was supposed to have a purpose. You told me that while these terrorists killed our unit, another group of soldiers had gone out on a scouting trip and stumbled upon a cave. You told me that a soldier who everyone knew only as Ben had brutally murdered Osama Bin Laden, who was relatively unguarded. You told me that his guards were the ones to attack us… And now, I feel as if my life is complete. Take this letter to the airport, take it home to my wife and my child… Rachel, my wife, and April, my child…

Rachel & April:

I found it. I found my purpose. Defend my country. Die for my country. Now you’re safe. Keep it that way.

Love forever,
Gerry

Now I can die in peace.

[Celena]

lol at Nappa's post. Epic.

[Juno]

@Vi: So, when exactly will the deadline be? I'm on vacation for the next couple of days (starting monday, ending wednesday) so I might not be able to write.

[Kazuya]

I'm putting up the scenarios tomorrow, but next sunday will be the deadline.


And just for future reference, I will NOT be giving any more extensions.

[Juno]

Sunday? Alright. That's good. Phew.

[Szar]

I'm still pretty annoyed that Uno made it through and I didn't.

Whatever.

[Kazuya]

Uno's sub didn't include four or five lines of "LALALALALALALA".