The Official Story Thread

I wrote this for English earlier this year. I would have made it longer, going into more detail, but there was a 5 page limit:

A dry wind swept across the desolate underbrush, diving in and out of the cloudy dull atmosphere. The sky was bland and a very uninteresting shade of grey, as if it’s very existence was to make one squeamish and reluctant to be here on The Solution. Definitely not your average island in the Caribbean, it seemed more fitting a hundred kilometers off the coast of Northern Siberia. No one ever visited The Solution, no one really knew about the mostly barren island, and if they did, they wouldn’t care in the slightest.

A man sat in a noticeably oversized purple armchair with lime green stripes running down the back. The armchair seemed to be dying to shout out, “This man is the essence of eccentricity,” and, “Get me out of here!” as it really did fit horribly with the whole rest of the place.

The man peered slowly over a stack of books resting on his lap that he had been poring over for days. The island was still dull and empty as ever, he decided. After resting a bit, he delved back into his relentless study, skimming book after book. “This is like the 1980’s all over again,” he decided out loud, slamming shut yet another book. Brief nostalgic memories of a man dozing off, getting drunk, neglecting work; living his life to a low potential, tickled his brain after gently vanishing. The man tossed the book with great force over his head, over the armchair, letting it hit the wall which was now dented for the eighth time. As he would say, “Big things are going down on this island.” The thirst for the answer to the age old question would soon be quenched, even if the extremist of measures had to be taken.

If one was to perhaps, look inside one of the books that lay on the ground at various throwing distances, one would discover first, a severely overdo library card, and second, the name: C.C. Francesco written inside the cover with a sharpie. C.C. Francesco, or a more preferred “Charlie Francesco,” the son of an oil tycoon, was one of the three human beings to regularly visit The Solution. The other two “regulars,” were Wallace Williams, and the janitor.

If one were to venture so boldly into the halls of this mighty Chateau, they would come across a flyer tacked onto the wall, proclaiming that, “Here on The Solution we run a very tight ship,” followed by a list of rules, that applied to “Everyone and anyone onboard.”

Charlie liked to think of himself as the elected dictator that everyone loved on the island. He was, in truth, the executive, legislative, and absolute, power on The Solution. If he wanted to celebrate Christmas in the middle of October, they did, and by “they” I am including Wallace and the janitor. If Charlie became angry or agitated because he couldn’t put the nice ornaments on the palm trees, he could clear them all away with the snap of his fingers, and that is exactly what last November was like. The man had enormous wealth and was easily bored, and therefore pursued things to keep himself busy. Those things usually required a large sum of money, which was to him, about as important as deciding which shoe to tie first.
A young man with curly brown hair cumbersomely walked into the messy room. At least twenty books were stacked up in his hands. “I’ve brought the books you’ve ordered Charlie,” he said relieved as the stack was set down next to the large chair with a thud.

“Splendid, Wallace,” responded Charlie, lifting his head from a children’s book about pirates. “Reading Level Two” could be seen printed across the top of the cover. “I think I may have finally collected enough information to reach my conclusion,” he said excitingly.

Wallace sighed with relief. “So, tell me, why did you need all of those silly books?”

“Why Wallace,” he started, trying his hardest to pretend he was offended, “I don’t believe how these can be perceived as silly, this is important business.” He turned to check on the pile of books that lay beside the hideous chair, as if to see if they had moved. One title read, “Samurai and Ninja Weapons Picture-book.”

Wallace shrugged to himself. He was accustomed to Charlie pretending to be one thing or another, when he quite clearly wasn’t. He was also pretty good at playing along. He brought his hand to his chest, mouth gaping, in mock grieve. “Excuse me,” he said, emphasizing the “me.”

“I have an errand for you, Wallace,” Charlie said changing the subject.
Wallace’s face kept placid, ready to embrace what was to come next. He knew Charlie rarely did any of the strenuous work he proposed.
“I am in need of at least…” he stopped to count on his fingers for a bit, “three pirates and three ninjas.”

“What?” Wallace said almost automatically even though he had heard him.
Charlie moved around in his chair, trying to prove the point that he had been loud and clear with what he required. He watched as Wallace left the room, embarking on his vital journey.

The wind howled and screamed through the night, trying to shake the very foundations of the house with its terror. Charlie sat in his armchair, completely oblivious to the tempest knocking on his door, pondering over everything he had read the past few days. He fantasized restlessly for hours. “Pirates…” he wearily murmured, as he dozed off, finally finished.
Three days later, a knock on the front door broke the silence that had persisted for hours. Wallace stepped inside from the grey lawn with six men following. He didn’t wait for Charlie to formally answer the door because that was never going to happen.

“This looks like Siberia,” commented a man with a raspy voice, and an eye patch. His eye darted around surveying the unwonted mansion.
“That’s an awfully large armchair,” a short, nimble man observed coolly in what Wallace perceived to be, complete gibberish.

The men peered around the great hall, in which they stood in the middle. All of the furniture had been moved to the walls, creating a large wide open space in the center, almost fashioned like a crude arena. A heavy looking granite coffee table, seemed to be only slightly out of place, like someone had given up trying to push it.

Suddenly Charlie strutted out from around a corner, wearing one of his silk evening robes, clip board in hand. He looked excitedly at the men. “Okay,” he began, eyes on his clipboard, “Are you all confident in your abilities as ninjas,” he gave a quick glance at the three small Japanese men, “...or pirates?” He likewise looked at the pirates.
The men stared at him, questioning his sanity.

“I have prepared a test to determine which is the more fit to survive, a ninja or a pirate,” he looked up from his paper, quietly waiting for some acknowledgment or response. He had even worn glasses for effect here.

“What’s in it for us?” ventured one of the pirates. Charlie gave a wry smile.

Thus the battle had begun, right in the middle of Charlie’s living room. It really was spectacular, but you had to be there. Outside the wind led a furious charge around the chateau, creating a ruckus. Wallace stood next to Charlie captivated by the fight that was taking place before his very eyes.

“Now, I believe the pirates will win, Wallace, because of sheer size,” noted Charlie, as he marked something down on his sheet of paper. This was apparently the main argument that he had formulated, “Pirates also work better in groups.”

Wallace’s eyes hadn’t moved from the brawl. It at one point became so intense, that the janitor stopped by to watch. “My paycheck?” Wallace thought, “Why my paycheck?” Charlie had prompted the pirates and ninjas into the fighting by offering Wallace’s paycheck as a reward.

An hour into the fight, the ninjas surrendered. The pirates cackled and howled in victorious glee, while the ninjas shamefully left the premises of The Solution through the back door. One had twisted his ankle pretty badly. The feud was over, the carpet was thoroughly dirtied, and the strong had survived, now demanding reward money. Charlie personally congratulated each pirate, telling them how they had each contributed to his ground breaking discoveries. They mostly ignored this and waited for the paycheck as patiently as they could.

“Well it would seem my work here is done,” Charlie said conclusively, “I’m off to go publish my work.”

All that remained were Wallace and the armchair. For a moment Wallace considered running after the pirates to leave The Solution with them. “Ridiculous,” he thought afterwards. Besides, the janitor had already beaten him there anyway.

Nice, heres my creepy as shit story:
Jason Newitt, hopping out of the Puma-looking vehicle, singing "If bats were blind" -- he'd picked it up for a song at a Warthog rally -- he felt this weird pain, first in his arm then radiating to his chest. Oh no, hadn't he read about this somewhere on the Internet? Those fucking Boulder drivers! They'd be the death of him yet, he thought, just before keeling over into one of those cute little purple covenant computers they like to place with all sorts of antennas and shit to make you think you're not really in a war zone in some ring world in some random ratsass alien community for the idle rich.

Now the weather here has been particularly fine of late, like spring almost, which is why, when Jason went down clutching his heart, his head landed only inches from some sort of shrubbery that had been fooled by this latest evidence of a fake world into prematurely flowering. "Well, will you look at that," Jason thought to himself, dying there on the ground and noticing how the colors of the petals blended delicately into one another at the margins. The sun was golden, the air was clear, the sky was bluer than on earth with only wispy clouds up very, very high. A pelican was going over at the moment, his last he figured, heading west. On second thought, it could be east. Who knew? Voices drifted across the lot in fragments, something about a year-end white sale.

Then a fugue from early childhood unfurled itself across his inner vision. He was standing on an overpass, idly dropping dirt clods onto the windshields of passing cars, and wondering where they were all headed off to in such an awful hurry. When I grow up, he thought, I'll have somewhere to go too. He tried to guess what he'd be and where he might be going then. Maybe a fireman, or a cowboy, or an advertising executive. Maybe to Bangladesh or Arizona. Then the scene shifted to somewhere in a deep wood, with birds calling to each other as the light faded and night came on. Where is everybody, he wondered, and why is it getting dark so soon? He tried to remember whether Daylight Savings was still in effect.

That was pretty much all the onboard recorder in his helmet picked up. The rest was just static with the occasional odd image of various dead marines he must have seen at one time or another, plus at one point, the face of some girl looking at him oddly from a relocation Pelican speeding past in the opposite direction...

Later, at the medical canopy, they said he'd been legally dead for 13 minutes when all of a sudden he sat bolt upright and asked if he'd gotten any new email. A moment later, noticing the medical environment for the first time, he stopped mid-sentence and looked around, confused. "OK, where are my purple hearts, you fuckers!" he demanded.

When Reggie got there he'd learned Jason been accusing everyone on the hospital staff of ripping him off ever since his nothing-less-than-miraculous revival. Finally, after soaking up two liters of a heavily morphinated IV drip, he calmed down a little, but still seemed out of it, distracted. Well, shit, no wonder.

That awesome, but is it part of some larger story?

ahr2nd schrieb:

That awesome, but is it part of some larger story?

yeah but im not going to bother posting it all.

POST ALL OF IT!!!!!!

pwease?

dude you should post your marathon fan fiction as well.

I read all of ahr2nd's and it is awsome!
But I didnt end up reading all of yours macs, sorry
it is good...
but I cant be bothed after reading all of ahr2nds

Heres the other part, this took a long time to fucking copy to the computer.

"I had this weird dream," Jason said at length. "It was like I was in this huge white room and everyone I knew was there, but one guy was clearly in charge and everybody was looking at him with this kind of awe-struck wonderment. It was really creepy." "Who was the guy?" Reggie asked. "That was the creepy part," he said, looking down at his hands and then back up at Reggie. "It was Lou Gerstner."
Jason was lucky. This time. And the experience has clearly changed him. He was more reflective -- introspective and withdrawn. The team all noticed he had been spending a lot more time in the headquarters these days, catching up on the work he used to denigrate so vocally. Also, he was much calmer in combat situations.
A few days later Jason stopped Lou Gerstner, the Fire-team leader in the hallway and said, "Listen, I think we'd better come up with an idea for a new insertion plan rather than just come in there with our guns firing."
"Well, sure, OK I guess" Lou stammered. "But what makes you say that now?"
Jason got a faraway look for several minutes. Lou thought He'd lost him again into one of those comatose reveries he'd been given to slipping into ever since the incident by the covenant control room. But just as Lou was about to walk away Jason said, "I think we need to focus on the larger issues."
"Yeah, like...?"
"Oh, I dunno, hunters, trip mines, camouflaged guerilla . Something like that."
"Covenant with trip mines?" Lou asked. It was just a suggestion, but from the way Jason looked at him, Lou could tell right away that wasn't what he had in mind.
"No," Jason said pointedly, getting right up nose-to-nose and looking straight into Lou's eyes. "No, that's not the ticket at all." Lou suddenly felt dirty. Guilty. As if he'd just been called somehow on a life that hadn't measured up to its God-given potential.
"Hey, back up a bit there pal. Jesus H. Christ on a Crutch! Just because you had some near-death thing doesn't give you the right to go around laying trips on people!" Lou was livid. "How dare he? The ungrateful little turd." "It was as if Jason looked right through me, though -- clearly he hadn't heard a single word I said!" And then Jason was off down the hall again, stopping staffers here and there to ask if they'd ever read any Barbara Tuchman.
Deeply disturbing. But it had gotten Lou thinking. They had originally started the team to test a sort of working hypothesis. The Internet on Halo was relatively new and it looked to everyone back then as if it was a fundamentally different kind of medium from, say, television and the major metropolitan newspapers. One thing everyone liked about it in those days was that the only people who seemed to know how it worked were mainly using it to screw around. However, Lou read something much deeper into that simple observation. He thought it was important to fuck off.
Maybe he'd been wrong though. Lou had to admit it was possible. With the prospect of the new Internet attracting a mass audience, the marketing boys had been rubbing their hands in anticipation of the rank-and-file sheep that would soon be here, fat first for the shearing, then the slaughter. But hold the phone, he thought, not everyone's as stupid as you'd like to think, and the options inherent in the medium will bear them out on this. Given the choice of alternative voices, The People will not choose your bread-and-circus lies, your blatherous blandishments, your empty entertainments. But what they'd do instead, Lou wasn't quite sure. He'd wait and see. Whatever it was, it surely would not be More Of The Same. The magic was way too strong this time around to ever be co-opted.
That was before the banner ads, of course. And Pointcast and the Major News Sites. And the websites of the great technical magazines from Ziff-Davis and CMP and Mecklermedia. Not to mention Harper Collins, TCI, Heinz 57 Varieties and Carter's Little Fucking Pills. Hey, kids, welcome to the revolution!
Resistance with covenant is still strong in the mountain regions, though, in the cultural backwaters, wastelands, along the fringes of empire. Lou could tell by the intelligence demonstrated in message board postings and chat room repartee, by the penetrating insight that's passed back and forth via online mailing lists, and the high humor of innumerable not-for-profit websites. Yeah sure.
Never has mechanism managed to pass so successfully for subject matter. If word processing made us into unwilling typesetters, the Halo Web and all its multifarious attachments have transformed us into some high-tech analog of the traveling vacuum cleaner salesperson. We are all selling to each other, constantly. Encouraging our mutually pointless traffic back and forth across a digital landscape more frightening than those that cradle Dali's melting watches, cluttered with flotsam-and-jetsam pitches, late breaking scoops on matters we could give a shit about, superfluous weather reports for people who no longer go outside, and ads for articles of increasingly unnecessary armor and vehicles.
But so what? We still love the Halo web. Where else could we rail away without rhyme or reason, point or apparent destination, and ever hope to get a halfway decent hearing? As to why we might want to... well, there's that nagging question about publishing once again, and that nastily insistent issue of a theme worthy of putting down in a disciplined and thematic manner upon Real Paper.

Oh man. Good stuff

nice.

Story thread mb.
This is [C]/[IA]Paul's summary of the Ghosts of Onyx Halo book...made me chuckle.

Kurt, a "missing" Spartan-II, is training hundreds of good, 12 year-old, disposable Spartan-III's for suicide but vital missions on the planet Onyx. One mission was blowing the **** out of a covenant reactor planet that was on the edge of the rapidly contracting UNSC space. Another was blowing up a ship-building station. In both, all of the Spartan-III's died, but in the second one (beta company) the Spartan-II's Tom and Lucy survived. Lucy, having seeing all but one of her Spartan-III's vaporized by a critical plasma reactor (with a silver lining of blowing up 7 cruisers and a Covenant battalion in mid-orbit), became psychologically damaged and could never make a sound other than a suppressed, gurgling sound for the rest of here life. Tom was fine. Then, at the training of Gamma company, there are 3 remaining (or present at the time) teams of about 6 people each, Team Gladius, Team Saber, and Team *iforget*. Weird things have been happening. Team Katana, a few weeks back, mysteriously vanished in "Zone 67" (an off limits area on Onyx where we learn there are Forerunner cities and actually upgraded sentinels. If you ever play Halo, even on legendary, with a sentinel, it takes him about 5 seconds to completely drains your shields, and there is no charge time. There is no central sphere, and they make noise when they move. They also do not move very fast. Only a few of them have energy shields, and you can break them pretty easily. The Onyx sentinels have really tough shields, can combine, go up to speeds of 200 km per hour, have energy weapon that blasts and vaporizes people in an instant. And, they are totally silent.) and were never heard from again. Anyway, while the three teams are competing for top honors, they encounter the sentinels.
Team Gladius is dead, but team Saber and *iforget* destroy one or two the sentinels with slower moving projectiles, which do not activate their delayed shields. One is hit in the eye with a rock, and the other, I think is punched in the "eye" (the visual and weapon part of the sentinel). They get back to base and rendevous with Kurt (now a lieutenant commander) and Chief Petty Officer Fraklin Mendez (under Kurt Ambrose's command. Ambrose was a made up name because Kurt forgot his original family name.). Then, Kelly and Dr. Halsey come (:O).
Dr. Halsey and Kelly, at the time, were in a chiroptera class vessel on a super secret mission. Kelly was drugged so Dr. Halsey could bring her along without resistance. Dr. Halsey, after reading Colenel Ackerson's secret files, hypothesized that he (the bastard) would create his own, weaker Spartans. "She shuddered at what shortcuts he (Colenel Ackerson) would do with his own private army of spartans [use them as disposable heroes], and what shortcuts he might be taking." She wanted to go to these Spartan-III's and convince them to hunker down in the Forerunner "shield world" (I'll get more into that later, Onyx), so that they could hide from the Halos, the covenant, and wait until the war was over. Dr. Halsy thought that the Covenant-Human war could never be won by humans, only survived.
When she arrived at Onyx, Dr. Halsey encountered 312 (exactly) sentinels surrounding the planet. They opened fire. Kelly had just waken up. When the Chiroptera class vessel accelerated to high velolcity, Dr. Halsey fell unconscious, so Kelly had to guide it through the Sentinel defense fleet and landed. She first through the Spartan-III's were covenant and started to fight, but Kurt told her to stop being an *** and stop shooting, so she's like "Kurt!" does the Spartan smile/greeting, but then they start running from sentinels and they're like "BANG BANG" and the sentinels are like "BANG BANG" and then Rammstein's like "FEURER FREI!" (sorry, had to do it). Then they make a plan that works, to blow the s*** out of the sentinels, which works, then Dr. Halsye wakes up, makes all these theories that are entirely correct, and gets help from the Onyx AI who fires a super duper version of the Man Cannon: The slipspace message cannon! Anyway, he shoots it, and a message from Cortana on Delta Halo with an attached message "SEND SPARTANS."
Then it goes to Earth where Blue team (now Fred, Linda, and Will) are kicking the s*** out of some covenant bastards trying to steal stuffz from Earth. Then Blue team gets nukes Brutes are taking, arms them, blows up a covenant destroyer, then Lord is like "GO TO ONYX." Blue team goes into the second destroyer, kills everything on it, then takes it to onyx. It get's shot and it's teh burn and it crashes on Onyx and Blue team is like "LOL DROPSHIP" and flies away. Then, they meet up with the other Spartans and are like "OMG KURT." They fight sentinels, fly a dropship, then go into a Forerunner city.
Meanwhile, this elite is like "OMG FORERUNNER CITY" and then goes and greets sentinels. Then the sentinels blow up some of his ships, and he blows up sentinels. Then he goes to Onyx where the humans have discovered that Onyx has a teleportation net (which is active sliptream transferrencencencencence). In the Forerunner's plan, they were supposed to go hide in Onyx, the "Shield world," where they would hide in another system within a slipspace field which is a few feet in diameter, and is 4-D where the inside is a Dyson sphere. Then they transport to the core and are like "OMG TO THE CENTER" and Kurt is like "OMG COVENANTS ARE COMING WE MUST STOP THEM FROM GOING THROIUGH TEH TELEPORTATION PORTAL" and they fight a big battle. Will dies (NOEZ!!) and so does another guy and girl Spartan-III. Then all of them go through the teleporter except Kurt, who is going to make sure it closes. Did I mention the humans have nukes?
Then the Elite is like "U FAIL" and Kurt is hallucinating, seeing all the dead Spartans around him, giving him the thumbs up "Can do" Spartan signal. He says, "U R DUMB. I NEVER DIE." *nuclear explosion*
Summing it up, all the Spartans (except MC and Gray team who has been missing for over a year, probably dead), Dr. Halsey, and Chief Mendez are stuck in the Dyson sphere. Voro (elite dude) and his battalion is dead. So, unless Gray team comes back or the people get out of the Dyson sphere, There aren't going to be many other Spartans in Halo 3.
UNLESS THE MC IS SO SMART HE CLONES HIMSELF. Which would be called Cooperative.

shadowkhas schrieb:

Then the Elite is like "U FAIL" and Kurt is hallucinating, seeing all the dead Spartans around him, giving him the thumbs up "Can do" Spartan signal. He says, "U R DUMB. I NEVER DIE." *nuclear explosion*

epic lolz!

and good idea, this is now the official story thread. (re named and made a sticky)

not bad.

Here is my cheesy story
Its got uber short chapters

Chapter 1.

I got in to work late. Crap. If you know my boss, then you know that you're screwed over if you're late. As I tried to quietly close the door he yelled "GALEWOOD, GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!"
I swore under my breath as I shuffled in. "Yeah chief?" I muttered.
"You're late again and we have a big case".
I swore under my breath again and replied, "Great, what happened?"
He grimmest and said, "Go see for yourself."
After he gave me the directions, I got in my old BMW and speed off.

Chapter 2.

As I walked in to the shit-hole apartment, I saw Cindy, our forensics expert, and Guy, her know nothing assistant. I looked around to see that it was crappier on the inside. Cindy acknowledged my presence and immediately began to brief me.
"Well, there's forced entry over there, blood splatters here, here, and here, meaning this thing is huge fast and hungry, notice tha-" suddenly she stopped and yelled at Guy "OY!!! DON'T POKE THE FICKIN CORPSE!!!!!" Returning her attention to me she continued, "Where were we, as yes, the weird part." I thought of saying something smart-assed but decided other wise. She said "Here we think 'it' split in two, built a nest, mated with itself, and ran off through here."
She was pointed at the window but something else caught my eye.
"Whats this" I interrupted her.
"Oh," She turned pale, "Thats either a pizza or the pizza delivery guy."
As you can clearly see, my job is far from what you would consider...'normal'
"I hate Saturdays"

Well, when I write more i'll post it til' then
~Nightingale

umm.... you must have been really bored.

yeah...

eh, probably

that was...deep

sounds like something macs likes lol

I have a question. If ass is a noun, then it could be possesive right? So technically you could say, "It is the ass's poop."

Well hey, I never thought of that!

Awesome

Try not to use run-on sentences.

/grammarnazi