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06-10-2011, 01:09 AM | #561 |
Darth_Henning
Join Date: Jul 2008
Location: Canada
Posts: 21,174
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Quote:
Skullbuster...hmm...... |
06-10-2011, 01:13 AM | #562 |
FEED ME MORE!
Join Date: Apr 2009
Location: Korugar, Space Sector 1417
Posts: 8,930
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sweet, can't wait to read as always, this'll give me time to catch up
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I <3 LJ, Chari, Phoenix, Sweetness, and the Skittles Queen Lady D owner of page 9301 of GI Joe, Monkeytown RIP Dark Songstress, Gyre-Viper, samantha Queen Charijoe's #1 Fan/champion Rising_Phoenix2's lackey TofuNinja's genin Sole Owner of Tali's Lab Total Forum Game kills:18 |
06-18-2011, 06:29 AM | #563 |
Forever Ronin
Join Date: Jan 2009
Location: Fayetteville, NC
Posts: 979
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For Anyone who Hasn't found this awesomeness yet,
BUMP.
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The great sword sheathed Glitters brightly in the dark Unseen and at rest - Budo |
06-27-2011, 01:37 PM | #564 |
Darth_Henning
Join Date: Jul 2008
Location: Canada
Posts: 21,174
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UPDATE: now that i'm finished travelling and everything else I needed to get done urgently, I plan to start writing again. Expect the following to appear within the next 2 weeks:
04/25/2034 - Scoop 04/26/2034 - Deceit, Lies and Biker GangsCOMING SOON Blackout (date TBD) And within the next month: 05/02/2034 - Flight SchoolCOMING SOON 05/08/2034 - The Screaming EaglesCOMING SOON Beyond that is a WIP |
06-27-2011, 02:05 PM | #565 |
FEED ME MORE!
Join Date: Apr 2009
Location: Korugar, Space Sector 1417
Posts: 8,930
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sweet, thanks for the update doc
__________________
I <3 LJ, Chari, Phoenix, Sweetness, and the Skittles Queen Lady D owner of page 9301 of GI Joe, Monkeytown RIP Dark Songstress, Gyre-Viper, samantha Queen Charijoe's #1 Fan/champion Rising_Phoenix2's lackey TofuNinja's genin Sole Owner of Tali's Lab Total Forum Game kills:18 |
07-14-2011, 08:42 PM | #566 |
Forever Ronin
Join Date: Jan 2009
Location: Fayetteville, NC
Posts: 979
|
Bump!!!
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The great sword sheathed Glitters brightly in the dark Unseen and at rest - Budo |
07-17-2011, 04:12 AM | #567 |
Darth_Henning
Join Date: Jul 2008
Location: Canada
Posts: 21,174
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Thanks for the bump(s) Neuspeaq.
All right, I'm FINALLY back to writing after a 2 month plus hiatus. An attempt at explaination simply boils down to the fact that I've been really busy and unable to really get up any motivation to write. When I started to do the Joeverse, I had 3 basic core stories that I really wanted to tell: the opening with Lifeline/Chuckles, New York, and the big Finale. With New York finally completed in a form that I'm actually quite happy with I was suffering a bit of a writer's hangover. Its not that I have a lack of stories to write. In fact, I have the outlines for 48 more done already that I plan to start chewing my way through, and that doesn't even begin to start to scratch the surface of the stories that I'm going to have to write before we get to that finale. I really appreciate the support that everyone has shown throughout the year and a half that this has been running, and I hope that you'll all continue to be entertained by what I can provide. I do have one request though, something I really do enjoy is responding to your questions/comments after each story, so if you have any, please don't hesitate to ask, no matter what it may be. It can be about the plot, characters, anything I may have left vague, the writing process, deleted scenes which may not have made the final version (almost EVERY story has a large section that was eventually cut), and upcoming plans. My only 2 limitations are I'm not telling you how it ends (even though I know), and I reserve the right to obscure plot points about certain characters that would undermine future stories. Of course, don't feel obligated to comment, but please don't hold back either. YO JOE!!! ---------------------------------------------- 04/25/2034 - Scoop C-130 Hercules - Cargo Bay Tara Michaels had finally manged to get some sleep on the way to, she had to pause to think about where they were headed. Somewhere called The Rock, which she knew nothing about. The shut-eye hadn't been a deliberate attempt, but the factor of exhaustion. She'd been awake for more or less 24 hours straight before passing out. After the battle in New York had concluded, Colton had told her that the Joes wanted her service as a reporter. She remembered overhearing Colton and Sparks in discussion about some details of the battle, or rather, other operations Cobra had attempted to carry out during the battle that another group of Joes had thwarted. She knew she shouldn't have eavesdropped on them, and felt guilty afterwards, and then promptly terrified when Colton had come up to her leaning against the pole at the edge of the patio and started talking to her about it. She'd been certain that she was about to be 'detained indefinitely' until that was no longer important. But Colton had something else up his sleeve. She still wasn't clear where the idea had originated, and Colton, being his usual abrupt self, hadn't taken the time to elaborate. In short the G.I. Joe command team had decided that unlike most special operations units that the world knew nothing about, they were going to play the game slightly differently. Though most of their operational details would remained classified so many levels up that it made her head hurt, she would be allowed exclusive interviews and access to certain team personnel, and allowed to film on the battlefield. Anything she produced would be extremely heavily censored and edited before broadcast, but it WAS an exclusive arrangement. The Third World War had seen the introduction of a new type of reporter, unaffectionately referred to as an "Embed"; someone who followed the troops into battle on one side or another, hanging out behind them or with them, interviewing them, filming the battles as they went on, and bringing the public closer than ever to the gore and horrors of war. Of course, it had evolved to be simply a new form of reality television to most based on how the broadcasts were made, but a few of the "Embeds" had managed to keep their journalistic integrity to get the news out. Tara had always hoped she was counted as one of those, and liked to think that her record, rather than her looks, that had earned her her position on The Today Show. Even if it hadn't, apparently it had gotten the attention of some of the G.I. Joe brass. Rumors and misinformation were already swirling surrounding the team and their enemies in Cobra. Colton, and others, believed the only way to make sure that people got the real news about what was happening in the war was to have an embed of their own who they could trust to do her job without reverting to sensationalism, and actually providing news that the masses could understand. He'd been minimal on details, simply informing her that it was a one person assignment. No camera-man, no support staff, all editing done by the IT department, as they had time. Later she'd remembered Edwin had talked to her about the same, albeit briefly, when she'd arrived at the United Nations that morning. At some point when she had been shot at, she'd managed to forget that. She'd called the office, and explained, and if technology had allowed it, she was sure they'd have jumped through the receiver to thank Colton personally for the position. During a quick goodbye to James he'd assured her in no uncertain terms, that even if she had been allowed a camera man, there was no way he was going to be out of the office. EVER again. Some people could get shot at, and forget about it, some couldn't. A few quick calls to friends in the city to get them to check her place and feed her dogs Goldie and Rocky, and she was in a troop transport out to the military airfield. She'd been promised that all the gear she required would be provided, as well as a minimal wardrobe so there had been no need to go home and pack. She'd been checked on arrival, given a chute and a seat, and promptly fell asleep, notepad open on her lap, attempting to listen to the conversations between the other Joes who were climbing aboard for the trip home, wherever home was. Now that she was awake, she intended to find out. And fast. Several conversations were going on around her between various groups. She counted about 20 soldiers strapped into seats near the end of the plane, with most of the hold taken up with small vehicles, and crates of...who knew what, allowing very little space to maneuver. Presumably there was a washroom somewhere on board this flying tin can, but practicality suggested to her it was better to wait until they landed. Hopefully soon. So far none of the soldiers around her appeared to have noticed that she'd awoken, and she took stock of those sitting around her. Immediately to her left sat the hulking man she vaguely remembered encountering on her initial arrival at the UN seemingly so long ago. Barrage, if she remembered correctly. Her eyes passed over the rest of the assembly, attempting to locate one of the Joes whom she had met but she didn't recognize any of the others seated on either side of the fuselage. Tara had long ago given up hope of seeing two uniforms that looked vaguely alike on this group, but still, sometimes the differences were quite jarring. Directly across from her sat a man in a neon green body suit surmounted by blazing silver armor, beside him, a ruddy-faced man in a haz-mat suit, and on his other side a grim looking blond man in a red vest, with somewhat baggy grey pants. Slowly Tara realized that over the handful of conversations in the hold, she could hear heavy metal music coming from her right. Turning her head for her first time in hours, Tara immediately regretted the action, hearing and feeling the vertebrae in her neck crack in protest. The soldier beside her had an over-sized pair of old-style headphones plastered over his helmet, and something indescribable blasting through them. "Blaster, would you please turn down that clap-trap," growled a deep baritone from her other side, "you've woken our guest." Tara recognized the voice from that morning (or was it the morning before now?). Major Barrage. She was sure of the name now. The soldier, apparently called Blaster, didn't appear to respond, that is, until a meaty arm reached in front of Tara and gave him a shake that would dislodge the rivets on an Abrams tank. "Geez man, cool it," Blaster managed to squawk while grabbing the headphones that had fallen off his head. The music, if it could even be called that, was much louder now. "Turn it down a notch man, you'd wake up the dead." Blaster obeyed, fiddling with something on his belt, the sound from the headphones being reduced - somewhat - but still complained, "Widescope doesn't seem to mind." Tara followed Blaster's tilted head to observe the man on his other side. Dressed in a Grey uniform with a black tactical vest, he was reclined in his seat with a black dog curled up on his feet and his head tilted back against the fuselage with a grey brimmed patrol cap covering his eyes. "Hiroshima, Nagasaki and New Delhi combined would not wake that man," came a voice from across the cabin. This from a man across the room in a black shirt, camouflage pants, a dark tan vest and black boonie hat. He had a slight accent, predominantly American, with a hint of Jamaican, despite his pale skin and slightly Asiatic facial features, partially obscured by a large pair of black sunglasses. "Ms. Michaels, may I introduce our chief jungle rat, Pathfinder." "Career military, service in Indonesia and Vietnam during the war. We would have almost rubbed shoulders in that hell-hole," he smiled. "My group always appreciated your reporting Ms. Michaels. Glad to have you with us." "Thank you," Tara blushed. She'd never been a celebrity. Even with her position on Today, she'd still been able to shopping on weekends without an obscene number of people recognizing her. Yet, somehow, every person she met from this outfit seemed to know her. She guessed that if anyone would have followed her war correspondence, it would be the soldiers themselves and their families. "You've met Blaster and Widescope," Barrage made a gesture towards the others, then gave up and shook his head, as Blaster was once more buried in his sonic heaven, and Widescope remained comatose. "On the far side, that's Lightfoot with his arms encased in that Cobra explosive." "Yo. I'd shake hands, but we'd all go boom." "You deactivated that thing about ten hours ago," Pathfinder teased, "are there...gremlins?" "Anything that has fissionable materials in it can be deadly, no matter what you do to try and prevent it." "Please ignore the Zen Fussbudget," Pathfinder sighed, "Lightfoot has elevated being careful to an art form." This brought chuckles from the others on the transport. Apparently this was a well-known quality. Barrage smiled through his goatee, "on my other side are Hat Trick, Peacemaker, Foray and Super Trooper." Each raised their hand in greeting as they were introduced. "Forgive me," Tara couldn't help herself, "is that a hockey stick?" she asked in disbelief. "Quite right," Hat Trick responded without the slightest hint of concern. "Never leave home without one. You never know when you'll need one. Especially one like this."He grinned, and snapped his wrists in opposite directions, sliding the top half of the shaft down along the length of the lower half. From the upper shaft extended a sight, and the lower popped down a handle and trigger. As he hefted the odd-looking rifle into a single hand, slotting the blade of the stick under his arm, his left hand slapped a clip onto the side of the stick, and somehow it held. "Disturbingly enough," spoke a blond man with a mustache directly across from the seemingly impossible weapon, "it actually works." He shook his head then tossed a salute, "Windchill, arctic ops. Sniper on skis. Or just regular infantry most of the time. Should have stayed on the world circuit." "Good old 'Chill likes to remind us all he ALMOST medaled at the Olympics," Joked the man next to him. "Its not my fault that I got a defective shell!" Windchill snarled. "I'd have taken gold without that!" "Sure you would have snow boy." "Ah, what would you tree-huggers know?" Windchill shook his head. "That's quite enough Rainforest," Barrage ordered sternly when it seemed like the Latino was about to continue with his ribbing. "Rainforest and Bubba," he gestured towards the rear of the cargo bay next to Pathfinder, "work with Pathfinder in our jungle and swamp team. Useful for extra infantry, but not much help for cleanup in New York, especially when we need them for..." he trailed off and paused, "other operations at this time." "You ever going to drop the secrecy act?" Tara asked, feigning exasperation. "Yes. When the generals tell me to Miss. Nothing personal you understand. "Of course not." In turn she was introduced to the other Joes in the transport: Hardhead and Sprite, regular infantry jocks sandwiched near the 'front' beside a stack of crates that looked like it was about to crash on them at any instant; directly across from Barrage and her, Airborne and Crazylegs, injured para-jumpers who had crashed down with their team into the middle of a Cobra mechanized brigade and somehow come out alive with prisoners; and beside them Sci-fi and Airtight, a laser sniper and a CRB warfare specialist. "Laser sniper?" Tara asked with a small measure of disbelief. Sci-fi muttered something about 'two post-doctoral fellows for this shit', and then proceeded to ignore her. "Pardon our embittered comrade," Hat Trick sighed. "Not all Canadians are great people like us it seems. He seems to think that no one appreciates his engineering brilliance. Take this hockey stick, or half-a-dozen of the vehicles that repelled Cobra. We all appreciate them, we just don't tell him because he's such a creep." "Or," Pathfinder asked, "is he such a creep because we don't tell him?" "Good question. I'll ask that shrink that's supposed to be showing up a base next week," Hat Trick replied. "If he ever finishes with my daddy issues...since I had two of them." Even Sci-fi seemed to smile at that. "Don't knock it," Airtight said, "he might be quite helpful." "Poveglia?" asked Pathfinder, and Airtight just nodded. "Dude, I have no idea what went down there, but you guys are gonna have to let it go sooner or later. If you don't, you're gonna make mistakes. And I for one,... What the hell is that?" Tara herself was wondering, staring at something Airtight had just pulled out of a cooler on the floor. "Peanut butter, tomato and anchovies sandwich," he replied. "Want some? I have a couple extra." Pathfinder made a face, and Blaster - how on earth he had listened to what was going on over the noise in his ears, Tara would never understand - replied, "I believe I can postulate for all of us that we must refuse your magnanimous offer." Translation: Hell no. "Ok, I've gotta ask," Hat Trick said frowning as he leaned forward to look at Blaster, "do you EWD guys TRY to sound pompous all the time? Or does it come naturally?" "Its a gift," Blaster smiled, and then began air-guitaring. "EWD?" Tara queried once her eyebrows had settled back in their normal position. "Experimental Weapons Division," Barricade explained. "One of the many random sets of guys who exist within our outfit for certain causes." "Proud member of Tiger Force," supplied Sprite. "Snow Foxes here," Windchill said with evident pride. "Marauders," Hardhead chimed in. "Sky patrol," Airborne and Crazy Legs added in unison. "Beard Force," Foray said. Tara would have thought him serious except for his inability to keep a straight face. Laughter filled the cabin, and Tara started taking notes on what each of the groups was responsible for. Most of them were fairly straight-forward and uninteresting until someone brought up something called 'Special Services'. "Well, to be honest, no one really knows what Special Services is. A handful of guys have it listed officially as their SMS, but they're completely closed mouthed about it. I've worked with guys like Mirage and Mr. Bones, and they're good guys and great in a firefight, but don't expect them to tell you more than they have to about their jobs." Rainforest explained. "And then," added Airtight, "there's a bunch of Joes involved who aren't even officially listed as part of the SS. Its like the shadow ops or Shadow Ops." "Yeah, I know Spreadsheet, our accountant," Sprite agreed, "he was working work payroll has never figured out who, what, where, or when their missions are. They have no official payroll. No Budget. Its as if they don't exist. Officially of course, but that's probably the point.. Personally I suspect that Lifeline funds them out of pocket. Not that anyone could ever check." "Isn't that kind of perfect for special ops?" queried Tara. "A fair point," conceded Barrage. "But it still spooks people out. A division of Joes who answer only to Lifeline and Hawk, completely outside the chain of command? Doing sneaky shit that WE don't even know about? Without Colton's official approval? Especially when Lifeline ostensibly has no former service record? Scares the fuck outta most of us." "Well, perhaps you could ask some of them about it?" Tara suggested. "You can ask, but even if its part of their file, no one's going to answer." That part of the conversation had died as quickly as it began, and they returned to more cheerful banter for the rest of the flight until the pilot, a man called Skywalker, came over the intercom to tell them to strap in for 'the usual landing'. "What does he mean?" Tara asked, looking at the others who were all tightening their harnesses. Even Widescope had managed to recover from his Coma and spring to action. "Let me put it this way," Airborne said, "imagine a rock, in a tornado, attempting to set down on a runway that's about five percent shorter than it could be with a giant rock wall at the end. That's about what we're dealing with. Fierce cross-winds, too short of a run-way, and an over-loaded bird. Fun for all." "Best to put your head between your legs and kiss your butt goodbye!" "So helpful Pathfinder, so helpful" ----------------------------------------------------------- Somehow they made it down into a place apparently named "The Rock" without dying. Though Tara was sure her dentist would be wondering how her teeth had loosened so badly the next time she went in for a cleaning. The base's name wasn't particularly imaginative if anyone was to ask her. The run-way and hanger had clearly been dug straight into bedrock somewhere. The floor may have been concrete, and the pillars covered with sheet-metal, but a simple glance upwards revealed the rock above the flood-lights hung overhead, behind the tangle of pipes and wiring that serviced several dozen fighters, helicopters and other aircraft. Barrage put a hand on her elbow to guide her as she descended the ramp towards a squat white machine with poor excuses for seats strapped three to a side, pulling a pallet full of cargo behind it. Skywalker came back from the cockpit and directed Hardhead and Sprite to help him unload it under one of the wings. Repair material apparently. Tara was less than pleased to learn that the plane she had been flying in for who knew how long had been camouflaging significant battle damage with nothing more than duct tape. "Hop on the Trip Tee," Barrage instructed, suiting words to action. "Trip Tee?" "Triple T," Barrage elaborated, "Troop and Tonnage Transport. We use them on base and on the battle field to haul things around, be the cargo living, deadly or anything in between." The machine jerked to life as he continued, "its treads allow it to operate anywhere, it can haul up to seventy times its own weight, and its practically indestructible. "Except for the whole, exposed driver thing," the man in the one permanent seat commented. "Well, except for that Lugnut," agreed Barrage, "I thought EWD was coming up with some indestructible clear steel thing for you to hide behind. Tara tried to get a good look at the man, but couldn't turn around in her seat properly without the rumbling ride jamming uncomfortable steel pieces into places they did NOT belong. "Its in development," Snorted Lugnut. "I'd just be happy with a cage like a bomb-disposal unit you know?" "I'll bug Laptop when I see her next." "Thanks man." The Triple T shuddered to a stop as spine-jarringly as it had started, only a few hundred meters away, "off you go." Tara followed barrage out and through a door in one wall into a massive circular concourse. It dropped away around a dozen levels below them to a floor far below that seemed to be an obstacle course of some sort. Each of the balcony levels appeared to be dedicated to a different purpose, medical, mess, communications, she didn't have enough time to get a good look at it before Barrage pulled her by the arm into a waiting elevator car, and punched a button to send them up into what she had at first thought was the ceiling. The lobby the car dumped them out into would have been over the circular pit that cored through the rest of the subterranean base. Tara was reasonably certain that's what it was. Unless someone had had the crazy idea to hollow out an entire mountain, that's the only place they could be. Hallways, guarded by doors of - presumably bulletproof - glass radiated from this central area which was dominated by a massive circular desk. Behind which sat a woman dressed in a distinctly flamboyant pink uniform. On closer inspection as they approached the desk, Tara recognized it as standard infantry BDU design, but made entirely of pink fabric which matched the beret perched jauntily on top of the woman's brunette locks. "Good morning my Queen," Barrage intoned, "I've been instructed to bring Ms. Tara Michaels in for interview." "Barrage darling," gushed The Queen, "yes of course," she pointed towards one set of doors through which Barricade shooed Tara before continuing his conversation with the obviously bubbling Ensign behind the desk. Tara passed through the glass doors, which whisked closed almost silently behind her, and sat where "The Queen" had indicated, staring at the row of mahogany wood doors that lined the walls. Once she got past the clearly rock ceiling above her, it looked more or less like any hallway of offices that she'd ever seen, except for the small tables situated between every door. On each of them rested a chess set and an arrow on a hinge. Every game was in some state of progress, and to muse herself, Tara went over to look at some of them. She was just starting to analyze the second game when an elderly man, dressed in a military khaki suit, bordering on emaciated came walking down the corridor His gait and bearing did not so much as hint at his advanced age, or the poor eyesight suggested by the thick glasses perched at the end of his nose. He stopped beside her, and gave her an appraising look from shoes to hair, back down, and then back up just to the height of the chess board, which he studied in an equally aloof manner, before shifting a bishop to take a knight, leaving it open to being taken by a pawn. Which Tara realized a minute later, as the man turned to face the board on the opposite side of the door, would allow his queen to move and put the opposing King in checkmate. Sacrifice for victory. Interesting. The man moved something Tara couldn't see on the other board, straightened, and then turned the arrows beside each of the board to face the doors on either side of the one they stood in front of. For the first time Tara thought to glance at the black letters inscribed into the gold name plate. MAJOR GENERAL J.J. AUSTIN (Ret.) Austin, or at least Tara presumed this man was he, opened the door and gestured her inside. She made her way over to the single, uncomfortable, chair positioned beside the desk that dominated most of the room. Along the back wall was a map of the world with various dots moving around it. The text label beside each was too small to read from the chair, but given the concentration of green in and around New York city, it was obviously for tactical purposes. Along the left wall were screens that were currently dark, and along the right wall a line of filing cabinets, along the top of which were painstakingly exact scale models of tanks and other armor dating from as early as the First World War all the way through the Third. Austin regarded her coolly across the desk over the rims of his spectacles, his cold blue eyes appearing to peer straight through her. She sighed and waited, staring back, eyes focused just above the bridge of his nose. Or she tried. Those eyes seemed to keep pulling her back, and eventually she had to look away. As soon as she did Austin started, "my name, as you no doubt realized, is General James Joseph Austin. That's all you need to now about me. We're here to get to know YOU. So lets begin." About ten minutes in, Tara started to think that the man would have done the Spanish Inquisition proud. By the half hour mark, she had realized that was quite unfair; he would have eaten the worst inquisitor for breakfast, spat him back out, and then started all over again. He quickly knew more about her childhood and schooling than her parent's likely remembered. Her early career in journalism was carefully deconstructed to a level of detail she barely remembered. By the time they got to her work as an embed during the war, he was asking for details of events down to the minute, and Tara was quickly lost and confused in her own life. One thing was clear though, Austin loathed Embeds, loathed them with a passion that bordered on the fanatical. Finally though, after almost three hours, Tara finally got to enjoy a moment's silence, and contemplate the ungodly amount of sweat currently soaking her clothing. Austin regarded her, not quite with open hostility, but with hostility hidden behind a tiny piece of cheese cloth. Eventually he nodded and scrawled something in her file. "Dismissed soldier." Tara blinked, "so," she hesitated, "I'm a Joe then?" "No, you sure as hell aren't. But you are on this unit's roster, despite my personal opinion. Barrage is saddled with dealing with you. Get out of my office." She required no further urging to high-tail it for the door. When it closed she breathed a sigh of relief. "Well," Barricade's voice came from down the hall, where he was leaning back in one of the chairs, a tablet propped on one knee, "I see old Iron Butt hasn't lost his touch. Scary, ain't he?" "That's an understatement and a half." "You have to remember," Barricade explained, gesturing her to follow him back through the waiting room to a set of elevators, "that he comes from the old school. He fought in Afghanistan and Iraq at the turn of the century, not to mention some ungodly places before then, was on the ground in the far east a decade before the real war began, and was on the front lines through the entire war. He can be quite staunch, but there's no one better at evaluating people and running a unit. I think that's why Colton brought him in. He's retired, but this is an easy way for him to keep his hands in the fire without risking getting burned. As far as I know, all he does is fiddle with some personnel stuff and then return to whatever he does in retirement." "Probably stealing candy for children and kicking their puppies." Barricade laughed, "I wouldn't be surprised in the least. Seriously though, he does eventually warm up. Or so I'm told." "Really? On an unrelated note, I have a bridge in east New York that I need to sell. Interested?" "Depends. Was that one of the ones we blew up yesterday?" It was almost funny until the implications of the collateral damage to the city and more importantly the millions who lived there hit her. It was easy to forget in the wake of a victory, and doubtlessly across the country and the world people would be celebrating, but back in New York, they'd be picking up the pieces of friendships, families, businesses, and lives that had been shattered. Life went on for most, but it would never be the same. As Barricade led her into the armory she realized that hers never would be either. Code Name: Scoop File Name: Tara Michaels Birthplace: Saskatoon, Saskatchewan Rank: E2 Primary Military Specialty: Journalist Secondary Military Specialty: Telecommunications --------------------------------------- |
07-17-2011, 01:20 PM | #568 |
FEED ME MORE!
Join Date: Apr 2009
Location: Korugar, Space Sector 1417
Posts: 8,930
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I like it, also like the nice tribute to numbers by mentioning Beard Force, so just a quick question, would I be included in EWD? or rather Fly Zone? also I love the character of Hat Trick, that's just awesome and ridiculous but something Hasbro would've come up with during the '90's
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I <3 LJ, Chari, Phoenix, Sweetness, and the Skittles Queen Lady D owner of page 9301 of GI Joe, Monkeytown RIP Dark Songstress, Gyre-Viper, samantha Queen Charijoe's #1 Fan/champion Rising_Phoenix2's lackey TofuNinja's genin Sole Owner of Tali's Lab Total Forum Game kills:18 |
07-17-2011, 11:33 PM | #569 |
W.O.R.M.S. Commander
Join Date: Nov 2007
Location: Back in the US of A! (NoVA)
Posts: 10,649
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Nice INtro for Scoop. I may even start to like Scoop now. like the Widescope sleeping reference like the filecards. Who is the Queen?
Best line eva: "Probably stealing candy for children and kicking their puppies." Can't wait for more action.
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Improvise, Adapt, and Overcome. |
07-18-2011, 12:17 AM | #570 |
Darth_Henning
Join Date: Jul 2008
Location: Canada
Posts: 21,174
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Quote:
I like it, also like the nice tribute to numbers by mentioning Beard Force, so just a quick question, would I be included in EWD? or rather Fly Zone? also I love the character of Hat Trick, that's just awesome and ridiculous but something Hasbro would've come up with during the '90's
EWD (experimental weapons division) basically is battleforce 2000 with a couple additions. Fly Zone would be air-force. IDW used the name for a throwaway redshirt in the comics, I liked it (for obvious canuck reasons), and I decided to play off the Hasbro ridiculousness. Quote:
I can never resist a Widescope joke. "The Queen" should remind you of a certain tanker who has a very pink sig pic. Never underestimate the power of clevage. (If your still lost LMK) |
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