Flamenod, The Reader

Member Since

3/16/2011

Last Activity

11/18/2017 4:46 AM

EXP Points

0

Post Count

20

Storygame Count

0

Duel Stats

1 win / 3 losses

Order

Warden

Commendations

0

Don't mind me. I'm just some guy.

Storygames

Cronicle of an Unwitting Vampire
unpublished

Shadowrun: The Blood Bond
unpublished

With corporations covertly grasping for the last scraps of resources they still don't possess, business for "jurisdiction-approved contract work" has been booming. Work that needed the professional resources of man, magic, and machine. Shadowrunners, highly specialized freelancers who usually work in small groups, are the answer to that demand. The jobs they take range from extracting data from the matrix, capturing astral entities, or simply good old fashioned corporate sabotage.

You are one of them, thriving on the illicitly of corporations and the desperation of the highest bidders. It's about as free as you can get in Seattle. Free from the shackles of impoverishment or complete servitude that is, not to mention the price that came with it. Your arms, legs, eyes, and nerves, those have all been replaced with cybernetics at one point or another. It got you this far; It also kept you an edge above your opposition, and you'd replace more if the street doc didn't think it would turn you into a 300 pound paperweight. 

You relax to watch the urban brawl tournament as message displays on your commlink.

Charon: Got another job for you. Meet at usual place, usual time.

Little did you know you were just getting introduced to the sixth world.

 


Recent Posts

BZ's Summer Slam Contest! on 7/10/2017 10:40:12 AM

Sign me up for 125. I actually have time to do one of these now.


Any tips for writing in 2nd person perspective? on 5/18/2017 9:47:31 PM

I've been trying to write a cyberpunk themed CYOA for about two months now, which was originally going to be for the chaos contest, but I've only been able to write about five pages. I've found that the biggest roadblock for me outside of my previous schedule has been trying to write a flowing narrative from a 2nd-person perspective. This is especially apparent when trying to write exposition or structural decisions like whether to write in present or past tense. I was thinking of maybe just writing it in 3rd-person, but I don't think it would lend itself too well for what I'm going for. Then again, maybe I'm overthinking things a little too much.


Chaos Contest on 4/10/2017 10:47:53 AM

Well... just got my outline done.


Chaos Contest on 3/8/2017 3:08:33 PM

And uhh... what does that entail?


Chaos Contest on 3/8/2017 1:31:50 PM

I meant net gain: 150 from wager if I win + 100 from winning = 250 - 125 points wagered = 125 gain. And yeah, I was half-joking because I don't expect to win.


Chaos Contest on 3/8/2017 1:15:53 PM

Downhill? But I'll be gaining 125 points after I win this contest.

Lol, for real though, maybe I should've looked at the repercussions of betting that much, but I kind of just figured 'Hey, why not?'


Chaos Contest on 3/8/2017 11:10:47 AM

I'm in for 125 points, which will put me in debt for 74 points. 


EndMaster’s Edgelord Contest on 3/2/2017 4:46:14 PM

Well... to be fair, my character did all those things for an edgy reason. Either way, I think this is the first time I did something after downing eight shots that brought me less shame than it did making it, depending on how you look at things.


Disabling the 'Back' button on 3/2/2017 9:36:49 AM

Or, you know, just give players the benefit of the doubt and tell them in the description that the experience will be better w/o the back button.


EndMaster’s Edgelord Contest on 2/27/2017 3:48:05 AM

Somewhere out there, I know there’s someone just laughing their ass off getting a kick out of all of this. What other explanation could there possibly be? In human nature, people feel the sting of loss more than the pleasure of gain. In other words, the happier we are now the shittier we feel later. But what happens when a person just doesn’t give a shit anymore?

I stared down at my phone. “Just fuck off,” was displayed on the screen in its usual pragmatic font. “Sorry, I’m busy right now. Maybe some other time,” she said, but I knew the truth. It took me a while to get her to admit it, but I did. They all pretend to like me at first, just in case I’m ever useful to them in the future, but they can’t even be bothered enough to have a minute lunch.

The funny thing was though, that despite my knowing of the truth, the chance at a hot piece of ass was usually the only motivator I had for doing any shit. Damn, talking to another slut would be more pain than it was worth. Now all I was feeling was numbness. The type you get when your life is more fucked than porn from the Philippines, yet there is still absolute boredom. It felt like a prison: a prison locked with a key I held yet I couldn’t get out.

I took a knife out of the drawer, put my right forearm on my little wooden table, and started carving like it was thanksgiving. You can call me a retarded dumbass, but what is a guy supposed to do when the coke stops giving you a rush. My arm was dripping. The knife was dripping. Even the table was dripping. Don’t worry, it was already stained, so no harm done. Each rivulet brought me a peak back into the land of the living, yet still…

 I looked around my small studio apartment. Ah perfect, a cockroach. I crept up slowly, making sure not to disturb its serenity. It was then that I stroke, swatting my hand down. The cute little thing was trapped between my palm and the mildew-ridden floor.

“Yes, you’ll do nicely,” I could hear myself speak as I enclosed my fingers. The cute little thing was writhing, fruitlessly struggling to break free from its entrapment. I knew it was suffering. After all, I was trapped too. “Don’t worry, I’m going to set you free now,” whispered me into the palm of my hand. My fingers clasped onto my palm, squeezing out the dread of life from its captive.

The thing was writhing: what beauty. Beads of sweat dripped down my face, and my heart filled with excitement. It was free. The cute little thing was free.

Wait, why was I doing this again? Ahh yes.

I unclasped my fingers and brought the twitching mess to my mouth. “Open up,” I mused, making sure to not leave a scrap on my palm. I crunched on the crumpled carcass and swished the fluids through my mouth. I could still savor the sourness, despite my fucked-up taste buds.

Yes, it should be coalesced enough. I brought my right forearm under my mouth and spit up the mixture, causing the pattern of cascading blood to become marred. As much as I enjoyed the flavor, the tingling sensation of a wound becoming infected is a unique experience unto itself. When followed by the searing sensation that occurs when the scab starts to form, it is truly euphoric.

But something strange happened. The numbness, that damned feeling of nothing, came back in a matter of seconds. “Why… why must you be so cruel,” I contemplated. “Heh, I bet you’re getting a good kick out of all this,”

Yes, I knew he was out there. The creator, the lord, the almighty, whatever the fuck people were calling him these days. I mean, imagine if you had all that power. Eventually you’d start feeling numb too, so there’s something you’d have to do to make that feeling go away. “And how does the creator keep away the numbness?” you might ask. Well, he likes fucking with people. He made us so that every ounce of joy turns into a pound of pain, then we’ll never feel both again.

But I had the answer to defy god thanks to the cockroach, that cute little thing. It was free. Free from pleasure, pain, and numbness.

It was my goal, no, my meaning of existence to free all from this cycle. This prison that we all had the key to, but couldn’t get out of. Who else could do it!? Certainly not all the ants fruitlessly grasping for some meager scraps of contentment in this chaotic world! The ones blindly clinging to life expecting it to put out like it was some virgin at her first college party! No, I was the only one awake enough to see it, and I knew just where to start.

 I got up and grabbed knife and coat. The hapless sheep tend to freak at the smallest things, and my arm was one of those. I unlocked my apartment door. The late-evening sun cascaded a crimson red. “Ahh… what a perfect night it will be to begin the liberation.”

The walk to my soon-to-be axed ex’s house was banal as all hell. Same old street, same old worms, same old numbness. The street lamps illuminated my silhouette onto the cold, coarse pavement. The graveyard I passed just made me more restless. I’d like to think the grave keeper was in on the joke. Maybe he was fucking one of the corpses. I mean after all, a girl has no use for her cage after she’s free. Never mind that though. There was another girl that needed freeing.

Her house was just around the corner. It was an old dilapidated piece of shit: broken and worn down from its past like a used-up crack whore. I walked up street and made my way to the door giving it a couple knocks. Moments later, the door opened and an equally worn-out looking face peered from it.

“What are you here for?” she implored. The raspiness in her voice giving away her bad habits.

“Good evening Anna, may I come in?” I asked with the sweetness of a freshly fucked choirboy. It would be best to not get her suspicious before a bit of the old ultra-violence ensued.

The slut looked like a deer in the headlights. Was there something off about me? Oh… right, I was still gripping my bloody knife. Looks like my inflection wouldn’t be helping matters any. The bitch then tried to slam the door on me. Luckily, I had my foot jammed between the door and the frame, not that it would help any if the bitch got away

I sprinted towards the shrieks through the dust and cobwebs. My prey was running for her life, and at the same time I never felt more alive. Through the hallway, then the living room, until she tripped in her own filth onto the cold tiled floor of the kitchen. I pinned her down before she had a chance to get back up

“Please… Please don’t do this. My baby girl can’t be all by herself,” she pleaded. How pathetically typical, but trying to playing to my emotions was not going to work.

“I’ll make sure she isn’t, but don’t worry about that. I know your torment. I will release you from this hell you call life. Then I’ll fuck off,” I whispered softly into her ear right before the kitchen knife penetrated into her lower abdomen. Her begging swiftly turned back into screams of terror as she writhed around, fruitlessly trying to break free from her trap. All it served to accomplish was to drive the knife deeper. I could feel the cold grip of life slowly draining out of her as her. All the woman was good for now was to help feed the maggots. Actually, her body might still be good enough to fuck.

“Mommy are you ok?” I heard a sweet, innocent voice calling out from the door down the hall. Yes, this was going to be a beautiful night.