WizzyCat, The Dramatist
This one is but flesh and faith, and is the more deluded.
100k Storygame Progress: Hey, this thing still exists, but is still on pause. Contest entries look saucy, will try to tear through a couple before continuing my own writing escapades. FAILsafe hopefully revised by September 13th (I'll blame failure on eyeball surgery)
Play as Urga, the founder of the prestigious Church of Desires, an infamous underground religion that specializes in darkness, debauchery, destruction, and most importantly, delivering coinage to Urga (although try not to tell that last bit to the followers, it wasn't in the pamphlet for a good reason).
However, Urga's time of frolicking in the deepest recesses of society is now over, as one of his many, many, oh so many enemies has sent warriors after him,
Urga's no fighter, but to what lengths will he go to survive? Up to you.
CW: Violence of the physical, verbal, and sexual varieties, as well as all the accompanying unpleasantry. Also, demon dick.
Author's Note: There is an optimal ending, however it and all the other endings are unmarked. If you reach a page with only an End Game link, you have "won".
Entry to Endmaster's Manifest Destiny Contest.
In a world where consciousness is stored on a hard drive, the most heinous crime is hacking.
Author's Note: A police officer is supposed to be a righteous dispenser of justice, but in the future, the idea of morality is basically nonexistent. Nonetheless, a lot of choices in this game can be broken down into "things a good, moralistic police officer should do" and "amoral things that get the job done". Going down one path or the other will eventually result in you being locked out of the other entirely, but it will also give you access to new epilogues and options.
Winner of the Cyberpunk Contest.
A Halo fanfiction. Story knowledge is not required, but some basic knowledge of the franchise is ideal.
On a desolate colony near the edge of human space, a Forerunner installation is located. ONI sends an expeditionary force, containing a single Spartan II, to investigate. However, ONI aren't the only ones searching for Forerunner tech.
After the Dark Age of Technology during the 21st and 22nd centuries, humanity decided to reach for the stars. Or at least the megacorps decided to, leaving behind anyone too poor or too stubborn or too old to board the ships headed for Mars and Europa. With that, the Great Expansion started: Venus, Jupiter, Saturn, the Asteroid Belt, all were encompassed by the sovereignty of the newly formed United Human Federation, or UHF. Well... that's what the UHF would have you believe. The truth is a different beast entirely.
After graduating a prestigious engineering college on Mars and patenting a valuable new piece of tech, you were approached by the Black Hoods, a completely untraceable organization that dealt with the salvage of shipwrecks across the solar system. Despite the absurd protocols (all in the name of total secrecy), the mind-boggling pay convinced you to join. What can you discover among the derelict wreckage of humanity?
Recent PostsThread of my random ideas on 10/19/2021 10:57:51 PM
Not enough autism for an SCP entry. Unsure if other "SCP enjoyers" would enjoy this one, but I personally think that there's a lack of detail and that the SCP itself is not that interesting.
Greetings! on 10/18/2021 9:17:01 PM
Hello and welcome to the site! Mizal has already said the main things: just read some storygames before you say anything else.
Malk is Dead on 10/10/2021 12:58:19 PM
Our resident capybara enthusiast, malkalack/hetero_malk, has died. Late last night, he was in mild pain from a sore throat; however, that quickly progressed, and by morning, he was deceased. Researchers are stunned by the lethality and progression of this case, and a preliminary doctor's report suggests that it's a terrifying new "Sigma" variant of covid.
He was a man, and whether or not he was a good man is probably going to be debated long after this tragic event. He did things, and well, you get it. He did people too, both male and female. Truth be told, I always thought he was a little crazy (it's okay to say that because he's dead, right?)
Feel free to post your tributes and whatever other bullshit people do at funerals in this thread. He will be missed, at least for a couple days.
XYZZY Awards, final voting round on 10/10/2021 12:43:30 AM
Congrats on the wins Gower!
Baiting and Fishing Again on 10/9/2021 12:26:03 AM
Woah, they're available online!?
Corgi vs Fem - Round 2 on 10/7/2021 7:16:04 PM
Whoever loses should be murdered as a funny reference to Squid Game
Rant Thread on 10/7/2021 1:42:54 AM
As much as I am tempted to drop another shining turdpost into the great toilet that is the Lounge, I'll refrain.
Social anxiety is probably something that everyone who uses an obscure internet writing site struggles with. I certainly did, as can be seen by my earliest posting history.
However, there are ways to get over. Number one: be yourself! Well, no, sorta. You should definitely be yourself, because people will reciprocate your energy, and you'll eventually find the job, friends, etcetera that YOU want. However, you probably can't be yourself at first, in a new situation or with new people. Instead, you want to create a good first impression. Usually, this is where the anxiety comes in. You wonder, "is this a smart thing to say? Will I sound pretentious, or obnoxious? Do I look good? Are those pervasive put stains back?"
There's a simple solution to this form of anxiety though. Just fake it til you make it. Confidence seems like a mystical, whimsical thing to some people, and while it comes naturally to others, you can create it for yourself. How? Just BE confident. Take care of yourself, and act like it. If your self-confidence goes up, your other-person-interaction-confidence will go up, in part because they'll see you as confident before you even utter a word.
And when you fail, just remember that people are fundamentally retarded. Half the people at my school (and probably anywhere else), are at best Skyrim NPCs, and they literally don't matter (as a bonus, ignoring these people will boost your confidence). Keep on improving yourself, and the rest will come naturally and happily.
This post is getting unreasonably long, but I'd also like to point out that CYS is kind of an indicator of this. First, you build a positive first impression with reviews/ratings, which are an objective measurement of you having at least some aspirations. Then, you begin your interactions carefully, trying to get on everyone's good side. Eventually, you've got some allies, a hefty sum of points, and you can slowly start leaking that wonderful weapons-grade autism that we know you've been hiding all along. Sure, it'll drive away some, but the people that DO matter won't care they'll accept you for who you are. Sure, a drive-by noob might flip out, but we can always laugh at them, bully them, and then ban them.
So good job posting this, and don't worry about anything else you do on here. We know that you're a badass writer, so just keep at it, and feel free to post whatever you want, weird or normal. Start channeling your big dick energy into real life interactions. You can do it.
Hi am a new person on 9/30/2021 10:54:46 PM
One thing that people on this site hate is "Chapters", because those actually exist within your storygame and people really don't want to read an unifinished product.
Hi am a new person on 9/30/2021 9:52:08 PM
Just read some of the featured stories in whatever category is your favorite, read a couple articles, and you'll be all set. You don't even need to know more to the editor than connecting pages if you want to write a simple story (simple in terms of branching).
Experimental Log on 9/29/2021 8:34:04 PM
This is a thread where I'm going to collect some of my more storygame-worthy ideas for safekeeping (and to see if they're actually worth writing about). I should probably focus this energy on actually finishing current projects but I keep getting nagged by ideas. Oh well.
He drifted. The car drifted with him. Far to the side it flew. Right off the cliff; it flew. This time, it would be correct.
Vision melted into words. Words melted into letters. Letters melted into air. Air melted into space. Space melted into time.
There was a thundering crash. Eugene rose with a startle. That sounded like it was on his property. Eugene reached into the nightstand and took out his Colt 1911. Trying to make something out through the blinds, he failed, so he inched off his bed and over to them. Pulling up the cheap, effective plastic blinds, he scanned the surrounding trees. Nothing could be seen, and his pupils shifted to the barn, dilating, sucking in light in an attempt to see the intruder. Suddenly, he saw a flash from inside the barn. Lights had been switched on, their harsh blueish white glow shining through every imperfection in the planks of wood.
Eugene hustled down the stairs, attempting to mix stealth and speed in such a perfect way that he managed to be both slow and loud. Right as he flung the front door open and stepped out, a car tore out of the barn's front gates, howled all the way to the rough asphalt highway, turning at a speed that would've thrown Eugene's truck into a ditch off the road a dozen times. Eugene fired his pistol, but the car was gone before he could wipe the picture it burned into his mind from his eyes. As he stared down the road, jaw lying inert on his clavicle, his brain finally processed what it had seen.
A car, so sleek it looked like a fighter jet, with gleaming headlights, vaguely resembling an alien pair of eyes, and wheels that seemed to be made of tank track (a stark contrast to the rest of the futuristic race car). Only as the last sounds of the engine more powerful than a nuclear bomb fizzled out, Eugene finished wrapping his head around the rest of the image. The car's coat of perfect black—standing out even against the midnight sky—was enveloped in a cloud of churning flames and roiling smoke.
Eugene went back to bed, only after unloading his gun into a distant target in the cornfield, with perfect precision, as always. That was clearly the biggest worry of his life from henceforth, and the conventions of warfare didn't seem to apply. Somehow, Eugene found the perfect's night rest after that. Any criminal within miles would probably be scared shitless by whatever this is.
He deployed the car's uncovert autocannon array. His old division would be here shortly. They would have to be mowed down, as always. Quite possibly the most painful part of this mission, and the most repeated.
Missiles tore the highway apart, several miles behind. He couldn't be tracked by radar. The microwaves emitted were simply too slow to get any sort of accurate reading. The whine of a minigun echoed across the flatlands, and was echoed within a second by dozens more of the identical, air-tearing cry.
He fired a returning volley from his autocannons. Each attack helicopter in pursuit was evaporated by thumb-size projectiles traveling at an uncanny velocity. Even the strike aircraft that had just taken off several counties away were reduced to nothingness. Quantum targeting systems were so far beyond state of the art that this model was still considered Version Negative 3. Several tank battalions at a Texas base were cracked open by violent and seemingly random ammunition explosions.
He proceeded. All ground targets for the timeframe of the mission had been neutralized. The vehicle beneath his form shrieked as it carved across concrete like a knife of diamond across a field of dough.
He arrived. The facility beneath rumbled across space and time, the only signature of its kind (at least here). He shredded down the ramp and erupted into the lobby. He sent quantum blades forth from their unseen holsters in the vehicle, and tore through every living creature within the room. Each researcher's heart exploded like nothing more than a balloon. The security guards suffered the same fate, falling over like game pieces swatted by a curious cat. All underground targets had been neutralized.
He continued through the building on his billowing beast of metals, both mundane and arcane. Down, into the first sub-basement. Further down, past every other sub-basement. All of these were full of nothing but grinding machines, edging humanity closer to extinction.
He thundered across the hall and flew into Its Container. The vessel ruptured, and the mission failed. He bounced off like a spear with no tip. The car sat as the world imploded and unimploded.
Light splashed against eyes, followed by water, and a lack of air. The car was sinking. The mission had failed. The cliffside had been destroyed in the process. The bubble had been burst once more.
He made no noise, for that would be fatal, and instead began guiding the car back to shore. Another cliffside would have to be discovered. All was lost, but not quite yet. He still had tricks up his sleeve.