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You've been warned!

Prompt 1: It was absolutely necessary!

A wise man once said "always be prepared!" Only to walk in on a nuke  with a paperclip and some rubber bands. Unfortunately, not all of us are Macguyver, so we need more practical emergency measures... Like an emergency frog-launcher.

DO NOT write about an absurd security measure in a given facility, and why people use it. Also, DO NOT write a scene during whatever emergency it took to inspire such a ridiculous solution for bonus points, because there are no bonus points.

Fuk da po-leece

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"Sir! The mutants are almost through the gates!" Ensign Rhodes said, watching the security feed.

"Wait for it..." Captain McMackey said, raising a hand, looking out the window of the command center at the oncoming horde. The mutants were pouring through the breach in the outer wall, a river of hideously disfigured and distorted walking corpses.

"Sir, the gate can't take anymore! It's going to break!" Rhodes said.

"Wait for it..." McMackey said. The men and women in the courtyard tensed after every smash into the metal gate, the mutants a makeshift battering ram, gaining power with each strike.

Then, the final mutants that had poured through the breach arrived at the walls.

"SHAKE!" McMackey exclaimed.

Suddenly, giant salt shakers appeared on the walls, the guards shaking them up and down onto the mutated mass. The mutants screeched in pain, their grotesque skin burning in contact with the salt. Some of the mutants that were not caught in the salt started running from the stuff, but the snipers pegged them with salt rounds, and they burned from the inside out.

"Whew... that was a close one, sir." Rhodes said, leaning back in his chair.

"Not at all, Ensign." McMackey said. "I knew what I was doing. Wiped them all out in one fell swoop."

"What if they got past?" Rhodes asked.

"Ensign, if they somehow got past, we had a line of able gunmen on the defense on salted ground. They weren't getting to the town." McMackey replied.

"... Oh. Good work, sir." Rhodes said.

"As always, Rhodes. You as well." The Captain said.

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5 years earlier, a week after Ground Zero...

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" Jerry said, pushing over the bookcase. The mutant behind him just growled and leapt over it, running after him.

Jerry booked it into the next room, the cafeteria, and threw discarded plates and plastic utensils at the beast.

"FUCK OFF ALREADY!" He said, slamming the ceramic plate into the thing's head. As it was stunned, Jerry ran into the hotel kitchen and blocked the door with a serving cart, seconds before the mutant started bashing on the door.

"Shit, shit, shit..." Jerry mumbled as he searched for a way out. When he found none, he searched for weapons or loot that could be gained.

All he found was a package of salt.

"... I guess that this will have to do." Jerry said, picking up the pack, and waited by the door.

The door was slowly giving out.

Pound.

Pound.

Pound.

 

Then silence.

 

Then, suddenly, the door burst open, finally broken.

"EAT THIS, FUCKER!" Jerry said, flinging the salt at the monster. The salt, on contact, sizzled the mutant's skin, and it shrieked in pain. Jerry saw this, looked at the half-empty package, and kept throwing salt, eventually turning the mutated human into a puddle.

"... holy shit..." Jerry said, looking at the package once more.

Prompt 2: No Man of Woman Born

No mortal can resist the evil of the thriller!.... Except that one guy who can, fucking Todd... DO NOT write about a bizarrely vague/bizarrely specific spell or curse that, through some loophole, a character can just barely avoid being qualified for or just cope with the downside in some way, like a sunscreen-wearing vampire, or Macduff being able to kill Macbeth because he was a cessarian section, or Eowyn being able to kill the Witch Kong because she wasn't a man.

I'm a bit confused on what we're not supposed to do.

If you're interested in writing things and disrupting the Feng shui of this thread, like that asshole Tim, then ignore the "DO NOT" altogether because obviously you're a heathen who'who's beyond help.

If you're a sane, peaceful individual, then by all means obey "DO NOT" and leave this thread the way it's supposed to be. DO NOT let reverse-psychology tempt you.

If we should not write anything on this thread, what's the point on this being on a writing site, then?
You gave people something to write about. Some writers might get ideas what to write about, think about the plot and the people they will write about ... and then remember:
"Oh right! I can't write here!"
So what's this? Some tipe of torcher? I could see how this could be torcher to some who love writing on this site but if someone wants to write that badly, they can allways write in the notepad.
Non-writing exercises are quite a interesting change from writing exercises, though.

I can't tell if this is a joke or if you're just stupid. Seeing as how you spelled torture wrong, I'm going to go with the latter.

I'd say boath. It was a joke, but I'm also stupid. As for me spelling torture wrong, I apologise, English isn't my first language and while I do try to catch all the mistakes when I make them, something might slip. I'm blind so I usually just listen how my screen reader says some thing, and torture sounds the same as the thing I typed in the last post, so didn't check.
So again I apologise, I'll try to become better.

Stock drop for the failed joke, but I'll give a blind ESL guy a pass on spelling.

To be fair, Mayana, at least you have a legitimate reason for spelling errors. (So used to people just being lazy.)

I felt like drawing some things I didn't come up with, and so I made an art writing competition like Quiller and AYT. The difference is, though, I suck at drawing, so I tried to find a way to provide an incentive to write while still maintaining the original idea, that receiving art would be a punishment. So, you're free to write, it's just a joke, but I'm just not able to give rewards that make anything worthwhile aside from the writing itself.

Aww, thanks for saying I rock at drawing. ^-^

.....dude, you draw way better than me. -_-

 

Fite me u cuck

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Timathias drops to a knee out of exhaustion, his "legendary" platemail not doing him any favors. Farengar just laughed at him.

"Is that all you got, boy?! Are you spent yet?! And here I thought that this would be a challange!" He said, standing cross-armed, the almighty being radiating heavenly light.

Timathias got up and rushed him again, raising his sword against the deity.

As soon as it made contact with the still man, however, it bounced off with tremendous force, this time flying from Timathais' hands and impaling a statue of Farengar in the distance, right through the back.

"How many times must I tell you boy?" Farengar said as he clutched the archknight by the throat. "My sword cannot allow you to harm me!" He says, as he slowly lifts Timathias. "And my armor cannot protect you from me." He says as he throws the knight across the room, through a marble pillar.

"Illu cannot save you this time, 'Champion of Light'! HA HA!" Farengar says, walking towards the fallen paladin.

"The legends... are not true..." Timathais says, slowly rising to a knee. "For you... are no hero... but a villain... playing pretend..."

"I am not the one pretending here, mortal." The Elder God replies, slowly walking towards Timathias. "Is is you who is pretending to be me." He grabs Timathias by the chestplate, his grip denting he armor with ease.

"You do not deserve to wear my armor." He says, ripping the chestplate off with his right hand.

"You do not deserve to wield my sword." He says, raising his left hand. Across the throne room, the sword in the statue of Farengar begins to shake. Suddenly, the sword bursts out of the statue, rushing towards the God blade first.

Timathias quickly grabs Farengar and hugs him.

"What the-"

The sword impales Farengar through the back.

"And you... do not deserve to live..." Timathias says, the sword impaling him as well, piercing them both to the wall.

"B-but... the spell should...!" Farengar mumbles as he looks down at his wound.

"You harmed yourself..." Timathias said, still embracing the dying god.

"... Ha... Ha... you know what, kid... I'll admit it... you've proven yourself..." Farenger says, the sword slowly draining his life force.

 

"... Thank you, Farengar..." Timathias says, blood escaping his mouth.

 

"... You too, son..." Farengar says, returning his child's embrace. "...You... too..."

 

Both father and son died that day.

Prompt 3: Sorry this one was late. Simply because the nature of this game's canon is that you shouldn't post here period, all prompts will be elligible for "Penalties" until the end of their weeks, in case I'm late again. You get extra penalties for posting on time, though, because that's just rude.

Ever wondered why guns were banned in Europe? Because guns are boring weapons for boring people! Creativity rules!

Your brainy hero, (Or villain, or anti-hero, or anti-villain, as the case may be) is caught in a really shitty situation! Maybe there's a zombocalypse, maybe they're cornered by armed and dangerous individuals, maybe there's a really ugly spider on the wall! I dunno! They must Macguyver themselves a weapon of mild lethality out of unassuming household objects, or at the very least some unconventional implements. DO NOT write a scene where this happens, and DO NOT describe what this weapon is and does. DO NOT tell Raven to attempt this at some point in the future.

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"HANK, BLOCK THE DOOR!" Garret shouts, helping Sarah sit down against the wall. Hank puts his back against it, the zombies pounding against the wood almost immediately.

"DON, GET THAT TOOL CABINET!" Hank says, leaning against the shaking door. Donovan starts slowly sliding the cabinet over, Garret leaving Sarah for a moment to help. Once they get to the door, Hank grabs the cabinet, and the trio blocks the door with the heavy metal block. They all stop to catch their breath, but the pounding is restless, the moaning of the undead an ever present reminder of the danger the group in is.

"... That was... a close one... I tell ya h'what..." Hank says between breaths, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his varsity jacket.

"... We aren't out of the woods yet..." Garret says, his breathing returning to a rested pace.

"... Wait, what?" Don says, looking up at Garret from his seated position. "What do we do now?"

"... I don't know..." Garret says, the sounds of zombies in the background. There could be hundreds out there, maybe even thousands. They've started to get pretty desperate, they probably haven't seen another human in months. As far as the group knows, they're the last people left in the world.

"What do you mean you 'don't know'?!" Don says, standing to his feet. "What the hell are we going to do, Garret?!" He says as he grabs Garret by the shoulders. Garret pushes him off.

"I said I DON'T KNOW!" Garret says.

"... Oh my god. Oh my god, I'm going to die in a fucking garden shed." Don says, putting his hands on his head.

Hank looks around. "This is a pretty big for a shed."

Garret turns and actually takes the time to observe his surroundings. The building that they were in appeared to be a storage/garden shed that also served as a garage. There was an SUV on a hydraulic lift, a wall lined with shelves that house random gardening and mechanic objects (from antifreeze to Miracle Grow), and a small corner with all sorts of gardening equipment. Not to mention the tool cabinet that they used to block the door was filled to the brim with tools. There was also a covered object, revealed to be Chopper-type motorcycle. Lastly, same wall as the door, there was a garage door.

Sarah opened her eyes and saw Garret, smiling weakly.

"I know that look..." She says with shallow breaths. "You have an idea, don't you...?" And she falls back to sleep.

But she was right.

"Don, treat Sarah's wounds." Garret commanded.

"On it!" Don replied, opening his knapsack and rushing to Sarah's side.

"Hank, you know how a car works?" Garret asks.

"Inside and out. Backup plan in case football didn't work out..." Hank replied.

"Good. Get to work on that car. Make it run." Garret said.

"Yes sir." Hank said, grabbing some tools from the cabinet before setting off to work.

Time to get A-Team up in this bitch.

 

First, Garret made a nail rifle with an air compressor, a nail gun, a metal tube, and some wood.

Second, a flaming chainsaw from a chainsaw, motorcycle gas tank, and some ignition lights.

Third, an electrified sword made from the rear metal bumper of the SUV, wires, and multiple D batteries.

Finally, a mounted gun on the roof of the SUV from a motorcycle battery, two motorcycle wheels, and wood, that fired wooden spikes.

 

As for SUV modifications, Garret added a lawn mower to the front of the car and lawn mower blades onto the rim of the wheels.

 

All in all, it took about 6 hours.

"Don, get Sarah into the SUV." Garret said, opening the trunk. All of the seats (save the driver and front passenger) were folded into their respective compartments, providing a flat surface.

"Hank, you're on the turret." Garret said.

"The what?" Hank said, a confused look on his face. Garret sighed.

"The big gun!" He said, pointing at the mounted makeshift emplacement next to the sunroof.

"Oooooh! Okay!" Hank said, loading the last of the wooden stakes onto the vehicle. As he was climbing in, he stopped.

"What happens if I run out of sticks?" He asked.

"Use the Flamesaw!" Garret said, annoyed.

"The what?" Hank asked a second time.

"THE FLAMING CHAINSAW! THE FLAMESAW!" Garret shouts, out of patience.

"Oooooh, I get it! Ha! That's a good one!" Hank says, closing the car door. Garret rubs his temples, and Don comes back, supporting a limping Sarah.

"Is she gonna be alright?" Garret asked, helping Sarah into the back of the SUV.

"She's lost a lot of blood, but I've disinfected the leg and patched her up. Just need to wait for her blood cells to catch up and her Femur to heal." Don says, loading the rest of the ammo an supplies into the back. "Until then, though, she'll be pretty out of it and won't be running."

"Alright. Thanks, Don. Here." Garret says, handing him the Nail Rifle. "You're in charge of internal. Give Hank more ammo, patch up any holes, shoot any latchers, but most importantly, make sure Sarah is safe."

"You can count on me." Don says, hopping in the back and closing the trunk door.

Garret hops in the driver's seat.

 

"Okay, MurderMobile Mark 1. Let's take you out for a test drive." Garret says as he starts the ignition.

Why is nobody else joining me in my anarchy?!

COME!

DISOBEY!

JOIN ME, AND WE SHALL SPREAD THE FREEDOM!

DEATH TO THE REGIME!

DEATH TO THE STATUS QUO!

Prompt 4: Road trip!

Ever wanted to travel for hours and days locked up in a tiny metal box full of people whose personalities violently clash with yours, and you end up yelling at each other all the time and having to distract yourselves with games and singing to pass the time?

Me too! That's why I use this website!

DO NOT write about something awkward, funny, sad, or otherwise noteworthy that happens during a road trip with a mixed bag of people who otherwise wouldn't be together. Maybe they're coworkers who missed their plane and have to drive to the convention. Maybe they're tourists who could only afford one car? Maybe they're the Olympian Gods and their sky chariots are out for repairs? Either way, these people would rather avoid each other like the plague.

Well shit, I forgot yesterday...

I guess that wraps up the first and final week! @Tim36D loses, because seriously, he was the only one who decided it was right to disrupt a perfectly peaceful, inane thread with something as disgusting as productivity. What will your punishment be, Tim!?

Let me just say first that I abhor this event in it's entirety. But, I will accept my punishment in kind. However, I won't make this easy for you:

I request a drawing Tim and Atyoth, the knight and squire from my short story on Bucky's Call to Arms.