Stupid Question, Stupid Answer.
- Thread starter KhaosElement
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Aren't you a meanie-pants?
Night had fallen over the city. In one of its darkest alleys, a scream was heard...
?HELP!?
Just an ordinary night in Botham City. The city had one of the highest crime rates in the country. Statistically speaking, living in Botham was more likely to kill you than a hand to hand fight with a grizzly bear. The Botham City Police Department could barely function with all the murders, rapes, robberies, drug dealing, thefts and jaywalking in the city. To top it off, well over half the police force was made up of corrupt, crooked cops. The mob had more authority over the BCPD than the mayor. It was amazing that anyone lived in the city at all.
?HELP!?
Just an ordinary night in Botham City. The city had one of the highest crime rates in the country. Statistically speaking, living in Botham was more likely to kill you than a hand to hand fight with a grizzly bear. The Botham City Police Department could barely function with all the murders, rapes, robberies, drug dealing, thefts and jaywalking in the city. To top it off, well over half the police force was made up of corrupt, crooked cops. The mob had more authority over the BCPD than the mayor. It was amazing that anyone lived in the city at all.
But when it does, it shall be a glorious day! The heavens shall open up, God will smile at Ryan Reynolds, and say "Can I have your autograph?". Chimichangas shall be eaten! Fourth walls shall be broken! And 'Barakapool' will be forgotten, forever...Amen.
So, yeah, I can't wait?
[sub]I have a shotgun![/sub]
So, yeah, I can't wait?
[sub]I have a shotgun![/sub]
Me neither?!
[sub]The ninjas stole all your shells.[/sub]
[sub]The ninjas stole all your shells.[/sub]
Night had fallen over the city. In one of its darkest alleys, a scream was heard...
?HELP!?
Just an ordinary night in Botham City. The city had one of the highest crime rates in the country. Statistically speaking, living in Botham was more likely to kill you than a hand to hand fight with a grizzly bear. The Botham City Police Department could barely function with all the murders, rapes, robberies, drug dealing, thefts and jaywalking in the city. To top it off, well over half the police force was made up of corrupt, crooked cops. The mob had more authority over the BCPD than the mayor. It was amazing that anyone lived in the city at all.
Tonight it was a young woman who had been ambushed by three men wearing masks. They had pulled knives on her and were teasing her while trying to grab her purse.
?Come on, sweetie, don?t be like that. We don?t wanna have to slit that pretty throat of yours.?
?You don?t have to get hurt... a lot... Hihihihihihi?
?Why don?t you get a little... comfortable?? said the last of the thugs, grabbing her by her skirt.
But then, out of nowhere, the thug was knocked out by a metal object thrown from a roof.
?WHAT THE HELL?!? shouted one of the criminals.
He tried to reach for their prey, but a huge figure glided towards him at incredible speed, grabbed him and took him up. The remaining burglar was startled when his mate?s body fell down right behind him. In the confusion, the woman had escaped.
The last of the trio was frantically looking for who had foiled their plan.
?WHO ARE YOU?!?
The figure came out of the shadows behind him and grabbed him by the collar. He looked much taller than a normal man, his eyes white as if he was possessed by a supernatural being, and on top of his head, a bright red comb.
?I?m Chickenman.? he said, before knocking the thug out.
The Chickencoop
When he arrived home, billionaire Truce Dwayne got out of his car, took off his suit and headed straight to his computer. As head of Dwayne Enterprises, the largest company in Botham City, he spent most of his free time answering e-mails, making phone calls to business partners and checking on the progress of his latest initiative. The company, founded by his father, employed a big part of Botham?s population. Truce had also followed in his father?s steps as a philanthropist, organizing frequent events and fundraisers, creating schools, giving scholarships to underprivileged students, and creating jobs for the homeless.
In public, Truce Dwayne was much like any other billionaire: an eccentric, narcissistic, borderline insane, but ultimately harmless playboy. But in truth, he led a secret, much darker, life.
?I take it the night went well, sir?? asked Stewart, the butler at Dwayne Manor.
Stewart?s family had worked at Dwayne Manor for generations. Stewart himself had started working there back before Truce?s parents were tragically murdered. He raised Truse as his own child, managing the family fortune for him, keeping greedy board member from Dwayne Enterprises, making sure that Truce would have enough to get himself a decent education. He imparted upon him the same values his father upheld: justice, charity, the idea that no situation was too dire to survive, no problem too difficult to solve, no society too corrupted to save...
?The usual.? answered Truce.
?Any more injuries for me to look at?? joked Stewart.
?Nothing I can?t handle.? said Truce, stoically enduring the pain in his legs.
?I know I supported in your decision to become this... thing. But I can?t let you do this alone. For your own sake.?
?Trust me, I can handle this quite well. It?s just a nasty bruise. I need to get some new boots. Mine don?t absorb the shock when I land.?
?Very well, sir.? said Stewart with a slight hint of exasperation in his face. ?You might want to take some rest, though.?
?Yes, I... I will.?
Truce?s parents had been shot in front of him by a robber when he was 10. They had just left a dinner party early because the young Truce had grown impatient and bored. As they walked down the street, they were approached by a man in filthy clothing. He drew a gun out of his coat asked them for their wallets and jewellery. He then shot his parents anyway and ran away. Truce grew up blaming himself for his parents? death, until he realized that the fault was really that robber?s. He was the one on the wrong. He was the one who had taken the most important people in his life.
When Truce got back to Botham City after finishing his university degree, he swore an oath on his parents? grave. That he would rid the city of the evil that took their lives. And so, Batman was born. Or he would have been, if he hadn?t been sued by DC Comics over the rights to the name. They set up an elaborate trap, simulating a kidnapping to draw his attention and handed him a court summons. He was so disappointed that even a vigilante could get caught up in red tape that he considered quitting right then. He went into the manor?s old chicken coop, where he used to hide as a child, to clear his mind. But fate had intended otherwise...
The next day, Truce drove down to his company?s headquarters to meet Lucius Wolfe, the head of the Applied Sciences department. His endless prototypes had proven most useful to Truce over his brief stint as a masked crimefighter.
?Mister Dwayne...? said Lucius.
?Hello. I need shoes.?
?Shoes??
?Well, boots actually. I?d like something that absorbs shock better...?
?Follow me...?
Lucius led him to a drawer where he kept a bulletproof suit in development.
?This was designed for paratroopers. The boots are made to absorb the impact and prevent them from getting hurt when they land.?
?This should do nicely...? said Truce.
?I hope your vendetta brings some results, Mister Dwayne. You?ve been emptying my warehouse for months.?
?Well, at least they?re being put to good use.?
Lucius Wolfe?s department was filled with half-finished products that were generally deemed too expensive or too difficult for mass utilization. Thankfully, Truce Dwayne was the richest man in Botham and had studied Chemistry, Biology, Physics, Computer Science, Mechanical Engineering, Robotics and even martial arts. In his hands, Lucius?s work could finally make a difference.
When Truce entered the chicken coop, the familiar smell took him back to the times where he used to play in the garden. Before his parents were murdered. When he was just a kid without a care in the world. Angry at how his plan to save Botham had turned out, he tried to kick a bucket, but instead slipped on a bit of chicken poop on the floor. A lone chicken woke up and hurled itself at him, trying to rip his eyes out. Looking at his dirty shoe and at the old chicken that, in the emotion of the moment had fainted and fallen on the ground, Truce had an idea.
He ran back to the house, and grabbed a spare suit he hadn?t had the time to modify yet. He picked up his paint gun and some stencils. When Stewart came to check on him, he was trying on a suit or armour painted with white feathers. In his chest, a yellow oval had the drawing of a chicken with its wings stretched out.
?What is that...?? he asked.
?This... is Chickenman!?
?HELP!?
Just an ordinary night in Botham City. The city had one of the highest crime rates in the country. Statistically speaking, living in Botham was more likely to kill you than a hand to hand fight with a grizzly bear. The Botham City Police Department could barely function with all the murders, rapes, robberies, drug dealing, thefts and jaywalking in the city. To top it off, well over half the police force was made up of corrupt, crooked cops. The mob had more authority over the BCPD than the mayor. It was amazing that anyone lived in the city at all.
Tonight it was a young woman who had been ambushed by three men wearing masks. They had pulled knives on her and were teasing her while trying to grab her purse.
?Come on, sweetie, don?t be like that. We don?t wanna have to slit that pretty throat of yours.?
?You don?t have to get hurt... a lot... Hihihihihihi?
?Why don?t you get a little... comfortable?? said the last of the thugs, grabbing her by her skirt.
But then, out of nowhere, the thug was knocked out by a metal object thrown from a roof.
?WHAT THE HELL?!? shouted one of the criminals.
He tried to reach for their prey, but a huge figure glided towards him at incredible speed, grabbed him and took him up. The remaining burglar was startled when his mate?s body fell down right behind him. In the confusion, the woman had escaped.
The last of the trio was frantically looking for who had foiled their plan.
?WHO ARE YOU?!?
The figure came out of the shadows behind him and grabbed him by the collar. He looked much taller than a normal man, his eyes white as if he was possessed by a supernatural being, and on top of his head, a bright red comb.
?I?m Chickenman.? he said, before knocking the thug out.
The Chickencoop
When he arrived home, billionaire Truce Dwayne got out of his car, took off his suit and headed straight to his computer. As head of Dwayne Enterprises, the largest company in Botham City, he spent most of his free time answering e-mails, making phone calls to business partners and checking on the progress of his latest initiative. The company, founded by his father, employed a big part of Botham?s population. Truce had also followed in his father?s steps as a philanthropist, organizing frequent events and fundraisers, creating schools, giving scholarships to underprivileged students, and creating jobs for the homeless.
In public, Truce Dwayne was much like any other billionaire: an eccentric, narcissistic, borderline insane, but ultimately harmless playboy. But in truth, he led a secret, much darker, life.
?I take it the night went well, sir?? asked Stewart, the butler at Dwayne Manor.
Stewart?s family had worked at Dwayne Manor for generations. Stewart himself had started working there back before Truce?s parents were tragically murdered. He raised Truse as his own child, managing the family fortune for him, keeping greedy board member from Dwayne Enterprises, making sure that Truce would have enough to get himself a decent education. He imparted upon him the same values his father upheld: justice, charity, the idea that no situation was too dire to survive, no problem too difficult to solve, no society too corrupted to save...
?The usual.? answered Truce.
?Any more injuries for me to look at?? joked Stewart.
?Nothing I can?t handle.? said Truce, stoically enduring the pain in his legs.
?I know I supported in your decision to become this... thing. But I can?t let you do this alone. For your own sake.?
?Trust me, I can handle this quite well. It?s just a nasty bruise. I need to get some new boots. Mine don?t absorb the shock when I land.?
?Very well, sir.? said Stewart with a slight hint of exasperation in his face. ?You might want to take some rest, though.?
?Yes, I... I will.?
Truce?s parents had been shot in front of him by a robber when he was 10. They had just left a dinner party early because the young Truce had grown impatient and bored. As they walked down the street, they were approached by a man in filthy clothing. He drew a gun out of his coat asked them for their wallets and jewellery. He then shot his parents anyway and ran away. Truce grew up blaming himself for his parents? death, until he realized that the fault was really that robber?s. He was the one on the wrong. He was the one who had taken the most important people in his life.
When Truce got back to Botham City after finishing his university degree, he swore an oath on his parents? grave. That he would rid the city of the evil that took their lives. And so, Batman was born. Or he would have been, if he hadn?t been sued by DC Comics over the rights to the name. They set up an elaborate trap, simulating a kidnapping to draw his attention and handed him a court summons. He was so disappointed that even a vigilante could get caught up in red tape that he considered quitting right then. He went into the manor?s old chicken coop, where he used to hide as a child, to clear his mind. But fate had intended otherwise...
The next day, Truce drove down to his company?s headquarters to meet Lucius Wolfe, the head of the Applied Sciences department. His endless prototypes had proven most useful to Truce over his brief stint as a masked crimefighter.
?Mister Dwayne...? said Lucius.
?Hello. I need shoes.?
?Shoes??
?Well, boots actually. I?d like something that absorbs shock better...?
?Follow me...?
Lucius led him to a drawer where he kept a bulletproof suit in development.
?This was designed for paratroopers. The boots are made to absorb the impact and prevent them from getting hurt when they land.?
?This should do nicely...? said Truce.
?I hope your vendetta brings some results, Mister Dwayne. You?ve been emptying my warehouse for months.?
?Well, at least they?re being put to good use.?
Lucius Wolfe?s department was filled with half-finished products that were generally deemed too expensive or too difficult for mass utilization. Thankfully, Truce Dwayne was the richest man in Botham and had studied Chemistry, Biology, Physics, Computer Science, Mechanical Engineering, Robotics and even martial arts. In his hands, Lucius?s work could finally make a difference.
When Truce entered the chicken coop, the familiar smell took him back to the times where he used to play in the garden. Before his parents were murdered. When he was just a kid without a care in the world. Angry at how his plan to save Botham had turned out, he tried to kick a bucket, but instead slipped on a bit of chicken poop on the floor. A lone chicken woke up and hurled itself at him, trying to rip his eyes out. Looking at his dirty shoe and at the old chicken that, in the emotion of the moment had fainted and fallen on the ground, Truce had an idea.
He ran back to the house, and grabbed a spare suit he hadn?t had the time to modify yet. He picked up his paint gun and some stencils. When Stewart came to check on him, he was trying on a suit or armour painted with white feathers. In his chest, a yellow oval had the drawing of a chicken with its wings stretched out.
?What is that...?? he asked.
?This... is Chickenman!?
Won't I be happy to!?
*Is still jumping happily*?
...
You are a very funny writer, Ren. I demand more of this!?
*Is still jumping happily*?
...
You are a very funny writer, Ren. I demand more of this!?