The Asylum Game: An Open-Ended Adventure
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Ooo, thanks, subject Vee. :3 Indeed you have. :3
Like you could watch a marathon?
Hehe~ X3 Nah, it's OK for now. I just want to downsize really. I only use it for browsing and review work anyway. :3
Like you could watch a marathon?
Hehe~ X3 Nah, it's OK for now. I just want to downsize really. I only use it for browsing and review work anyway. :3
...They can type, subject Smag? XD
Not at all~ It's highly unlikely but there should be one at least, subject Sas~ X3 Ah well~ At least they're a bit more classy than American women. XD
Several~
Sounds like a plan~
Hey subject M2!~
Not at all~ It's highly unlikely but there should be one at least, subject Sas~ X3 Ah well~ At least they're a bit more classy than American women. XD
Several~
Sounds like a plan~
Hey subject M2!~
Subject Vaude, ye-up and the can unclog your toilet too! XD
Oh, and here's that next bit of The Sniper.
The hiding Russian slammed into James. Sending them both crashing into the juke box, it skipped a few songs before setting on an old Irish song. He had the wind knocked out of him. His vision grayed out slightly. He gave his attacker a vicious right hook. The fist connected and James was free.
The attacker, who looked to be a high ranking officer, drew his pistol. James did the same. What happened next either had to a miracle for James, or a curse to his adversary. Both of them fired, and both pistols clicked. Jammed. The Russian officer attempted to clear the jam in his firearm. James knew better, he sprung forward and grabbed the slide of the pistol, hit the slide release, disabling the weapon. He grabbed his enemy by the forearm and swung him towards the juke box.
James forced the officer?s face into the glass casing, cracking it, and causing the song to skip for the second time. It landed on a bluegrass feeling song. He pulled the poor bastards head back and slammed it into the aluminum casing. With such force as to dent it.
?But someday baby??
The officer lifted his leg forward and kicked James in the groin. He ignored the searing pain in his crotch and grabbed the Son of a ***** by his vest and picked him up. He threw him across the bar and into a display case of alcohol. James pulled his combat knife and spun it at a worryingly fast rate.
?Bang! Bang! Bang!?
The enemy combatant stood, his knife also drawn. James looked him in the eye. This fight wouldn?t be easy, they were both sure of that. James stripped his heavy coat, vest, and balaclava and web gear. He was lighter and faster, perfect for a knife fight. His enemy did the same.
?Vomanos! Vomanos!?
They both looked each other in the eye and lunged forward. James went low, for the knees. His adversary, on the other hand went high, causing them to miss each other completely. James slammed into the bar. His vision grayed out from the impact. The Russian fumbled into a bar table. James stood, knife ready for another go.
?I get satisfaction, everywhere I go!?
They lunged at each other again, this time with results. They grabbed the opposite?s wrists and tried to squirm their way out of it. Only James thought to kick, he kicked his enemy in the crotch, mainly for retaliation, and then in the stomach. Sending him flying and giving James the advantage he needed.
?Is where I call home!?
The officer threw his knife at James, missing by scant centimeters and cutting his cheek. James lifted his fingers to the wound, it came back with blood. He then got flash backs. That hour in Washington, outside the Capital Building. Where he had almost died. To him, he was standing it that same patch of dirt again. The Bluegrass playing faintly in the back. The impact of that 7.62x54 bullet ripping through his chest, it seemed almost real to him again.
He shook his head clear to see eye-to-eye with his opposite knife wielder. Unfortunately, he was too close for James to react fast enough. He was tackled, he was still to shocked from those images playing through his mind to do anything. The Russian startled him, and began to choke him.
James was still in a daze, unable to do anything; he then began to notice his air supply being cut off. He began to struggle, no use. His vision began to darken; he struggled more, still no effect. Then he noticed a gleam of metal off to his side, his combat knife. It was his last hope of getting home. He poured what was left of his strength into staying awake. He let his arm out, reaching for the knife, it was just out of reach, he extended his digits, and he touched the hilt. His arm wouldn?t go any farther.
The Russian tightened his grip on his throat. James noticed his sight was only down to a few glints of light. He stretched his arm out further. He began to feel the tendons in his arm strain. He had two finger on the hilt; good enough. He flung his arm up, the blade in hand. The blade sunk into the Russian?s jugular, blood went everywhere. The Russian collapsed and bled out, James shoved the body off of him and he gasped for air.
James spent a few minutes regaining his composure. He then thought for a few moments. He made quiet a commotion inside the tavern, someone was bound to hear, and the blizzard was over. His eyes widened in horror. He didn?t have much time before he was swarmed. He went about cursing his stupidity as he set up for their inevitable counter attack.
It had been several minutes, but James had prepared everything. Rigged explosives, hid the bodies, set other booby traps and climbed up to the roof. He pulled out his Steyr HS 50, assembled it again, and set up a snipers nest on the tavern roof. He had forsaken his heavy winter coat and only wore his vest. His odds of survival were close to zero, so he had taken the time to write a farewell letter to his wife, Claire. He had a large stash of other weapons next to him. Including an RPG-7, and RPK light machine gun and Several AK variants, all of which were taken of the dead bodies in the bar.
He didn?t have to wait long. He began to hear echoes of engines off the mountain. He put his finger on the Anti-vehicle rifle and peered through the scope. Soon enough, after a few seconds a BTR-80 rounded the street corner, directly in James view. He aimed for the engine block in the back; before he could fire of the round another BTR rounded the corner.
James pulled the trigger anyway; it flew to its intended target in a flash of water vapor and a deafening bang. It stopped, dead. The other BTR began to target him. James pulled the bolt back, ejected the empty casing, slid in a fresh one, slid the bolt back into place and fired. All in one fluid motion. The second BTR stopped, its engine block shot out as well. James smirked at his handy work. Until he heard the sound that every sniper feared, a helicopter.
A Kamov KA-50 flew up over the western edge of the town. James cursed loudly as he reloaded the now steaming HS 50. He took aim, thought for a second, and fired. The round zipped skyward and missed. James? adrenaline spiked as did his heart rate. He reloaded again in record timing and fired again, this time hitting the enemy helicopter; it struck the edge of its small stubby wings, contorting it to disrepair.
The helicopter retaliated. It opened fire with its 20mm cannon. It missed James, but not by much. Shattered concrete and glass pelted him. He didn?t flinch, he couldn?t afford to, and he reloaded the rifle again and fired. The 50. Caliber BMG round flew straight and true and obliterated the rotor shaft, disabling the craft.
The Helicopter began to spin wildly out of control, veering towards the Tavern James had held. He began to lose altitude. James stood, grabbed an AK-74 and began to run towards the ladder on the opposite end of the building, too late. The KA-50 slammed into the Tavern front, taking out several of the buildings support beams before finally exploding when a gas leak, combined with the copious amounts of alcohol met fire. James was tossed almost twenty-five yards before slamming into a tree and passing out from injuries.
Oh, and here's that next bit of The Sniper.
The hiding Russian slammed into James. Sending them both crashing into the juke box, it skipped a few songs before setting on an old Irish song. He had the wind knocked out of him. His vision grayed out slightly. He gave his attacker a vicious right hook. The fist connected and James was free.
The attacker, who looked to be a high ranking officer, drew his pistol. James did the same. What happened next either had to a miracle for James, or a curse to his adversary. Both of them fired, and both pistols clicked. Jammed. The Russian officer attempted to clear the jam in his firearm. James knew better, he sprung forward and grabbed the slide of the pistol, hit the slide release, disabling the weapon. He grabbed his enemy by the forearm and swung him towards the juke box.
James forced the officer?s face into the glass casing, cracking it, and causing the song to skip for the second time. It landed on a bluegrass feeling song. He pulled the poor bastards head back and slammed it into the aluminum casing. With such force as to dent it.
?But someday baby??
The officer lifted his leg forward and kicked James in the groin. He ignored the searing pain in his crotch and grabbed the Son of a ***** by his vest and picked him up. He threw him across the bar and into a display case of alcohol. James pulled his combat knife and spun it at a worryingly fast rate.
?Bang! Bang! Bang!?
The enemy combatant stood, his knife also drawn. James looked him in the eye. This fight wouldn?t be easy, they were both sure of that. James stripped his heavy coat, vest, and balaclava and web gear. He was lighter and faster, perfect for a knife fight. His enemy did the same.
?Vomanos! Vomanos!?
They both looked each other in the eye and lunged forward. James went low, for the knees. His adversary, on the other hand went high, causing them to miss each other completely. James slammed into the bar. His vision grayed out from the impact. The Russian fumbled into a bar table. James stood, knife ready for another go.
?I get satisfaction, everywhere I go!?
They lunged at each other again, this time with results. They grabbed the opposite?s wrists and tried to squirm their way out of it. Only James thought to kick, he kicked his enemy in the crotch, mainly for retaliation, and then in the stomach. Sending him flying and giving James the advantage he needed.
?Is where I call home!?
The officer threw his knife at James, missing by scant centimeters and cutting his cheek. James lifted his fingers to the wound, it came back with blood. He then got flash backs. That hour in Washington, outside the Capital Building. Where he had almost died. To him, he was standing it that same patch of dirt again. The Bluegrass playing faintly in the back. The impact of that 7.62x54 bullet ripping through his chest, it seemed almost real to him again.
He shook his head clear to see eye-to-eye with his opposite knife wielder. Unfortunately, he was too close for James to react fast enough. He was tackled, he was still to shocked from those images playing through his mind to do anything. The Russian startled him, and began to choke him.
James was still in a daze, unable to do anything; he then began to notice his air supply being cut off. He began to struggle, no use. His vision began to darken; he struggled more, still no effect. Then he noticed a gleam of metal off to his side, his combat knife. It was his last hope of getting home. He poured what was left of his strength into staying awake. He let his arm out, reaching for the knife, it was just out of reach, he extended his digits, and he touched the hilt. His arm wouldn?t go any farther.
The Russian tightened his grip on his throat. James noticed his sight was only down to a few glints of light. He stretched his arm out further. He began to feel the tendons in his arm strain. He had two finger on the hilt; good enough. He flung his arm up, the blade in hand. The blade sunk into the Russian?s jugular, blood went everywhere. The Russian collapsed and bled out, James shoved the body off of him and he gasped for air.
James spent a few minutes regaining his composure. He then thought for a few moments. He made quiet a commotion inside the tavern, someone was bound to hear, and the blizzard was over. His eyes widened in horror. He didn?t have much time before he was swarmed. He went about cursing his stupidity as he set up for their inevitable counter attack.
It had been several minutes, but James had prepared everything. Rigged explosives, hid the bodies, set other booby traps and climbed up to the roof. He pulled out his Steyr HS 50, assembled it again, and set up a snipers nest on the tavern roof. He had forsaken his heavy winter coat and only wore his vest. His odds of survival were close to zero, so he had taken the time to write a farewell letter to his wife, Claire. He had a large stash of other weapons next to him. Including an RPG-7, and RPK light machine gun and Several AK variants, all of which were taken of the dead bodies in the bar.
He didn?t have to wait long. He began to hear echoes of engines off the mountain. He put his finger on the Anti-vehicle rifle and peered through the scope. Soon enough, after a few seconds a BTR-80 rounded the street corner, directly in James view. He aimed for the engine block in the back; before he could fire of the round another BTR rounded the corner.
James pulled the trigger anyway; it flew to its intended target in a flash of water vapor and a deafening bang. It stopped, dead. The other BTR began to target him. James pulled the bolt back, ejected the empty casing, slid in a fresh one, slid the bolt back into place and fired. All in one fluid motion. The second BTR stopped, its engine block shot out as well. James smirked at his handy work. Until he heard the sound that every sniper feared, a helicopter.
A Kamov KA-50 flew up over the western edge of the town. James cursed loudly as he reloaded the now steaming HS 50. He took aim, thought for a second, and fired. The round zipped skyward and missed. James? adrenaline spiked as did his heart rate. He reloaded again in record timing and fired again, this time hitting the enemy helicopter; it struck the edge of its small stubby wings, contorting it to disrepair.
The helicopter retaliated. It opened fire with its 20mm cannon. It missed James, but not by much. Shattered concrete and glass pelted him. He didn?t flinch, he couldn?t afford to, and he reloaded the rifle again and fired. The 50. Caliber BMG round flew straight and true and obliterated the rotor shaft, disabling the craft.
The Helicopter began to spin wildly out of control, veering towards the Tavern James had held. He began to lose altitude. James stood, grabbed an AK-74 and began to run towards the ladder on the opposite end of the building, too late. The KA-50 slammed into the Tavern front, taking out several of the buildings support beams before finally exploding when a gas leak, combined with the copious amounts of alcohol met fire. James was tossed almost twenty-five yards before slamming into a tree and passing out from injuries.
Yay, subject Vee~ :3 Indeed they are. ...But isn't every woman classier then a Yanks? XD
Well, what are ya waiting for? XD
A good plan. :3
Hey-yo, subject Ren.
Well, what are ya waiting for? XD
A good plan. :3
Hey-yo, subject Ren.
I don't need that service, subject Smag. XD Not to mention I haven't been kidnapped by some big turtle dinosaur. XD
...And nice actually! :3
Hey subject Ren!
Still looking, subject Sas. XP ...That is true. XD!
...There's no marathon here! XD
Very good~ X3
...And nice actually! :3
Hey subject Ren!
Still looking, subject Sas. XP ...That is true. XD!
...There's no marathon here! XD
Very good~ X3
Nah, I'm here, subject Vee now. :3
Anyway, on with the chat for before.
OK, subject Vee. :3 Yep. XD
...What about a movie marathon?
Superb~ :3
Still good, subject Ren, how about you?
And hey, subjects Smag and M2.
Anyway, on with the chat for before.
OK, subject Vee. :3 Yep. XD
...What about a movie marathon?
Superb~ :3
Still good, subject Ren, how about you?
And hey, subjects Smag and M2.