Kozmos
Jew Detective
Contempt I realized that I put custom ice bullets in my orders. I dont know WTH was I thinking, those things are impossible to make. Just use normal bullets mkay?
CTNES: The Hero (or Villian) Within
- Thread starter Contempt
- Start date
Icmancin
WSNR Pte
^^^
Hahaha...
Hahaha...
Kozmos
Jew Detective
Says the man in who's NES Canada annexed the USA. 
Contempt can we get playa names next to the villain/heroes?
Contempt can we get playa names next to the villain/heroes?27 FEB 1951 21:56 GMT
Paolo had just finished to speak at his Weekly Anti-Mafia Gathering that he had been organizing for a while now, he was exiting the compound, surrounded by fans whom were asking him things or simply wanted to touch this man whom many claimed could heal persons with a mere touch when to persons came from around a corned on a speeding vespa scooter. “CREPA INFAME!” te passenger screamed raising a Lupara towards Paolo and discharging its deadly hail of lead. The world went black.
A day later at Palermo’s hospital a steady Beep-Beep-Beep came from the heart monitoring device in Paolo’s room.
“How is he doctor?” Marco, a close friend of Paolo asked the doctor that was assigned to Paolo Magno.
“Padre, it would say it’s a miracle he’s even alive, but looking how quickly he is healing I would say that that’s a true miracle, it defies everything I learned in med. School”
“And the other victims?”
“Well, the elderly lady had no chance, she was DOA, probably dead before she hit the ground, two others suffered mild injuries and will be discharged in a couple of days, a couple of other people were treaded for minor injuries. And the Mafiosi, well you probably know about that.”
“Si, e un peccato, they would not have talked but a jail sentence was preferable. Is Paolo awake?”
“Si, he is awake and since his progress is so incredible you can visit him, if he continues like this he will be discharged before those two with mild injuries will”
“Grazie, I will see him right away” Macro walked to Paolo’s room.
“Permesso?” Marco asked while knowing on the door post of Paolo’s room
“Marco? Avanti Entra! How are you doing?”
(Laughs)“How am I doing? You were shot and ask me how I am doing, your incredible you know!”
“So I hear from the doctors, however none knew exactly what happened, do you know?”
“Si, one of your friends told me” Pauses for a second, takes a chair and sits down.
“It would seem that two Soldati Mafiosi were sent to kill you”
“Si, I remember I was exiting and we heard a bike speeding in our way”
“Si, the two Mafiosi were on a vespa, they shot at you with a sawed off lupara”
“O mio dio, did other get hurt?”
Marco’s face turns grim. “Yes, an elderly lady that was on you right died, some others were hurt but they will make it”
A painful silence engulf the room as Paolo visibly feels a stab of emotions
“its all my fault, they came for me, I could have helped, i…”
“No, its not your fault, those bastard Mafiosi are the only ones to blame, all the people that came to listen to you came because they believe in what you stand for, or rather what you stand against, La Cosa Nostra.”
“They only came because of my healing powers, and when they needed me I was not there, I failed them”
“The doctors say the Elderly lady was dead before she hit the ground, you could not have helped her and maybe yes many people only listen to you because of your powers but perhaps that is why god gave them to you, to help us.”
“Non so, did the police get those bastards? It would be a first if they did”
“They tried to go around the first corned too fast, their vespa crashed, the crowd stormed over them, the police was too late to save them”
“Mob justice for mobsters, well with our corrupt judges and officials they would have never served a decent time in prison anyhow and have no doubt they would have not talked, if the victims still hold the Omerta the Soldati of La Cosa Nostra would sooner kill themselves before talking.”
“Vero, but I’ll let you rest now, even with your gifts you need some good old rest”
“Grazie, be well my fiend”
Marco gave a small smile and nod and left the room.
conehead234
Braves on the Warpath
When are the orders due?
alex994
Hail Divine Emperor!
~Darkening~ said:
Nonsense, I posted that before I even saw your post
Icmancin
WSNR Pte
@ Cleric: It was a combined attack...
das
Regeneration In Process
Besides, the Canadians must've bombarded the Americans into submission with snow bombs!
Swissempire
Poet Jester
And teh dreaded ice bullets, oh noes
Icmancin
WSNR Pte
Ethier that or they got the American leaders drunk on Molsen...
Israelite9191
You should be reading
Somewhere in Western China During the Long March
Ernesto Gonzalez huddled around the fire, his back turned to the frigid wind eating his meager ration of stale rice with the odd instruments called "chop sticks" his comrades insisted on using in place of the more civilized fork or spoon. While Gonzalez and the other members of this particular group of the Red Army ate in silence, the wind began to pick up. Out of no where, the communists were surrounded in a ferocious gale, a hurricane the likes of which had not been seen in this province since long before the abdication of Puyi. Within one second the group had gone from a collective silent reverie to mass histeria as the fire went out and the group was thrown into dark chaos. Bowls and chos sticks went flying, sending one man unconcious and one man dead before the ice and snow had a chance to take them.
As the winds built up and the ice began to fall even harder, Ernesto Gonzalez was left alone, his comrades all dead or dying as hail the size none of them had ever seen crushed skulls and chests. Ernesto suddenly lost any control over his emotions that he had somehow managed to contain through the raging storm. The sorrow, hatred, remorse, pity, and above all, fear rose to the surface. In a roar of primal furry, a sound more like an untamed wolf than a human, ever ounce of hidden power within Ernesto's body was unleashed.
All around him, the storm began to change. The icy hail began to fall skywards, the pure white snow on the ground was lifted up in winds as strong as the hurricanes of his native Cuba, spining and spining into a funnel cloud manuevering like a top doging around the fallen bodies. The sun seemed to break through in all its magnificence as clouds parted in the sky. But nay! This wsas not the sun, the clouds themselves burned with an unearthly light as the water caried within them turned to fire. The weather had turned away from the laws that bound it, directed by the pure, fiery emotions of a Cuban communist who had turned, it seemed, into the forces of nature itself.
And then, it was over. The blizzard ceased, the tornado of snow collapsed to the ground, the clouds ceased to burn, and the darkness of night descended again onto the Chinese soil. Slowly, a beam of light from the rising sun peaked over the horizon and across the snow covered ground. The corpses of the many dead, for all those who had survived the blizzard died in the miraculous aftermath, were illuminated by this solar ray in an eary silence that even the birds dared not disturb.
Some ten yards away from the corpses lay Ernesto Gonzalez. Though he appeared dead, his life force drained by the miraculous surge of power that had emitted from his very core, he was not.
Laying upon the downy, snow covered grass Ernesto Gonzalez slowly waked to the colored rays of the morning sun. As if an old man come back to life, he stirred awake and rose to his feet. Looking around him at the corpses, the events that had transpired the many hours of the night, though they seemed to last only a few seconds, came flooding back to his mind. Never before had he realized he had such powers; never before had he known he could command nature herself; never before had he realized that the weather was his to manipulate. Slowly but surely came to the realization that he must learn to control this, or even more of his comrades would perish. He must learn to use his might to fight for the workers, to further the world wide revolution, and not to hand victory to the capitalist pigs. As the sun continued to rise above the distant horizon, Ernesto Gonzalez stumbled off into the distance to find the Red Army and re-join the Long March.
Ernesto Gonzalez huddled around the fire, his back turned to the frigid wind eating his meager ration of stale rice with the odd instruments called "chop sticks" his comrades insisted on using in place of the more civilized fork or spoon. While Gonzalez and the other members of this particular group of the Red Army ate in silence, the wind began to pick up. Out of no where, the communists were surrounded in a ferocious gale, a hurricane the likes of which had not been seen in this province since long before the abdication of Puyi. Within one second the group had gone from a collective silent reverie to mass histeria as the fire went out and the group was thrown into dark chaos. Bowls and chos sticks went flying, sending one man unconcious and one man dead before the ice and snow had a chance to take them.
As the winds built up and the ice began to fall even harder, Ernesto Gonzalez was left alone, his comrades all dead or dying as hail the size none of them had ever seen crushed skulls and chests. Ernesto suddenly lost any control over his emotions that he had somehow managed to contain through the raging storm. The sorrow, hatred, remorse, pity, and above all, fear rose to the surface. In a roar of primal furry, a sound more like an untamed wolf than a human, ever ounce of hidden power within Ernesto's body was unleashed.
All around him, the storm began to change. The icy hail began to fall skywards, the pure white snow on the ground was lifted up in winds as strong as the hurricanes of his native Cuba, spining and spining into a funnel cloud manuevering like a top doging around the fallen bodies. The sun seemed to break through in all its magnificence as clouds parted in the sky. But nay! This wsas not the sun, the clouds themselves burned with an unearthly light as the water caried within them turned to fire. The weather had turned away from the laws that bound it, directed by the pure, fiery emotions of a Cuban communist who had turned, it seemed, into the forces of nature itself.
And then, it was over. The blizzard ceased, the tornado of snow collapsed to the ground, the clouds ceased to burn, and the darkness of night descended again onto the Chinese soil. Slowly, a beam of light from the rising sun peaked over the horizon and across the snow covered ground. The corpses of the many dead, for all those who had survived the blizzard died in the miraculous aftermath, were illuminated by this solar ray in an eary silence that even the birds dared not disturb.
Some ten yards away from the corpses lay Ernesto Gonzalez. Though he appeared dead, his life force drained by the miraculous surge of power that had emitted from his very core, he was not.
Laying upon the downy, snow covered grass Ernesto Gonzalez slowly waked to the colored rays of the morning sun. As if an old man come back to life, he stirred awake and rose to his feet. Looking around him at the corpses, the events that had transpired the many hours of the night, though they seemed to last only a few seconds, came flooding back to his mind. Never before had he realized he had such powers; never before had he known he could command nature herself; never before had he realized that the weather was his to manipulate. Slowly but surely came to the realization that he must learn to control this, or even more of his comrades would perish. He must learn to use his might to fight for the workers, to further the world wide revolution, and not to hand victory to the capitalist pigs. As the sun continued to rise above the distant horizon, Ernesto Gonzalez stumbled off into the distance to find the Red Army and re-join the Long March.
~Darkening~
Weep, Mother.
Suuuuuuure you did ;]. I believe you................
Storm Rider
Essence of Awesome
- Joined
- Jul 14, 2004
- Messages
- 288
Chef Brian
San Francisco, (no secret base yet)
Base Level: Basement
Funds: 1000 WC
Weapons: A pistol and a knife
Stockpile: nothing
Henchmen: 5 men
Vehicles: Your old van
Superhero level: 0
Strength:0
Speed/Agility: 0
Endurence:0
Powers
Pick one: 1) Lighter
Research:
Description: A possibly schizophrenic man in a white chef's hat, known for his absolutely nonsensical speech and unpredictable nature. Recently he has discovered a dormant ability to conjure fire, but what he will do with his newfound abilities is unknown.
Orders and story forthcoming.
San Francisco, (no secret base yet)
Base Level: Basement
Funds: 1000 WC
Weapons: A pistol and a knife
Stockpile: nothing
Henchmen: 5 men
Vehicles: Your old van
Superhero level: 0
Strength:0
Speed/Agility: 0
Endurence:0
Powers
Pick one: 1) Lighter
Research:
Description: A possibly schizophrenic man in a white chef's hat, known for his absolutely nonsensical speech and unpredictable nature. Recently he has discovered a dormant ability to conjure fire, but what he will do with his newfound abilities is unknown.
Orders and story forthcoming.
Alakazen
Clostridium botulinum
Storm Rider said:
Cooking ala flambe?
Storm Rider
Essence of Awesome
- Joined
- Jul 14, 2004
- Messages
- 288
No, he's pretty much not so much a chef as a crazy guy in a white hat.
P.S. It's not really my character.
P.S. It's not really my character.
Storm Rider
Essence of Awesome
- Joined
- Jul 14, 2004
- Messages
- 288
During the darkest hour of night, an ancient VW Bus careened wildly down the deserted streets of San Francisco. The driver spun the wheel wildly and the van made a sharp right turn with tires squealing from the pressure.
Inside the car, a tense figure was hunched over the wheel, the top of his stained white chef's hat brushing the top of the ceiling. His eyes glinted with a possessed light as he muttered to himself. In the back seats, several men half-sat, half-cowered, unsure of what to expect from this insane man they had come to serve. Some still believe he was a prophet for his mysterious power and cryptic speech, some had long since written him off as psychotic. But all were too afraid to find out what would happen to them if they tried to leave.
Chef Brian cackled maniacally, his ranting raising in volume so his followers could catch his words. "Yes, I do desire the juice of the corporeal popcorn. Bequeath unto me the eternal foliage of your electron microscope."
Suddenly he spun the van in a complete 180, taking out an unfortunate mailbox in the process. Jamming the accelerator, Chef Brian piloted the speeding car wildly through the empty streets. The henchman clutched their makeshift weapons, sensing action was imminent. Sure enough, the van quickly screeched to a halt outside a major bank, and Chef Brian virtually burst from the door in excitement, as his minions hesitantly climbed out the back, pulling ski masks over their faces.
As he approached the tightly barred doors of the bank, the chef's palms grew bright with flickering flame. "These doors are no grape against my booming elephants!"
The fire leapt from his fingertips, and the bars sealing the doors to the bank grew red from the heat, folded and melted, cascading to the ground in pools of molten steel. One of the henchmen cracked open the glass door, and the unwitting robbers poured into the lobby as the first screams of the alarm blasted the air. As their bizarre leader melted the locks to the vaults, several minions grabbed as many bags of cash as they could carry while others clutched their weapons, anxiously waiting for the police.
"Fear not, my lampshades! I will shuffle tasty wrath upon their spurrious pineapples!" A few of the followers shook their heads in disbelief as they piled the money in the van, the first squeals of police sirens audible in the distance. It was not going to be a boring night, but more than a few wondered if they would be better off in jail.
But the chase was surprisingly short for both sides. When the patrol cars rolled onto the scene, they found their doors welded shut before they could exit. By the time the officers had smashed their windows and gotten out of their cars, the van had already shot off into the night.
Victory was smiling on the criminally insane that night.
Inside the car, a tense figure was hunched over the wheel, the top of his stained white chef's hat brushing the top of the ceiling. His eyes glinted with a possessed light as he muttered to himself. In the back seats, several men half-sat, half-cowered, unsure of what to expect from this insane man they had come to serve. Some still believe he was a prophet for his mysterious power and cryptic speech, some had long since written him off as psychotic. But all were too afraid to find out what would happen to them if they tried to leave.
Chef Brian cackled maniacally, his ranting raising in volume so his followers could catch his words. "Yes, I do desire the juice of the corporeal popcorn. Bequeath unto me the eternal foliage of your electron microscope."
Suddenly he spun the van in a complete 180, taking out an unfortunate mailbox in the process. Jamming the accelerator, Chef Brian piloted the speeding car wildly through the empty streets. The henchman clutched their makeshift weapons, sensing action was imminent. Sure enough, the van quickly screeched to a halt outside a major bank, and Chef Brian virtually burst from the door in excitement, as his minions hesitantly climbed out the back, pulling ski masks over their faces.
As he approached the tightly barred doors of the bank, the chef's palms grew bright with flickering flame. "These doors are no grape against my booming elephants!"
The fire leapt from his fingertips, and the bars sealing the doors to the bank grew red from the heat, folded and melted, cascading to the ground in pools of molten steel. One of the henchmen cracked open the glass door, and the unwitting robbers poured into the lobby as the first screams of the alarm blasted the air. As their bizarre leader melted the locks to the vaults, several minions grabbed as many bags of cash as they could carry while others clutched their weapons, anxiously waiting for the police.
"Fear not, my lampshades! I will shuffle tasty wrath upon their spurrious pineapples!" A few of the followers shook their heads in disbelief as they piled the money in the van, the first squeals of police sirens audible in the distance. It was not going to be a boring night, but more than a few wondered if they would be better off in jail.
But the chase was surprisingly short for both sides. When the patrol cars rolled onto the scene, they found their doors welded shut before they could exit. By the time the officers had smashed their windows and gotten out of their cars, the van had already shot off into the night.
Victory was smiling on the criminally insane that night.
conehead234
Braves on the Warpath
Orders coming soon.
Alakazen
Clostridium botulinum
@ Storm Rider: Egads! Not as incomprehensible as the original one, but mindlessly funny nonetheless!
@ Contempt: Orders sent.
@ Contempt: Orders sent.
