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    • KaizenNeko

      Forum Rules (Read Me)   01/10/2010

      When writing thread for stories in the Interactive Unrealities section please do so off-site using something like Word or Notepad before posting. This way should something happen when you submit, you will not lose any work.   Also when using Word, please preview your post before submitting. In the past there was an issue with Word's "Smart Quotes" being converted to garbage characters. Though this should no longer be a problem it's best to find out before hand rather than have to make a bunch of edits.

InsaneSpaceHunter

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Everything posted by InsaneSpaceHunter

  1. Completely divorcing yourself from the 'Outerverse' screenname, are we? I just happened to notice that today; did you do that just now, or am i just unobservant? I'm still calling you 'Outey,' though, regardless of what your screenname is. Just so's you know. Have a nice day! The Insane Space Hunter
  2. Gimp, ISH, Insaney, whatever. I always refer to myself in the third person in BOTP as "the Hunter" so it's all good. Hell, you can even bring my real name into it if you really want. I've decided to call 'Verse by a different random iteration of one of his names every time I refer to him from now on, myself. Just to keep things interesting. Have a nice day!
  3. Good to hear you're doin' better, Neko. Just remember next time that when breaking bricks with your appendages, you need to eat a Super Mushroom first. Also, you can still call me ISH if you want; I still call you Outey half the time. And to everybody else, yeah, I basically live on Twitter, if for no other reason than I don't have time to browse messages longer than 140 characters too often anymore. For instance, I've had to serve, like, 15 people and sort the mail in the time it took to read this thread and write this reply. I've been lurking a bit since Kaizen joined me on Twitter but not too much. Email's also still good if you wanna get a hold of me, and the Twitter's at Joshua Thompson (skulldaisygimp) on Twitter if that's somethin' you're interested in. Good to know everybody but Outey's still kickin' (Hah! It's his leg! ); I'll see you all on the flipped side. Have a nice day!
  4. That is, I am on the board with my new phone. . Oh, how I do slay me. Er, anyhoo, I got a Verizon Droid today, and lo and behold, besides being linked directly to my email for the purposes of my contacts list and web access, it does the board, too. Still getting used to typing, but that'll come in time. So expect to see more of me around here, since I can finally access the board during the 95% of the day when I don't have my computer. Have a nice day! The Insane Space Hunter
  5. Really? I'd begun to believe him to be nothing but a shred of a collective fever dream we all apparently had. Kinda like those BOTPs that actually worked out. Good to hear, though. And sorry I wasn't on for the fireworks of the end of the BOTP, by the way. Though I think the ending was as good as it could get. Have a nice day! The Insane Space Hunter
  6. "How far does this ocean go?" wondered Kane to himself, quoting the title of a Yoko Kanno song quite unintentionally as he discarded his fifth triple-layered three-color basket into the cascading goop. He saw the other four gyrating randomly somewhat above him with some thermal-spectro-ipso-duo-vision setting he'd long since forgotten he had, and Mebius below him in a peaceful pose as they all tumbled haplessly through the wall of muck (or floor, perhaps... direction had long ago lost meaning except to some internal gyroscope that endlessly assured him he was not right-side up). Something else was farther down, giving off some readings that most would call impossible, some would call wonky, the Hunter would call gyronamblic for some reason, and Mebius would call "exactly what we're looking for," were his head not encased in his Mutastone as they slipped through layer after endless layer of unlayered, meaningless goo. Not since Sir Wobblin' of Knocknees had led his Melancholy Men through Firwood Forest completely ineptly had anyone been as bored as the Hunter Kane was now. You see, Sir Wobblin' (formerly taking residence in Da Hood) had attempted to rob the rich and give to the poor, but, leading his men boldly through the forest shouting "All for one and one for all," he gave his position away and was promptly sued by the descendants of Alexandre Dumas for plagiarism. His men, embarrassed by their leader's lack of creativity, went back to being itinerate serfs. In any case, they, as the Melancholy Men, were as bored as the Hunter Kane was now. It all seemed familiar and yet so alien as Kane pondered not actually being Kane. Then light came into the picture, or rather the story, as it's hard to draw a picture of light using only text. For instance, if this were to be dark: +-------------+ |==========| |==========| |==========| +-------------+ then would this be light? +-------------+ |==========| |==========| |==========| +-------------+ Obviously, these are questions that should only be posed in a fixed-width font (and was an equals sign really the best choice for filler? Also, wouldn't it have been more effective had the board background color been an easily defined color, like black?), but that's still just as unrelated to the story as the whole concept of ascii art being introduced was, so we'll get back to the matter at hand. Light. Which there was a lot of. Mebius slowly withdrew his head from its oxygenating capsule, his eyes adjusting to the light after their long repose enshrouded in God's matter enshrouded in a floor (now a ceiling) of (nearly) endless goo (and baskets). Blinking, he glanced around as Kane landed next to him with a sound somewhere between SSSCHHLOOCK and SSSSSHHHLOOOP. "Glad that's over. That fancy boomstick of yours still work full of ssschhlockoop?" queried Mebius, indicating the assault rifle that Kane was unslinging from his back, assumedly to verify its functionality even as Mebius was suggesting that action. "Sure. Avtomat Kalashnikova model of 2147. More commonly known as the AK-2147, or Kalashnikov. It's the solar system's most popular assault rifle, a weapon all fighters love. An elegantly simple nine-pound amalgamation of forged durasteel and multi-ply ironwood. It doesn't break, jam, or overheat. It'll shoot whether it's covered in mud or filled with ssschhlockoop." explained the bounty hunter, giving far more information than was necessary and paraphrasing a Nicholas Cage movie in the process. "Sure is bright down here." said Mebius, shielding his eyes from the glare with the Mutastone, now in an ultra-thin form that allowed some light through (but not all of it, thus, allowing him to see. No, not like sunglasses, that's just silly and isn't becoming a mind-malleable object of untold power.). Finally, the light dimmed and a wave of some machine equivalent of methane gas washed over them. "I think my hair is melting." muttered the Oroboro. "Er, 'SCuSe mE!" wheezed the orchestrator of the robotic belch, thumping himself on the chest for no apparent reason. "hOW faR DoEs ThIS OceAN GO?" "Sasuke?" thought the Hunter, who promptly recognized the robot and realized that he wasn't sure whether Kane would be able to do that. "Sasuke?" said Kane, who promptly realized that he hadn't yet decided whether he should be able to do that. "Dammit..." "whO? asked the off-balance droid. "He's got something in his system, other than robotic hyperdementia." said the Oroboro, wondering whether it was he or one of his other selves that at some point managed to obtain a degree in android psychology. "Robotic hyperdementia is overrated." replied Kane, wondering whether or not he'd actually obtained a degree in android psychology or had merely come down with, and, subsequently (and ironically) bestowed a moniker identical to that of traditional android psychology to, every single psychological malady that a semi-artificial intelligent life-form was capable of manifesting. "I figure we need to get it out, one way or another. It's either important that we do because we need whatever it is, or it's important that we do because this," he said, indicating Sasuke's dangling eyeball and gyroscoping left arm, "is just not right." "Sorry about this, buddy, but at least it'll hurt you more than it hurts me I mean, it looks like you need it." thought the Hunter, readying his weapon. "You know this guy?" asked Mebius, ducking under an accidental punch aimed at nothing that struck nothing that Sasuke may or may not have meant to have thrown. "I have no idea." answered Kane as honestly as he could. "lET's be PAlS!" exclaimed Sasuke, flinging his rampaging self at his would-be attackers. And so the fight was joined.
  7. So, anyhow, Sasuke was wonderin' where I've been, and that's been the same thing, home, work, and playin' gigs (I'm in a band, y'see). I've not been budgeting my time for making sure I get on to post, and it's totally my fault. I've been reading what's been posted and lurking about the boards since my last posts, but haven't posted anything. I've been playing a lot of gigs lately, and since I'm an Irish singer, those gigs *generally* involve alcohol consumption. So I *generally* come home in, shall we say, a slight state of inebriation. Not always so drunk, but usually buzzed enough that I either forget to hop on and post something or just don't summon up the focus to do so. I need to buckle down and actually set aside some time to post (like I'm doing now, at the very least, to say hello), which I'll definitely do. Tuesday (tomorrow) I've got a gig and Friday I'm mastering my new CD, so those days are out. So I'll see y'all Wednesday or Thursday night. Have a nice day! The Insane Space Hunter
  8. ...or Sasuke, anyway. Hey! Hey! Guess what! Guess what! Hey! Guess what! I posted something! Finally had a day off from everything, so I did this. Wasn't sure if it's gonna come down to everything ending tomorrow, so I gave Max a good end to his arc, at least. I'll try to hop on tomorrow and do at least one more post before this thing wraps up. Have a nice day! The Insane Space Hunter
  9. I think, and this is in my uniquely... deranged? opinion... that the whole concept of end dates might be a mood-hamperer. Don't get me wrong, many of you are probably the organized, thinky types that actually set aside time to do stuff, unlike my fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants scheduling ways. But just like when we did too much in the stat system and had fifty slots and styles and attacks and such, maybe the whole "we WILL finish by this date" thing messed up the mojo. By no means should we try to drag this out forever, but when we're first faced with "post every week without fail or you're out, dammit" and then (most of us) end up havin' problems with life and whatever and can't make that happen all the time, then we start starin' the deadline in the face a week or two out which for (most of us, again) represents only a post or two, it's easy to not necessarily lose interest, but fall into a state of apathy. I mean, I did somewhat; I probably could've hopped on and at least posted something, but without the real time to think about what I wanted to do, it seemed pointless. If I only got a post or two in before the deadline, I wanted them to be good, but I wasn't able to deliver the quality that I'd have hoped for, so I didn't want to do it as much. I reckon this might've been a problem for mostly just me with the deadline looming and such, but hey, that's where I'm comin' from. So... are we doin' the extension, then? I don't think it'd hurt to move the deadline some; might take the pressure off and we might be able to actually get some more goin' with this thing before it's done instead of snuffing it out just because it's faltering. Mind you, this could also result in dragging something out long after it should've died a natural death, but if even half of us have one-sixteenth the interest Sasuke has in doin' this thing, we should be good. Have a nice day! The Insane Space Hunter
  10. Max clung to the offending baked good as it rolled over him, then righted himself the moment that its rolling motion brought the particular bit that he clung to (two chocolate chips and a blueberry, incidentally) to the top of the gyrating yeasty monstrosity. Running on a rolling muffin is a bit different than, say, running on a rolling log (and in fact is more difficult), but Max somehow managed to stay right-side up despite having to hurdle Sasuke's bulk every time the muffin rolled over to that side. Gilgamesh, not one to be outdone (if he could possibly prevent it, that is), flipped onto his feet and joined Max in running madly along the tumbling muffin. "You really must teach me the muffin-summoning technique when we're done with this. It would come in handy when I get peckish in limbo." said Gilgamesh between breaths and the occasional swing of his sword (Masamune, as Zantetsuken was still in Max's hand). Before Max could reply, however (or interject that they really should get off the muffin before trying to continue the fight), Gilgamesh continued in his normal long-winded manner. "All I can summon is... ENKIDU!" "Whaff vuff?!" said Sasuke through a half-mouthful of muffin as Enkidu landed on him from dimensions unknown. Through one eye, he'd caught a few glimpses of the muffin's passengers as he rolled along with the muffin and they didn't, but since said glimpses were punctuated by random viewings of the ground and random surrounds, it was hard to keep track of what was going on. It was also difficult to hear the banter when the muffin kept rolling over him and blocking the sound. "Attack, my faithf..." heard Sasuke as the ground came up to meet him. ... "Is that a wolf, a dragon, or a..." he heard on his next rotation, during which he saw Gilgamesh's left foot and also a weird tentacled thing in the distance fighting some people with swords. ... "Yes!" CLANG! "In tandem, you cur!" shouted Gilgamesh at Enkidu as Sasuke tumbled once more against the ground. ... "...not fair having teammates...", Max's hand holding Zantetsuken. ... "Just because you're an unpopular vagrant an...", Enkidu's... limb of some kind. ... "VVAT IV ENUFF!" said Sasuke, bursting free of his muffin prison and planting himself against its bulk. The muffin skidded to a halt, sending its other occupants tumbling head-over-heels onto the ground behind Sasuke. Enkidu disappeared in a puff of purplish nether, though this fact escaped the vapid Gilgamesh as he righted himself and pulled out a second sword with his other hand. "Thank you, oh marverlous metallic muffin-stop!" quoth Gilgamesh, finding it uniquely hard to carry his inexplicable halberd under his arm whilst wielding two swords. "Ptooey!" replied Sasuke, spitting out gritty pieces of muffin. There was a reason he didn't eat things after they fell on the ground for more than ten seconds. Meanwhile, Gilgamesh hobbled over to Max, who drew his Shriek with his off-hand to mimic Gilgamesh's stance, sans the impediment of the halberd. "You sure you got the, er, grip strength for that?" mused Max through an amused smirk. "With the help of Enkidu, I shall surely vanquish..." came the warrior's retort, until he realized that his "faithful" companion had disappeared. "OH, COME ON!!!" Max took the opportunity to attack furiously, boosting his already-impressive attack speed and dual-wielding combat prowess with his suit. The shriek and also Zantetsuken clanged off of Gilgamesh's armor, weapons, and ever-motionless halberd as random attack after random attack nailed the stalwart interdimensional warrior. Armor shards, chunks of Excalipoor (which Gilgamesh now sorrowfully realized was the weapon he'd drawn into his off-hand and seriously hampered his overall dexterity to dual-wield), and spurts of blood fell from Gilgamesh under the assault. "Had enough?!" taunted the bounty hunter. "UNLIKELY, YOU SCURRILOUS BUFFOON! IT'S MORPHING TIME!!" shouted Gilgamesh above the din, sprouting six extra arms and the remnants of his sword collection. Rooting himself firmly in place, he swung, parried, slashed, feinted, and punched at Max (usually more of a kicking man, he adopted a new technique due to the fact that Max still had his other sword which left him with a free hand), who, even with his boosted speed and reflexes, fell back under the onslaught of five blades and a fist. "Wowza." remarked Sasuke, leaning up against the now-stationary muffin and momentarily distracting attention from the epic sword battle. "I turn your question upon you as you turned my blade upon me!" taunted Gilgamesh. "HAD ENOUGH?!" Max made one final attempt to stop the onslaught by sweeping Zantetsuken through both Gilgamesh's (fake) Sword of Geburah and (fake) Black Blade and lopping off one of the warrior's extra arms, leaving Crystalis also out of reach for the time being. Gilgamesh, however, returned the favor and severed Max's left arm with his beam saber, sending the Shriek to the ground along with two (fake) half-swords and another armored limb. Max grunted and sank to his knees, noting that even though the pain was excruciating, he wouldn't bleed to death because the beam saber had mercifully cauterized the wound on its way through. "Hah! And ouch! Yield, I say!" "Don't think so." said Max, attempting to get to his feet, which was difficult as the magnificent sword Zantetsuken simply punched through the ground they were standing on as he tried to invert it and use it as a crutch to get up. Still struggling, he managed to regain one knee with a tremendous effort as he looked down at Zantetsuken, still firmly planted in the "earth." He stopped short as a gauntleted hand entered his vision, open and palm-upward. "Then yield, you shall not." said the suddenly-calm voice of Gilgamesh, offering Max a "hand up." Oh, I slay me. Max begrudgingly took the proffered palm, looking Gilgamesh (now without his extra arms) in the eye as the warrior helped him to his feet. Before he could ask him why he'd suddenly changed his tune, as it were, and hear some goofy remembrance of honor and bravery in the face of adversity, they both turned to discern the source of a loud metallic clapping. "Bravo, bravo." said Sasuke, putting his hands together in appreciation of the spectacle. Max grimaced in semi-shock and looked at Gilgamesh, who shrugged. "Good show, guys. Two arms in one fight? From two guys? That's pretty cool." He strode up to the bewildered combatants and inspected Max's stump. "I can fix that, I think, if you don't mind a metal one and some short-term muscle memory reprogramming. Oh, and you'll probably be unable to fight anybody for a while... though that's pretty much where you are right now anyway, am I right?" Gilgamesh was the first to speak. "Uh... what?"
  11. All didn't stick around too much after SimBen (who was his tie to us) left BOTP after, um, four? Five? Somewhere in there. It's been the same for me with the job and (also) my truck breaking down, so I'll try to get something rolling after I catch up on reading some story posts. Have a nice day! The Insane Space Hunter
  12. Well, everything's back online. Technically, the power came back last Wednesday afternoon, but then I spent the rest of the day getting the internet and all the computers back up and running and communicating with each other. Comcast was having some problems as well as Xcel with the whole tornado thing, I guess. Thursday I spent a good part of cleaning up sticks from the roof and front and back yards and hosing the front of the house off where a lot of leaves got stuck in funny places. Friday I helped a friend do the same, and then I was playing music at the local Renaissance festival over the weekend. I guess I could've done something yesterday, but I was tired as hell. I'll get something in the works tomorrow now that everything is (seemingly) sorted out. But I'm back, baby! Have a nice day! The Insane Space Hunter
  13. So... we had a tornado touch down about ten blocks from where I live, and the power's out (full story later). Right now I'm pirating internet from someone in my front yard, running the laptop off of my truck via a 300-watt power inverter and an extension cord. Xcel Energy says on their call-in information center that they've completed about 60% of the total repairs, and 80% should be done by tomorrow morning. The other 20% should be done by 6pm tomorrow. I don't know what percent I'll be in, but rest assured, it shall be hard as the dickens to post much of anything until they do. Not that I can't just sit in the front yard and pirate internet, that's okay, but running this thing off my truck shows that it should take about two and a half hours to charge the battery on the laptop. That's a lot of gas for a four-hundred-and-sixty-cubic-inch V8 in a twenty-five-year-old truck. So I'll see you when the lights come back on. Have a nice day! The Insane Space Hunter
  14. Without waiting for his opponent to reply, Mebius stepped in with a jab of his Mutastone "dagger," which lengthened itself into a sword even as he was attacking. The Architect wasted literally no time in stepping slightly to the side, and counterattacked with his own sword. Mebius, too, with reflexes borne of an extradimensional view of reality, sidestepped neatly to one side. Both figures stood stock-still for a mere moment, each holding their sword over the other's shoulder in a visceral mirror image of their opponent, then as one they slashed for the neck to end the fight in a violent and bloody manner. Neither blow landed as both fighters again dodged with near-omniscient reflexes once again, their blades whipping through the air and coming back to clash again and again as each tried to find a hole in his opponent's defenses. Instantaneous reflexes warred against knowledge that spanned a limited part of the immediate future, and neither seemed to be able to gain the upper hand. Then Mebius changed tactics, his MutaStone suddenly folding neatly in half at the point where the starsteel blade of the Architect intersected it and trapping it like a pincer. Surprise registered on the face of the Architect for only a split second as Mebius pulled the creator closer, prepared to deliver an elbow to the cheekbone. In that split second, however, a ball of lightning erupted from the Architect's gauntleted hand that Mebius saw (another) split second too late to dodge. As the globule of crackling energy struck him full in the chest, however, he managed to touch his off-hand to the Architect's own sword, creating a circuit between himself and the other being. Lightning arced through both of them, causing a thunderous boom and a powerful shockwave that knocked both of them backward. Mebius' MutaStone morphed into a spring as it released its grasp on the Architect's blade and the Oroboro righted himself on a coil of God's-Matter while the god simply drug his mundane blade through the soil to slow his flight until he planted both his feet once again in the Zookeper's yard. Both fighters looked up at one another to continue the fight when they heard a weapon discharge in the vicinity of the building. They turned almost as one to see Kane, his sidearm leveled at the now-smoking remains of what had been the zookeeper's head, the chair still rocking slightly from the momentum that the old man had created right before his head had been turned into a pile of molten slag. "What?" asked the cyborg. "You fool! You don't realize what you've done!" screamed the Architect in a rage that would, under any other circumstance, blot out suns and send countless planets into the throes of endless frozen winter. As it was, however, all that his power mustered in the Garden was a necrotic wilting of the grass around him and a wave of rippling energy flattening the rest of the plant life around the Zookeeper's home. "Life's a bitch, have a nice day." remarked Kane, holstering his pistol and brandishing his assault rifle. The more he adopted the "Kane" personality, the easier it became, it seemed. "Now get out of my... hell, I'll just move you out of the way." Mebius, his MutaStone morphing into a heavy hammer, sprang at the fuming physical manifestation of the Architect just as Kane pulled the trigger, the two suddenly united by a common enemy...
  15. Thanks, guys. Actually, that's kinda the reason that I didn't end up posting anything for BOTP this weekend... that, and the internet was down on Saturday. Have a nice day! The Insane Space Hunter
  16. I'm starting a lot of posts called "Kane and <blank>," apparently. Anyway, just to clarify, Insaney can use Kane's BFG, because much like Sylvester Stallone as Judge Dredd, his DNA is identical to that of his slightly-different-looking twin brother. This is only important because I wanted the Hunter to be as much like Kane as anyone but Kane can be, with access to all the special abilities that Kane would have (such as toting a BFG around and intending to use it). That said (and since I didn't say it before and "if you have a plan and somebody screws it up, don't bitch about it" is the rule), it's still a good and/or funny bit that Insaney can't use the BFG in nameless's post, and that part obviously stays since I explained it away in a haphazard fashion. I realize now that I didn't mention that Insaney and Kane share the same DNA (since they're identical twin cyborgs, save that whole brain thing) after going on and on about how Kane's BFG is DNA-keyed, but... ... well, hell, now it seems like an even better idea that Insaney can't use the BFG even though he's lugging it around. Forget it, we'll stick with not using it--Insaney not using it, that is. Thus the impromptu strikethru on everything I wrote up until now. The more I think about it, the more I like it. In the process of writing this post, I have changed my mind and deleted the "let's explain this in the way I'd initially intended" story post, which, by the time anyone reads this post, will be gone. Why did I leave the parts of the post that I decided to part ways with the intention of? I dunno, maybe to explain my thought process in arriving at the conclusion that was already arrived at by persons other than myself and also to poke fun at the fact that Judge Dredd doesn't look, act, or sound anything like his supposedly identical twin. To conclude: everything is fine, nothing is ruined, I should explain myself better but am now happy that I didn't. Have a nice day! The Insane Space Hunter
  17. Remember, so long as we're hitting our one-post-a-week minimum, there's no "drought," as such. I realize that I'm late this week in getting at least one post in (I'll get something up tomorrow), but we're not trying to ditch, we're just a bit busy with life right now. Or maybe we've mellowed in our old age and one post a week is about right for our more simplistic lifestyle... nah. I dunno about this 'complaints about excessive posting' bit, though, as you usually tend to write a lot anyway and this shouldn't generally be frowned upon in a cooperative writing venture, but it *can* be a little intimidating when I come online and have to read five new posts in three threads before I can figure out where exactly everybody is, THEN start formulating a post. It's been hard to make time to read all the posts and write new ones this week, so thus the outage. Not that I think that you should post less or anything; I'm just saying that when I'm short of time this can be an issue that comes up and ends up delaying my input. I shan't be short of time next week and intend to 'bring the big guns to bear,' as it were, but if others are in the same boat I am, then I can't fault them for not managing to write three things a day. I'm just giving you crap. My main point is that you set a minimum and then went on kinda implying that merely meeting the minimum wasn't quite cutting it, though I don't think you necessarily meant to and by my pointing this out I don't mean to blunt the edge of your tremendous enthusiasm. I just mean to quell your fears that some of us are slacking off and suggest that you calm down. We still have time to go before this is all said and done. Besides, you, Nameless, and Cap are steaming along just fine with only occasional input from the rest of us. Why mess with what's working? Have a nice day! The Insane Space Hunter
  18. Glad I'm making the cut. I'll probably have one more big post by the end of the week, but I've got next week off so expect some cool stuff to come down the pipe, if you like the oddly repetitive semi-alliterative drivel I continually spew across the interweb. Be forewarned, though, I shall do my damnedest to make poor Gilgamesh win a battle... I realize it's almost against his character but he's just so freaking fun to write for. Here I thought that my pièce de résistance would be the fact that my character is standing in for his evil twin, then a man with a wiffle ball bat of a sword hops out of the ignominy of Final Fantasy V's oppressive regions of nether existence and steals my breath away. Have a nice day! The Insane Space Hunter
  19. *whistle* Wow... I'm taken aback, here. That looks like... well... sweet! Not to disparage Badger's offering, but... dayamn. Guess I'll keep it until someone makes an even better one... if that's possible. Phenomenal. Wow. ... I have no idea what to say here. Thanks. Anyway, I should probably go figure out something BOTP-related to accommodate Sasuke's lust for someone to post something other than him, just to balance the scales of equivalent exchange for this awesome offering. Have a nice day! The Insane Space Hunter
  20. Gilgamesh gyrated needlessly through the swirling vortex of the rift, legs crossed and hands clasped in some manner of ironic meditative position for a wildly gyrating sentient body adrift in the nethers of existence. The wild colors of a thousand suns consuming themselves in astronomical ecstasy flashed by in a blur that would cause a normal mind to implode upon itself in a uniquely messy manner (psychically speaking), but the legendary warrior bore them no mind. All the colors, all the gyrations, all the permutations of existence within this no-man's-land between one bit of existence and the next was nothing new. He'd seen it before. Of course, those were his exact words when he popped out of the "other side" of the swirling vortex and righted himself in a spectacular yet un-witnessed (and therefore not nearly as appreciated as one would hope the miraculous exit of an armored paragon of sword skill from the nothingness between specks of our humdrum three-dimensional existence) manner--"What ho?! I've cast my eyes upon this vista before, by the Sword of Geburah!". Indeed, as stated twice previously, he'd seen this before--the exact room he'd just leapt out of following his battle with the reincarnated demon god Vaughn Tourai. "Would that I had egressed in a locale where I might again test myself against those who test me... test my abilities against those... aw, never mind, that line wasn't very good." he mused, surveying the constantly-mentioned room of spikes and flame art for the umpteenth time. "Fortunately, my faux pas was witnessed by none but me and my currently void-ridden companion!" he supposed aloud, gesticulating madly off-screen at (presumably) Enkidu, or rather, whatever particular corner of existence from which a composite creature of several myths and legends might erupt, given a proper introduction. "Not sure who you're talking to that could witness things through the void, but it begs for investigation." said a voice as a figure materialized from a particularly violent writhing flame design depicted on the wall. "Zounds! A traveler, a vagabond, an interloper appears in our midst, eavesdropping! Who are you, you... ... you?" demanded Gilgamesh, having spontaneously run out of synonyms for "interloper" and somehow enunciating a pause that would be written as an ellipsis in the midst of a series of carriage returns should someone be transcribing the events of the encounter. "A fellow... traveler, I suppose." replied the figure known to knowledgeable spectators of this particular discussion as "Mebius," to the other participant in said discourse as "traveler, vagabond, interloper, you... you... ... you," and to the ever-present-yet-not Enkidu still ensconced within the cocoonlike embrace of the other side of the multihued edge of existence as "that other voice going on out-slash-in there somewhere." "Do you always hide along walls and listen in on private conversations?" asked the rather off-put Gilgamesh. "Do you always expound upon nothing in particular every time you emerge from a void portal and yell at random points in space? countered the still-not-introduced-to-his-conversational-counterpart Mebius. "Maybe. Nobody ever complained before, and I popped up in some interesting places." replied the melodramatic meat-slicing metal-headed man who was also one-quarter god, remembering previous encounters with the inside of treasure chests and at least one cupboard in which he'd mistakenly displaced a jug of malt syrup that rendered him unable to draw the Crystalis quickly until his interdimensional jaunts allowed him to end up in a solvent factory where he cleansed the stickiness from the blade. "I should teach you to respect the privacy of others, scoundrel!" postulated the sword-swinger, swinging a sword out of its sling and brandishing it in a manner unlike any word that would begin with "s" and continue the alliteration. "Why is it always a fight every time I..." "The time for suppository banter has passed, wretch! On your guard!" bellowed Gilgamesh, holding what he now remarked to be Excalipoor high above his head in a flashy battle pose. "Suppository? Don't you mean 'exposi...'" "I have the floor, you floundering fool! I mean to say that you generally suppose to speak from your ass, thus you emit suppository banter! A verbal dart I have slung your way, and your feeble imagination has unnecessarily blunted my lingual assault! How am I supposed to continue taunting you when you completely miss the points of my vocal barbs? Hah! Pointed barbs! I slay me..." rambled Gilgamesh, until a sword formed of Mebius' MutaStone pressed itself against his windpipe in a nonverbally threatening manner. "Oh, hello. You're not really one for banter, are you?" "I'm not sure you're cut out for it, either." said Mebius coolly, contemplating the silence that Gilgamesh would, for once, remain shrouded in should he simply pass his blade through the loudmouth's voicebox. It's not that he'd normally particularly mind such buffoonery, but the near-constant slaying of his interdimensional counterparts in close proximity to his own somewhat clouded mind was beginning to grate on his nerves a little. "Ho! Enkidu! Join me in glory!" bellowed Gilgamesh just brazenly enough to forestall the imminent throat-slashing while his trusted counterpart leapt forth from a jagged hole in space-time and plowed into Mebius. The blade morphed nigh-instantaneously into a shield that buffered Mebius against the brunt of the sidekick's assault, but the concussion of the blow still sent him careening into the wall that he'd previously been camoflaged against. Gilgamesh smiled at his longtime companion, who nodded his head and then disappeared through another nearby jagged hole in space-time. "Cur! You leave me in the lurch again? Is this any way to treat a hero?" "It's just you and me now!" taunted Mebius, springing into action with a flourish of his morphing MutaStone.
  21. So... Kane doesn't know Max... but it's not Kane anymore. See also an addendum to the stat post. So... does Insaney know "this" Max? I'm still a little foggy on how deep the rabbit hole of when and where this one is or isn't the other one. Oh, and he of course knows Outerverse. But Kane doesn't. Since Outey was playing Kane instead of, well, Outey when Kane came into the picture. But does Insaney know that Kane doesn't know Outey? Will it matter since Outey knows Insaney who, even though he looks like Kane, still looks like himself, since they're twins? Will somebody draw a diagram of whatever the hell I just said? We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming. Have a nice day! The Insane Space Hunter
  22. Yyyyup, slick new look there, OuteKaizenNeko. Far more striking. Glad you finally got that done right in time for us to look at it a lot more often. Have a nice day! The Insane Space Hunter
  23. Personal Information Name: Kane, The Psychopathic Space Hunter, a.k.a. Cyborg 9, "Psyche" Age: Relatively Ageless Cyborg Constantly Embroiled in Inter-Dimensional Time-Space Mishaps Rendering Standard Age-Defining Methods Rather Ineffective (looks like he's in his mid-20s) Sex: Male Race: Cyborg (Human) Occupation: Assassin, Thug, Arms Dealer, Bodyguard, Soldier of Fortune, Ass-Kicker, Blaster Toter Dialogue: [bgcolor=CRIMSON]||||||||[/bgcolor] CRIMSON, though he can impersonate anyone else's voice with ease. Character Bio Kane and the Hunter were both created for one destiny that neither of them fulfilled. Then, Kane caused an explosion which sent the Hunter on his merry way through space and time. While his ne'er-do-anything-explicable brother mucked about with causality, Kane ended up growing up in various crime syndicates, which only served to enhance his violent tendencies. (Also, during this time, Oh Heck was created to replace the first 2 "failures," though he's unimportant.) Due to sheer blind luck (and thanks to Billy Chilly's blunder in BOTP3: Revenge of the Posters) Kane was sucked into the same space-time reality as the Hunter we all know and love. Upon finding out his twin survived, Kane set out on a quest to destroy the Hunter, but that didn't go as planned and Kane ended up getting the Hunter reactivated for reasons he still wonders about himself. Kane is a calculating, kick-ass war-borg in multitudinous ways the polar opposite of the scatterbrained Hunter, and he found work recently. Somebody hired him to recover some fabled treasure that half the galaxy was after in the center of some floating space garden station-planet whatsis. So that's what he's doing here. Physical Appearance Dark blond hair worn in a ponytail, blue eyes, no scars. Instead of his 'civvies' that are a black polo shirt, black slacks, sunglasses and an overcoat, he's wearing a grey suit of battle armor with red-colored reinforced plating to enhance his already nigh-indestructible body. He stands approximately, say, EXACTLY 5'9.323" tall and weighs 400 kilograms (880 pounds or thereabouts). He's outfitted with several weapons that shall be described later. Notable Skills A walking nightmare. His knowledge of martial arts and weaponry is astonishing. Should the need present itself, he can fabricate his own weapons. Top-notch pilot, gunner, and combat expert. He's also had some modifications done to his endoskeleton making it stronger, as well as modifications to his shell to make it more resistant to weapon fire... surprisingly, this renders him precisely as durable and/or indestructible as the Hunter, who tends to make planetfall by leaping out of spacecraft in the upper atmosphere. Speaks relatively any language, is well-versed in anything from particle physics to underwater basket-weaving. He can build, repair, or hack pretty much anything he needs to. He can also impersonate any voice. Basic Battle Assessment Choice Weapon: Anything that makes the other guy dead first. He has several choices from his current loadout, but as was stated previously, he's proficient with anything from planet-killer force cannons (currently outlawed by BOTP Battle & Story Rule #1) to those flappy Chinese training swords. Plasma Gun--sidearm. Roughly the size of a Walther PPK, and fires high-velocity plasma. Not as powerful as Insaney's sidearm, the Mighty Stinger, but doesn't need to be reloaded so constantly as a result. Duranium Tachi--melee weapon. A tachi is a sword slightly longer and more curved than a katana, and predates the famous blade of the renowned samurai warrior. It's carried blade-down, often hung from a belt instead of blade-up and thrust through a sash. Kane's is chained to a baldric (shoulder belt) that he wears over his armor, and is forged from the same insanely resilient metal that the Hunter's head is reinforced with. Assault Rifle--primary weapon. Fires high-velocity armor-piercing rounds. Comes with an underslung grenade launcher equipped with both incendiary and fragmentation shells. It's a heavier model that would usually be mounted on a jeep, but Kane don't need no steenkin' jeep. BFG--special weapon, included as an attack for a reason. Big Fhorglinggrads Gun. Blows stuff to hell, joke intended, har har. Defensive Measures: Superheavy Combat Armor, roughly equivalent to some kind of powered exoskeleton assault frame built to withstand tank shells. Of course, because of his enhanced strength and abilities, it doesn't slow him down any more noticeably than regular armor would. He's also got the reflexes of a caffeinated mongoose, so it's really pretty difficult to hit him. Matrix-style dodges, like Neo pulls off, not that "falling through the sky and getting shot all to hell" crap that Trinity apes. Miscellaneous Gear: Multi-spectrum broadband dual-channel headset communicator. Kane picks these up all the time from soldiers he's killed and carries a few spares in case one breaks or he needs to communicate with someone else and gives them one. If he can find the frequency that an opponent (or their army) is using to communicate, which is likely given his computer and technological skill levels, he can easily mislead them by impersonating voices of commanding officers or mucking up the channel with inane chatter, which he often does. Also, he has one fifteen-and-a-quarter-inch piece of unbreakable duranium monofilament wire. In his right hip pocket. Fighting Style: Live and Let Die (usually by killing them before they (a.) Try To Kill You, or (b.) Know You Are There). Almost entirely the opposite of the Hunter's, there's nothing intentionally flashy about Kane's style (save a headbutt he borrowed from his brother's style). Insaney dives off of things, throws people in the air, kicks people in the head with both feet, and flips over backwards to dodge. Kane shoots from vantage points, snaps necks, caves in sternums with his boots, and ducks or sidesteps to dodge. Brutally efficient. He's also programmed with thousands of different fighting styles, armed and unarmed, though he's wont to pick the things that cut to the chase and kill the other guy without a lot of mucking about with stances, counterattacks and bowing. Signature Techniques Normal Attack - Kill: Shoot them in the eye, stab them in the heart, rotate their head 180 degrees counterclockwise relative to their shoulders. The default would probably be with a weapon. Normal Defense - War-Borg Indestructibility and Overbearing Dexterity, coupled with Custom Combat Armor: Phenomenally good at getting out of the way, able to take it if he can't. Special Attack - The Whimsically Ridiculous Unreliable Flying Headbutt Of Insanity That Ensures Victory: Back when Kane wanted to kill the Hunter, he studied the Hunter's signature move in-depth and began employing it. Kane's WRUFHOITEV is not as powerful as the Hunter's HVWRUFHOITEV, which is denoted by the fact that Kane's is not described as being "high-velocity," which is what the H and V are on the front of the Hunter's acronym. It's still potent, though, and serves Kane well as a method for breaching tank armor or bunkers without expending ammunition. Or knocking people down to shoot them in the head. Whatever floats his boat. Super Attack - The BFG: Huge destructive radius, completely vaporizes its targets. It's DNA-keyed so that only Kane can fire it, and it features a self-recharging reactor battery that Insaney managed to procure through Warchord's network of contacts for Kane's "birthday." It's still only good for one shot every few minutes due to the insane amount of power consumption, but because of the power level of the weapon it's not usually an issue.
  24. As explained in Live and Let Die, Kane isn't actually *in* BOTP9... it's Insaney, standing in for Kane. So, it should be noted as an addendum to "Notable Skills" that he occassionally forgets either that he A.) has a given skill in the first place, or B.) knows what to do with a given skill should he possess it. It should be noted in Signature Techniques that his specials are according to Kane's preference, not Insaney's--thus, the Headbutt is intentionally not as powerful as it could be because Kane's Headbutt is not as powerful as Insaney's, even though Insaney is the one actually performing the Headbutt. Incidentally, since Kane's BFG is DNA-keyed, that means that only Kane (or perhaps his exact identical twin) can use it. Have a nice day! The Insane Space Hunter
  25. In a drop pod far above the surface of a war-torn planet known by its inhabitants as "Sirrus," its invaders as "Objective 44-Alpha 2," and the pod's sole inhabitant as "the job site," a small viewscreen lit up suddenly. Across an encrypted battle-comm channel, the tinny voice of one "Major Isaac MacDougal" explained via narrow-band broadcast to the silent figure in the pod how the battle was going, where the enemy was dug in, and where they'd drop the resupply pod that he could replenish his ammo from when (not if) he breached the enemy lines. The figure stood emotionlessly motionless as the face on the viewer droned on about how he'd come "highly recommended" and how expectations were high, how if he had a platoon of "soldiers like you, the war would be over," all the standard semi-sarcastic drivel that field commanders told mercenaries whose purpose was to succeed where they themselves (along with all the men they commanded) had failed. Finally, the briefing ended, and the screen went blank once more. The darkened cabin of the pod, built to be just large enough for two men and their equipment, was lit only by the orange glow of the pod's ablative heat shielding burning away as it streaked through the atmosphere. The light came in through a small viewslit in the door designed to allow the occupants to ascertain that they'd landed, though the concussion of the pod hitting the planet's surface usually clued them in that they'd reached their destination. From the outside, it looked just like all the other shock trooper drop pods that had delivered the advance and special forces troops to the surface; it had the same markings, the same half-burned shielding, and the same downward trajectory into the entrenched forces opposing the spaceborne assault force. Also, it possessed the same penchant for attracting antiaircraft fire, its presence on radar causing gunnery crews to leap to their station and adjust their firing solutions to intercept the pod en route to the surface. More than a few gunners wondered about the presence of a single pod in the otherwise empty sky, but none wanted another invader to land on their soil, so they launched their ordinance skyward and waited for the blossoming explosions to consume the tiny vehicle. Moments before the deadly projectiles exploded and reduced the pod to scraps, the door flew open and the occupant jumped out into the air. Moments later, the armor-clad, gun-toting, freely falling figure was obscured by the dust and metal left over from the pod's destruction and was assumed to be just more detritus cascading down across the battlefield. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dismounting from the control platform of his flak cannon, one gunner lit a cigarette and watched as the varied panels and armor scraps clunked harmlessly off the transparent canopy above him. Puffing the tobacco's internal flame to life, he glanced back at his radar screen, which shoed nothing but the last bits of the destroyed target. He glanced back upward just as the canopy shattered under the impact of a high-explosive grenade, which was a concussion far more devastating than the transparent dome had been rated to withstand. The gunner yelped in surprise as a booted foot crushed his sternum, but lay still after the foot drove him into the plated floor of the observer's dome. Shouldering a rifle as he stepped off the corpse and onto the still-lit cigarette to extinguish it, the booted foot's owner smiled ironically. "Smoking kills." he muttered off-handedly to the dead man as he strode toward the control platform. The next two minutes were infused with unmitigated chaos as the flak gun with a broken observation canopy suddenly fired its payload into another gun's contol platform, incinerating the gunner and igniting its unspent ammunition. The explosion destroyed the adjacent communication relay, cutting off six cannons from the network. Dumbfounded operators looked about wildly as the voice of their superiors was silenced, then in terror as another cannon fired on the one with a broken canopy, having witnessed it destroy the relay. Other cannoneers, unable to communicate with the rogue cannon that was in fact the only one with any clue as to what was actually transpiring, assumed the worst and blasted it out of commission. More cannons fired in the melee, unable to distinguish friend from percieved foe, and fire blanketed the area in a fierce maelstrom borne of confusion and assumption. A damage control and assessment team was sent in a hoversled to ascertain what was going on, but the saboteur, having extricated himself from the conflagration left by the flak cannons annihilating one another, destroyed the vehicle with an anti-vehicle grenade from the underslung launcher on his rifle. Reports of ground troops firing on one another spread throughout the already-confused ranks still flabbergasted by their anti-aircraft support guns destroying one another, and it was a simple matter for the lone orchestrator of the chaos to toss a grenade into a trench then fire a rifle round at the sergeant of a nearby company. Units began returning fire on targets that had not actually fired upon them, and it wasn't long before entire companies were wiping one another out regardless of what their commanders were telling them or who had initiated the actual firefights. Meanwhile, in the thickest of the fighting, a figure clad in grey body armor scythed his way through the serried ranks, dispatching targets with ease and dodging fire with superhuman agility. Grabbing a comlink from a downed battalion commander, he fitted it to his ear with one hand while firing single rounds from the heavy rifle in the other. "The fire's getting heavier... who's responsible for this?" came the staticky voice of, judging by the respectful but harried responses of various sergeants and commanders dodging rifle bullets, the force commander. Nobody seemed to know what was going on, which was the plan. In a flawless imitation of the force commander's voice and a low-power comlink broadcast that lacked the strength to carry all the way to the command center, the running, gunning man ordered troops in his area to fire on the aforementioned command center housing the actual owner of the voice. The words spoken through the purloined communicator had their desired effect, and a tank battallion opened fire on the command center following a hasty explanation in the commander's voice that "unknown saboteurs" had apparently taken over the command center and started the chaotic upheaval that was now obliterating the entire battle force. A pillar of flame erupted from the armored command center after a vicious pummeling from the assault vehicles, and the broadcasts from the real force commander ceased. The saboteur, having effectively beheaded the enemy battallion (and destroyed a large part of their ordinance to boot), hopped over the crest of a hill and rolled stealthily into a depression on the other side. Extracting a line-of-sight transmitter from his pouch, he beamed a message straight upward to the ships waiting in orbit that he was ready for supplies and that the anti-aircraft capabilities of the enemy force had been "reduced." He imagined MacDougal's expression as news was relayed about the success of his mission and almost smiled. Then, suddenly, his phone rang. Of course, his "phone" was far more advanced than Alexander Graham Bell had ever envisioned when he first communicated at a distance via sounds transmitted through wires; indeed, the only parallels between that device and the one carried by the mercenary were that it was used for communication at a distance and that they were both innocuously called "phones." Phone, in this case, actually stood for Personal Holographic Orbital Network Emitter, and was chosen more for its nostalgic tie to the word "phone" than the actual meaningful description it offered about its function. It indeed interfaced with orbital networks strung across worlds and galaxies, but didn't "emit" them as the name implies when read as such. It emitted the personal holograms instead, though the device was popular enough with the general populace that nobody really cared if the words the acronym stood for really made sense in order. "What is it?" the man snapped angrily, as callers interrupting him on missions was one of his pet peeves. Only a few people actually had his Personal Holographic Orbital Network Emitter Code Number, and they knew not to contact him unless it was important. Still, even if it was important, it was annoying. "Got a hot one, Sug. Somethin' big this time." replied the voice on the other end of the connection as the image materialized on the hologram projector. A purple-haired, violet-and-blue-skinned female sporting robotic vines on her back appeared in holographic miniature as her terminal synced up with its target on the distant battlefield. "I told you before, Warchord, it's 'Kane,' not 'Sug' or 'Sugar' or whatever you keep calling me." replied the man, restocking his ammunition from the supply pod that had unceremoniously thudded into the planet's surface while he was talking via the holographic network. "Kane, kinda like Sugarcane, thus, Sugar. Sug to your friends." was Warchord's smirking reply. She loved to press Kane's buttons, so long as she was safely located on the other side of a long-distance communication signal with some scrap of information he might consider not killing her for. "I don't have any friends." was his curt reply as he slid a fresh clip of ammunition into his rifle and chambered a round. "What is so important that you..." "Interrupted you?" she interrupted, pushing another button in Kane's violence-filled mind. Deciding to quit while she was ahead (and while she still had her head), she continued. "It's something big... there's a 'client' interested in someone 'procuring' a powerful or valuable object from some forgotten corner of the cosmos. Lots of other people are loookin' for it, it's on some ancient space station or planet or some-such... the pay is phenomenal. You interested?" "My brother's the one that goes chasing mythical knick-knacks, girlie." he replied quietly. Surprisingly, she heard him over the omnipresent sounds of battle going on all around his small haven. "They asked specifically for you, not Spacey." she explained, her holographic figure turning its head toward a miniature datapad and furiously typing away. She looked up as an artillery shell destroyed most of the hillock Kane had chosen as his resupply point. "It seems someone may have found me." he said through a somewhat unsettlingly wicked grin. "Guess you'll just have to send Insaney after all." "But like I told y..." Warchord began right before Kane disconnected the transmission and headed out. Warchord wasn't the only person who could 'press buttons.' -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "So, the legendary Psychopathic Space Hunter has agreed to obtain our item?" asked the three-inch holographic figure adjusting the jacket of its business suit as it looked up at Warchord. "Uh, yeah. One psychotic bounty hunter, as you requested." she replied, gesturing to the silent figure clad in a suit of grey armor behind and to the left of her. Sporting a dark blond ponytail and a heavy assault rifle, his grim demeanor was that of a soldier fresh off the battlefield of some war-torn planet. "Excellent! We'll rendezvous with you in the Rigel system as agreed, and provide transport to the location of the object in question. A pleasure to do business with you." replied the suit-clad man as the transmission faded. "Okay, cool, we did it!" exclaimed Warchord in a relieved, yet far less businesslike manner than she'd adopted during the transmission. "Good job, Spacey!" "No problem. I always wondered what it'd be like to be Kane." replied 'Spacey,' otherwise known as The Insane Space Hunter. Clad in a spare set of Kane's battle armor and carrying one of the many weapons his warlike sibling had tucked away in a corner of the cargo hold, he'd slightly recolored his hair to resemble that of his twin during his impersonation. "How is it?" Warchord asked, punching in a course to meet their employer. "I seem to talk a whole lot less." the Hunter replied, quietly contemplating the fact that not only did he need to talk less, he needed to not talk about the things he usually did (such as obscure penguin languages, French martial arts stances in relation to modern blaster combat training methods, and bovine organisms sporting varying hues not generally noted to occur on Earth). "I guess I should probably sound like him, too." he mused, switching to Kane's voice. Both he and Kane had the ability to mimic voices flawlessly, though situations where they employed the other's voice didn't come up too often. "Sounds good... you have to really sell the fact that you're Sug on this mission; they specifically requested him and downright refused to work with anyone else." she warned him. "Good thing you guys are perfect body doubles of each other." "Right! The proof of the pudding is in the details!" he exclaimed helpfully, reminding Warchord of how uniquely imperfect Kane's 'perfect body double' really was. "Try again, Spacey." she admonished, planting her hands and all her vines on her hips in a show of disapproval. "Oh, right. I mean, uh... live and let die?" "Okay, that's better... I think."