The only reason you double-posted is because your computer became extra-laggy. And that's because your WiFi went down, and that's because the WiFi pylons and satellites were all destroyed. And that's because we Jupiterians are invading the Earth. GG I wish I could come up with an original wish.

You can't say someone is "uneducated politically" only because he didn't know what one Russian holiday was.

You suddenly come up with the revolutionary formula to calculate the total mass of ions divided by atoms combined with Einstein's theory of relativity, which is then proven wrong by 34x/y=4 where y is the quantum force of an atom at 5>7y. Then your brain explodes. I wish people were scared of toilet paper tanks.

As you can see, I effectively took the suggestion of blues10 to make a story on Prodigi. More suggestions are welcome. :)

England, London, 2032, 12th year of the Tal Ourouk war, Battle of London “Go! Run! Leave your affairs and run!” Jonathan Lox screamed at the top of his lungs, the sound of his voice accompanying his frantically gesturing arms. Men and women scrambled out of the collapsing building as fast as their tired legs permitted. Like a wave, except this one was heading not towards, but away from the city, and was composed of crying, scared, and confused people. The brutal attack on the jewel of Britain was a slap in the face to the Eurasian generals. Tal Ourouk parachuted all around the city, whilst secret troops hidden inside the city itself came out of hiding and aided their outside comrades. Eurasians scrambled their defenses, but the Eurasian armies were stretched thin across hundreds of kilometers, all around London. Piercing this line was as easy as cutting through butter. The General assigned another soldier to help evacuate the people as he decided to prepare his own men for evac. Hunching to evade the streaks of bullets sent his way, he swiftly jumped and dodged his way across the Eurasian’s temporary evacuation camp and to the front line. A young soldier was crouched behind sandbags, mowing down the Tals with a machine gun. “Connor! Where’s Angela?” The General squatted next to the soldier manning the machine gun. “Inchide the daycare down the chreet! She chaid she wanted to chave the kids inchide!” Connor managed to pronounce between two breaths, as he used his teeth to pull out another case of ammo. Jonathan gave a quick, reassuring tap on the teen's shoulder, and, without further ado, he sprinted across the cratered street, skirting around the massive flaming holes in the tarmac. He was forced to elbow his way through the human swarm going the opposite way. The violent stench of human decrepitation hit him as brutally as a gust of wind. His determination and sanity struggled to stand as he witnessed the deepest corners of the human nature, arbored by this crowd of living debris. Some women were still clinging onto their dead children, dragging the tiny corpses through the stampede; others, less numerous perhaps, willingly abandoned their child, forcefully unclenching the small fist and flinging them into the crowd. The General could not tell which was worse. He continued through the mass of flesh and blood, occasionally falling flat onto the ground when he heard the whistling of a bomb. He used this stand up-lay down stand up-lay down technique the entire way, heading towards the entrance of the playground. The complex was huge, and it took him much pushing and stumbling before finally making it to the tree which marked the daycare entrance. Once tall and proud, the mighty oak was nothing but a small stake of charred wood, destroyed by the flash bombings. A young woman suddenly burst out from an adjacent door, followed by a group of terrorized kids, clinging to her legs. Their tears dripped down the ragged dress, running down the blood-stained folds. “Angela!” The General sighed in relief, “Quick, this way, follow me.” He was about the head back the way he came when he realized his daughter hadn’t moved. “Angie?” The General put a hand on his gun handle, a gesture he had learnt to do almost instinctively. “Dad! Please, get the kids off me. Tell them I’m a monster, that I will eat them, anything, but get them off me!” She stood, unmoving except for her hands which were uselessly trying to tear the little ones' grips away, her breaths quick and shallow. Angela tried to push them away, but the small ones clinged on as if energized by an invisible force. “Angie, what's the problem?” The General asked. “Too many questions! Father, get them off me! Now!” She pushed and shoved the children aside, but they kept getting back up and running back to her. “Angela. I’m not doing anything until you explain what’s happening,” Lox said as he unconsciously pulled out and charged his handgun. The only reply he had from Angie was a slow, sad shaking of his head. “Father...why couldn't you listen to me,” Angela looked straight into his eyes, and slowly, turned around. There was a small box attached to her back, with wires sprouting out of it and inserted into a small metal object. Jonathan immediately recognized it from the one he used during his trainings. A timer. It was a bomb. A flash suddenly originated from the roof of the daycare, creating a quick clang as it hit the metal box. The General's leg muscles flexed as he threw himself onto the ground. His head banged onto the hardened earth, as a wave of heat scorched the top of his head. A rain of debris and ashes then ensued, followed by stinging smoke. Slowly, he put one arm in front of the other, his biceps prominent as he tried to get away from the explosion's origin. His half-closed eyes then caught a glimpse of a quick trail in the air. Despite the constant ringing in his ears caused by the shockwave, he heard nearly inaudible human voices, deep and pronounced in an somewhat familiar language. His mind, still under shock, connected the dots in a flash and his legs automatically sprung him straight up and sprinted for the nearest cover, which turned out to be the entrance to the hallway he came from. His mind directed his steps like an automaton. Left, right, left, right, don't think of anything else, left, right, left, keep going. He finally found his way back to the entrance of the complex, but his eyes were met with an unexpected sight when he stepped outside into the open road. The first to hit him was the smoke. Blinding, suffocating, it was everywhere. The sun glowed red through the millions of tiny particles of ashes. He could hear the sound of screaming, muffled by the cracking, chaotic hissing and trembling as the buildings around him gradually crumbled to dust. Dark silhouettes ran amongst this apocalyptic sight, some falling down before his eyes. He saw without seeing, walked without direction, as his mind refused to process this overcharge of thoughts and emotions. Suddenly, a shadow loomed over him as an unrecognizable figure tackled him to the ground. The assailant was about to pierce the General with a switchblade when all of a sudden a gap in the smoke unveiled his face. “Connor?” “Jon! Am I glad to see you!” Connor helped his old friend up as they clasped their hands together. They supported each other as they looked for somewhere to rest. “Connor! Why are you still here? Where are the others?” He asked after both of them had taken refuge behind a few ruins. “Damn Tals’ fault. Heavy bombing followed by a spearhead assault on all four fronts. According to the latest intel, London has fallen. I-I didn't find anyone else. We are the last of our team. Where's your daughter?” His eyes looked around them, as if expecting Angela to suddenly jump out of a bush and scream "surprise!". Lox collapsed onto the floor. “Angela? She's everywhere. In my mind, in my conscience, in my memory, in the tears dripping down my cheeks, and she always will be", he paused as the smoke provoked violent coughing, "I will never be able to look at a child again without the memory of Angela burning itself through my eyes." Connor opened his mouth, but swallowed his words back as he seemed to change his mind. The silence between them prolonged for several minutes, strangely obvious despite the intermittent screams and explosions. The General still hadn't moved a muscle when Connor suddenly jumped. "Sir, my father! He's a newscaster working in the skyscraper over there! He may still be alive!" He made a movement to get up, but the General put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "Connor, its too risky. We have to get out of here." "But sir! He's my father! I have to! I'll do it no matter what, and you can't stop me!" The General sighed, as he finally stood up, putting a hand on the teen's shoulder. "Together?" Connor's eyes sparkled. He nodded. "Together." - They both smashed onto the floor of the tower's main lobby, eating a pile of rubble by the same occasion. “Tals. Bunch of ‘em. Up ahead,” Connor whispered, “you distract them while I go get my father.” He was on the verge of getting up when the General put a hand on his broad shoulders and forced him back onto the hot and burning floor. “No, you distract them, I’ll go fetch your father. Don’t want both of you dead.” “But-” The General shot him a look which meant he would not change his decision. “Fine. But please, make it quick. This building will collapse any minute. Go.” Connor primed and threw a grenade over his head, towards the audible Talish voices. Jonathan sprinted towards the nearby stairs as the explosion set his vision on fire. The incendiary grenade scorched his bare legs and arms, like the sting of a million bees. He tripped and fell face first on the first step, but got up, ignoring the pain in his ankle. He continued to stagger up the uneven staircase, falling and tripping at the occasional but violent and worrying shakings, causing ash to slither through the cracks everywhere. No matter the pain, he kept moving upwards, determined to get Connor's father back alive. Perhaps it was to make up for the death of Carl. It didn't matter. Connor’s father, a news caster, would most likely be at the fourth floor. He was one set of stairs away from said floor when a gunshot was heard. The General’s blood froze at the same time as his muscles. Immobile, he listened for further indications of a potential danger, but his ears were met with nothing but the now-normal shaking, explosions and snake-like hissing caused by the ashes. He moved like a cat towards the door. Slowly, holding out a knife, his last weapon, he pushed the rugged piece of wood of the open. Nothing was to be seen. A camera on a tripod, a few knocked down chairs, a bench and a body. A body. The impending silence made his footsteps sound a thousand times louder as he neared the form lying on the ground. The outside crimson light created a shaft of red fairy dust, lighting spots of the room with streaks of vermilion. The surroundings seemed to be stained with freckles of blood, further increasing the sentiment of dread rising inside the General. He heard a sound just as his knees bended to kneel down next to the body. Turning around, his eyes caught a glimpse of a fist moving at lightspeed towards his face. The shock sent him to the ground. “Die!” His attacker cried as he leaped onto the General’s body and pounded it with punches. He then pulled out a gun, which was still smoking from the previous shot, most probably the one which had reached the General's ears. The building could collapse at any moment; he was walking on thin ice. Devoid of any other option and running out of time, Jonathan thrusted his hand into his aggressor’s chest. The blood-stained tip of the blade protruding from the other side glinted in the red sunlight. Pushing the now limp body of the attacker aside, he made his way back to the middle of the room, where the first body was lying on its back. He flipped him over, and his brain cringed with incomprehension. It was a Tal. “But then...but then…” He went back the way he came, and knelt down , this time next to the second body, the one of the man who attacked him. Fearing what he would see, he turned the limp head so he could see the visage. White hair, old wrinkles, blue eyes, and most important of all, a pelt of an indonesian tiger worn on the shoulders. The same one the General himself had given to the father of Connor., on the occasion of Christmas. “No...this...this…” Frantically, he moved between the two bodies, looking at one another, and eventually came to the dreaded conclusion. He had killed the wrong man. His conscience was now burdened with not one, but two deaths. The pain of that was so strong, it felt like his mind was empty. Gently, he removed the tiger skin coat from under the nearly weightless body. He closed the old man's eyes, before serenely walking out of the room. The way back down was not unlike a dream. The world shushed in a moment of silence as he put one foot in front of the other. But when he made it to the main hall, he immediately sensed something had gone terribly wrong. There was nothing moving, nothing breathing, nothing shooting at all, as if time had frozen in this specific area. Staggering not because of physical, but emotional injuries, he walked across the room when suddenly Connor emerged out of nowhere. “Connor!” He was about to lunge towards his friend when the head of a Tal Ourouk soldier popped out behind Connor, and he realized the latter had a knife on his throat. "Jonathan Lox! How honored I am to be in your presence. As for I, I am Vincent, former double agent for the Tals. I've served them well...even if I was punished for not being successful in acquiring the Prodigi paint," he said as he looked at his left arm, which stopped at the elbow into a stump, "No matter. Killing you will make up for it." "I was wondering how people came to know about this classified paint...good, now I know who to blame." "You think I fear you? I've heard much of you...savior of Paris, the French call you. Stupid fools don't know you're no better than us." The spoken-to narrowed his eyes. "We're better than you in every way. We-" "What, you're going to feed me the 'we fight for what's right' again? Oh please. It would make no difference to the population whether the country's government is Eurasian or Tal Ourouk." "No difference? You would forcefully incorporate your own traditions upon them, force women down to a position of slavery!" "Are you saying you don't force the population to adopt your culture? Don't make me laugh. Are the men and women of France allowed to decide whether they want to follow your laws?" "Our laws are there for justice. They're what's right." The Tal soldier pushed the tip of his knife further into Connor's neck. A trickle of blood slithered down the metal edging. "I thought I told you to not feed me those lies! Everyone thinks their own laws are right. But really, you're just like us. Pretending to be fighting for justice and freedom when actually the only thing compelling you to fight is selfishness...what freedom do you have to offer? None. The world is a mess. There is no good. There is only two powers. Plain evil, and evil disguising themselves as good." "You're right, the world is a mess. And you won't be a part of it." With that, he pulled out his gun with unseen dexterity and sent a bullet straight into the Tal's head. "Connor!" “Jon...my father....is my father alive? Tell me he's alive!” He embraced the General, his head buried in his strong shoulders. He raised his head and smiled, but said expectant smile suddenly disappeared, as red spots appeared all over his body. Connor, total surprise displayed on his face, collapsed to the ground. This revealed Vincent, holding a steaming gun. He pointed a bulletproof-padded helmet. He then stabbed himself with his knife, exhibiting a devilish smile. "No better than us." Those were his last words, as the General pounded his body with bullets. He then crouched next to Connor and desperately tried to quench the steady stream of blood flowing out of the dying teen's body. "My father...where's my father?" He managed to utter. The General miraculously managed to keep his face emotionless. “Don’t worry, he’s waiting for you. You’ll see him soon.” A content smile appeared over the dying boy’s face. "Thank you, sir." "Connor...maybe the Tal was right. Maybe we're really no better than the Tal Ourouk. They killed innocent people, we killed innocent people. I killed innocent children. They fight for what they believe is right. We fight for what we believe is right. And really, who benefits in this war? And now..." He said, fully conscient that his young friend hadn't breathed or moved for too long. Too dehydrated for any tears, he flung the tiger’s coat over his old comrade, and collapsed besides him. He closed his eyes, wishing a Tal would discover him, and send him to total peace. - The Hornet, covered with the tiger coat, stood at the edge of the cliff. Fire covered the tank as lines of soldiers fired a ceremonious salvo of bullets into the sky. The flames extended and touched the stars of the night, sending Connor to finally, finally, reunite with his father. Storm Sakura Prodigi

List of Previous Chapters Section I- Lock n' Loaded Chapter I, The Crimson Blades -Part I -Part II -Part III Chapter II, The Titancore -Part I -Part II Chapter III, Dawn of War -Part I *NOTE* Due to several reports of incomprehension of the storyline due to several factors (1-month time between chapters, complexity, etc), a summary of ALL previous chapters has been made. This resumes all the important factors of the plot. In addition, if you were to read the summary then read the next chapter, you'll be able to understand nearly everything, even if you've never heard of this series before. Time: Far Future Genre: Sci-Fi Setting: A universe divided between several factions (alien and human) Arshton and Andros, two orphan brothers, have attended the military academy of the Galactic Terran Empire. They're separated when Andros joins the a rebel force named The Fallen, and Arshton starts his duty of border patrol on Sector C. Their paths unexpectedly rejoin each other when Arshton is assigned on a task force to capture a pirate-controlled AI super-intelligence the size of a starbase, called the Titancore. Admiral McCollins, the Terran fleet admiral, wanted a certain information on "the most powerful force in the galaxy", which was supposedly contained in said Titancore. However, after the Terran forces are nearly wiped out by the heavy pirate fleet, Arshton directs the ship he was commanding on a crash course with the Titancore. This provokes an explosion which wipes out the entire sector. Arshton survived, though he was seriously injured physically and mentally. He wakes up in a Fallen secret base, where he meets his brother. Unfortunately, something interfered with Arshton's mind, causing him to go berserk and escape from the base on a vessel. At around the same moment, Terran shock troops assault the base. Fallen forces are forced to retreat aboard their hidden space fleet. A heavy firefight is then engaged between the two camps. Far Across “Remember, keep pressure on their flanks. Erexa, meet me in the cargo bay.” I difficultly make my way to said cargo bays, hanging on to anything I can to counter the incessant shaking of the ship caused by the enemy weapons. Narrowly evading a shroud of deadly gas, I’m forced to advance like a cat before finally making it to the huge bay, finding Erexa waiting for me there, leisurely leaning on a box full of antique Google Glasses. Her relaxed posture taunts my own struggle to not fall flat on my face. “So, I guess you want to know what happened with Arshton?” She says, fumbling with a pair of dusty glasses. The directness of her question takes me by surprise. I indeed did have questions relating to my –deceased?- brother, as such my reply is positive. “This thing is horrid…how did Americans live with this fossil?” She claims, referring to the glasses barely hanging on to her head, “Anyways, first of all, don’t worry, your brother is alive and well. Now if you can still call him your brother is another question.” I raise an eyebrow. She continues. “I’ll explain later. He’s currently on his way to the Solar system, onboard one of our vessels, which he hijacked and stole. Come with me, let’s catch him.” This causes me to speak. “What? We’re fighting a war here, in case you didn’t remember…we can't just leave our fleet without commandment, and besides, going out there in space is suicide! Our rocket ship won’t stand a chance!” “I've already assigned two temporary fleet captains. And who said we were going to use our rocket ship?” *** The long disappeared quietude of space was replaced with the flashes and explosions of war. Our somewhat small state-of-the-art T-class intergalactic freighter had shields strong enough to withstand months of relentless attacks, as such I and Erexa discussed in the midst of the spatial battle unworried. “You do have a plan, right?” I ask. “Nah, I thought I’d give improvisation a go,” she replies. I sigh just as the console beeps red, indication of a potential danger. “Seven Terran gunships are in chase!” I say right before the latter's missiles hit our shields, causing my head to become the ball of a Ping-Pong game between the console and the chair’s back. “Seven? Then the odds are even,” Erexa swerved the freighter right, narrowly avoiding a second swarm of missiles. She then punches a few buttons, making the ship shake so violently that I once again bang my nose on the console. I release a curse. “What are you doing, besides destroying my face?” I manage to utter through my heavily bleeding mouth. The answer comes to me from the outside. Our weapons fire in a pre-set scheme, using the laws of physics to create a temporary miniature blackhole. Its gigantic vortex swallows us, before closing just as the fastest of the Terrans tried to follow, cutting the unfortunate fighter in half. The entire trip through the blackhole typhoon lasted for less than a second. We’re greeted at destination by blazing light so bright they scorch the skin off my face. The alarms unforgivingly rings, accompanied by the computer’s voice, relentlessly repeating that ship systems are shutting down one after the other. Pure particles of heat, unstoppable by matter, burns off the skin all over my body and carves itself a way through me. Strangely no pain is felt, but the idea of what is happening is enough to send me into panic mode. “Time for plan B!” I yell, before mindlessly punching some random buttons. The light and heat suddenly disappears, and we’re pulled through yet another teleportation vortex. This trip lasts even shorter, and before I notice it I find myself staring at an asteroid once called “Pluto”. "That's plan B?" Erexa mumbles as she rests her head on my shoulder. "Oh, I thought I'd give improvisation a go. Now what happened back there?" “Must’ve made a mistake in my data or something. We ended up at less than a kilometer away from the Solar Star. Or ‘Sun’, as you pure-blood humans prefer to call it.” She replies. She turns to look at me, but suddenly stops and lets out a squeak. “What? I don't have a spider in my hair, do I?” I ask. She turns around, “You weren’t wearing your pilot helmet, we’re you?” “No, why?” By the mixture of disgust and sadness I see in her expression, I seriously start to think there's maybe a spider crawling around on my head. "So?" I await her response, but instead she holds up a mirror in front of my face. The monster staring back at me lets out a cry of terror. *** I lie in wait on the medical bed, as Erexa fumbles with a datapad. “So? How long will it take for the skin to grow back?” The sound of my voice is abnormally amplified by the damage in my ears. “Not-not long.” “Erexa, you were never good at lying.” “Andros…it’s permanent. The skin won’t grow back. I can’t fix it. The best I can do is give you alcoiloids so it doesn’t hurt.” "That's impossible. There must be a way." "The DNA themselves in the cells were destroyed by the radioactivity. It can't, can't grow back," She lays her instruments back down on the metal tray as she, without notice, turns around and scuttles out of the room, as if not wishing to stay with a half monster-half human. Alone, my gears turn around in an interminable circle, like blades on ice. Getting nowhere but deeper and deeper. I lost my arm. I lost my leg. I lost my visage. I lost what makes me human. And slowly, I understand that the wounds are not only physical, but emotional. And both will never heal again. *** Alone in my quarters, the clock’s tick resonate through my mind. I don the pilot helmet which caused all this, knowing that this moment was the last time I’ll see the world with my own eyes instead of a visor. I take in the colors, the beauty of things, the feeling and the reality. With one last breath, my shaking hands put on the helmet. “Andros?” I hear Erexa’s hesitant voice through the helmet’s integrated transmitter. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” I say, even though I know I’m lying as badly as she did. Unexpectly the doors of my quarters slide open, revealing the silhouette of a feminine form. She cautiously steps in, and I realize she's looking at everything, but me. “Look,” Erexa says simply as she points a finger to the window. Baffled, I follow her line of vision, and my eyes are greeted with the most incomprehensible sight man has ever seen. It was a huge, gigantic construction the size of a planet, with arks spreading out and around one central core. The purplish glow around it seemed to indicate the composition of the core to be some kind of crystal. It was situated fairly far from us, however its size was still huge. “It’s heading for Terra.” The realization sends dread throughout my body. “Looks like Arshton didn’t escape using a vessel after all. Nope, he seems to have preferred something bigger,” Erexa replies.

Incorrect. The deal was that if I posted my real picture, which I did, you'd change the name.

Checking back. Still haven't changed the name? You owe me a promise CombatCat. Don't forget.

Pies cannot be toasted. The laws of Physics thus destroyed. Everything explodes. We die. I wish I could be in love....:wub:

THEY. ARE. HORRID. What's the point in skipping half the game? Say you buy the 100% pass. You rank to Gissimo. You bored, since there's no point in playing anymore. You create alt. You start ranking again. Instead of doing all that, why not just rank slower?

Then it gets abolished. Rules are rules, no advertisement is allowed. Besides, this isn't the right topic anyways. Tell me where the "Creativity" from your topic title came from.

The culprit: laziness. How do students know so fast and easily "who likes who" in school?

Naw, I wasn't born, I was formed from gas clouds. I do believe you meant born here?

You end up wishing you were not wishing. PRO PLS I wish I could have a non-faceless avataaaaaaaar

And what if I didn't want to be serious anyways?... What if you can't help people in the real world? And spending time with homeless people, whilst being extremely generous, is not something everyone can or is willing to do. Small steps.

YES! It's absolutely crazy! Something happens in life, and I feel like it happened in a dream. Strangest feeling ever... I'm giving this a +1, best topic ever.

PARADOX I <3 paradoxes. they kewl Me not flipping when a gold box drops is a lie.

1. Stay awake for more than 10 minutes 2. Not play Tanki during those 10 minutes. 3. Stay awake long enough to post this post. 4. Post at least one real goal. 5. Achieve these goals. 6. Realize this is a cheap joke. 7. Not post this.

What if.... We are nothing but a series of codes in the computer of gods. And those gods are nothing but codes in the computers of greater gods. And those greater codes are nothing but codes in our computers. PARADOX ALERT

What victory day? .-. What's special about May 9th? .-. Why do I never know anything?! ._.

Well some people simply have the urge to help)) You know, that odd feeling when you suddenly want to give something to the world?

It's not only about maturity. It's also about experience (something I totally lacked), social skills, understanding of how a community works, etc) Also, by the way, I like the old snipe better. Being mature doesn't mean not making jokes anymore.

When you reach light speed, you loose all volume or matter. You disappear. As such, I remain in first place. #nerdywin

^That's lame. Deadtoyou runs back to emegen.com to create another meme. In the meantime, I roll my way to first place. no dw its not lame no cri

Anyone from Montreal? Combo breaker!