To quote the Joker; It's all about sending a message.

Approved. -Minor spelling corrections. -Rephrasing. -Underlined and changed the colour of the subtitles. It gets a bit vague in places. For example, instead of saying "some cruel act", you could mention what it is in the conversation, or instead of just "an important government building", it could be "the parliament" or something. Also, violence just for the sake of violence doesn't really work. You're much better off making it believable and maybe a tad bit less over the top.

:wub:

Approved. -Grammar corrections. -Punctuation and spelling corrections. Don't use commas to join sentences too much, since it looks horrible and is horrible to read as well.

LIES! ALL LIES! Epic job :D

Approved. -Corrected punctuation. -Grammar corrections, especially towards the end where it changed perspective completely. -Rephrased where necessary. A lovely continuation. I want moar!

In a world in which I no longer belong, I walk. In a world in which my kind have no place, I am a ghost. In a world in which I have to work harder not to lose myself, I talk. In a world in which I cannot find another, I am lost. I have not seen another for some time. I have been wondering for a long while now. I have been considering the degeneration of our time. I have been wandering for a long while now. This is where I chose this line. This is where I watched my world burn. This is where I wait for a sign. This is where I wait for my turn. My place is lost in this world. My kingdom is being taken. My heroes are being sold. My foundations are being shaken. It is a changed world that I live in now. It is a changed people that I see. It is a changed time, but I shall not bow. It is a changed place, but I am not free. They will come with their new world order. They will come to take over my mind. They will come and breach every border. They will come and destroy all that they find. I will not listen to their hate. I will not make myself into someone that I abhor. I will not let them persuade me that this is fate. I will not let them destroy all that I adore. For I am what is left. For I am the only hope for life. For I am the reason a heart into two is cleft. For I am what can never be put under the knife. I am love. I trust that you know who I am.

I crashed my car last night. 1986 BMW 320i. Blue. Not the most economical, but it did the job. I remember the moment quite clearly. The trees rushing past the wing mirrors, my hands twisting the steering wheel in sync with every nuance of the road. My wife, sitting in the passenger seat beside me, her hair flowing in the wind from the open window. She was smiling to herself, trying to lip sync along to the music streaming from the stereo. I think it was Coldplay’s “The Scientist”. I love her so much. We met about 12 years ago, in the back of a library. It sounds romantic, but we were both just trying to escape a lecture on 18th century literature by some old professor. He was probably a nice guy, but to two 19 year olds, it was just meaningless drivel. I remember sitting on the floor, trying to swat away some flies gathering around me in the stuffy space behind a bookshelf dedicated to shellfish when she came around the corner, a little stooped, looking backwards and almost tripping over my outstretched leg. We both looked at each other for a few seconds, and then I grinned and patted the carpet next to me. She was the most interesting thing in that entire library. We started talking, and found out that we were both starting at the same university in a few weeks, albeit with wildly different subjects. I was majoring in art, she was majoring in economics. We both liked the same music though, and by the time we were finally found by a marauding guard, we were already friends. I asked her out 8 months later . It wasn’t that I’d been knocked head over heels by this girl, but that I’d gradually come to be fond of her, and then finally after weeks of waiting and a few drinks provided by a nice, if rather shady, bartender friend, I plucked up the courage to ask her out, and ‘lo, she said yes. The next time that I asked her a question to which it was so important that she said yes was about 7 years later, when I held up the little velvet box and popped the question. As usual, she made a joke about asking her many other suitors whether it was alright with them, and then said the magic word, her mouth quirked up a little to one side and her eyes crinkled up with laughter. Today was the day after her best friends anniversary. We’d driven up to their place, which took about 3 hours, and then we’d headed back, considerably sunburned and with a bootload of food and photos. We were headed downhill when the rear passenger side tire blew out, making the BMW lurch all over the road, before tearing out the guardrail on the next corner and flipping all the way down a heavy drop. The car was totaled, roof smashed in on the drivers’ side and the engine halfway into the cabin. I consider myself lucky as I stand here watching as the men and women in their white coats, their faces made anonymous by green masks, trying desperately to save my wife’s life. She broke almost everything from her waist down, and her face is completely pale, drained of any color that the blood splashed over the table might have given her. Even as I watch, one of the many monitors in the room displays a straight green line, and the people inside bow their heads. It’s something that we’ve seen a million times on T.V, but it’s harder to watch when it’s right in front of you. I feel a tug at my sleeve, and turn around, a smile already on my face. She’s standing before me, her face once again flushed with color, a sharp contrast to the face that even now is being covered by a white sheet. “You got off easy,” she says, wearing a slightly hurt look. My smile widens. “Well, you didn’t have to stand here for an hour waiting to see whether or not your one true love was going to join you." “True. But then again, you know you have to wait for the good things in life." “I’m not sure that’s applicable to us anymore," I tease, and take her arm. She smiles, gives me a kiss, and we both walk on, leaving ourselves behind.

-Multiple grammar corrections. -Respacing. -Spelling corrections. Please note, turrets and hulls should be capitalized as well. Also if you're interviewing yourself, keep track of the whole 'first person-third person' aspect of it. If you join a clan, it's pretty much a given that they want your Skype, since communication is vital for basically everything they do. And I'm not entirely sure that you can resurrect something that's not actually dead.

-Put the authors note in a spoiler. Dramatic.

-Minor typos and a couple of grammar edits. Explained everything nicely. Well done :D

I don't know whether to be impressed or scared. Absolutely brilliant job anyway :D

-Grammar corrections (your/ you're especially). -A couple of typos. This seems more like a poem than a rap to be honest. Just pointing it out.

-Added a title. -Corrected grammar. The fact that you bought crystals, however little, sort of undermines the whole point of the article.

-Approved These two lines are a bit...confusing. Peevish doesn't really seem to be the best word for this place.

You'll have to dig them out of the archives, I'm afraid. Being the mult that I am, I forgot to link them :blush:

-Rephrased a sentence -Formatted all text uniformly COUP NOW

Like Jwimmer said, m8, you've got some serious talent. If you haven't already, show some of your writing to your parents. It's too good to be hidden away.

Memory Pt.1 Memory Pt.2 Memory Pt.3 Memory Pt.4 A memory plays in my mind’s eye. The wreckage of a home lies around us, the gray concrete offset by the colourful scraps of cloth and pictures strewn across the floor. A crunching heralds the arrival of Hauss, his boot crushing a stuffed toy lying in his path. The child standing next to me squeaks, her eyes bugging out. She’s been silent so far, an impressive feat for someone with a gun pointed at her head, and her brother kneeling in front of her with another gun pointed at his. I look on in silence, not paying attention to Hauss’ words, instead watching the face of the brother. It’s a drama that I’ve seen play out a hundred times in a hundred different places, but it’s still the same wherever I see it. Hauss, menacingly standing over them. The gun pointed at someone they love. The battle of head over heart writing itself over their face, and the eventual breakdown and delivering of whatever information is required to ensure survival for both of them. All completely pointless. Hauss walks ahead of Max and I as we leave the two bodies in the remnants of the house behind us. Max is silent, evidently pondering something. The detached way in which we shot? What colour to get his new wristwatch in? It’s hard to tell with him. “What would we do if something like that happened to us?”. The question is abrupt, spoken with a furrowed brow. I consider it for a minute. “Do the exact opposite of what those two just did, I suppose. We are us, and we don’t break, do we?” *** The words ring in my ears, mingling with Hauss’ quietly spoken demand. Give him the weapon, or Max dies. It’s a different perspective than what I’ve known, when someone of yours is on the wrong side of that gun. “We don’t break, Hayley. We agreed on that.” The words are slurred, forced out of bloody and twisted lips, but they’re clear enough. They make the decision for me. We agreed on this. Hauss’ face is blank as he takes in my response. He scrutinizes me for a moment, coming to a decision. And then he makes it. Max slumps to the ground, a tunnel bored through his forehead, and even as the soldiers open fire, I activate the weapon. The black surface dissolves, and then swallows me, enveloping me in my own temporary shield. I surge towards Hauss, his pistols’ bullets ineffective. Even as I collide with him and fall back, he takes aim again and his face splits into a manic grin. It doesn’t last long. I pull the pin from the grenade that I grabbed from his belt, and hurl it into the midst of the group of soldiers. It goes in unnoticed, camouflaged by the hailstorm of bullets that are now penetrating my shield. One lodges in my arm, and another in my knee. There is no pain. Just mild stings, even as I look down and notice the holes punched through my chest. They appear red and blurred through the shroud of mist enveloping me. I pitch forward, landing next to Max, his hand comfortably close to my shoulder. Then there is light. Orange. Screams. And then there is nothing.

-Multiple word corrections. -Grammar corrections. -Spacing and changed text colour to the standard forum colour. Please don't write your entire article in white or similar bright colours, as it becomes incredibly hard to read.

A little bit. Ok a lot. Ok yes he died. xD

-Fixed the spacing. -A few grammar and phrase corrections. -Underlined the topics.

-Formatted, corrected by Drakon. -Approved by me.

-Spaced the lists to make it more legible. -Corrected a couple of errors/typos. You might want to learn the dark art of inserting images into your article, just to make a point clearer.

-Corrected a couple of minor typos.