The Author

And now, I come with the tough questions: How long until your remixing duo becomes a trio? Congratulations, I like to see good people get together.

By the way, prophet of mephisto. Thank you for starting this thread, I am starting to love this blogging short story thing I've got going. I might have never did it without what started in here, and I'm glad this thread gave me the old kick in the arse I needed.

Lets make a fundraiser Midway inspired album! ... ... OK, I don't see you coming up with better ideas.

By the way, I added a third story, and anonymous commenting is available. As long as people don't abuse it, I'll keep it that way. I'll try to pace myself from now on, maybe try to write a story to post on mondays, wednesdays and fridays, but I'm not sure of the schedule and I'll see how I adjust.

Oh I wont mind being part of this, there are blog networks. I just wanted something for myself. For my writing to be published. I fully support any projects in relation with the idea behind this thread, but like I said, I wanted a place for me.

Ok, all these posts are funny from my point of view since I'm working on a paper about the lack of "climax or release" in two novels... it's a bit more complex than that, but lets just put it this way, all the posts in this thread now have a weird double meaning.

Well, I started a blog... and well, for the benefit of this thread, any story I publish on he blog can be used for this thread, so don't hesitate to grab a story from there.

Ya know, I've been enjoying writing one or two stories like that... think I could try and start a blog... I mean, one or two updates a week with stories that long, ya think it could work? (I'm my worse critic by the way, so as far as I know my stories suck)

Oh crud, now my story will be lost at the bottom of the previous page...

This one might be better for what you talked about. It's a bit longer than I first expected, 1600 words might be too much. However I love the chance to write for a purpose, so if you don't like it, it'll still go in my portfolio. __________________________ The Last Tombstone Lieutenant Harris was a professional. He never had any challenge beyond his reach. He was the man that could change the course of a war just by setting foot on the battlefield. It all started 20 years ago, when he was an 18 year old recruit. On a routine escort mission, his troop happened upon a group of armed militants. They decided to neutralize them, oblivious to the fact that they were the scouts for a much larger force. With their 50 men, the allied forces quickly eliminated the perceived threat, safeguarding their 5 packages. When a thousand man showed up to reinforce their fallen friends, the leader of Harris’ troop froze. 50 to a thousand, the odds were against them. And thus began the legend of Harris. Instinctively, he ordered his men to fall back into a small cave he saw up on the hills, not 5 minutes from their location. He managed to distract the thousand enemies, keeping them occupied for the time it took to secure the cave; he then crawled up to his troop. Soon after the siege began. The 50 men had limited supplies, 5 valuable civilians with them, and no leader beyond that recruit. They pooled their supplies, making sure water was available to all, as well as food, and most importantly: ammunition. Harris allegedly grabbed two automatic assault rifles, loaded them, and shot down a group of 30 with less than 30 shots. The truth wasn’t far from the stories. He shot down the group, starting with his rifle, and when his comrade fell, he grabbed his riffle and started using it. One death for 30 enemies, the odd seemed better. That’s when Harris became a legend. A lowly soldier, he grabbed a sniper’s rifle, a box of 250 bullets, and told the men to take shifts guarding the cave’s entrance. In the coming days, 200 enemies would attack the besieged troop. The last one was shot in the back of the head, by the last bullet from the box Harris took. With the 249 other bullets, and his legendary instinct, he had neutralized 770 enemies. 3 days after the initial attack, Harris resumed the escort mission, alone with his 5 charges. When they made to base, Harris explained what had happened, and when the MP suspected he had abandoned his troop with the packages, they went back on the field. The story was true. 1000 dead enemies and around 786 confirmed kills for Harris, on his first patrol. He soon became the allied forces’ secret weapon. He was parachuted in deserts, swamps, mountains, he infiltrated cities, bases, fortresses, and he killed high ranking officers, scientists, and countless soldiers. They said that he was just as effective at mowing down opposition as a good carpet bombing. That’s when a funny statistician did the math. In one bombing that had cost over a million dollars, they killed less enemies, and won less ground than in a week of his actions miles away in an enemy city. Harris was a hero. And yet he never raised to the ranks that the strategists occupy. At 30, he infiltrated the Union’s capital, and spent then next 5 years eliminating a long list of targets. In 5 years, not less than 7000 officers, politicians, scientists, and other targets were eliminated. Among the Union circulated a rumour of an infiltrated network of spies. It was all the doing on one man. A man who had promised that the Union would be stopped in 5 years. On the last day of his 5 year mission, Harris walked in the Union’s palace. No guards stopped him. They did not try, as he was the dictator’s right hand man. The one who had eliminated the most spies, and enemies of the regime. He walked into the self imposed god-emperor of the union’s throne room. He then pulled out a concealed 6 shot pistol. Killed the 6 guards surrounding the Union’s emperor. Walked to the throne. And in one punch, crushed the emperor’s skull. That day, the entire world finally united under the alliance of nations, and world peace was established. Harris refused any celebration. He was offered a good retirement, but he refused. He chose to enrol in the Alliance’s new space program. He then said that on the occasion of the fifth anniversary of the liberation of the world, he would be standing on the moon, waving at the world he had freed. And so the space race began. They were racing against time. The ships were designed faster than any ship had been designed. People united under this one goal. 1 year into their mission, they had launched unmanned orbital flight. In the second year, they sent monkeys. In the third year, they sent Harris in orbit. In the fourth year, they sent unmanned flights to the moon. In the fifth year, they were ready. And so was Harris. Liberation day was coming, and he would set foot on the moon on Liberation day, as he had promised years earlier. It would be his 40th birthday. He was visibly excited, no longer a professional killer, he had become a new pioneer. He was the beacon that launched space exploration, the light that would guide the world in an era of prosperity. In 5 years, they had perfected communications, computers, aeroplanes, and every piece of technology imaginable. They were mere moments away from perfecting nuclear fusion, allowing a clean and cheap supply of energy to be shared with the world. Everyone was inspired by Harris. One week before Liberation day, Harris put on the orange jumpsuit, followed by the white spacesuit. He walked up the stairs leading to the launching tower confident in his success. He hugged his wife, their teenage daughter and 3 year old son and then walked towards the elevator. He made a last funny remark, then spoke in a microphone. He said: “Today is the first day that will lead to a new world. This world will be one of hopes, dreams and happiness. I do not embark on this journey as a man, but as a representative of mankind.” These words would be the headlines in nearly every newspaper in the world the next day. He went up the elevator, sat down in the cockpit, and launched in the first manned spaceship towards the moon. The world cheered his departure from earth, as if he was carrying their hopes and dreams to the stars. 6 days before the landing, he made it to orbit. He had to wait 2 days to reach the perfect point for the second part of the journey. 5 days before the landing, he was told that the first fusion power plant would be started on the day he would land, and that the former Union capital would use this new energy to light his way back to earth. 4 days before Liberation day, he left the silent embrace of Earth’s orbit. People around the world felt lighter as he became weightless. 3 days before he stepped out of the ship, his wife and kids talked to him, and told him that they were proud of him. 2 days before landing, he was out of communication range. 1 day before landing, he contacted Earth again and learned that the world was with him. He then landed, on Liberation day. The first words by mankind on the moon were: “This is the last step of the ways of old, from now on, Earth will be a haven of peace and prosperity for all that live on its surface.” He then waited for a response from Earth. 6 days before the landing, a group of insurgents decided it was time to bring back the Union, and share its glory to the world. 5 days before the landing, the network of spy that had infiltrated government and the science office made a bogus discovery permitting a stable fusion reaction. 4 days before Liberation day, the signal for all infiltrated insurgents was broadcast on the news. 3 days before he stepped out of the ship, an armed group infiltrated his house, waiting for his family to come home. 2 days before the landing, the space agency’s communication office was hacked, and communications were moved in the hands of the insurgents. 1 day before landing, he was told a lie. On the day he landed, after his message, he got one answer: “Let the lights of the Union burn the city of traitors.” The sabotaged reactor was started. The reaction was out of control, and the reaction started breaking apart molecular bonds, releasing energy in all directions. Air itself was turning into pure energy. And Harris, as he stood on the moon, saw earth turn red, then yellow, and then black. Earth was nothing but a ball of ashes as he looked, for the first time feeling despair. He grabbed a metal plate, and carved on it mankind’s last words. He then stepped into his ship, left the moon, and aimed for the emptiness of space. He could not survive for more than a few days, but he would not give up on life. He was the last human alive, and if his life had been any proof, if anyone could survive the extinction of mankind, it would be him. That’s what was filling his mind, as the air supply ran thin and he was drifting in and out of consciousness. He poured all his energy, and battery power, in a last transmission, asking for help for the first time in his life. Hopefully, someone would hear. Someone would come. Sleep took him over. Help was coming, he was sure. His eyes were heavy. Help was coming, it had to come. He could barely breathe. Help was needed; he was running out of hope. He drifted into sleep. Help would never come; all hope was lost. Everything was lost. Help… Air… Hope… He needed all three to survive. But it would never come. Never. Forever waiting for the next breath, for the saviour, for a way to restore mankind. Timelessly lifeless.

A souvenir of the days I believed I was a remixer Man, I wish I could make better music for occasions lie that... Oh well... please don't hate me

Hope you enjoy this: EDIT: Also, it's not dystopic and everything, I figured you wanted short stories... Well, assume it happened in the year 3567 on the seventh moon of Orbitaliate... _____________________ November 22, the sun has just recently set on the little community. For the Patterson, sunset had come somewhat earlier, since their house was east of the church, and today was the only day of the year that the sun’s trajectory was hidden entirely by the steeple, a good two hours before the rest of the village found darkness’s embrace. Their house has been there since the times of the foundation of the village, 200 years ago. It was built in front of the church, so that only the priest has an easier time getting to mass. In the last 50 years, this did not really matter. However, the large backyard, beautiful neighbourhood and historical house were more than enough to make the house more valuable. They also were lucky enough to have a large parking lot when they had a lot of guests. November 22 was not such a say. And Andy Patterson looked at the church dominating his house through height, size, and darkness. For while the church was surrounded by what could be seen as heavenly light, its shape was an inscrutable shadow lost in dark mists. From his second floor window, Andy was assailed by a rushing wave of memories. He was the first son of his generation, and as such, the house was rightfully his. He was born in January, in this very house, 56 years earlier. His mother was stricken by labour as his father had been working at the paper mill. Thankfully her sister, a nurse, and her brother in law, were both with her at that time. The roads were too slippery to go to the big city hospital, and back then, giving birth in your own home was a frequent happening. The brother in law ran outside to get the village’s doctor. Through no evil intent, he decided to let the doctor go to the Patterson house alone, and kept running to the paper mill. He had visited Andy’s father at the mill earlier that week, since he was force to take a vacation as the crops slept under their coat of revitalizing snow. As he yelled excitedly, running toward the work station, he failed to realise that most machinery here is unthinking, and rather unforgiving of inattention. Thus, as Andy’s father was not giving the saw his entire attention, it jealously dug into his left arm, under the elbow. The doctor stayed a short five minutes at the Patterson house, and ran to the paper mill for an eternal two minutes. Bandages were made, a sleigh was found, and thanks to the valiant courage of a pair of work horses, Andy’s father passed away alone, away from his son that would bear his name, away from his wife, away from his home. Alone. The paper company made sure the Patterson family would not go hungry, and out of guilt, remorse, or pity, the brother in law made sure to provide as much money and food for the family he had involuntarily broken. But that was the past. Many November 22 passed. And many times, the shadow of the church had enveloped the house. Andy’s sister died in the middle of the summer. A tragic incident at the river, nothing more. Everybody learned how to swim at that spot in the village. The river went down a small hill at that spot, and had dug quite a nice pond for kids to swim in. Andy and his brothers had taken the habit, as older boys often did back then, to go up the hill and jump into the pond. If you knew what you were doing, you could aim straight for the deepest part of the pond, and go under the water safely. Little Leslie had been with her brothers quite often, and while they were not paying proper attention, she decided to join them in their dives. She knew where to aim, knew how far to jump. She knew how to swim as was often compared to a mermaid. She called to get her brothers’ attention; they looked, and yelled at her to come down. It was too dangerous they said. It was too hard for her to do. She did not listen, ran, and leaped into the river. She came out unharmed and cheered by her brothers. And so they jumped again. And again. And again. On their fifth time jumping, she did not come out of the water. She did not come up for air. And even in the following weeks, she did not come up as a corpse. She vanished, swallowed by the river. Swallowed by the dark waters that seemed to reach as deep as the core of the earth. Nothing should have prevented her from coming back up. And that nothing was powerful enough to keep her buried in moving water for countless years. For eternity. No one swam at that spot, in fact no one from that village dared to swim in the waters that swallowed their sweet princess. Life went on. Andy was on the eve of his wedding. As it was tradition, and according to most people, it was a stupid tradition, the ownership of the house would be passed at the same time as the wedding. This meant that in addition to organizing a wedding, Andy’s mother had to move out of the house. Andy and his fiancée had agreed to let her live with them. She was quite healthy, and happy to be part of their household. And the Patterson house was huge, and had quite enough space for this arrangement. And so Andy’s mother worked quite hard so that he august wedding would be amazing. And she worked quite hard to ensure that the master’s bedroom was free for the nuptial. She also arranged to spend the week at her sister’s place to let her son settle with his wife. She worked up a sweat, giving orders, getting her hands dirty, moving people, bossing furniture around. By the time the night fell, she was exhausted. After a light meal, she went straight to bed, to be ready for her son’s unforgettable day. She would never see daylight again. The doctor called that morning saw that she was over exhausted, and that she needed a day or two of bed rest. And her behest, the wedding took place. However, they could not wake her up again once the ceremony was over. She had a September funeral, and Andy’s wedding day would be in everyone’s memories for years to come. On that November day, Andy was lost in his imagination, seeing everything this house had meant for him. His wife had left him years ago, after their youngest daughter went to college. He had fathered three beautiful, smart and angelic little princesses. And so there was no heir for the house. He contemplated that as he watched the church’s face brightly shining with a red that had a depth and a power commonly seen only in sunsets. His eyes filled with tears and he was choking. On memories, on emotion, on life. On death. He looked at the church and a symphony of lights, colours and sound assailed him. The bright red, the clear white, the alternating blue and red. All of this was obscured by the thick black mist filling his mind, his memories, and his house. On November 22, he went upstairs for a nap before supper. On November 22, he had turned on the oven so that it would be warm by the time he would wake up from his nap. On November 22, the house decided to fight the enveloping shadows and fill the street with the burning memories of those that were no more. On November 22, Andy Patterson died, away from his family, away from his love, but in is house, filled with despair. Alone. ______________________ Sorry if it's a bit of a downer, but it's the story that came to me tonight.

Ok, I'm all for retro gaming, but fuck, could you maybe make sure there is no slowdown on NES emulated games... I mean, I dont remember my nes slowing that much when there was 4 enemies on the screen in MM3.

Metal Gear Solid TOUCH. It's for the DS.

They can always sell off intellectual properties...

Ya know, every time one of these threads come around, I'm like "yeah, maybe you should wait to see before you complain." But it always turns out bad. Fuck you Hollywood, can't you get one good sleeper hit to get all these negative people to shut up?

32... I'm quite happy with myself.

HEY... I hate it when my threads get locked, I always feel like I did something wrong...

Made more blatant by : http://www.ocremix.org/remix/OCR00867/

Nope. But it made it more enjoyable. There are easier books to get into, especially the year ones. Green Arrow year one was one of my firsts. (I also went into countdown, so I needed massive continuity to get that one.)

No matter what logic we try to give to these events, in the end, it will be an editorial decision, and it wont be authorial, so Bruce will return. Although, at this point, he could be a mentor, like in Beyond.

Nope. I wanna see Tim Drake as Batman, Stephanie Brown as Spoiler, and Dick as Nightwing. He is no longer Bruce's ward ans he's a hero on his own. Even funnier would be Drake as bats, and Damian as Robin, but that wont happen, even if Damian scores big points for possibly throwing the Joker in the Gotham River. Also, DS, I figured as much, it just seemed interesting to have them both have a Nightwing domino mask, and Nightwing's emblem being a yellow bat. The way I see it, Nightwing and Batgirl will be in Outsiders, new bat and new robin will be in Batman / BDC. The Teen Titans will have yet another roster change, which sucks because Cassie just got cooler... but anyway, most of them ain't Teens anymore.

Okay, massive spoilers agead, I pulled out my copy of Batman 681 to fill in the holes. I'm serious MASSIVE SPOILERS. DO NOT READ IF YOU DONT WANT TO SEE SPOILERS. Starts here After Batman is shot in the chest area, he stands back up (dude, bullet proof vest) and we find out that Hurt is a man who apparently killed Mangrove Pierce, a double for Thomas Wayne. He then tried to attack the character of the Wayne family. He gave Batman an ultimatum: join him, or have the memory of his parents destroyed by his accusations. Understandingly, Bruce is pissed. As Hurt makes his escape via helicopter, Batman, now cape and cowl removed, jumps and hangs on to the helicopter. The pilot, in attempting to shake Batman off, hits the a tower with the tail of the chopper, losing control. Batman is last seen punching through the chopper's windshield, as Hurt says the Black Glove always wins. The chopper crashes, and explodes, on the Gotham river. In a beautiful shot, on the next page, Nightwing holds the cape and cowl, overlooking the burning river. Talia Al Ghul promises retribution for the Black Glove. Jez is apparently killed by a swarm of Manbats, le Bossu is surprised by a bright bat signal as he is about to torture someone. End spoiler Also, the end of the book is a picture of a black haired character (I would say Dick Grayson, but his jaw is too Superman-like or Tim Drake), wearing what seems to be a batman / nightwing costume and a blond girl wearing something that could be seen as a firebird costume, or maybe a robin costume. That someone appears to be blond or light red haired. The backdrop to this image is the Forteres of Solitude.

As much as there is now some Peter Jackson hate, I'd like to see him try his hands at Zelda...

Because I would love to see another one of these christmas albums making it on my ipod, its the only thing that constantly gives me holiday cheers even in July. Edit Ah man, typo in the topic... can someone change it to "will" instead of well? Thanks in advance.