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| Xeogaming Forums - Story Realm - Matt Olsen, The Fire is Lit |
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Spartan Metal battleaxe Is back. Kind of.         Since: 11-15-04 Since last post: 2120 days Last activity: 1360 days |
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| This is a bit of Disjointed Stories written up, based on my RP Character in Gmod on an RP server.
Its set in Half Life 2 I am just writing these up with the help of a friend...anyway Let me know what you think. -------------- Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Sitting in his chair, he watched the moments go by, watched the jerking progression of the second hand. Too boring. He stood up, the floor creaking as he took his first step towards the cabinet. Opened the doors, apathetically thumbed through the papers. Then, a picture fell out. He put the rest of the papers on the table, and examined the picture. His mother and father were standing there, both in their C uniforms standing at the gate to Ramstein AFB, waving at him. He remembered this picture. He took it himself before he left for the Berlin Police Academy. Mom had been a nurse and dad a pilot… but that was all so long ago. He flipped the picture around; “Wir lieben Sie, Sohn,” scribbled on the back. One tear… almost two. But they stopped. He remembered. He remembered well, and his sorrow turned, once again, to rage. He cursed, and threw the picture to the ground. He stood there for a while, in silence, listening to the Tick-Tock of the clock, before he picked up the picture and placed it neatly on the table next to the papers. “Aha!” he said, and began to quickly search through the stack of papers. After a bit, he pulled out numerous documents, all bearing the seal ‘GSG-9’. He skimmed through, every once in a while murmuring; “Emergency Acceptance… Age 19…Excellent marks in pistol marksmanship…Squad assignment…There!” He’d found it. “Roderick, Lewis, Roland, Derek, Bernard… Fluch!” He could hear the clock ticking again, for a few moments, and then he began to cry. Too vivid were those memories, too fresh in his mind. He distinctly remembered Roderick being impaled and crushed by the leg of some great tri-pedal beast, and Roland’s intestines trailing out on the ground behind him. He remembered watching Bernard glance back at him in terror as his G36 jammed, and he remembered what had happened to Bernard next. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The tears stopped, and the rage began again. But this time, it was quiet, controlled, diminished by the shame. When Bernard went, he just couldn’t take it anymore. He was in the blood-drenched street again, tearing off his uniform and throwing away his gun. He was running, running, jumping, crying, screaming, running. A hospital. A bed. Sleep. Morning, awake… alive? Yes. Strange beings ordering the staff around, harassing the patients. “And that’s how I got here. They put me here. City 17, District 16.” He sat back down on the couch and was silent. “Ja…Ja!” He put away the papers and stared at the large picture on his wall: The Nexus. He trembled… then turned and smiled. The clock stopped, and he knew he would have his revenge. ---------------- Matt Olsen, Into the Flames ----- “Shit shit shit!” He dove behind a broken slab of concrete and winced. BOOM! He peaked around the corner only to see the splattered remnants of a CP. The mask had been blown apart, the bones in his arms and face exposed behind the seething pools of blood. He ducked back, trying to find a way to safety. Suddenly, three rebels ran out from a house, through the street, towards him! They were all mowed down, streaking plasma tracer rounds impacting flesh, crushing bone. Another explosion brought down the building the rebels had come from, and littered the street with debris. He jumped from cover to cover, and made his way out of the intersection he had so vapidly wandered into. “What was I thinking?” he wondered aloud, running back towards his assigned apartment. “CITIZEN, HALT!” Shocked, he turned around and found himself staring into the hot barrel of a battered CP’s MP7. “CITIZEN, YOU ARE ACCUSED OF SOCIO-ENDAGER – AUUUGH!” Simultaneously with the CP’s scream was the crack of a rifle, and the CP spun around and fell, exposing an orange sized hole where his left lung had once been. “…Now what am I doing?” Matt practically shouted as he found himself taking the dead CP’s MP7 and stashing it in his overcoat. Had anyone seen him? No time to think. He got up and ran. ---------------- |
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