Kalashnikov
Newbie
- Joined
- May 14, 2003
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Haven't seen anyone post anything like it yet, so I think I'll start.
Yesterday the city was calm, cool and collective. It had been a sunny and labor less day and the citizens of the European metropolitan hoped that it would have lasted forever. The streets were almost empty in the early morning and grew to a frantic pace during the afternoon. There had been a warning of a storm front moving in on the large city, so people wanted to stock up on food and supplies to make sure they would be safe from harms way. Little did they know that they had always been on the path to harm.
Today was something more, something much more. There had been a storm enter the city, but it was not one of weather. It had swept in overnight without anyone ever blinking an eye. Those only just waking up from the natural light of the glaring sun could see no clouds and proceeded outdoors to breathe in the fresh air of the city. The doors on Corner brook Road opened as they did on every normal workday, but the citizens of Corner brook Road were met with the un-forecasted storm, the storm that had been brewing for many years.
Lead rushed through the air towards the opened doors and pounded through the wood and flesh alike. Blood splattered across the white carpets and wood railings of the staircase, it was the Storm of Silence. Each breath of the Storm could be heard through its shield, a sort of mask if you will, showing that there was life, but no emotion. The Storm stared at its desolation of life for a few moments, it showed the ruthlessness that a soldier would show to its enemy, but these two enemies used to be defender and defended. What had brought about this unprovoked spree? Before the Storm could think of an answer or reason to kill so many, it was loaded back into their transports. Each transport with strange marking on them, similar to those on the Storm. The markings were like an algebra equation, but one not written in English: undecipherable, but identifiable.
The transports moved through the chaos-infested city like an ant through its colony. Citizens were panicking and forming huge mobs, destroying everything in their path. Cars, store windows, people, anything that could be bent or broken was and the transports were not stopping. They rammed the mob and piled through it catching many off guard and showing them what the underside of an armored tire looks like. The top hatches on the vehicles opened with the Storm showing its form and its M-29’s.
The bullets raced through the mob like a hot knife through butter, showing no mercy to those surrounding the transports. The city had become inflicted with some sort of psychosis overnight, but what was truly happening to the city was far from restricted to angry mobs. Rumbles were felt across the city, people were walking in an almost drunken phase with blood across their clothes, things ran across the ground like giant ants looking for food and fires now raging out of control.
The chaos had spread to many, except one who stood alone. His orange suit relfected the light of the sun, but showed no mirror image. The suit was scratched and worn down, but it worked none the less. His beard and mustache brewed a personality of emotion, determiniation and self-reliance. The glasses gave way to intelligance, simplicity and fear. A crowbar in his left hand was all he had, his own transport into the city was unreliable and had been lost. He was on orders to save the city, but at what costs?
What was his name you ask? His silence tells a vast history of hardships, suffereing and pain. That history gives you a sense of right and wrong to his motives, a sort of dilema if you will, where he is the only one affected by the choice made.
You still want his name?
Freeman, Gordon Freeman.
Yesterday the city was calm, cool and collective. It had been a sunny and labor less day and the citizens of the European metropolitan hoped that it would have lasted forever. The streets were almost empty in the early morning and grew to a frantic pace during the afternoon. There had been a warning of a storm front moving in on the large city, so people wanted to stock up on food and supplies to make sure they would be safe from harms way. Little did they know that they had always been on the path to harm.
Today was something more, something much more. There had been a storm enter the city, but it was not one of weather. It had swept in overnight without anyone ever blinking an eye. Those only just waking up from the natural light of the glaring sun could see no clouds and proceeded outdoors to breathe in the fresh air of the city. The doors on Corner brook Road opened as they did on every normal workday, but the citizens of Corner brook Road were met with the un-forecasted storm, the storm that had been brewing for many years.
Lead rushed through the air towards the opened doors and pounded through the wood and flesh alike. Blood splattered across the white carpets and wood railings of the staircase, it was the Storm of Silence. Each breath of the Storm could be heard through its shield, a sort of mask if you will, showing that there was life, but no emotion. The Storm stared at its desolation of life for a few moments, it showed the ruthlessness that a soldier would show to its enemy, but these two enemies used to be defender and defended. What had brought about this unprovoked spree? Before the Storm could think of an answer or reason to kill so many, it was loaded back into their transports. Each transport with strange marking on them, similar to those on the Storm. The markings were like an algebra equation, but one not written in English: undecipherable, but identifiable.
The transports moved through the chaos-infested city like an ant through its colony. Citizens were panicking and forming huge mobs, destroying everything in their path. Cars, store windows, people, anything that could be bent or broken was and the transports were not stopping. They rammed the mob and piled through it catching many off guard and showing them what the underside of an armored tire looks like. The top hatches on the vehicles opened with the Storm showing its form and its M-29’s.
The bullets raced through the mob like a hot knife through butter, showing no mercy to those surrounding the transports. The city had become inflicted with some sort of psychosis overnight, but what was truly happening to the city was far from restricted to angry mobs. Rumbles were felt across the city, people were walking in an almost drunken phase with blood across their clothes, things ran across the ground like giant ants looking for food and fires now raging out of control.
The chaos had spread to many, except one who stood alone. His orange suit relfected the light of the sun, but showed no mirror image. The suit was scratched and worn down, but it worked none the less. His beard and mustache brewed a personality of emotion, determiniation and self-reliance. The glasses gave way to intelligance, simplicity and fear. A crowbar in his left hand was all he had, his own transport into the city was unreliable and had been lost. He was on orders to save the city, but at what costs?
What was his name you ask? His silence tells a vast history of hardships, suffereing and pain. That history gives you a sense of right and wrong to his motives, a sort of dilema if you will, where he is the only one affected by the choice made.
You still want his name?
Freeman, Gordon Freeman.
