golden_text

So, I took an IQ test on tickle.com (:/ weird name..) and got my IQ tested. Of course, you shouldn't believe everything you read... but still!!

Your IQ score is 117

This number is based on a scientific formula that compares how many questions you answered correctly on the Classic IQ Test relative to others.

Your Intellectual Type is Inspired Inventor. This means you've got exceptional verbal and mathematical skills, and are very good at brainstorming new ideas. And that's just some of what we know about you from your test results.

Woohoo! Go.. um.. inspired inventor! Wee!

Well, I finally got some time to write, although it wasn't as soon as I would have liked it to be... oh well. Anyways, here's a continuation of Chapter 2 (it was too short anyways..)

Chapter 2 (continued)

          "But how? That man, no, that thing, has demonic speed! There's no possible way he could've dodged over fifty cyborgs shooting at him at once. And how could he have known that all generals carry an EMP grenade?"

The viewing room was large, even by military standards. A huge, cutting-edge holographic projector replayed the scene in transparent pixels. Two exits, facing eachother, on the east and west walls, were under constant watch by security, DNA-sensitive laser walls. Hidden security cameras watched the doors at almost every possible angle. The whole place itself was of a metallic tone. The only living things inside the building were four humans, all aloft in hand controlled hover-chairs, military issue. All were wearing black military uniforms, one of the men had significantly less badges than the rest. He also seemed much more uncomfortable, and was the only cyborg in the room. He had been the first to comment on the holograms.

"Sergeant Cran, I cannot draw any conclusions at this point. We must review more projections before taking action. Computer? Replay."

The computer acknowledged him with a short beeping noise. The partially see-through screen switched to the battle scene, as seen from above. A tall figure in black leaped about and around, dodging bullets that came from everywhere and everything. The sergeant seemed suprised.

They played the projections over and over, from many different views. Cran was getting impatient.

"We must take action now! These bandits could be planning to infiltrate us this very moment! You see how easily this one bypassed our defenses? We have to do something about this!" the sergeant bellowed.

"You are correct, Cran. This.. thing.. and its endeavors to harm us.. must cease. I will dispatch someone to take care of this, how shall I put it, street thug?" said the oldest of the four.

"The name fits," said another blankly.

"I don't think you understand that we must move fast. Who knows how much damage this creature could cause? We must move now! We must act now! If he has such knowledge of the military, then he most likely also knows where we are weakest," cried the sergeat, "and we cannot let him take the power plant. Without that, our entire infantry division will completely shut down, and our forces in this sector will be useless."

"You are correct again, Sergeant. And that is exactly why I am assigning you to the execution of this thug. You may proceed as you please, but I advise you carry this mission out with extreme prejudice," the oldest said calmly.

Cran was shocked by this. He, a lowly sergeant, not even a first sergeant at that, being picked for a high-class mission? Only his greed for a promotion kept his mouth shut and his knees steady. He sat silent for a few minutes, then spoke.

"I'm on it."

 

Sorry I haven't posted in FOREVER.. and I WAS going to post but plans have changed and I'm going to a friend's house.. I'll see what I can do with the time left over after I get back from my friend's house, although actually typing an addition to my story will take maybe a half an hour so.. check back at around, oh I don't know, 8? Thats PM.. not AM. Hopefully not AM. REALLY hopefully. See you then, then. :P

Ok, now that I've run out of most of my ideas for now, my chapters will probably be in pieces. As in, not a whole chapter, like, a shattered pane of glass, or... well, you get the point. I'm also gonna try writing poetry. Don't ask why.

Chapter 2

The room was well-lit, though the antique florescent lights in the roof flickered occasionally. The stainless steel stairs on the left side of the room led up, and a computer near the back hummed gently, whilst green words on its black background ran up and down the screen. The other one beside it was dark, the screen shattered, and completely silent. The footsteps were heard easily on the metal flooring, and clanked as the walked down the stairs. A figure emerged.
He, as it was recognizably male, was short, and wore a crimson T-shirt overlayed by a black vest with many pockets. The blue jeans he wore had obviously not been washed in a long time, the oil stains quite prominent. A greasy goatee jutted out from his chin, and a dark brown mullet dominated his head. He wore ordianry boots, though plastered with mud here and there. His eyes were a strange green, and he had a deranaged look to him. His skin was deeply tanned.
Walking slowly to the computer, his shaggy brow rose in suprise. On the screen was a large, green rectangle in the middle, and in bright red words, it read: Access Confirmed. The man was dumbfounded, his jaw hanging open in a gaping mockery.
"Yea! Finally!! 'Bought time you got in, Sharon," he exclaimed, swirving into his chair. His voice was gruff, and low.
"It took me pretty long, but 4-digit passwords never stopped me!" said the high-pitched and bubbly computer.
Gloved fingers zoomed over the keyboard, the clickety-clack of the keys was almost a constant whine. Every other minute, he chuckled to himself quietly, an amazingly wide grin spreading on his face. On the computer, the commands he typed in were displayed, new windows showed up, and to the untrained eye it would look like a bunch of gibberish, with all the brackets, hyphens, and backslashes. Then, he stopped and layed back, as the computer processed what he had typed in. Finally, after a few minutes, a rectangle similiar to the one before popped up. It read: Confirm Transaction? The man thought for a moment, then pressed the enter key. The box disappeared, and in its place were two others, parallel to eachother. One said $56,780, and the other said $0. A button jumped onto the screen, the words CONFIRM? embedded on it. The man pressed enter again. The number on the left started counting down at a fast rate, and at the same speed, the other rose, until the first one had 0$, but the other had the $56,780.
He jumped up, and danced an odd dance, murmuring to himself.
"I did it, oh yea! Who is good!! WOO! Yea, baby, 56 thousand smackers! Saweet! Wait till Zero hears THIS! No more crawling around in dumpsters, no more stealing food to survive, we gonna live the GOOD life!" He punched his fist in the air, shut down the computer, and danced all the way back upstairs. The lights flickered off.


:D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D

Go smileys!

Lord of the Rings!


What movie Do you Belong in?(many different outcomes!)
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Go Legolas!


Morpheus


?? Which Of The Greek Gods Are You ??
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Will you take the red pill, or the blue pill? :D


Faerie:
Faeries are sweet loving beings who love to help
people. They are not held back by reality and
love to dream and fly around. You probably are
very creative and although not the most popular
person in the world you are probably loved by
many for your sweet caring personality.


What Mythological Creature Are You (Many Results and Beautiful Pics)
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The butterflies aren't my style.. but I like the purple..


Your Heart is Red


What Color is Your Heart?
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Red's an awsome color :D

Almost forgot, I was gonna post my chapter 1 story! :D good thing I remembered. CONTRUCTIVE critisism would be welcome.

Chapter 1


In an alleyway, between two long-forgotten warehouses, at the back lied a dumpster at Dead End, as it was known. Its stench, which smelled as if something had died in it, penetrated the stale and oxygen-poor air, filled with remnants of the dark cities’ waste that loomed over the next horizon, the smoke from its factories dominating the sky and spreading low.
The walls of the allyway were stained, redder with blood than the rusted areas that dotted it, thought it was all tainted crimson in the sunset light. There was a movement, and something came down from above. It was a tall figure, wrapped in a cold, black cape, with the same color pants torn in many places, where the pale skin showed beneath it. It barely shook from the impact of a ten-foot drop. On its shoulder it wore a symbol of a dark purple star that was faded, surrounded by a white circle, also discolored. High-topped boots covered its feet. The figure stood then, with more of an aura of fear than of authority.
It immediately checked its surroundings, slowly walking out of the alleyway with much practiced patience. A black cowl covered its face, and hid it from view, as its stayed to the wall. It was an ill-used street that was between it, and dinner. It chuckled to itself.
“Almost too easy”, it whispered, with a now distinguishable masculine voice. It stopped at the end of the alleyway, looked and waited, then darted for the other side that beheld another warehouse, but in unusually good repair. No rust or blood was scattered on its walls, and the metal outsides were newly polished. Only a high, metal wire fence protected it. Or so he thought. The figure took aim, then while in mid-run, jumped over the fence, using his hand as a lever to push him over as he grabbed the top of the fence. The leap itself was extraordinary. But the moment he touched it, an alarm sounded. It was like a hundred shrieking birds, all-screaming at once right in your ears.
Swearing softly, and dashed into the warehouse, not taking any extra precautions. By only speed alone would he win. He stopped only once, to check to see if any CPUs were after him. Then he swore again, as he realized they had surrounded him. 10 Cyborg Police Units, that was 100 of them, armed with the latest high-tech weaponry, only recently upgraded, blocking his exit and guarding the entrance. They were all over the place; the warehouse was storming with them. Upright, rigid, half human, half machine; but all menace - in his eyes. The only way was in.
He quickly spotted one of the feeding silos, and with not a second to spare, jumped and dodged his way past the CPUs. They were already on him, every single one. Once one spotted you, it mentally and electronically transmitted a message to every CPU in a 500-foot radius. All at once they turned towards him, raised their weapons mechanically-like, and commenced firing. The figure in black dodged as much as he could, using every ounce of strength in his body. The only thing that kept him going was the gnawing pain in his stomach that he’d had for over a week now, that and the silver-shelled bullets ripping new tear marks in his cloak. Dodging around like some genetically engineered freak, he used other CPUs to gain speed and shield himself momentarily by jumping on them, tumbling under them, and the like. He had to get to the General, as they were known.
There! Clad in ever-shifting colors of red, the flame-wreathed looking Cyborg was standing not 20 feet from him. If he could get past the Ruggers…
He dodged and tumbled with extreme accuracy and speed, and finally made his way to the Ruggers, the alarm still sounding in his ears. These were a force to be reckoned with. Ruggers were the one reason why over half the outlaws each year that tried to continue their trade were murdered on the spot. These were not Cyborgs at all. These weren’t even human, in neither mercy nor appearance. These were killing machines. Literally.
If he could get past the Ruggers and somehow manage to take the EMPG that all standard Generals carry, he could activate an explosion forceful enough to completely shut down every machine in the blast radius. If only…
Before he had time to consider this plan, one of the Ruggers bumped his machine gun into full blast. The gun opened up, and two other, smaller versions of the silver, oversized AT-907, that only the ranks of Ruggers carried, emerged. The others soon followed suit. He knew he couldn’t combat these murderers, and he didn’t plan to try. He had to get past the Ruggers! But he had no idea how. Wait, there! A ladder! He could use it to hoist himself up far enough to jump to the General!
Putting his plan into motion, the black figure leaped for the ladder at the right moment. If he had waited second longer, he would have been pelted with bullets. But then he saw it. There was a leakage of cooling fluids that had coated the ladder. Before he could realize his mistake, he grabbed the ladder... and slipped. Right then and there, a fear struck his heart like no fear he’d ever experienced before. It was a fear, a dark, cold fear that made your stomach feel empty and your mind dead. He fell; he fell for ages it seemed, twirling and twirling into a dark maelstrom of chaos and destruction.... but then he snapped back to reality and became conscious of the fact that if he could rebound off the ground, he could cartwheel to the General and seize the Electromagnetic Pulse Grenade. It just might work! A glimmer of hope appeared and he performed the second plan with a greater accuracy than the first. He used one hand to rebound off the ground, now he was behind the Ruggers, and cart wheeled to the General. With only seconds, he grabbed at the little black oval-shaped ball, and in one fluid movement, got a grip on the pin, yanked it out, and threw it far away, not caring where it went. Momentum carrying him further, and he almost ran into a Cyborg, but twisted at the last moment to avoid contact. Then came the blast. It was an almost silent blast, but the shockwave of blue fire rippled through each robot, and as it passed they fell to the ground. It passed through him, and to the machines beyond. He managed just in time to drop his hand to the ground to break his fall as he skidded forward, then vaulted with his hand up into the air, and he twirled back on his feet.
With all the machines down, he knew he was free. He turned to a feeding silo, one of the large ones, and took as much as he could. Then, hesitating for a moment, looted one of the Ruggers and seized the AT-907 it carried. Finally, he exited the building and feasted on his profit in another warehouse a long ways away. He had done it.
He savored the meal, even though it was little more than gray slop, packed with nutrition and flavor enhancers. He could taste the warm, chicken dinner and the nice, creamy tomato soup. He made a mental note that he would find out how they made these. After stuffing himself full, he packed away whatever was left, and departed. The figure walked slowly, but confidently, off into the sunset, his shadow far longer than himself. He turned for a moment, and looked back at the warehouse far away, littered with countless silver and unconscious bodies. Then he grinned, and continued on his path.

you are the "you suck, and that's sad"
happy bunny. your truthful, but can be a bit
brutal.


which happy bunny are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

I have decided to start off my first post as a debut for my futuristic story that I am currently writing. I'll have more next post, but for now, I think the prologue is fine. Enjoy!

Prologue

The room was dark, and circular, about twenty feet in circumference. A few computer processors and a huge monitor surrounded the four or so keyboards in the middle, all stringed together in a circle about half as large as the room. Four chairs accompanied this. There was hardly any light, most of it coming from the small areas around the two doors on both sides of the room, opposite to each other. It was silent.
Then, a voice was heard stating itself.
“Sergeant Rick McDannal, P.O. 2437095.” The voice was gruff and low, with a light Texas accent in it. For two or three seconds there was a small beeping noise, randomly generating itself, followed by the door opening, moving both its sides from the center to the wall beside it with a pneumatic hiss.
“Processing…. Welcome, Sergeant Rick McDannal. Please make yourself at home,” said the computerized voice, “and please remove any unauthorized objects from your personnel and replace them in the temporary storage container, located on your right.”
“Yea, yea, I know the procedures,” replied Rick. The man was tall, but not too tall, and was slightly obese, looking rather unorthodox in his dirty uniform in the highly polished metallic interior, that shone with the white light from the hallway that lay beyond the door. He entered and walked to a brisk pace to the keyboards in the middle. He typed a few keys, and pressed a small blue button on one of the keyboards. The large monitor near the wall turned on with a blink, and on the screen was a large, brown / black volcano that looked inactive. In the background were some semi-flat brunette-colored craggy rock surfaces, which had a few bumps in them.
“Mornin’ Roxanne.”
“Good morning, Sergeant.”
“Boss asked for the historical info on the war, most other computers are bein’ used.”
“Affirmative. Accessing..”
These words appeared on the screen:
- Accessing…
- Accessed:
~Historical File One
“Historical File 1, accessed. Would you like to read it or shall I?” said Roxanne.
“Eh, I woke up to early, you play it to me.”
“Acknowledged. Playing..”
The computer hummed for a moment, then the screen faded out to black, then faded in to what looked like a small battle scene. Soldiers wearing the standard red-and-black uniforms were firing off plasma shots out of their rifles to the “opposing” army, wearing the purple-and-green uniforms that the Sergeant didn’t recognize. While this was playing, the computer narrated.
“Written by Julian Yestach Rogerts. During the times of turmoil between the law enforcement officials of the Military Element Police, further known as MEP, and the oppressors, scores of the cities and towns of the world either fell into ruin, or rose in open rebellion against the MEP. Countless were wounded or died, more from war than anything else. The state of the world was a grave one. There had to be a solution.”
“Then, a single ray of hope appeared. A scientist of the MEP proposed that a gargantuan ship to be built, that could carry many aircraft jets to end the war once and for all. The government approved of this, when the battle had been going on for almost twelve years. It almost took another of those twelve years to build the colossal ship, taking nine years to fully complete. The ship was named the ‘Titan’, and sure enough, it ended the war. It flew from country to country, around the world, destroying anything that opposed it. Soon, many of the rebels surrendered, for fear of all they had built to be crushed by the ship. Peace, it seemed, was at hand.”
“And so it continued that way for several years. Any form of open rebellion was soon eliminated. The Titan was such a fear-inspiring machine that there was no more resistance. Or, so the government had thought.”
“It was, in fact, all a lie. The rebels, who now revealed their name, the Dark Dissenters, for all this time that was ‘peace’, had stolen the plans of the Titan from the government, and used it to find weak points in the government’s war machine. What followed was a bloodier war than anyone who had ever lived on Earth before could imagine, worse than the decade earlier. Not only were people in open revolt, for a time it seemed that the Dark Dissenters had come close to destroying the Titan. Victory, it seemed, was in their grasp. But again, like the few years prior, they had been deceived. Like the Dissenters before them, the MEP made an outstanding comeback, gaining a foothold in the war. They had increased the carrying capacity of their Titan to almost 400 ships. Once they had learned of this, the Dissenters seemingly vanished, and have not been found to this day, though some believe that they are still leading the resistance, but nothing yet can confirm… Sergeant, I am interrupting an encrypted signal between the government general, Lyraskian, and an unknown party that I cannot identify. Proceed?”
“Encrypted? If its encrypted, then how did you even find it?”
“Sergeant, some alien source is decoding it and transmitting it to my consol. Proceed?”
“I don’t like the looks of this, but go ahead anyways.”
“Acknowledged. Proceeding…”
The screen flickered slightly, then went black. The sergeant assumed a motionless stance of eager anxiety, slightly leaned forward in his chair, staring at the screen. He was about to ask the computer to play it when an audiometer leaped into view on the screen. First, it was motionless like the sergeant, but suddenly it was dancing around, up and down, with each word that was spoken.
“… you are saying is that you have found someone that we can use? Someone who wouldn’t mind betraying his own kind?” questioned a gruff voice. The sergeant recognized it as General Lyraskian.
“Yes, general, we have found somebody who… with a little bit of coaxing… might reveal certain … information… that we require…” answered a sleazy voice. It reminded the sergeant of a snake. “All we need to do… general, there is someone who is eavesdropping on us that should mind their own business…”
“I’ll take care of it, Yi… sir. He won’t talk.” reassured the general. “We can speak of things once more as soon as he is… incapacitated. Commodore, I believe you will find him in section C5, please do what you do best.”
Suddenly, Rick realized they were talking about him!
“Shit...” he swore.
“Cut all further communications from that channel! Now!” bellowed the sergeant.
“Affirmative. Cutting communications on encrypted channel 134… completed.”
But it was too late. Rick heard footsteps outside in the hallway. Lots of them. He started sweating, and in a last, desperate attempt, he tried to hide, dropping down to the metallic ground so that the keyboards hid him from view. Then he heard the voices.
“Commodore Zantrice Opimlaetre, P.O. 9788356. Open says-a-me,” he added sarcastically. The speaker seemed adult, though in higher pitch than the general, with a touch of an Oxford accent. Rick was shaking now. The door opened with a pneumatic hiss. The computer didn’t bother with a greeting.
“Surround him.” They knew where he was. Rick instinctively stood with his hands behind his head. It would look better in court. What he saw was the commodore standing not four feet from him, with 20 storm troopers with machine-plasma hybrid guns leveled at him. The man in front of him was only armed with a pistol.
The commodore himself was a tall man, perhaps six feet tall, and was garbed in a rather unusual tuxedo, compared to the red-and-black army uniforms of the death-dealers around him. He was slightly tanned, with hair that matched the color of midnight. He wore sunglasses for no apparent reason. The handgun he held seemed to be new.
“So, spying on the government, eh? The same government that you work for? Just how did you get into the encryptions?” He eyed the sergeant suspiciously, motioning to the soldiers to lower their guns.
“I didn’t do nothin’, Commodore, Roxanne did it!” he pointed to the computer accusingly. “She said she was interceptin’ somethin’ encrypted a-and she asked me if I wanted t-to hear it!” said the sergeant nervously.
“And just how did Roxanne decode a level 8 encrypted message, hm? As far as I remember, computers such as these are only capable of a level 3. Your story is full of holes.”
“N-no, really! She said that s-someone else was d-decoding it and I just… I didn’t hear much though! Honest!” He was losing it.
“I doubt that someone else could have decoded that, I was on the team that built it. I think that its time you gave it a rest.”
“No, I ain’t jokin’, sir! Really, someone else was…”
Zantrice cut him short. “You are not authorized to view that information.” With that he raised his handgun to the sergeant’s head…
And pulled the trigger.
The shot seemed to echo all around the room, then the body hit the ground. All was silent and no one moved. Finally, Zantrice lowered his hand and walked out of the room, leaving the computer on. It finished its story.
“And so the war continues to this day. The government has resorted to hiring expert bounty hunters to find the Dissenters before they become more powerful than the MEP. Most can only hope and pray that they reach an agreement somehow, for too many lives have been lost in their endless and futile war.”
The screen faded out to black again, and white words appeared on the screen like before.
- Sound recording of ~Historical File 1 completed.
- Closing ~Historical File 1…
- Closed.