Hello again. After I saw that you guys liked the story that I posted during the summer, I decided to do a little more writing to post here. Now, these stories will are just fun little diversions rather than the big story I wrote before (and am still writing) and aren't going to see publishment. As always, comments, questions, and criticisms are encouraged.

Contents. *This keeps the stories organized, as I will eb doing multiple stories simultaneosly. For example 1-1 means page one, post one*

Average day for a GameToaster, 1-1, 1-5, 1-10, 1-14, 2-4, 2-10
Sci-fi One shot, 1-1, 1-10, 2-4, 2-14, 3-1
The Zoo, 2-13
Zombipocalypse Now!, 3-5, 3-9, 3-12, 3-15, 4-9

An Average Day for a GameToaster

CHAPTER 1
MORNINGS ARE CRAP
OR
JASMINE TEA IS TASTY

“BZZZZZZT!!!!!!BZZZZZZZZZT!!!!!” The alarm clock started to ring its little electronic brain out. “I SAID BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT!!!!!!!!” It screamed. plasmoidmonkey grumbled, not moving out from under his sheets. “[shout]WAKE UP!!!![/shout]”
A single hand flopped out from underneath the sheets, holding an oversized blaster pistol. *sound of exploding alarm clock* The GTer slowly dragged himself out of bed and over to his dresser. He grabbed a thermos off the cluttered top, unscrewed the lid, and poured himself a cup of jasmine tea, with honey of course.
plasmoidmonkey’s eyes shot open, full of energy. He quickly got dressed and made his way downstairs.
“Don’t bother with breakfast, mom.” He said as he made his way through the house. “I gotta get to work.”
“Okay. See you tonight, then.” She kissed him on the forehead as he passed through the kitchen.
The GTer grabbed the hovercraft keys off a nail in the garage.
Beep beep!!! The headlights flicked twice.
“Now that’s what I like seeing.” Even though plasmoidmonkey wasn’t sixteen yet, these new hovercrafts were self piloting, saving him a lot of trouble.
“To the GT World HQ, snap to it.” He pressed a button, which sent a hi-def computer screen popping out of the dashboard.
“Hmmm. Let’s see.” He scanned the day’s new columns. “Halo 3 tournament today, 12:30 sharp, uh-huh, mob of angry anime fans silenced by Epena in Matrioska, uh-huh, GTWC (Game Toast World Conquest) getting a new expansion pack next week, ooh that’s good.”
The hovercraft sped through the busy streets to the local GT base, its computer pilot guiding the way.

Ironically, I am not that tired in the mornings. It's just a good literary device.

Untitled Sci-fi One shot This one will not see any continuation, it's just a test run for a sci-fi universe I'm thinking up.

“The outer territories are in chaos again as the anta-Uur terrorists destroyed the Alliance outpost on Dra S’hie.” The Oosani newswoman droned. “Six hundred-twenty Alliance personnel were killed, as well as a hundred fifty-seven civilians, making the deadliest attack since Nawax. Citizens on all planets in the sector are encouraged to be on high alert for anything suspicious…” Flint pressed the off button on the holoscreen console, making the newsroom disappear. He swigged the last dregs of his caffi and slung the plastic mug off to the side.
The human was a wreck. His hair was ratty, his eyes were bloodshot, his chin was covered in a three-day growth of beard, and he looked as if he had not had a shower or change of clothes for at least half a week. He had not slept for the past two nights, running on nothing but caffi and energy bars, and was defiantly feeling the side-effects of intense fatigue.
Flint grabbed a worn grey jacket from its resting place on top of his couch and swung it on. He trudged his way through the mess on his apartment floor to the door, which slid open into the main hall of his building. He slowly walked down the dark hall to the lifts. Luckily, one of them was on his floor. He stepped into it and took it to the main landing pad.
When he plodded out of the building, Flint huddled down deeper into his jacket, trying to keep his body warmth from dissipating into the frigid air of the Warz Torkaz cold season. The landing pad was mostly empty, except for a few hover-taxis. Flint walked over to one of them; its pilot crouched over a portable heater.
The pilot looked up. She was a human, probably only sixteen, clad in a red and black haadag-leather jacket with matching beret. She was sturdily built with a hint of deep ochre red in her skin tone, making it obvious to Flint that her parentage was from one of the Mars mining colonies.
“To Jumbago’s. Make it quick.”
“Gotcha, Mr. M.” The pilot turned off the heater and climbed into the driver’s seat.
Ten minutes of flying through the skyscrapers of Warz Torkaz later, the taxi stopped on the cantina’s landing pad.
“Thanks.” Flint grumbled, as he swiped his card, deducting the two credits from his account.
“Don’t mention it. I was getting bored anyway.”
Jumbago’s was hardly the cleanest pub in the galaxy, but hardly the worst on Warz Torkaz. It was dim, the revolving holo bands of sports scores and news needed their energy cells replaced, the tables and bar could use a good scrubbing, and the air was permanently fouled with the stench of narcostyx. The early morning clientele was small, mostly humans and pygmy Wanzorians, regulars to the pub. Out of place were the two Ma’banas travelers, whistling to each other through their methane masks, a trio of Ciun merchants, and a lone Thrâkas in the corner booth.
Flint walked over to a booth on the left wall. The only person sitting there was a bull Jandoph. They always reminded Flint of those armadillos he saw one time in a zoo on Earth, all muscle and armor plating, except much bigger and without the stupid big nose.
“So, any news on our next case?” The Jandoph said in a deep voice. Flint sat down.
“I got it, Djoric. Took me a while to get anything, but here.” He pulled a palm-sized datapad from his jacket pocket. He pressed a button on the touch screen, which projected a small hologram of a mutilated body.
“Victim was a male Yrr, probably in his mid fifties, a vagabond in the Grunge. He was stabbed a half dozen times before getting both legs sawed off at the knee, then was finished a by a low-grade plasma shot to the head,” He pointed at the scorch mark of melted cartilage and skin where the hologram’s face once was. “And shoved into a dumpster.”
Djoric drank the rest of his noodles and broth in a single gulp.
“Anything else?”
“Nothing. The body had been dead for several hours when I got there, so no thermal or EMP residue. Couldn’t find anything in the way of DNA or fingerprints, or anything: whoever did this was a professional.”
“Professional case, eh? How much are we getting paid for this?”
“Five thousand credits.”
The Jandoph’s onyx-black eyes widened.
“That’s ten times the amount we normally get for anything in the Grunge.”
“I know. Someone must really want to get this solved.”
“Was this guy important or anything?”
“Name’s Raz Bor, but I couldn’t find anything else. No ID with the Alliance, no connection with the Hive, the Granganen, the Red Toq, or the Mafia-X, no records at all, anywhere.”
“He must have been important, or there wouldn’t be an outrageous offer. And it sounds like he was tortured to boot.”
Flint nodded.
“I’d agree with you on that one. Bounty hunters are clean shots, and thugs are just plain sloppy, but neither do overkill like that. Whoever did this was something else.”
“Did you find anything else?”
“Only his last known living quarters, an abandoned apartment, sector 233, zone 12.”
“Lucky us. It’s usually impossible to find anyone in the Grunge.”
Flint nodded again.
“C’mon, we won’t get paid just sitting around. Let’s go.”

Enjoy. I will update as soon as I can.

As always, comments, questions, and criticisms are encouraged.

If you have anything to say about these, please post. No replies makes me sad. :crying:
If there aren't any replies soon I'll delete the topic.

I'm One of the first to reply to your stories again

The GT'er story was funny, I like it.

The other story is really nice too, just as good as your first.

Woah.

That was awesome, like a combination of CSI and Star Wars, and it really seems to work well. The main characters seem interesting enough, and although we're provided with a great deal of information about a whole new world in only a couple of lines, we get to now everything that matters in this point. Definately gonna follow this up!

Great job once again!

Yay! Replies! This thread is still alive! Thanks for the comments, guys.

An Average Day in the Life of a GTer

CHAPTER 2
LOTSA RANDOM STUFF HAPPENS HERE
OR
OH YEAH, WE RULE THE WORLD

“Okay, let’s get started.” plasmoidmonkey cracked his knuckles and stared at the blank computer screen. “Chapter 2. Um. Um… uh… maybe I could…no…maybe…no. [groan]Stupid writer’s block.[/groan]”
The GTer got up and paced around his office. All real GTers got an awesome office to their liking. Of course, the definition of “real” was someone who actually posted something on the forums. plasmoidmonky’s had a giant flat-screen TV and a Wii on the wall opposite his desk and computer. One wall was a full window; the other two were covered in anti-motivational posters and Bleach wall scrolls* and lined with huge bookcases filled with books, DVDs, and games.
“Aha! I know. I’ll do what everybody does when they need ideas!” He started smacking his head against the wall.
“[shout] Why can’t I think of anything?[/shout]”

*No, I don't really have any Bleach wall scrolls.

And after your post Tali, I decided that I will continue that one-shot. More updates and perhaps a new story soon.

plasmoidmonky’s had a giant flat-screen TV and a Wii

Yes! Wii!

Funny story. I like it.

Great story, can't wait for more.

You should see his other story: http://www.gametoast.com/forums/viewtop ... =50&t=9997

ooooooooooooooooo thank you!

New updates!

An average Day in the Life of a Gametoaster

CHAPTER 3
BANAXX0RD
OR
DA N00BS IZ TEH SUXXORZ

“Gravysuckr031…banned. BFluver50…bannhammered.” Admin Teancum went to each name on his computer in turn and flipped the switch next to it, rebuking their profiles. “OMGIizSOC00L…”
“LOGGED!! I mean banned!” plasmoidmonkey said as he entered Tean’s office through the sliding double doors.
“Oh, hey there plasmoid.” Teancum sighed. “We conquer the world, and then everyone wants to join us, which leads every freak and idiot on the internet here. I’ve had to ban thirteen people today.”
“Whoa.”
“I don’t know how you stand some of those anime fansite people. I’ve been getting fanfics attached to the application forms…” the admin shuddered. “That have characters having sex with an ostrich.”
“That’s…disturbing. I thought they stopped animalXhuman ships when they got to water buffalo. Anywho, Fusion wanted me to come up here to tell you that the Halo 3 tournament in the game room is in twenty minutes. Oh, yeah, [SBF]Dann_Boeing has started working on the Boeing Bomb version 16.0 and The_Emperor needs a hundred more Phase XIII Dark Troopers.”
“I’ll be down when I finish banning these idiots. And make sure to tell Dann to be careful: he nearly blew up half of Antarctica with V15. The_Emperor is going to need to wait for the troopers. I can send him five dozen ninja cows, though.”
“Ninja cows eh? Heheh…moo.”
“Dismissed, plasmoidmonkey.”
“Yessir.” plasmoidmonkey threw a salute and left the room.
“imNOBODY…banned. URnobody…banned.” Teancum continued his unpleasant task.

“Uh, how do you pronounce that?”
“I told you, it’s pronounced ‘-_-‘!”
“So it’s pronounced ‘face’?”
“NO! It...is…pronounced…’-_-‘!!”
“So it’s pronounced “dash, underscore, dash’?
“Rrrrrrrrrg!!! LISTEN LADY!!! IT’S PRONOUNCED ‘-_-‘!!!!!!1!!!!!one!!!11!!!!!!”
“So it’s pronounced ‘face’.”
-_- began smashing his head on the receptionist’s desk hard enough to fracture his skull.
“Why…*smash*must*smash*we*smash*do*smash*this*smash*every*smash*flipping*smash*TIME!!!?!?!?!?*smash*”
“Let him in, Janice4. -_- always gets like that when people can’t say his name right.” A voice came from behind them. -_- turned around, his forehead a bleeding mess of dead tissue and exposed skull from his repeated smashing it on the desk. Penguin and Dohnutt stood there.
“Ah! Penguin and Dohnutt, you’re here. Good. The tournament is in twenty minutes, you better get over to the game room.” The receptionist said cheerily.
The three quickly exited the foyer, -_- mumbling something about the bannhammer of ownage and applying it to Janice4’s face.
The main hall of GT World HQ was massive, all techno-geeked out. Huge holoscreens ran highlights of videogame victories on the walls. Giant banners with the GT Empire logo and the likeness of Chuck Norris hung from the ceiling. Minor GT members scurried about doing the jobs that were not cool enough for real members.
“Here, -_-.” Penguin handed him a medpack. “You’re scaring the n00bs.”
-_- slapped it on his bleeding forehead.
“Everything scares the n00bs. They never would’ve survived the GT World Conquest.”
“Actually they would have.” Dohnutt interrupted. “After two months it was nothing but spam.”
“Spam, spam, spam, that’s all we ever get nowadays. Stupid n00bs come here and mess up GT. Can’t even go to work in the morning without banning at least a dozen of these losers.”
“Tell me about it.” Penguin groaned. “I was up ‘till four in the morning last night. Do you know how many xXAnimeFlaggerXxs there are?”
“Ha-ha, you mods have to deal with the n00bs, while I get a full night’s sleep with pirate-themed dreams.”
“As your superior, and because of the fact that I am in a horrible mood, Dohnutt, I command you to shut the heck up.” -_- grumbled.
“Long night banning n00bs, eh?” Darth_Z13 walked up beside the other three.
“You have no idea.” -_- and Penguin said simultaneously.
“Ah, well, your mood will improve after a good long fragmatch tournament of Halo 3. Watch out though: Hebes24 has a nasty winning streak and Master Guru will be there.”
“Time to get owned by the Master.” Dohnutt smiled. “Can’t wait.”
“You might want to. Remember the Command and Conquer III tournie a couple weeks ago? You came in dead last.”
“Because Maveritchell blew up half my freaking supply lines before I even started to send out my troops!”
“You blew those up yourself. Your mammoth tanks misfired.”
“Um…well…um…look, a monkey!”
The four Gametoasters all started laughing.

One-shot

The Grunge was dark, if nothing else. Little light from Warz Torkaz’s twin suns made it through the upper levels of the planet-city, covering the place in shades of black and grey. This was where the foundations of the sky scrapers sat upon the soil long forgotten under tons of concrete. The outcasts of society scrounged measly excuses for lives here in the Grunge: The homeless, the vagabonds, the poor and downtrodden, all suffering just to survive.
Flint and Djoric stepped out of the beaten hover taxi. It had been a nightmare finding one who would take them to the Grunge, and this pilot’s saucy attitude and ridiculously high rates definitely got him on the PI’s bad side.
“Where to?” Djoric asked.
“Down this street aways.” Flint pointed into the dim murk. “Make sure you’re ready.”
Djoric grunted and nodded. He patted a sixteen-inch knife and a dart gun hanging from his loincloth’s cloth belt. Flint checked the ammo gauge of his heavy plasma pistol. The charge was at full: 80 shots, medium-grade plasma, custom-made heavy ionizer. Getting pegged in the face by this baby would stop any mugger in their tracks, permanently. Flint had a strong feeling that he would have to use it. Warz Torkaz was not a place to turn your back for long and the Grunge was the worst of it.
The two began to walk towards their destination, eyes flitting to any source of movement and their hands hovering near their weapons. A horde of dirty, ragged vagabonds of all species clustered around the burn barrels scattered in the street. Flint walked past them, ignoring their piercing gazes.
Their destination was the run-down base of an apartment building. Many years ago it was a busy place, now it was just a degenerating ruin. The metal siding was rusted and dented, the cement steps were cracked, a few pitiful strands of albino furga-grass growing out of them. The windows had long since been shattered, boarded over, and forgotten. A burn barrel and cluster of beings sat at the base of the steps: Three humans, a pygmy Wanzorian whose legs were twisted around in the wrong direction because of some birth defect, an old female greater Wanzorian with both eyes clouded over with cataracts, a Muhron whose exposed muscle system was being rapidly taken over by a pasty white-green fungus, and, a rarity in these parts, a young female Quenolice, heavily pregnant with a forlorn face.
The Grungers watched the PI’s closely as they approached. Flint’s face did not change: no sign of sympathy came from his features. Djoric’s face was blank as well, though underneath his heart was weeping at the sight. Jandoph do not show emotion well.
“Private Investigators Flint Magbara and Djoric d’la Njar. We’re investigating the death of a Yyr known as Raz Bor.” Flint held up his PI-ID. “This was his last known place of residence, correct?”
“Get lost, Uppers.” One of the humans, a decrepit old man growled. “We don’t need more of you’re kind down here to spit at us.”
“Listen.” Flint’s eyebrows furrowed, his voice becoming slightly more menacing. “Somebody wants this case solved, and they want it solved badly. So are you going to help us or not?”
“I already told you. Get lost!” he barked. The other Grungers were beginning to get irritable as well, except for the blind Wanzorian and pregnant Quenolice. The former sat there deafly, the other simply looked down at her bare feet.
“So it doesn’t matter to you that he was murdered?”
“People die all the time down here!” The pygmy exclaimed. “Not that you people care!”
“It isn’t my fault you were born down here!”
“So no you’re insulting our mothers who had to eat sewer slugs and garbage to give birth to us!?!!”
“I don’t frankly dive a dam* who your mother was!”
“QUIET!!!” Djoric boomed. Flint froze, his hand in the middle of a very impolite gesticulation. The Grungers stopped as well, gazing in fear at the bull Jandoph. “She wants to speak.” He motioned to the Quenolice.
“Bah. Let’s get outta here.” The first man said. “There’s enough scum down here already without the Uppers messing up the place.” He got up and hobbled to another burn barrel. The others followed him, one of the humans carrying the pygmy Wanzorian and the two others leading the blind one. Now it was just Flint, Djoric, and the young woman.
Flint hadn’t ever seen a Quenolice outside of a computer database before he met this woman. Like a good deal of the species in the Milky Way, she fit the Standard Bipedal Organization Plan, that is, two arms attached to a torso, two legs underneath it, a head on top with visible eyes, nose and mouth. Her skin was bright blue, though now covered in dirt and filth. Instead of hair, she had thick columns of tissue capped in black skin, all about the size of a thermos, coming out of her head. Her face was human like, but very sad and lonely. Her nail-less fingers and toes shone a bright orange. Her swollen stomach bulged out of the dirty rags she used as clothing.
“You knew Raz Bor?”
“We all did.” She said. Her voice was very quiet, like wind whispering through grass. “Everyone knew him. He was like a father to all of us. Whenever he had anything, he would give it to whoever needed it more. He kept us all together. Look at us now. We’re little more than savages now. It used to be safe when Raz Bor was here.” Tears welled up in her eyes as she placed a hand upon her belly, an obvious sign that she was concerned for her unborn child’s safety.
“Do you have any idea why anybody would want to kill him?” Djoric asked.
“No. Nothing at all.”
“Are you sure?” Flint continued. “Nothing at all?”
“No, nothing. He never bowed to the gangs. Whenever times were hard, he would rather starve than beg for their scraps. He left them alone, and they never bothered him.”
“What about the other…” he paused a moment, about to say Grungers, an offensive term. “…people here?”
“No. Respect is all that people were able to give him.”
“What do you know of his background? Anything can help, uh…”
“Quena. Not really, he was here long before I showed up. People say that he just appeared here. He always seemed…different…I suppose. He always seemed to be happy…telling us tales of worlds far away, where there’s enough space for everyone, and places where there are no gangs, and places where the sun shines bright on the people…I always loved his stories.”
“Can you show us where he lived?”
“This building.” She motioned behind her. “But he never stayed there. He always insisted giving it to other people.”
“Do you know if he was born here?”
“He never said anything about his past. He always said that it wasn’t worth looking into. I always thought that he was just from another part of the Grunge.”
“Is there any possibility he was from off-world?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he leave behind any possessions?”
“No, I mean, yes. He did.” Quena pulled a purple crystal necklace on a leather cord from around her neck. “He gave this to me…before he was killed.”
“May we take it as evidence?”
“If it will bring his soul to peace, then yes.”
“If that’s all the information you have, we’ll be going.” Flint turned around. “Hope that bum pilot is still there.” He grumbled to himself, walking in the direction of the landing pad. Djoric turned to follow the PI.
“Thank you.”
The Jandoph turned around.
“Thank you for what you’re doing for him.” Quena said, actually smiling. “But if you find out…what happened to him…will you tell me?”
Djoric became overwhelmed with sympathy and compassion for this delicate young woman right there on the spot. He bent down on one knee and looked her right in the eyes.
“On my honor.” The edges of his mouth curled into the best smile he could manage. He reached out a huge three-fingered hand, brown and callused, and placed it gently on Quena’s pregnant belly. The Jandoph closed his pupiless eyes and inhaled deeply.
“Urhin korda nvaj. Irdon jans phar von sumin gil. Phanjo ban dorma.”
Djoric stood back up, his inky eyes portraying the feelings that his face could not. Then he turned and walked away.

Enjoy.
PS: There are hidden references to several internet videos. Identify them and you win a cookie.

Good job. The first story was funny.

I love it.

Excellent work.

Great job with the writing on the first one, although when you compare the charecters with their actual counterpart, it doesn't really match up. Oh, and quit the anti-anime bias, as I'm guessing most people won't get it. You also spelled Darth_Z13's name wrong. Oh, and -_- is pronounced Skyhawk. Aparently.

I'll post my review on the second later.

...when you compare the charecters with their actual counterpart, it doesn't really match up...Oh, and quit the anti-anime bias, as I'm guessing most people won't get it... You also spelled Darth_Z13's name wrong

1. If someone doens't like how their character was represented, they can PM me to change it, which I will. This story is supposed to be for enjoyment, not accuracy.
2. First off, I am not anti-anime. I totally love anime. I don't love those annoying people who hang out on anime fansites and mess it up for the rest of us. In the story, I am supposing that hordes of these people would come to our beloved GT and mess it up. It's what happens when you take over the world. *If you haven't guessed yet, this takes place after the infamous World Conquest* As to if many people won't get it...well...that's why there's two stories, I guess.
3. I'm on it.

Next chapter!

CHAPTER 4
JAWAS ARE DEAD-EYES WITH PLASMA RIFLES
OR
GOGIE DOESN’T TAKE HIS MEDICINE

“Thank you all for another excellent Halo 3 tournament!” Fusion said over the PA system in the darkened game room, lit only by the glowing hi-def screens. “Congratulations especially to Hebes24, with 193 kills, EraOfDesann with 188, and of course to our winner, Master Guru with 450 kills! Next week is double tournie day; we got Super Smash Bros. Brawl and MyGears. See you all later!”
“MyGears? What kind of freaky hybrid game do we have now?” Dohnutt asked as he got up from his ergonomic pirate-themed beanie chair.
“Oh, that’s mine.” plasmoidmonkey said from the chair beside him. “It’s a fusion of MySims and Gears of War.”
“So we got chibi-people ripping each other open with chainsaw bayonets?”
“Yup.”
“Cool.”
The GameToasters began to file out of the game room into the large hallway outside. The tournament had taken most of the afternoon, so most of them went across HQ to the mess hall.
“And then Darth Z_13 here places a proximity mine right in the seat of a Warthog and Thire sits right on it!” plasmoidmonkey told Talibanman as they crossed the main hall.
“Yeah, but then ARC_Commander sniped me right in the face.” Darth Z_13 said, shaking his head. “Disgraceful.”
“Not as disgraceful as when Master shot me in the back with a plasma rifle from halfway across the map while I was busy defending against Era and Dohnutt.”
“Yeah, plasmoidmonkey, you pretty much suck.” Talibanman said, chuckling.

Gogie sat back in his chair. It had been a good match, though he wished that he was down on the surface rather than up in the GTSTRDS (GameToast Science & Technology Research & Development Station).
“*psssssht*” His comm. erupted into noise. “Gogie, this is Epena and I need you down here pronto. These anime fans are insane!!!! [shout] BACK!!! BACK, YOU SAVAGES!!!!! WTH ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT GRAVITY HAMMER?!?!?!? OW!! THAT’S NOT SUPPOSED TO GO THERE!!!!!!!!!!! GOOOOOOOOOOGIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!![/shout]”
“Epena needs help, eh? Hope nobody sees me do this.” He stood up in a heroic pose, knocking his chair to the floor. “GO, GO GOGIENATOR!!!” He dashed out of the room, his calls echoing through the hallway. “DununununuDADADADDA-DA-DAH!!!!!!11!!11!!!

EDIT: I apologize for any misspelled names. I write these on a computer without internet.

Haha, liked chapter 2 and 4.

BTW:

Quote:
...when you compare the charecters with their actual counterpart, it doesn't really match up...Oh, and quit the anti-anime bias, as I'm guessing most people won't get it... You also spelled Darth_Z13's name wrong


1. If someone doens't like how their character was represented, they can PM me to change it, which I will. This story is supposed to be for enjoyment, not accuracy.

You spelled EraOfDesann name wrong.

2. First off, I am not anti-anime. I totally love anime. I don't love those annoying people who hang out on anime fansites and mess it up for the rest of us. In the story, I am supposing that hordes of these people would come to our beloved GT and mess it up. It's what happens when you take over the world. *If you haven't guessed yet, this takes place after the infamous World Conquest* As to if many people won't get it...well...that's why there's two stories, I guess.

Umm... its not like these people are in the majority or anything... but I don't go surfing those websites often, so I could be wrong. And you better PM me before you add me.

Anyway, this story is pretty good, although I do have to say I think your other storyline is better.

Oh, and this may be off-topic, but do you have an X-Fire? Becouse I don't have you down as a freind. I think.

You have two very good stories going.

The GT one is really funny, and I like it alot. (what's really funny is, I'm not that good at halo, and I don't even own and XBox!) It's a fun little story.

The other story is really good. just as good, if not better than your first one. I feel like I'm reading a book from a professional. Just awesome.

Love mah line

...its not like these people are in the majority or anything...I think your other storyline is better...do you have an X-Fire?

1. They might not be a majority, but I've surfed enough sites to know that they are annoying. Very. Very. Annoying.
2. I know. It's supposed to be.
3. Nope

New updates!!

ADitLoaGTer

CHAPTER 5
RABID ANIME FANS FOR THE LOSS
OR
TAKE WHAT THE CREATOR GIVES YOU AND BE HAPPY WITH IT, D’ARVIT!!!!!!!11!!!1!1!11!!!11

*pssshhhttt* “Attention all GT members!” a voice yelled over the PA system. “This is Moderator Epena! I need every able-bodied GTer with combat experience over here NOW! Squipple, Gogie, Rends, Schizio, and I can’t hold these anime fans back for much longer! [shout into background] GET THAT THING AWAY FROM MY SPLEEN!!!![/shout into background] Coordinates 307-682-183!! MOVE!!!! [shout into background] *laser fire* HA!! TAKE THAT YOU SPAM-HUGGERS!!!!![/shout into background]”*psssshsht*
The mess hall exploded into chaos. Meals were knocked off the tables and chairs were overturned as the GTers scrambled to the hangar bays. Of course, the n00bs got to stay behind and clean it up: No fun for people who don’t even post on the forums.
plasmoidmonkey grabbed the GT-LAATi’s handrail. He pressed a button on the side of his watch, making his reality-modded armor appear out of thin air in a flash of white sparkles. Other members around him were doing the same.
“Take off in ten seconds.” A robotic voice said over the comm. “Prepare for ludicrous speed.”
“Let’s go smash some heads.” -_- said, as he patted the bannhammer of ownage and lightsaber that hung from his belt.
“I’m looking forward to it. This will be fun.” plasmoidmonkey responded.

The city was in ruins. Old mechs from the GT World Conquest lie in shattered husks among the buildings. Gunfire, explosions, and various other noises echoed through the streets as armies of spiky haired anime fans fought against each other in a massive sea of people. Luckily, all civilians had fled long before the fighting broke out. plasmoidmonkey looked at the devastation below as his transport circled above.
“Holy. Crap. –ola. This is the biggest shipping war I’ve ever seen.”
“Shipping war?”
“Yeah, shipping war. Crazed anime fans argue about character relationships.” plasmoidmonkey pointed out a banner sticking out of the mob below. “See that? GokuXMisty. Blasted crackshippers.”
“I thought you were an anime fan yourself.” -_- said, now suspicious of plasmoidmonkey’s sanity.
“I am, but in moderation. I don’t go to war just because someone disagrees with me about something as trivial as this. Wish I could say that for these saps. They’ll be owned good.”
“And their admins do nothing?”
“Nothing. I’ve seen a thread 827+ pages long. No lock in sight.”
“That’s insane!”
“Tell me about it.” plasmoidmonkey jumped out of the open hangar bay. Across the ruined city the other GTers were doing it as well.
plasmoidmonkey’s jetpack slowed his fall, carrying him gently to the wreckage-strewed ground. The anime fans had stopped fighting, looking at the newcomers.
“By order of the GT Empire, and all things that are cool in this realm of existence, you are all under arrest immediately.” plasmoidmonkey said to those clustered around him. Every other GTer was doing this as well.
“Hey.” One guy with purple hair said. “This dude’s wearing a Southern Water Tribe Warrior suit! He’s one of us! He’s a Sokka cosplayer!”
“But look at the designs! They’re Rayquaza, but with reversed colors! Do you know what this means?! All hail SokkaXRayquaza!!”
“All hail! All hail!” The rest of the mob repeated.
“C’mon…no. Nonononononono. I am not starting a new crackship.”
plasmoidmonkey’s armor began to glow radioactive blue as the phazon in this PED system began to course through his body.
“He’s entered Hypermode! All hail SamusXSokkaXRayquaza!!!!”
“All hail!! All hail!!”
“Shut up. Seriously. Shut it.” Cries and explosions sounded from the distance. Seems some of the others had already lost their patience.
“I’ll give you till ten to put down your weapons. One…” huge bone spikes with veins of phazon running through them jutted from his arms.
“He’s activated Dead Bone Pulse!!! All hail KimimaroXSamusXSokkaXRayquaza*!!!”
“All hail!!! All hail!!!”
plasmoidmonkey made a mental note to never use his bone-structure manipulation in front of rabid fans ever again.
“ALL HAIL!!!1! ALL HAIL!!!1!”
“Shut up. NOW.”
“ALL HAIL!!!1! ALL HAIL!!!1!”
“[shout] Shut up! [/shout]
“ALL HAIL!!!1! ALL HAIL!!!1!”
“SHUT THE HECK UP YOU FUZZBAGS!!!!!11! THAT’S IT!!!” he pulled out two phazon-charged assault rifles. “IT’S INQUISITION TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
“What the heck does tha…”
“NO ONE EXPECTS THE SPANISH INQUISITION!!!!!!!!!!11!!1!!11!”

Author’s note: Due to the ridiculously graphic violence shown here, this scene will be replaced by a picture of cute bunny rabbit.



Author’s note: No anime fans were harmed during the making of this story.

Author’s note: Okay, maybe a few.

*Ultimate irony here: except for Samus, everthing mentioniened here is from anime. Oh well.

One shot

The Nova Den was one of the most popular hangouts in this sector, and Flint was no exception. He was a regular, no matter what praise Djoric heaped upon Jumbago’s. Flint liked Jumbago’s well enough, but it just didn’t appeal to him like the den. Flint was a man of simple pleasures. The Den supplied all of them: Good food, strong drinks, and scantily-clad Berek-thai dancing girls.
The PI twirled the purple crystal necklace in his fingers. It was hardly a good lead, but it was the only thing he got. Compared to other cases, it was a bum lead. And when a PI got a bum lead, it was time to honor the most ancient and sacred of the many traditions of a private investigator: Go to a bar and get drunk.
“Here’s your second round, Flint.” The gangly Chol’hon bartender said as he placed another glass of exotic Tringali-juice in front of the private investigator.
“Thanks, Fra’nassar.” He took a long sip. “Hey, can you figure out where this was made?” He handed the bartender the necklace.
“Hmmm.” The alien turned it over in his super-sensitive fingers. “I can’t tell you where, but it is very high quality, well cut, few flaws. Where’d you find it?”
“Only evidence I have for the murder case I’m working on now. Used to belong to some bum in the Grunge.”
“That’s surprising… HEY!! I already told you! Touch those dancers and you are a dead Tlingarib!!!! Now, where was I…oh yes. It’s surprising because this is actually quite valuable. I’d put it at ten thousand credits.”
“Holy crap.”
“Where did you say you found this again?”
“Never mind.” Flint took the necklace back. “Sorry. There’s somewhere I have to go.”
The private detective stood up hastily, swiped his card, and made his way to the door. There was someone else he needed to see. He stepped out onto the pad and held the necklace up to his face, inspecting it closely.
“How the hell did you get this, Raz Bor?”
Flint pocketed it again and went over to one of the hover taxis.
“That’s it! Wardug! Pralug! Get him!!” Fra’nassar’s voice screamed from inside the Den, followed by the reedy wailing of a Tlingarib getting his arms broken.

Also I forgot to put in the translation for what Djoric said last chapter. Here ya go.
"Urhin korda nvaj. Irdon jans phar von sumin gil. Phanjo ban dorma."-Doph Marg – “May this child be dear to the gods and be a blessing to the mother. May it have strength, love, and honor.” A ritual Jandoph charm for the unborn.

“Hey.” One guy with purple hair said. “This dude’s wearing a Southern Water Tribe Warrior suit! He’s one of us! He’s a Sokka cosplayer!”

HEY! Thats a reference to an American-made anime imitation, something shunned by members of the anime comunity as a Class A felony punishible by execution by means of Sōkyoku!



EDIT: Colored the Wikipedia link blue so you can see it.