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In the war with only night
In the shadows fearing light
One gives way to take respite
This the plea, he shall incite.

In the dark, he's lost in fright
Weary of the eternal plight
Singing that solemn lullaby,
Of the stars that have gone by.

Lost forever in the fight
From the danger and fright
Lacking will to neither live nor die
For them to strike he thus invites

Only a love from the days of old
Can stop the darkness taking hold
But his heart has grown so cold,
To decay, his body sold.

Who can offer him salvation?
Through the fear of annihilation?
Driven mad with isolation,
Can you save A souls temptation?

Who can off the love and light,
In the approaching dread of night?
In the coming of the swarm
Who can chase away the swarm?

From his death to his birth
Angels and demons war on earth
For whatever his soul is worth
Save this man from the markers words.
this is my first shot at poetry so pleeeeaese lemme know how i did? kinda morbid but i got this idea from.... you guessed it =D Deadspace
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The two Surveyors made their way up to the console.  Alexandra made it up first, climbing over the side and making her way to the supervisor.  Robert angrily climbed up by himself, visibly upset that Alexandra wasn't there to help him up.
"Good work," the Supervisor said as he looked at the console, "We're getting a clear image.  The engineers are currently moving the loader.  Altman be praised at their progress.  They are just barely ahead of schedule."
Robert got a good look at the screen.  Sam Caldwell was currently pulling the loader on the track using his Kinesis Module.  The Marker seemed to be glowing slightly brighter as the loader was brought in close.
"This is Cooper to Maxwell.  You reading me, surveyors?  Over."
Maxwell raised his right arm and punched the button on his comms module.  A hologram vidscreen revealed the face of an engineer on the other side.
"This is Maxwell," the Supervisor said, "I read you."
"We're starting the five-down in a few seconds.  Whether you have your equipment ready or not, I'm going to be turning it on.  You have everything ready?  Over."
"Everything's ready, Cooper," Maxwell said with a satisfied smirk, "I wouldn't miss this moment for the entire galaxy.  Altman be praised."
"Yeah, yeah," Cooper said, "Cut the Unitology crap.  I've had enough about that already."
"I wouldn't want you upset about the greatest moment in history, Cooper," Maxwell said, "You may start anytime."
"Fine.  I don't need your permission.  Over and out."
Robert stifled a snicker.  At least he wasn't the only one upset about this.
"Robert, you have one final task," Maxwell said, "Aim the hologram projector over to the Marker and keep it steady from the wind.  I want this whole event recorded with the Marker in the center."
Robert sighed.  Turning his ERM's safety on, he walked up to the large, turret-like hologram projector and aimed it carefully.  Placing his eyes over on the eye braces, he looked inside and made sure he aimed it so that the whole recording could be seen on the screen.
Damn waste of time trying to grab some glowing rock, Robert said to himself.
"Stand by, everyone," Cooper voiced on the comms, "I'm starting the five-down."
Robert watched carefully.  As he gazed at the Marker, he heard something like some far-off voice.  It seemed to sound like creepy whisperings.  He shook the thought out of his head and watched as Sam came up and pressed a button on the loader screen.
"Five…"
Cooper's voice seemed to grow distant.  Robert couldn't believe his eyes as the Marker began to spark red lightning at its base.
"Four…"
The loader's arms began to reach towards the Marker.  Sam seemed to notice the lightning and stepped back in surprise.  
"Three…"
The Marker glowed brightly as lightning shot up its surface.  The loader arms almost grasped its base.
"Two…"
A great glowing sphere suddenly formed atop the Marker.  Lightning covered it completely by now.  Were Robert and Sam the only ones noticing?
"One…Mark!"
As the loader's arms grasped the Marker's base, all hell broke loose as the sphere exploded in a blinding flash.
EDIT! Please read!

This, along with my other Dead Space Shadows deviation, has become my most popular deviation to date. I would like to let everyone know, as of today, I'm not currently writing or planning on writing Dead Space: Shadows until further notice. That doesn't mean it won't happen, but it does mean that you probably shouldn't expect it anytime this year (I might be nice and post what I currently have written this Halloween, but that would probably mean all the more that I'll take longer to write it).

I really appreciate the favs and the views, but if you happen to stumble upon this I'd really appreciate it if you took the time to look at my other stuff that I'm working on. Thanks for your time.

End of Edit

Excerpt from Dead Space: Shadows, Introduction - To Extract a Marker

Since I posted a preview piece of artwork earlier, I decided to post a text preview so you guys can see what you're up against. As I add more to the story, I'll steadily add more previews until I'm ready to post the first bit. This is going to be the last time you'll see a submission involving the first preview pic I posted earlier, mostly because I've got a specific logo poster set up for this story (which, by the way, is probably going to get edited. This one turned out so well that I'm having a hard time choosing between the two).

Preview Pic edited with GIMP 2.0, [link]
Dead Space (c) EA Games
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Ellie, where are you?

They say silence is golden.

But, we humans are not accustomed to true silence, as much as we may be unwilling to admit it.  

The hum of a cooling fan.  The rush of the tides.  The roar of traffic from beyond the apartment's walls.  The beating of our hearts.  The puff of breaths, chest falling in and out, the creak of leather against a pilot's seat.  The buzz of electronics, the roar of the C02 scrubbers.  The sound of the stars themselves, twinkling, a manifestation of billion year old light reaching my eyes.

I found comfort in those quiet moments.  But I did not know what silence was, I realize that now.  True silence steals.  It mars, it takes, and leaves nothing but a primal, unexplainable terror.  

Ellie!

I shudder.

The fires have been extinguished by Tau Volantis.  The baleful moaning of the red-hot shuttle chassis being thermally shocked into submission has ceased.  My screams are only in my memories.  Time has passed by, and now, I hear nothing.  My heart, gone, my breaths, gone, everything, gone.  

This is silence, and it is not golden.  It is hell.

I can't hear, I can't fucking hear anything.  The realization dawns on me as cold as the snow.  For a moment, I think I've gone deaf, eardrums shattered by the blast of the hull venting to atmo.  But there's no pain, and I'm quite aware I'm lying on my side, curled into a ball, proof my eardrums haven't lost their ability to naturally horizon.

My chest hurts, and the sensation of falling haunts me, sending seizures down my legs.  I defocus the pain and try to steal my bearings back from the storm, but all I see is white.  Phantom flashes of the shuttle's HUD redding out mar my vision, and the harsh scream of air being sucked from the breach ring in my ears.  But, I see nothing, and hear nothing.  

What had happened?  The metal had torn like paper.  I'd been flung like a rag doll, me and my seat and my datapad, into the merciless white.  Up and gone, down and into the white, and now I am nowhere.  

Alone.  Not just alone, meaning one is there with oneself, but really gone.  

Isaac, help me.  I can't find my heart.  I can't find my lungs.  The more I try, the more it hurts.

I pound my chest, and am greeted by blissful sound, the first I've heard since the crash.  The thumping of my hand on my chest, the reverberating drum of fist on lungs.  The wound pinches, and I wince, curling tighter into a ball.  Amongst the field of endless, relentless white, a splash of red.  

Fuck you, you will not steal the heart of me.  I grind my teeth.

I shake the snowflakes from my arms.  They're white, my fingertips blue.  The clock is ticking.  The monotone wind rushes, stealing out sound like a greedy wolf.  I begin to call his name, only to have it stolen by a snap of fluttering snow.  The flakes hurt my bare skin, more akin to blades of ice than gentile fluff, and I follow the blood trail on hands and knees, adding to it as I crawl.

I find I'm counting now.  The wind has stolen his name, stolen my heart, but I refuse to let it steal the simple bliss of making order.  I count out the serial numbers of heavy mining equipment I'm licensed to pilot.  I get caught on the drill's serial, perversely nostalgic for the Sprawl.  How could we have been joking back then?  How could he have kept it up for that long?  Even on the shuttle, he was strong.   It took time, but he found the power to keep whatever was inside of him...inside.  I envied him, for my insides were currently disobeying that simple edict: stay inside.

The blood trail ends.  Monochrome.  I tell myself I am not lost, and to continue forward.  Just hands, then feet, Ellie girl, hands and feet.  I can't feel them anymore.  So, the snow has taken that from me, as well.  But my arms still work, if barely, and I continue to egg them on with mumbled numbers.  A drill here, a shock-ring there, skyscraper sized jackhammers and Magpie-class mining ships.  What would daddy think of his little girl, now?

My numb hand depresses.  It sinks into a hold, and for a moment, I'm sure I've found it.  The crashed shuttle, and safety!  A hissing cry escapes my lips before falling to the wind.  My lips, now cracked, frown.  A hand print.  My hand print.

I've been going in circles.

It's time to rest,

he says, on the shuttle the night after.  

How could he rightly say that to me?  Come on.  I patched up his damn javelin wound, gave him the last medpac.  I forced him back into reality, yanked him kicking and screaming from his bloodied RIG.  He didn't feel safe, and I ignored the protests, gave no response to the rantings, the ravings.  I ran my fingers through his hair that night and said, this is all behind us now.

I tolerated his screams, night after night after god-damn night.  At first, I'd wake him up, try to bring him back, but the hold was too strong.  He hit me once, did you know that?  Didn't know where he was, raised that big, calloused fist of his and decked me across the nose.  Didn't hurt so much my face as much as my heart, already breaking.  But I never let on.  Stayed strong, or at least, I thought I was strong.

He didn't talk to me for three days, that time.  Couldn't look me in the eye.  Ah, the eye.  I guilted him as a joke.  Wonder now if he took it seriously.  Guilt was killing him.  I didn't know what to do.

Changed his bandages.  Cut his hair.  Cooked food.  Pirated food, clothing, medical supplies.  I was a stalwart sentinel as the screams faded, as the bags under his eyes melted away.  And he always said to me, after each day, it's time to rest.

Tears in his eyes.  Or tears in mine?  Lost an eye, but the tear ducts still work just fine.  Cry like a normal person, though little else is normal.  I reach out and touch his hand, but all I feel is flesh.  I grip his hand hard, as if my fingers could press through his palms and into his soul.

God, Isaac, I want to fix you.  Did it mean anything, at all?  Did I try and fail?

He got worse as we followed the bead to Tau Volantis.  Bags under his eyes returned, so did the screams.  Abandoned his razor, his food, took to staring into the void, but no stars reflected in those eyes.

Rest.

I fall to my side, a broken steel horse, withdraw my legs to my chest.  

Numb was taking the rest of me, soon it would be too late to resist.  I can feel the warmth in my fingers and toes already, my nose and my back, all warm and tingly.  It's hypothermia, I know, but I don't care.  After all this, I find I do want to rest.  

It's time to rest, he'd say, a faded smile hinted at by the wrinkle of his face.  

Rest tomorrow, I'd always reply, with a wink, my vision vanishing to complete the mannerism I'd once so easily engaged in.

I force my shoulders to move my arms.  I open my eyes, black turning to white, but with little difference on my bearing.  Rest tomorrow, you dumb, half blind bitch, because now there's work to do, even if it's just crawling two more feet.

I put one blue hand in front of the other.

With all my might, I pull.

A leg drags behind.  The other follows.

One more hand.  Come on, Ellie.  Daddy's girl, you can do it.

The hand lands in the snow with a thump, and I feel a click.  The snow gives way, pouring into blackness like sand down an hourglass, sucking my arm along with it.  The body, done, falls in tandem, unable to resist.  The silence of snow relents just for a moment as steel hinges creak and a heap of snow vanishes into the dark.

I fall with it.  There's a thump of flesh against metal, my ears ring.  My vision goes black, but the pain doesn't let me slip away that easily.  I groan, my voice returned.  My lungs rasp, and my heart pounds in my throat.  My feet scrape on the cold metal surface as I haphazardly push myself to sitting.  Silence has relented, but to what?

I look up to see the white square above me.  White flecks of snow enter the chasm, and vanish.  I sit in the last square of light, frozen meat.  It's considerably warmer down here, but I know I am in no way saved.  I look into the darkness around me, then once more into the light.  

There are worse things than you, darkness.  There are worse things than silence, and snow, and loneliness.  There are worse things than loss.  The hiss of the oxygen tanks expended.  The flashing of a RIG gone red.  The crunch of death under my boots.  There are worse things than a last, gasping breath.  Worse things than a friend, lost in more ways than one.

The worst thing of all is not finding what you're looking for.

I'm warmer now, but still need to find something, anything to help me.  I stand, shaky as a newborn colt.  One foot in front of the other, Daddy's girl.  

I walk into the embrace of my old friend.
Dead Space 3 prequel / conjecture

Where is Ellie? What happened to her, both before and after the crash? Does she really hear his shouts echoing through the storm, or does she simply imagine it?

This came from me thinking about DS3's setting. If anyone has ever been trapped in a snowstorm, they know how terrifying it can be. One of the most horrific events, in my experience, for sure. Snow steals everything. There's no sound, no sight. It's like the world around you vanished, and then you vanish too.

Thinking back on my experiences in snow, DS3's setting unnerves me more than returning to the Ishimura's med deck.

Anywho this is a rough thing I just wrote tonight, gave it a single pass for errors, and tossing it up. Any crits welcome, as usual.
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I'm just that fat kid
Starved of hope.
I'm just that cutter
Reaching for rope.

I'm just that dumb blonde
Reading all night.
I'm just that coward
Bleeding for a fright.

I'm just that child
Without care.
I'm just that girl
With messy hair.

I'm just that burner
Wanting to be cool.
I'm just that geek
Scared of school.

I'm just that emo
Smiling with glee.
You're just another drone
But you'll never be me.
Please let me know what you think :)
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Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar
    Core Worlds
    Macragge            Konor        Prandium    Calth         Espandor
    Iax                     Quintarn    Tarentus    Masali        Talassar
    Parmenio             Firestorm    Gathis II    Newfound    Lorin Alpha
    Mancora              Ithaka        Vilamus    Honourum    Orpheus Prime
    Cyclades Epsilon   Cyclades Kappa     Armato    Sabatine    Saramanth
    Occuluda             Orax          Drachus      Praganar    Solstice
    Constantinium       Beseritor    Eleusis      Acheros      Vespasia
    Polyphemnos        Perinetus    Soryth      Tephaine    Aryus One
    Sinophia              Idumea       Calistra        Tyros        Elros
    Agrius                 Callaria       New Terra    Spira        Perseid
    Empyrium             Halcyon     Solaris V     Thallon      Terminus Mundus
    Arkanar               Velaxis        Qaddesh    Herathon    Talis IV
    Terra Sirenum       Xanthior      Meroetis    Thallus VIII    Vireneh
    Meridian           Fornax Primus   Scythium    Ophiussa    Lamaria
    Phorcys              Vanth          Actaea       Apsilae V    Salmacis
    Heptanomis        Thyrreion      Ithoria        Aquario      Arrapha
    Tarsis Ultra         Cythere      Pharaxia       Hyacinth    Talis Secundus
    Elliath                Abertur      Coridan         Delphina    Vekallor
    Orion Prime         Kalkallon     Epsilon Chi II  Skepsis     Salamis
    Oreius               Hacilar        Haven Port    Fornax       Pallas
    Aegea               Ultracior      Fulminus       Callidon       Ignesia
    Velathium          Calderis       Prosperity       Fortuna     Celes II
    Accatran           Dantris III    Arminiun        Heliosa    Epsion Octarius
    Jollana              Chordelis       Starport       Kinapis       Ultima Prime
    Aurion               Sebennytos    Port S'aid    Karanis       Hieracon
    Pyrar Tertius       Heracleion    Celestium    Bastion       Thronion
    Lunamire            Albion          Altheon       Draxis Prime    Fornicia
    Hydrax              Tarralax       Acamar       Arox          Velaris Sigma
    Aquileia             Borealis       Acherusia    Hellespon    Tetrapolis
    Vera III            Tamanis        Acre            Halior        Mundus Prospera
    Fortitude          Ilium            Safeharbor    Vexus        Forge's Hammer
    Athyra            Daminon        Pythion         Tripolis           Laocon
    Nova Mundus    Calderis        Vallar           Krion II        Highspire
    Talkara            Cerulean       Minos          Walkure       Veridan
    Malloran           Punt           Belpharos      Antium        Dynamus
    Farthest Point   Thule          Highcastle     Providentium    Judaea
    Anaxar             Meroe          Ksetras        Lyrian         Ad Ultramaris
    Westeros         Aquis Prime    Praesidia     Sarmates    Castra Ultra
    Phycion           Ithania          Tellene      Arcanis          Vellixari
    Ivixion            Altor II          Kallor        Vesperia       Ultra Mundus
    Armadea          Elianu          Provincio    Iphigenium    Talis IV
    Qabbalah         Hieratis       Manethus    Amratia         Proxium Alpha
    Ark Haven        Priarium      Zarem Alpha    Calladox    Vynar VIII
    Harran            Ramoth       Hatra Tertius    Aeclanum   Terra Secundus
    Castia Prime     Verallun      Antigonus       Cyraxia       Melander
    Ostra V            Laurentum    Astura        Gabii          Portus Ultramar
    Thurion           Prium Tetra    Aternum    Astinus        Veleia Prime
    Mannaseh        Khazaran      Qashan       Majar         Arkaim
    Zeriam            Callios          Denara        Vaios IV     Igneus Fornax
    Samandar        Celemantia    Charax        Halmyris     Herculium
    Ajmer              Antakya       Delphios       Berea        Iconium
    Sareptus         Artanes II    Taurunum    Byzantion    Oresthus
    Terranea          Uzal            Caphtor       Ophirius      Philistia
    Diauehi            Bithyn          Safehold      Nabataea    Tethiru
    Achaei            Perennus      Vaxum XII    Alemanni    Heruthus
    Androphacum    Armalaus     Tal Uxis       Syallax        Bastion Ultramar
    Betasii            Dysnex III    Ceutrones    Perellum      Chandravarma
    Cimbri             Lacunos       Nacerene       Gnosis        Celestar
    Xerxer            Holicum        Goodwill        Veselus       Igniteus IV
    Gandhara        Hamax          Hermunduri    Hyksos       Mandaea
    Kalkis             Sabine Path    Saldens      Iliaar          Sanhaja
    Sinjoh            Heavenrise     Thamud       Trixae         Pyraech
    Volcae           Hanarim         Quissex         Amphorus    Guilliman's Gate
    Tophane        Galatas          Tempest        Hellenis       Northern Pass
    Hercynia        Silvus V         Hversu          Hannathon     Paradisus
    Naturis           Prexior         Hamyrth        Calcyrion      Spridius IX
    Ashtarot         Sidon          Cytherus        Tyramis        Zophasem
    Baetylus          Theresh       Eryx VII        Anthemusias    Meride
    Pherres I         Corinthus     Solis Tertius    Solis Quintus    Solis Primus
    Triskelion         Histria         Thuriion        Epidamnos     Nymphaeum
    Homeward       Spirefall        Meneses       Pal'vesh        Archades
    Far Port          Kellenes       Konor Minor     Circius IV    Horizon Star
    Erythres          Mandra       Nea Ultramar    Kallithea      Mycenium
    Kalamos          Chaeron      Tithorus         Thellenes      Western Reach
    Aigerius          Prosperity    Ipsus III        Satris Alpha    Pythia Tertius
    Arcadion        Aetos I        Poseidon       Arathea         Tibor II
    Artemida        Iardanus      Carthage        Thanae         Portus Magnus
    Hadrumetus     Sabratha    Arx Praetorum  Caelum         Selene
    Hippocampus    Sibyllene    Hera's Bastion  Aphridix       Calumar
    Amphis Prime    Guardian     North Gem     Phorax V       Ultra Meridianus
    Altaneum         Edirnus        Coryxis        Watchpost    Praetorum Ultima
    Sidyana           Helaos         Phemis        Thokos        Riftworld
    Mundus Primus   Paradine    Carthenis    Cephlon IX      Cygnus Omega
    Ephor              Heliotrix       Porphyrus    Armatura         Belleraphon
    Arkheon           Bellaphorus    Ulstrex       Hermethia    Hydropolis
    Promonon        Taurea        Tetrapryion    Vasaali        Methres II
    Gideon Prime    Ophalcus      Beldene        Khea          Mare Infinitus
    Ancharia          Achaitus      Ulpium          Berengaria    Magna Portus
    Calligenia          Xanthe        Mekera        Hecatae      Cataract
    Pellamon          Guarid III      Ellisum        Cyracus IV    Zephyrim
    Myrtoa             Melketis      Teleost         Karhane       Pahura
    Tirazis              Icarea        Seleukia        Thapsacus    Leontos
    Canopus          Seraphaeum  Tamia VII       Terenu        Daphnae
    Eilithyias          Ankyron       Caldeus X      Antaea        Manawar
    Primis              Paraeton       Hetepheres    Malkata    Ankhmahor
    Pheredes          Ilalcum        Zaraphas        Arpadda    Hamath
    Symeion           Sarepta V    Maritimus        Ophrah      Raphanae
    Sepphoris          Taanach      Andriake         Kytoros    Ultramar Extremus
    Ambracia            Triantus      Ophyrnium      Samothrace  Karystos
    Orchomenos       Thermon      Lygos           Aeculanum    Himera
        
                    
After reading the novel Know No Fear, I've heard of the Ultramarines' great domain before the time of the Heresy. Within the story it spoke of the XIII Legion's great realm of five hundred worlds.

Known as the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar, or "the New Empire", the realm was the home of the largest of the Space Marine Legions. Mainstream 40k knowledge doesn't have much detail on this realm, so I took it upon myself to name all 500 worlds.

This project tok me two months to accomplish. I surfed the Web, searching for suitable names. Of course, I included the original eleven worlds of Ultramar, as well as any future homeworlds of Ultramarines Successor Chapters, and a few other Imperial worlds. The rest of the worlds are named after actual ancient locations on Earth, mostly from Ancient Greece, Rome, Mesopotamia, or my own derivatives. For example, I may have taken a few of our modern cities' names and re-spelled them, or found ancient-sounding names, especially of Roman origin.

The end result, a list of my own idea of Ultramar: 500 worlds exactly.
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i.
starting anew from the flutter
and the sputter of lungs.
a vacant sea filled with feathers
and tumultuous clatter,
ribs in a treacherous pattern
resembling exiting rungs.
i want to wrestle the angels,
your tendency is the ladder.


ii.
involved with full indiscretion,
trading lazy for lace.
unspool the curse of the long-
itudinally inflected.
limbs in a languorous flexion
ultimately misplaced;
i like the stab of the ankles,
you need the curves intersected.


iii.
opting to cull my extents
with trans-dimensional vigor.
spent my dysphoric corrections
on reconnecting lax ends.
lips in a spurious accent
feign a passionate rigor.
i tie myself to the anchor,
you extricate and ascend.
iv.
you're like a flooding aorta
or the clutch of a chamber,
a pact that urges my wrists
to assist the split of my carcass in twain
spittled and arching in pain
flattering every angle in bledded refrain
oh god, some scars are eternal
and some phoenixes stay slain



-----------------------------------------------

:gliitchfloored:

IrrevocableFate you are the best. anyone reading this, i humbly request (and/or vehemently demand) that you give her and her gallery some love.

-----------------------------------------------

sneaking in a mini feature, check these out!

Queen RegnantAs you embroidered autumn
into my bones, I heard the
trees giggle to themselves:
"We're going to make all
the leaves change color,
pin them along the sidewalk
for you to follow and we'll
wreathe them in your hair.
You will be our daughter."
You folded apples into my smile,
making it crisp, but sweet. I
took the time to thank you by
shrugging off my sweater and
giving it to you. A daughter
of the trees, braided with their
leaves, needs no protection
from the elements that embrace her.
"Your leaf diadem suits you,
daughter," they say as
their branches weave between
gusts of wind. For once,
I believe them.
   camisadoplanktonic in the human swell
we ate our wings so we'd keep tame
ancillary atoms
consorting with the stratum
when most zooids would withdraw from shore
and haunt places more pelagic
now night will be our cover
with its rorschach eyes and
hormone fodder
for this show and tell philosophy
where psuedo-suns can not deter
from hyperbaric sleep
but the spoils are ours to keep
though vespertine and fleeting
and bled into the water through
sensory secretions
   awake and alivedayworm ouroboros stuck
                in the raven's throat
gets shorter in chunks
     swallowed with a guttural clutter
              of polished solarplates crashing down
the house on blackberry hill
           rewires its shadow
                     block by block everyday.
a world emerges in the backyard
     it is frothing & foaming
with the vividness of a mucous membrane.
the birds in the bushes burp out
             milky kisses at each other
                                  but the outcast eats the days.
someone says that the contrast
                         short-circuited,
that the smell of burnt rubber
   you lurk in the dark and your eyes start firesshe can't seem to grasp the arrowhead
lodged in her chest and pull it out -
she'd rather let it melt into the
plushness of her breastbone than
grip it lightly in her fangs and let
her enamel stain with flecks of
her own blood -
and yet he, who found the stone
she keeps beneath her chest, who
tossed it loftily in her direction and
watched with wide eyes as she rubbed
her thumb across the surface and slipped
it in her pocket, he flicks every word (and
every nightmare) that stumbles across his path
to eternities unknown - he swats at those
mosquitoes, but (i can't tell if) they leave
bites beneath his scales -
and when they get like
this they're monsters - she, with a tongue of
scorching flame, constantly licking and licking
until her tastebuds drop to the ground like petals,
and he, whose head and heart always hover above
the ground, with eyes that reflect the clouds as they
rumble and glide. no one can ever tell who really strays.
   the cultivation of neophiliai.
give in to it:
the insatiable restlessness
that haunts, heavy
in a familiar corner
of your eyeline.
drive toward the night.
halt only when you
can no longer
continue.
ii.
trace paths of neon
from streetlight to fingertip;
never quite reach the
constellations.
eventually, stop trying.
iii.
look over the paper city
resting fragile below;
tear it to shreds
with vicious intent
and forget,
forget that you have
loved and hoped and
fled.
for a moment 
there is only you,
the night, and the need
to fly.
iv.
desire like you've
never wanted anything,
search for the novel,
for the fantastical
and the faintest hint
of something new
in the sky-glow.
v.
stand so high atop 
towering blank-faced
mountain ranges;
wonder how they do not
break
under the weight
of all this empty
ancient
light.
  Sibilant by Sorelliena and don't forget: an--unkindness-ofravens.tumblr…
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#1: You forget every swear word you’ve ever learned and use ‘By the Precursors’ every chance you get.

#2: You compare everyone you meet with a Jak and Daxter character.

#3: You find a small, strange piece of machinery and you’re convinced that it’s a Precursor artifact.

#4: You attempt to build your own Jet Board…

#5: …And you actually succeed!

#6: You played through Final Fantasy X again just so you can name every Aeon to their corresponding Jak and Daxter character. (Guilty!)

#7: You write fanfiction. (Guilty!)

#8: You’ve convinced yourself that Jak is Mar, and you think it’s perfectly logical that he is his own ancestor.

#9: You have a theme song for every character, no matter how obscure!

#10: You go ‘Oh! Oh!’ every time one of these theme songs comes on the radio. (Guilty!)

#11: You actually understand the time paradox in Jak II.

#12: Your mother tells you can’t fall in love with a fictional character, so you tell her you’ve fallen in love with Michael Erwin. (Close enough!)

#13: Every time you watch a movie, you start to plan how it would be a good crossover. (Guilty)

#14: When you see a policeman walking down the street, you point and yell “Krimzon Guard!”

#15: You held a rather touching funeral for Damas.

#16: If you are a female fanfiction writer, you’ve inserted yourself into a story as a Mary Sue.

#17: You’re parents start to tease you by yelling that Jak, Daxter, Keira, etc. is on the phone. (Guilty)

#18: You give a report on dictators in school and you cite Baron Praxis as an example.

#19: You’re convinced that Erol is gay and that he repeatedly raped Jak in prison.

#20: You keep a running tally of how many girls Jak and Daxter have to see who’s ‘winning’. (Jak: Keira, Ashelin, Rayn, every Mary Sue in existence. Daxter: Tess)

#21: You’re convinced that you are actually an elf who had their ears surgically shorten so you can fit in with the rest of the human race.

#22: You have different personas for each character and you get in trouble for answering your mother in your ‘Jak’ persona. (This actually happened to me. To write my lines, I get into each ‘character’. Well, my mom once asked me a question when I was struggling with a Jak line. Well, I said something very rude and got in trouble.)

#23: You’ve written or read about Jak without his shirt, or without his pants, or, hell, completely nude. (Guilty)

#24: You can read the Precursor language and you know that the computers in the Freedom Fortress in Jak 3 actually talks about a dog named Morgan who was the Naughty Dog’s mascot thirteen years ago. (Yes, I know this!)

#25: You’ve written about Jak crying, singing, or dancing even though he won’t do these things if he were real.

#26: You gasped when you read the number 25 because you thought that Jak was real.

#27: You think that the JakxDaxter relationship is ‘cute’.

#28: You missed school or work when you found out that Rayn was Krew’s daughter because you couldn’t stop throwing up.

#29: You’re convinced that the oily stuff on the driveway is Dark Eco.

#30: If someone upsets you, you threaten to go Dark and Dark Bomb their ass.

And #31: You actually read through all of these just to see how many relate to you.
Some of you have probably seen this before, because it was some authors notes for 'WOTC' over on ff.net. But, still, since I've got the Kingdom Hearts one here, I figured I'd better put up the original. This is the one for Jak and Daxter, all the games.

All the ones that says 'guilty', I am guilty of having commited at one point or another during my fan career. Might not be as funny, but some of them are really good.

Jak and Daxter (c) Naughty Dog
List (c) Me
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Written about the firsthand accounts of Navy SEAL Petty Officer First Class Marcus Luttrell during Operation Redwing in Afghanistan on 28 June 2005, showing the uselessness of the Geneva Conventions when the opposing force do not take after the Conventions themselves. Three of the four Navy SEALs on his team were killed in action due to the vote on letting three goat-herders go, instead of killing them, after they were discovered. The choice was based on the fear of the liberal media labeling them as murderers and resulting in imprisonment of four of our finest service-members; the choice got MOH-recipient Michael P. Murphy and Navy Cross recipients Matthew Axelson and Danny Dietz killed. Luttrell was also awarded the Navy Cross for selflessness in the line of combat.

Here's what's gotta be said.


I am, by no means, exaggerating the nickname for the nickname ("The Rules' Of War") of the Geneva Conventions, that being the fact that the Geneva Conventions are, simply (without argument to the contrary), "The Guidelines to War".

A decent outline of what the Conventions were about wasn't installed until the Fourth Geneva Convention in 1949, that being 85-years after the First was rationalized. This is the following of the 27th Article in the Fourth Geneva Convention:

"Protected persons are entitled, in all circumstances, to respect for their persons, their honor, their family rights, their religious convictions and practices, and their manners and customs. They shall at all times be humanely treated, and shall be protected especially against all acts of violence or threats thereof and against insults and public curiosity. Women shall be especially protected against any attack on their honor, in particular against rape, enforced prostitution, or any form of indecent assault. Without prejudice to the provisions relating to their state of health, age and sex, all protected persons shall be treated with the same consideration by the Party to the conflict in whose power they are, without any adverse distinction based, in particular, on race, religion or political opinion. However, the Parties to the conflict may take such measures of control and security in regard to protected persons as may be necessary as a result of the war."1

The first mistake, also without argument to the contrary, being the fact that this part was left out of the First, Second and Third Conventions. The second mistake, again---without argument to the contrary, is that the people who wrote the Conventions actually believed OPFOR (any Opposing-Forces) would actually listen to these rules (if you don't believe me then just look at the actions of the Japanese and the Nazis in WWII against the civilian population, using them as shields, forced suicide bombers, forcing prostitution to keep their troops happy, mass slaughters of innocents just because of the difference in their blood---so on, so forth)

The one argument that's been had about 4th-and-27 said piece is that the work was written relative to the Protection of "Civilian" Persons in Time of War. The only thing is that nobody is a civilian, so everyone is a combatant. This fact being proven in Afghanistan when the Taliban would hire civilians to strap-on bomb-vests or wield AKs against the Infidel for Allah. With a little pushing anyone can become a combatant, thus making everyone a combatant.

Now I won't put down the actions of the persons who wrote the Conventions, trying to do right by the people, but this is war we are talking about. That's why some people understand and bring up the fact that there's nothing civil about war (seen taken as a double-meaning to any Civil War in existence). But, war isn't made to be civil. War is about, and I'll be simple for the liberals, good and evil dukin' it out in a fight to the death.

One instance that the Taliban don't follow the Conventions was when an allied-led (and unnamed) SEAL team found Navy SEAL Petty Officer 2nd Class Matthew Axelson's body. Axelson was the last alive with Luttrell before a Taliban RPG separated them (the RPG threw Luttrell off a cliff); he had been shot five-times and kept fighting. When his body was found it was a few hundred-yards farther away than Luttrell had last seen him. Luttrell noted that Axelson had three pistol magazines left when the RPG hit, but was on his last one when he passed out from the pain. Petty Officer Matthew Axelson was unconscious, but still alive, when one of the OPFOR Taliban came up and unloaded his AK into Axelson's face at point-blank range. Just as they had done with Michael Murphy after they also found him unconscious. It was some sort of sick Taliban ritual when they came across mortally-wounded Infidels.2/2.1

Murphy, Axelson and Dietz were killed on the frontlines because of a vote. They had been discovered and taken three goat-herders into custody. The debate was to kill or release. The 'why' behind the vote was because it was a no-win situation for the team either way. If they had killed the herders the liberal media would've labeled them as murderers and they would've been imprisoned for the action. It was a three-to-one vote. Axelson voted to kill them without hesitation. Nobody wanted to go to jail for protecting themselves, but nobody wanted to go home in a casket. The vote was swayed to release and the herders went back to inform the SEALs HVT (high-value target), kill or capture Ahmad Shah, a high-ranking Taliban leader in the Hindu-Kush mountains.2/2.2

Luttrell can be quoted from his book Lone Survivor: The Eyewitness Account of Operation Redwing and The Lost Heroes of SEAL Team 10 about the fact that the military's ways should be left to the military:

"We're loyal servants of the U.S. Government. But Afghanistan involves fighting behind enemy lines. Never mind we were invited into the democratic country by its own government. Never mind there's no shooting across the border in Pakistan, the illegality of the Taliban army, the Geneva Convention, yada, yada, yada.

When we're patrolling those mountains, trying everything we know to stop the Taliban regrouping, striving to find and arrest the top commanders and explosive experts, we are always surrounded by a well-armed, hostile enemy whose avowed intention is to kill us all. That's behind enemy lines. Trust me. And we'll go there. All day. Every day. We'll do what we're supposed to do, to the letter, or die in the attempt. On behalf of the U.S.A. But don't tell us who we can attack. That ought to be up to us, the military. And if the liberal media and political community cannot accept that sometimes the wrong people get killed in war, then I can only suggest they first grow up and then serve a short stint up in Hindu-Kush. They probably wouldn't survive.

The truth is any government that thinks war is somehow fair and subject to rules like a baseball game probably should not get into one. Because nothing's fair in war, and occasionally the wrong people do get killed. It's been happening for about a million-years. Faced with the murderous cutthroats of the Taliban, we are not fighting under the rules of Geneva IV Article 4. We are fighting under the rules of Article 223.556mm---that's the caliber and bullet gauge of our M4 rifle. And if those number don't look good, try Article .762mm, that's what the stolen Russian Kalashnikovs fire at us; usually in deadly, heavy volleys."2/2.3


Luttrell goes on, on the same page, explaining that the enemy knows this fact that we have rules that we abide by. And they know they can use this against us, because the rules of war aren't bound to us like the gauge of the bullet that comes out of the barrel of the weapon that we happen to be using. Between us and our enemies now, Articles 223.556mm and .762mm are the only ones that matter in this world.2/2.3

In Luttrell's recount he also mentioned he was given shelter by tribesmen from Sabri-Minah, a Pashtun village (This was done because of "Lokhay Warkawa", a Pashtun belief that any stranger in need of shelter must be given it without prejudice). It was also mentioned that the village elder denied the Taliban to take Luttrell. Roughly eight armed Taliban personnel came into the village, right into the room that held Luttrell and proceeded to beat and torture Luttrell. The elder came in, stopped the actions and told them to move on.2/2.4

Oh, hey, wait a second! Hold the phone! I can hear the liberal in the back running in circles, screaming bloody murder. Something like "What is going on?! They're supposed to abide by the Conventions!" Nope, sorry, doesn't work like that in war.

Now, the Taliban will torture and beat and rape our service members regardless of the First and the Third Geneva Conventions. The First being Amelioration of the Condition of the Wounded and Sick in Armed Forces3 in the Field, 1864 and the Third Geneva Convention relative to the Treatment of Prisoners of War, 19294. That's two Conventions down in the dirt, being kicked in the stomach while the Taliban laugh in our faces, ladies and gentlemen. If there was a case of an OPFOR invading our shores I can promptly tell you that the Fourth, relative to the Protection of Civilian Persons in Time of War -- 19495, would go right out the window as well.

The simple fact is that when we have an enemy they usually hate us. The Taliban and other extremist Muslim units hate us just because we don't follow the Qur'an, and their Allah. There's no future for us in their dream. There's no equality. There's a converted "Muslim" or a dead Infidel. And the difference is that a true Muslim knows that Allah loves everyone, not just his own followers, regardless of whether they believe or follow the Muslims' religious ways. Just like our Christian God loves all of them, and not just us. Without prejudice over meaningless degrees of difference.

Point in fact is that by fighting by liberal rule of thumb we're going to kill off more of our own people. And not even just Americans. But, the British, Australia, France, and so on, they follow the same rules and they are our allies in combat. They do the same thing. The liberal media and political community that are killing our men and women are just as guilty as the Taliban-man holding the stolen Russian AK-47 or AKM rifle. And I've heard the argument, from the liberal mouth it translates out to "as long as we do war by the books and save innocent people any number of our service members as casualties are acceptable, just as long as we save their innocent people we'll sit here and sacrifice yours".

All that matters in a situation where you see a combatant with an AK-47, pointed at you or not, is to pull the trigger before he does. Today's standard ROEs (Rules of Engagement) for Coalition Forces in Afghanistan dictate that you have to see a man with a rifle before you can shoot him, but you only see that man with an AK usually after he's opened up on you. In that time you could get hit or one of your buddies. And that's the problem. I myself, as a future Marine, don't want to be bound by a set of rules that aren't working. A set of rules that have no business sticking its hand into War's refrigerator, grabbing a beer that it had not asked for, nor was allowed to regardless.

Anyone who says these rules are working doesn't know what they're talking about. They've never been on the frontlines. They've never been in a position where you know the guy standing in the sand and shale across the road will be the one using Article .762mm on you later tonight. They've never been bound by their own liberal rule of thumb and have no clue what it feels like when they aren't able to do a damn thing about it.

They know nothing.

---"Will Harold", Copyright, 2010

Sources
1. The Fourth Geneva Convention, Article 27
2. "Lone Survivor: The Eyewitness Account of Operation Redwing and the Lost Heroes of SEAL Team 10", written by Marcus Luttrell with Patrick Robinson
--2.1. Page 276
--2.2. Pages 229-238
--2.3. Pages 194-195
--2.4. Pages 336-341
---Luttrell, Other
---2.2.1. NPR Report
---2.2.2. CBN Report
3. The First Geneva Convention
4. The Third Geneva Convention
5. The Fourth Geneva Convention
The is the politics of warfare. Because some people think the two can be mixed. When in reality it's simply oil and water. The Conventions are flaws that make the problem of combat all the more-so problematic. It's friction. But it's a friction that can, and does need to be removed.

I WILL REMOVE THE COMMENTS IF I RECEIVE SHIT FOR THE WORK! I DO NOT CARE ABOUT THE LIBERAL PRESENCE, WARFARE IS NOT A FUCKING GAME YOU CAN POLITICALLY ALTERCATE!
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If candy was love
I'd give you so much
That you would be
The fattest person in the world.
I was thinking about George Harrison when I came up with it. ^^;
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"Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you." –Stealer’s Wheel


Chapter 1: Table for Two, Please


Personal Log of Samus Aran: Log File 11700

There are some days when I regret my choice of profession. I've lost count of the vacations and leisure trips that have been interrupted by the call of duty; what good is earning money if you never have the time to spend it? At least it seems the Galactic Federation has finally found a good reason to pull me away from my R&R; a Space Pirate fleet has been spotted traveling through Federation territory. It was hard to miss them; the Pirates had deployed several dozen ships of varying sizes. While this alone was enough to send the Federation into full-on panic mode, the Pirate fleet's behavior is even more disconcerting; it has repeatedly ignored Federation colonies and installations during its exodus. Even the vulnerable, certainly appealing targets have been passed up in favor of their apparent destination; the borders of explored space. Something is up with the Space Pirates. And the last time something was up with the Space Pirates, they had uncovered the highly radioactive mutagenic material known as Phazon. Naturally, being the Federation's leading expert on killing Pirates, I was commissioned to follow the fleet to its objective and either destroy the fleet, take the objective for the Federation, or both. While I hope for a smoothly-executed mission, past encounters with the Pirates do not make that seem likely.

***

There were some days when the Master Chief regretted his choice of profession. Well, he would, if he had been given a choice. As it stood, he supposed, there are worse things than being trained and modified since childhood to be a living weapon. After all, you could end up being a bounty hunter; those guys never seem to get any respect, especially not from the military. But between fighting an uphill battle with the Covenant, trying to find and stop a series of superweapons that could kill all life in the universe and keeping the Flood from escaping captivity, what he wouldn't give for a few vacation days. There was always another crisis around the corner, and the Master Chief wished he could be given a respite every now and then, if only a short one.

Chief, focus! Of course, as the AI program residing in his armor had just told him as he ducked out of the way of a plasma bolt, the middle of a firefight was not the best time for wandering thoughts. His mind quickly ran over the situation; the USNC had located another Halo and had sent him with a battalion to destroy it. But as per usual, the Covenant had beaten them to the punch, and were now fighting them in a vicious ground war over control of their "sacred ring." The valley he and his unit were trying to pass through was crawling with Covenant soldiers, and the now-blasted landscape reflected their hour-long struggle. Both of them were too dug in, too well-fortified; someone needed to break this little stalemate of theirs.

Guess whose job that is?

"Did I say that out loud?"

Cortana scoffed teasingly. Don't think you were the only one who had come to that conclusion.

"You could've at least told me."

"Master Chief, sir! Sir!" One of the marines on their left flank was calling to him in near panic. Ducking along the rocks they were using as cover, the Chief made his way over to the marine.

"What is it, soldier? Covenant trying to out-flank us?"

Uh-oh.

Through Master Chief's visor, Cortana could see that the soldier was looking at a portable scanner; he must be the team's tech expert. On the device's screen was a motion-detecting radar showing a huge mass of bogeys approaching the ridge to their left, directly in between the marines and the Covenant.

"N-No, sir! Unidentified energy signatures!"

The Chief focused on the ridge in question. "Looks like somebody else is coming to join the party."

They broke into view with a thunderous, collective roar that rose above the din of the continuing battle. While definitely alien, they were also definitely not Covenant, with a somewhat humanoid body structure covered with various armor pieces and equipment. Their relatively thin limbs ended in clawed appendages, and the alien beings were armed to the teeth. They moved with speed and agility, leaping high into the air to catch the attention of both sides and silence their own fighting. The strange attackers were on top of the Covenant first, firing rapid bursts of energy from guns mounted on their arms and extending small scythes from their wrists to slash at foes in arm's reach. The stunned Grunts fell like flimsy shacks before a raging hurricane, and the ones that survived the initial charge broke and ran, screaming. The Elites lasted a bit longer, holding their own against the attackers before being overwhelmed by superior numbers with the loss of their Grunts. Most of the Jackals ran as well, and the few that stood their ground managed to inflict some damage before the Elites protecting them fell, and then they followed suit. A second group of attackers appeared, their attention now on the stunned marines.

"Aw man, Chief, sir, if they did that to those Covenant buggers, what're they gonna do to us?!"

"Calm down, son, we've got a lot more guts than the Covenant."

Yeah, and they're gonna end up all over the ground if we don't do something fast.

"Don't you start chickening out too, Cortana.” The Chief loaded a fresh clip into his rifle. “Come on, let's show them who they're dealing with."

***

Samus had seen quite a few strange things in her days battling the Space Pirates. A huge, living cyborg brain. Ghosts of insane Chozo. A planet trapped between two dimensions. This, however; this bizarre circular space station as large around as a standard-size moon and apparently with its own atmosphere and plant and animal life despite its strange shape; it certainly wasn't at the top of the list, but it earned a close rank. She perused the readings her ship's scanners were giving her; the bulk of the Pirate fleet had landed on the far side of the ring, while a small strike force had broken off from the group and landed in a mountainous area directly below her position. It made sense that while the majority of the fleet set about constructing a base for themselves, they would send a team of their better fighters off to start searching for their objective. It seemed like they were expecting a tough fight to come knocking on their doorsteps; Samus smirked, she wouldn't want to disappoint them. As she instructed her ship's auto-pilot, Samus opened the compartment holding her Power Suit and started getting herself dressed for work.

***

It had been vicious. Lacking in melee weapons of their own and faced with a foe that sought to close the distance as quickly as possible, casualties had already been heavy as several marines found themselves gutted within the first few minutes. But then the unit sent to rout the Covenant squad had returned, and things got really hairy. It was all the Chief could do to keep himself from being buried under the weight of enemy soldiers. He had been backed into a corner for who knows how long, felling dozens of attackers as he fought with a fury he was rarely forced to use, finally gaining a respite as his few remaining opponents hesitated and then fled. After taking a moment to catch his breath, the Chief emerged from his little alcove to find that the battlefield had become a slaughterhouse. He was used to the horrors of war; how could he not be? This, however...this was downright despicable. The ground was littered with the brutalized corpses of both Covenant and human, their bodies insultingly stripped clean of weapons and equipment by the aliens who had killed them. Who are these beasts, he thought to himself, these creatures who take the ferocity practiced by the Covenant to an entirely different level?

These poor souls…

"Cortana..." In the midst of the carnage, he'd forgotten about the fragile little AI program that had been hitch-hiking on his armor's computer for some time now. She usually kept silent during battles such as these, and the Chief realized that it was obviously with good reason. It was different for him, when the “kill or be killed” instinct took over. But for her, who could only stand by and watch, a powerless observer with a front-row seat for the madness of war, it must be incredibly hard to deal with. But there would be time for mourning later; when given the choice between avenge and mourn, the Master Chief would gladly choose avenge. "There's nothing we can do for them at the moment. I need to know who the hell those guys were and where they came from. Are you getting anything from Covenant transmissions?"

Nothing conclusive. Mostly outrage over the slaughter and vows to bring down these "devils" as they've taken to calling them…

Master Chief scoffed. “Suddenly I don’t feel so special anymore.”

It seems our visitors have landed a hefty fleet on the far side of the Halo.

"Then that's where we're headed. Whatever they're here for, it can't be good."

Whatever you say, Chie- Cortana paused, then shouted Wait! I'm picking up something closing in on us!

"What is it? Covenant?"

I'm not sure. Stay sharp, Chief, it's closing fast!

He didn't have much time to contemplate the warning before the cause for alarm came into view; a strange humanoid clad in bright orange armor with a wicked-looking gun attached to the right arm.

***

Samus tilted her head to the side at the sight of this strange soldier. Green armor covered most of his body, framing an orange visor that covered and concealed his entire face. Strange, she thought, is there some significance with his relation to her colors? Is he using Chozo technology too? Another bounty hunter wielding powers stolen from the race that sired her? Of course, why limit herself to asking questions? A simple command activated her suit's sensors and they began scanning the soldier.

***

"If he's Covenant, somebody should tell him to stop ripping off my color scheme."

Take it easy for a second, Chief. Maybe this guy's not a threat.

He realized the murder of his troops had enraged him more than he had thought; he needed something to shoot at, badly. The Spartan equivalent of venting, he imagined. "Yeah, and I suppose that cannon on his arm is for blending smoothies. Either he's Covenant, or he's one of those new guys. And either way, I'm bringing him down."

Drawing an SMG with one hand and a Plasma Rifle with the other, Master Chief took aim at the stranger and opened fire with a burst of bullets from the SMG.

***

The bullets ricocheted harmlessly off of the shield surrounding Samus' Power Suit, causing the Hunter a great deal of confusion. This...this stranger was using metal-encased projectiles? Without any sort of energy or plasma enhancement? Regardless, if he fired upon her, that must mean he is a threat. Samus' Power Beam began humming as she charged it up and brought it to level with the soldier.

***

The Chief quickly ducked under a ricochet "Uh-oh."

Chief-!

The Master Chief took a rolling dodge to avoid the large energy blast that erupted from the stranger's arm gun.

"I think I'm gonna need a bigger weapon."

Normally, this would be the time where he would start searching the ground for something suitable. But seeing as the mysterious attackers had grabbed most of weaponry, the Chief would need to make do with what he had on him until he could find something else. Holstering the SMG with one hand while firing the Plasma Rifle with the other, he ran for some cover. He was happy to see that the Plasma Rifle’s shots had actually made some impact, albeit not a large one. Regardless, it was a start.

***

Samus shielded her face from the blue energy bolts, her brow furrowed. It was nice to see this guy wasn’t going to be some pushover, but the weapons he was using were completely alien; her scans so far had been largely inconclusive, but the one thing they could tell her was that he wasn’t using an ounce of Chozo technology. On the plus side, it meant she wouldn’t end up facing her own weaponry being against her. But this might be something entirely new, something beyond Chozo standards. Fingering the button for Missiles, she approached her foe’s hiding place with caution.

***

You really think this guy’s going to stand around and wait for it to blow up? Cortana said skeptically.

“I’m kinda hoping he won’t know what it is.”

The piggybacking AI sighed Yes, because nobody uses handheld spheres for explosives anymore.

His back pressed against his cover, the Chief leaned his head out to take a look. The moment orange visor met with green visor a few feet away, both armored soldiers went into action; Samus aiming her Arm Cannon and pressing the Missile button, the Chief tossing the frag grenade from his hand. The two explosives met in mid-air, delivering a proportionately powerful detonation that hurled Samus back several feet and depositing her on her rear. Shielded from the majority of the blast by his cover, the Chief took a peek to see how his target had fared.

“Oh, there is no way he survived that.”

You’ve lived through worse.

“Yeah, and?”

Lo and behold, however, as the dust cleared, the Chief could see the orange-clad stranger sitting several feet away, shaking her head to brush off the shock of the explosion. Maybe he was just imagining things, but he could swear he could see a very angry glare coming from behind visor as she raised her Arm Cannon and pointed it at his face. The Spartan dove across the ground into a roll to avoid her shots, taking another leap towards a Needler lying obscured in a small ditch. Grabbing it as he landed, he emptied the weapon’s entire clip at Samus in a single continuous burst. Instead of puncturing the target, however the purple shards simply burst on impact with Samus’ shielding.

“That thing’s really starting to piss me off.”

***

This guy was really starting to piss her off. Fighting Space Pirates all her life had given her some rather irritating situations, like when that one Trooper had lunged at her with his scythe, missed, tripped, and ended up stabbing a crate full of Phazon behind them, killing himself and blowing out one of her Energy Tanks in the ensuing explosion. But tossing a grenade into her Missile placed this stranger near the top of her list. To hell with taking the cautious approach; this guy had to die.

***

Samus had been shielding her face from the Needler shots with her free hand, and as soon as the barrage ended she brought her fully charged Arm Cannon out from behind her back and let loose. The sudden attack caught the Chief by surprise, and the burst of energy threw him back against the cliff wall behind him and crippled his shields. He quickly shook off the shock of the two impacts and looked back up to see that…his opponent was gone.

“Where’d he-?”

Chief, above you!

The Spartan looked up in time to see Samus, having leapt several feet into the air up and towards him, aiming another Missile in his direction. He rolled away from the first shot, which cracked the wall where he had been standing, and took a leap of his own to escape the second shot. Samus landed on the spot where her first shot hit, but instead of attempt to give chase, she simply flicked her left wrist forward, snapping forward a small latch-like device that flung out a stream of energy and hooked itself onto the Master Chief’s shoulder. A single yank on the Grapple Beam, and the Chief was sent flying backwards. Instead of simply go with flow, however, the Chief twisted himself as he flew through the air and rammed his elbow into Samus’ face when he was close enough, knocking the bounty hunter off her feet and landing on his side himself. As he rolled into a crouching position, he muttered “Atleast that still works.”

Not waiting for his opponent to recover her balance, he leapt at Samus, ready to attack again. As he hurtled through the air, Samus simply stared at him for a moment, then leaned forward and…disappeared. As the Chief landed, he took notice of two things; the first, that Samus was suddenly standing behind him, the second that there were suddenly small glowing orbs lying at his feet.

“Those can’t be-“

See? Universal concept.

The Morph Bombs went off like very violent firecrackers, tossing the Spartan a few feet into the air. The Grapple Beam snatched him out of the air again, this time pulling him forward too quickly for him to react. As he landed in front of Samus, her free hand grabbed his chest plate and pulled him forward until they were face-to-face, while the business end of her Arm Cannon was shoved under his chin. Samus glared at her opponent through their visors, so concentrated on her anger towards this stranger that she didn’t notice her HUD alerting her to the approach of a dozen Pirate Troopers approaching her from behind until they were right on top of them. She pushed the Master Chief away leapt backwards to give her some space, and turned her gaze up towards the cliffside.

***

I think our friend may have called in reinforcements, Chief. Cortana reported dryly as the Chief regained his footing. I'm picking up a dozen alien energy signatures catching up with us.

"I think we can officially say this has been a bad day."

The Space Pirates burst into view, taking a flying leap from the ridge behind the Chief. To the surprise of both, Samus immediately opened fire on the new arrivals, knocking one out of the air with a charged shot and firing furiously at his comrades.

"...Huh."

Chief, I'm getting the feeling that maaaaaybe we were a bit hasty. Our friend here doesn't seem to be an ally of the aliens that attacked us; now might be a good time to lend a hand and show a gesture of our good will, hm? Cortana said in a very prompting tone.

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you."

A Pirate, completely ignoring the Chief, landed a few feet in front of him to get another angle at attacking Samus. Master Chief taught him to pay attention to his surroundings by peppering him with SMG bullets at point-blank range. Samus had backed herself into a corner, keeping her back to the wall ass he fired on the Pirates. Holding her own, she seemed to falter briefly when she noticed the cyborg charge up and drive his fist into the neck of the nearest Pirate, finally alerting the surviving attackers to his presence. Samus took the opportunity to unload two more charged blasts into the distracted attackers, felling one and wounding the other. Realizing that they had lost their offensive advantage, the Pirates turned and fled, and the two watched them leave. They turned and looked at each other, and an awkward silence ensued.

"Alright, here's the thing." Chief started, not wanting another prodding from Cortana. Samus stared at him blankly from behind her visor. "My squad's been wiped out. The area's crawling with those clowns from the Covenant, and now those new jokers too. And we’re stuck here, in the middle of them both. As much as I like playing the lone soldier, I would prefer having someone watch my back rather than shoot it. Sound good?"

The orange-clad stranger continued staring at him for a minute, apparently weighing her options, before responding in a feminine voice that the Chief found mildly surprising. "Agreed."

Now, see Chief? Being a diplomat without using your trigger finger isn't so hard, is it?

The Spartan ignored Cortana's teasing. "Glad to hear it. The name's John-117, but most prefer to call me by my rank, the Master Chief. You?"

"I am Samus Aran, a bounty hunter."

Master Chief offered his hand to Samus. "You seem like a pretty tough guy, Samus, it'll be a pleasure working alongside you."

Samus laughed lightly, then reached up with ‘his’ free hand, clasped a latch on the underside of ‘his’ helmet, and pulled the helmet off. A woman’s soft face emerged from under flowing golden hair, almost the complete opposite of her cold and hard exterior, and the Chief froze.

Chief-? Your heart rate just spiked, are you alright? Were you wounded at some point?  Cortana must not have been looking through the Chief's eyes if she was asking that question. 'A pleasure indeed.' he thought almost absent-mindedly.
The full title should read MetroidxHalo: Stuck in the Middle with You

Since the dawn of time (or atleast 2001), an age-old question has passed from gamer to gamer: Samus or Master Chief? While I think Samus is the most kick-assiest lady around, I propose this humble answer: Why not both?

Metroid © Nintendo
Halo © Bungie

Author's Notes:
First, this isn't supposed to fit in with the canon.
Second, anything from Prime 2 and Halo 2 and before applies to the characters, so MC and Johnson are with Miranda Keyes, Samus has her weapons from Prime 1, as well as the Pirates being from Prime 1.
Third, this isn't Delta Halo. This is an entirely new Halo.
Finally, I have no plans to include the Ing or the Flood. Maybe in a second fic, but not here.


Special Edition updates: You know what this chapter needed? I mean really needed? AN ACTUAL FIGHT SCENE. Ta-da, problem solved. It was one of the aspects of the original draft that always bothered me, and now it's been taken care of, along with a few odds and ends. Also threw in a tiny bit of character development.

I'm sorry if a bit at the end was somewhat confusing; it took me awhile to figure out how to communicate to the reader that you know who Samus is and that she's a girl, yet the Chief doesn't, and up until the point where she takes her helmet off, he continues to think of her as such. Also, Samus doesn't actually "disappear" during her fight with the Chief; she uses her Morph Ball to roll under him so quickly that he lost sight of her. I tried to make sure to drop enough hints (leaning forward, Morph Bombs), but I'm sure some people might still be confused. It happens sometimes.
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