Holy shit you're right, I had completely forgotten, thanks InGen, I appreciate it. But if you're going to use a Metallica song, especially when it comes to my One year anniversary, it has to be this one.
enter link description here
I don't get it, how are there blanks among blanks, next to another blank, and another blank? Are people shooting blanks?! My mind is drawing a blank! Screw this, this hurts my brain, I need to cover myself with a blank it's cold in here now! ._.
I was only kidding! There isn't any need to speak like that. (Unless you're also kidding, in which case I will ACTUALLY look like a dumbass) I'll edit the freakin' post then.
I played Ratchet & Clank four times when I was little but never bought it Looks at guns. I'm planning to buy it for PS3 but... Do I need to buy the first three to understand a Crack In Time?
So some good news. A new Resident Evil CGI movie has been announced for 2017! I can't wait to watch this, those movies rocked!
Not only that but...
enter link description here
I FUCKING CAN'T WAIT! And Squishy Nefarious is in it too! WOO!
I don't get it, how are there blanks among blanks, next to another blank, and another blank? Are people shooting blanks?! My mind is drawing a blank! Screw this, this hurts my brain, I need to cover myself with a blank it's cold in here now! ._.
I don't get it, how are there blanks among blanks, next to another blank, and another blank? Are people shooting blanks?! My mind is drawing a blank! Screw this, this hurts my brain, I need to cover myself with a blank it's cold in here now! ._.
Sorry about the massive wall of text, but the spoiler tag didn't work. This is just a draft for a story I'm writing. I was hoping for some feedback.
All the hours that I drove through the endless countryside and small towns of New South Wales and Victoria had given me time to reflect on everything. The war, running away from home, learning to fire a rifle, surviving in the lawless land that used to be Victoria. When I had processed it all, my mind would turn to the future. The only news I ever got from the outside world would be from radio broadcasts. One day, I heard something I did not want to hear.
"The federal government has been relocated to Adelaide and has today announced that it will withdraw all of our armed forces stationed in Iraq and Syria and recall them to Australia. With the help of the South Australian and New South Wales police, the Australian Army hopes to retake southern New South Wales before pushing into Victoria."
"Damn!" I said aloud. If the Australian Army pushed into Victoria, then the small communities wouldn't stand a chance. They'd either have to roll over and hand over their guns and independence, or be annihilated by the Army. And then I'd be fucked, too. My 18th birthday was still months away, and I'd broken a ton of laws by taking the car and driving it around before the law became irrelevant. I'd be arrested and put in a juvenile detention center. Or worse, prison. And then I'd have to confront the parents and sister who probably resented me, or rough it on the streets. How long would it be before looting cash from abandoned cars was no longer an option? How long would it be before I ran out of gas or food and was forced to make a run into town and get caught?
Don't panic, I told myself, They might not even make it to Victoria. They might get bogged down. Maybe there was someone who could put up a fight.
I hadn't explored a lot of Victoria since leaving Sydney. I'd spent months looking for a place to cross the Yarra river and get across the border. For all I know, people had holed up in towns and cities and armed themselves for a rebellion.
Stupid, I know. I guess part of me stayed 17.
I continued driving on as night fell. I kept it slow, since my vision was limited, and I didn't want to accidentally miss a turn and drive off a cliff or into a tree. In the distance, I heard what sounded like gunfire. I glanced at my phone, an old Nokia Lumia sitting in a phone holder, and moved a finger to the power button. The lock screen came up, the clock said 9:23 PM, Friday March 11.
Three months. That's how long it had been. Three months since Canberra had been lit up by gunfire and home-made bombs, and two and a half months since Victorians had gone into a state of rebellion.
An engine roared overhead. I slowed down and looked out the window. A plane roared over me, smoke trailing from it's front. As it passed in front of me, I saw it's silhouette against the moon. I couldn't tell for certain, but it looked like a Cessna. It descended above the road; the pilot must have been trying to land. If he was, then he failed. The plane hit the ground too hard, and two of the wheels collapsed. The plane flipped on it's side, and the left wing snapped like a twig. As pieces of metal flew at me, I pulled over quickly to the side of the road. The plane came to a stop on its left side, and the right-side door flew open.
A figure climbed out of the plane and landed on the road, falling on their feet. I grabbed my M1911 and a flashlight and jogged out to meet them.
"Hey, you alright?" I called out. The figure groaned and stood up.
"In the plane," he said, panting, "There's a briefcase. I need it!"
"I'll get it!" I said, running around to the front of the plane. There it was, thrown out of the cockpit window. A battered brown briefcase. I picked it up and held it up to him. He snatched it away.
"Listen," he said, "There's a town nearby. I need to get there. If you take me, I can make it worth your while."
"Where is it?" I asked, gesturing for him to walk with me to my car.
"Just follow the road," he said, "It's about twenty minutes away."
As we sped away from the wreckage, I started with the questions.
"I'm Brad, by the way," the pilot said, "Brad Abraham."
"Tommy," I said simply, "What happened to your plane?"
He gave me a look of confusion. "It crashed, didn't you notice?"
"I know that," I said irritably, "How did it crash?"
"Gunfire," Brad said, "Must have torn up the engine. Not surprising for AK-47's."
I almost crashed the car at this. "AK-47's?" I said, "In Australia?"
"Sure," Brad said with a shrug, "We've got plenty in the Port. Don't tell me you don't know foreigners have been smuggling automatics into Australia?"
I shook my head. "I've been staying away from the coast," I said, "Nothing useful out there."
"I guess," Brad replied, "Unless you were trying to get out of the country, that is. But why would you? It's not even that bad, if you have what it takes to survive out here."
"So who was shooting at you?"
"Outlaws," Brad said, "Murderers, rapists, thieves. Anyone you'd lock up in a cell before shaking hands with them. They established a camp north of here and captured some of our men. The best fighters we had. A team of six of us went in to rescume them, but I had to escape in the plane. Bloody lucky that I could even take off. The damn thing was smoking like a chimney."
On the horizon I saw the town he was talking about. Now entering Port Hampton, said the sign by the road.
"Drop me off at the town hall," Brad told me, "The building with the bell tower."
As I pulled into the parking space, it hit me; the streetlights were on, and a ton of buildings had light pouring from the windows.
"Thanks," Brad said, getting out with the briefcase, "This town owes you big time. There's a motel on Gordon Street on the other side of town if you need a place to crash."
He shut the door and disappeared inside the old brick building. I decided to check out the motel. The drive to the other side of town was overwhelming. Never, in three months of driving all over the state, had I seen a town so populated. The parking spaces were filled with cars, and there were police officers patrolling the streets, uniform and all. How could this place exist?
Like the rest of the Port, the motel had electricity too. I rented a room and started unloading my stuff. I took note of my car, a green 1971 Holden Monaro GTS sedan. The lower body was completely covered in dust, and I considered cleaning it, but pushed the thought out of my mind. There was more work to do.
I opened the trunk and took my things in one by one; Plastic bags of clothes, food, camping equipment and other supplies. Then there were my personal belongings. My old phone, also a Nokia Lumia, with a cracked screen. I only kept it for the spare battery. My M1 Garand that belonged to my great-grandfather that he brought back with him after serving in the U.S Army. Then there was my old PS2. Now you might ask what the hell is wrong with me, but that PS2 gave me some of the best memories during my childhood, and I came to treasure it more after my dad threatened to break it. I sure as hell wasn't going to leave it with him.
I locked the car and put the keys on my bedside table. There was a nasty smell in the room, and I had barely registered it when I remembered I hadn't had a shower in about two weeks. I wondered how I'd never noticed the smell while driving, but I put it out of my mind as I undressed and entered the shower.
The night air was cool afterwards. There was a light breeze, not uncommon now that summer was over. It wouldn't be long before winter came, bringing relentless rain with it.
I decided to have a look around town, since I would probably get going again the next morning. About two blocks away from the motel, was an old, but fancy-looking pub, doing excellent business, judging by the chatter inside.
I'd come across populated towns many times before, but they never had more than 20 or 30 people. This pub alone seemed to have 40 people. And there were lights on in most of the buildings. It was as if the past three months hadn't even happened. My curiosity took over. I went inside.
The entire place was alive with people chattering and laughing and the clink of glasses. A bit of 80's music that sounded familiar was being played from a very old-looking stereo.
"What can I getcha?"
Speaking above the noise was the bartender, an older man with a scar on his lower lip. I took a seat at the bar.
"You got anything that isn't alcohol?" I asked.
"Coke?" he suggested, "Fanta? Pepsi?"
"Pepsi, thanks," I said. He came back a moment later with a glass full of dark liquid and ice. He set it on the table in front of me and I payed him with cash.
"I ain't seen you around here before," the bartender said, "New in town?"
"Just arrived tonight," I replied, taking a sip of my drink, "Some guy from around here crashed a plane outside of town. I let him hitch a ride back."
The bartender frowned. "That's odd," he said, "We've only got three planes here, and none of them took off today."
"His name was Brad Abraham," I told him, "He was raiding some camp and had to make a getaway."
BANG. BANG.
I recognized them as gunshots immediately. Then I heard tyres screeching outside.
"Light the place up!" a voice shouted. Everyone kicked tables over, sending glass shattering, while I leaped over the bar. There were more blasts, and more glass shattering. I glanced up over the bar; everyone had guns out and were point them at the door.
"You got a gun?" the bartender asked.
"Right here," I replied, showing him my M1911. He nodded in approval.
"Be ready to shoot."
I peeked out over the bar again and aimed at the door. There were footsteps approaching, and I saw shadows moving in the shattered windows. My finger rested on the trigger as the door flew open. I squeezed off a round, which hit the first gunman in the shoulder. He yelled and fell backwards. The two men next to the bar fired revolvers at the door. A second gunman fell through the doorway, screaming and holding his leg, while another yelled, "Fall back!"
"Push 'em back!" one of the Port residents yelled, moving forward and firing off a few more rounds. In the distance, I heard what sounded like a bell ringing.
As we stepped out into the street, bullets whistling past us, tearing up the wall and shattering the nighttime silence, my mind went back to a day three months ago. The day every TV in Australia was showing Canberra, crumbling in a mass of brick, steel, smoke and flames. Among the carnage was the gunfire, muffled and unpredictable. But it was nothing compared to this. Back then, I only heard people trying to kill each other. But these guys, they were trying to kill me. This was nothing like what I'd seen on the TV. This was a war.
There was a weird sort of popping noise, and I saw a small, round object fly under a streetlight and through the window of the building across the street. I couldn't yell fast enough.
"GRENADE!"
My warning was drowned out by the explosion, which lit up the entire street and sent us all retreating. Through the orange mass I saw the brick walls of the two story building. I saw a figure jump from the corner wall of the second floor, hit the pavement, and then they shouted in pain. I fired off two more rounds at the gunmen, some of whom were rolling around on the ground, their clothes on fire.
Regardless of what side that grenade had come from, we'd won this battle. The bell was still ringing, and two blue-and-white police cruisers cut off the retreating attackers. A fire truck, sirens blaring, stopped in front of the burning building, and began spraying the place. Residents ran over with buckets of water.
"Drop your weapons and put your hands on your heads!" one of the officers ordered from behind his car door, his gun out. The gunmen, shouting profanity at the police, threw their guns to the ground, and were forced on their knees by the officers, who cuffed them. The crowd shouted in approval.
"That's what you get for fucking with the Port!"
"Up your arses!" shouted one of the attackers.
"Alright everybody!" an officer said to the defenders, "You've all fought well today, but we gotta get to the bottom of this. I know it's late, but we just gotta get statements from everyone."
More officers arrived, on the scene, and I couldn't help myself.
"Excuse me," I said to the nearest officer, "Can you tell me how many people are in this town?"
"Two-thousand, according to the last count."
My jaw dropped. The officer laughed.
"You knew in town?" he asked. I nodded.
"That old Monaro, the green one at the motel. That yours?"
"Yeah."
"Ah," the officer said, nodding, "You must be the one who Brad came in with. Well, this town owes you, sir. Brad's done a lot for this place, and everyone will be glad to know he's safe."
I gave a silent nod.
I gave my statement to the officer, and the crowd began to disperse. As I made to leave, the same officer stopped me.
"Listen," he said, "Everyone here says you dropped more of those guys than anyone else. This town owes you, a total stranger, for what you've done today. You'll always be welcome in the Port."
"I appreciate it," I said. And it was true. I'd spent only a few hours in this town, and already they'd welcomed me as one of their own. You have to be really trusting, or really foolish, to do that in this day and age.
"Listen, if you plan on sticking around, the police force could use someone like you. We've got outlaws jammed up our ass, and it's difficult defending this town with only 50 cops. You could be a big help to us."
"I'll consider it," I told him, "I plan on staying anyway. This is the most normal town I've seen in months."
As I made my way back to the motel, I genuinely considered his offer. To be completely honest, I was tired. Of the endless driving, dodging bandits on the road, and passing through near-ghost towns. Perhaps I was meant to be here, helping to defend this place, having a purpose other than surviving just to survive tomorrow. I decided to sleep on it, and get to know Port Hampton before I made my decision.
It's definitely better to play from the beginning to understand the core concept of the game's universe. R&C Future Tools of Destruction is an origin story of Ratchet's race, directly comes after is a mini-game Quest for Booty, then to Crack in Time (Clank origins, and has a villain from 3rd game in the series, Up Your Arsenal). They have a collection of all three of the original games, but if you want to understand CIT play Tools of Destruction first. But starting from the very beginning makes the series even more better imo.
Also, the guns are intentionally over the top and crazy. It's the spice that goes with the entre.
I played Ratchet & Clank four times when I was little but never bought it Looks at guns. I'm planning to buy it for PS3 but... Do I need to buy the first three to understand a Crack In Time?
Last night, I think I created the hardest capture game on GTA Online. I basically would've died 100 times if I didn't have invincibility while doing the run n' gun style during the test. This capture literally punishes those who doesn't take cover. Taking cover and teamwork are the only options to survive in this. Ehehehehehehhehehheehheh! >w>
Last night, I think I created the hardest capture game on GTA Online. I basically would've died 100 times if I didn't have invincibility whi… morele doing the run n' gun style during the test. This capture literally punishes those who doesn't take cover. Taking cover and teamwork are the only options to survive in this. Ehehehehehehhehehheehheh! >w>
Last night, I think I created the hardest capture game on GTA Online. I basically would've died 100 times if I didn't have invincibility whi… morele doing the run n' gun style during the test. This capture literally punishes those who doesn't take cover. Taking cover and teamwork are the only options to survive in this. Ehehehehehehhehehheehheh! >w>
Comments
Well...uhh...
Take this song...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I1wg1DNHbNU
scurries away
There are just some people who you call by their last name as it weirdly fits them more than their first name.
I don't get it, how are there blanks among blanks, next to another blank, and another blank? Are people shooting blanks?! My mind is drawing a blank! Screw this, this hurts my brain, I need to cover myself with a blank it's cold in here now! ._.
A GIF (Goddamnit, Aura...) is worth 1000 words...
MWAHAAHAAAH! I'M INVINCIBLE!
I was only kidding! There isn't any need to speak like that. (Unless you're also kidding, in which case I will ACTUALLY look like a dumbass) I'll edit the freakin' post then.
Why is she pushing them away?
Oh, OK :P
I feel you, Beyonce. I feel you.
[PELVIC THRUSTING INTENSIFIES]
I cried, such an amazing cover.
enter link description here
I played Ratchet & Clank four times when I was little but never bought it Looks at guns. I'm planning to buy it for PS3 but... Do I need to buy the first three to understand a Crack In Time?
I was checking out Neil Druckmann twitter(the main writer and one of the creators of Uncharted 4 also for TLOU)
And spotted this sneak peak the hype is so real for uncharted 4 :'D
enter link description here
LiS episode 5 trailer coming in 2 hours or so.
I may have gotten the time wrong though.
Praise Papa Franku
Sorry about the massive wall of text, but the spoiler tag didn't work. This is just a draft for a story I'm writing. I was hoping for some feedback.
All the hours that I drove through the endless countryside and small towns of New South Wales and Victoria had given me time to reflect on everything. The war, running away from home, learning to fire a rifle, surviving in the lawless land that used to be Victoria. When I had processed it all, my mind would turn to the future. The only news I ever got from the outside world would be from radio broadcasts. One day, I heard something I did not want to hear.
"The federal government has been relocated to Adelaide and has today announced that it will withdraw all of our armed forces stationed in Iraq and Syria and recall them to Australia. With the help of the South Australian and New South Wales police, the Australian Army hopes to retake southern New South Wales before pushing into Victoria."
"Damn!" I said aloud. If the Australian Army pushed into Victoria, then the small communities wouldn't stand a chance. They'd either have to roll over and hand over their guns and independence, or be annihilated by the Army. And then I'd be fucked, too. My 18th birthday was still months away, and I'd broken a ton of laws by taking the car and driving it around before the law became irrelevant. I'd be arrested and put in a juvenile detention center. Or worse, prison. And then I'd have to confront the parents and sister who probably resented me, or rough it on the streets. How long would it be before looting cash from abandoned cars was no longer an option? How long would it be before I ran out of gas or food and was forced to make a run into town and get caught?
Don't panic, I told myself, They might not even make it to Victoria. They might get bogged down. Maybe there was someone who could put up a fight.
I hadn't explored a lot of Victoria since leaving Sydney. I'd spent months looking for a place to cross the Yarra river and get across the border. For all I know, people had holed up in towns and cities and armed themselves for a rebellion.
Stupid, I know. I guess part of me stayed 17.
I continued driving on as night fell. I kept it slow, since my vision was limited, and I didn't want to accidentally miss a turn and drive off a cliff or into a tree. In the distance, I heard what sounded like gunfire. I glanced at my phone, an old Nokia Lumia sitting in a phone holder, and moved a finger to the power button. The lock screen came up, the clock said 9:23 PM, Friday March 11.
Three months. That's how long it had been. Three months since Canberra had been lit up by gunfire and home-made bombs, and two and a half months since Victorians had gone into a state of rebellion.
An engine roared overhead. I slowed down and looked out the window. A plane roared over me, smoke trailing from it's front. As it passed in front of me, I saw it's silhouette against the moon. I couldn't tell for certain, but it looked like a Cessna. It descended above the road; the pilot must have been trying to land. If he was, then he failed. The plane hit the ground too hard, and two of the wheels collapsed. The plane flipped on it's side, and the left wing snapped like a twig. As pieces of metal flew at me, I pulled over quickly to the side of the road. The plane came to a stop on its left side, and the right-side door flew open.
A figure climbed out of the plane and landed on the road, falling on their feet. I grabbed my M1911 and a flashlight and jogged out to meet them.
"Hey, you alright?" I called out. The figure groaned and stood up.
"In the plane," he said, panting, "There's a briefcase. I need it!"
"I'll get it!" I said, running around to the front of the plane. There it was, thrown out of the cockpit window. A battered brown briefcase. I picked it up and held it up to him. He snatched it away.
"Listen," he said, "There's a town nearby. I need to get there. If you take me, I can make it worth your while."
"Where is it?" I asked, gesturing for him to walk with me to my car.
"Just follow the road," he said, "It's about twenty minutes away."
As we sped away from the wreckage, I started with the questions.
"I'm Brad, by the way," the pilot said, "Brad Abraham."
"Tommy," I said simply, "What happened to your plane?"
He gave me a look of confusion. "It crashed, didn't you notice?"
"I know that," I said irritably, "How did it crash?"
"Gunfire," Brad said, "Must have torn up the engine. Not surprising for AK-47's."
I almost crashed the car at this. "AK-47's?" I said, "In Australia?"
"Sure," Brad said with a shrug, "We've got plenty in the Port. Don't tell me you don't know foreigners have been smuggling automatics into Australia?"
I shook my head. "I've been staying away from the coast," I said, "Nothing useful out there."
"I guess," Brad replied, "Unless you were trying to get out of the country, that is. But why would you? It's not even that bad, if you have what it takes to survive out here."
"So who was shooting at you?"
"Outlaws," Brad said, "Murderers, rapists, thieves. Anyone you'd lock up in a cell before shaking hands with them. They established a camp north of here and captured some of our men. The best fighters we had. A team of six of us went in to rescume them, but I had to escape in the plane. Bloody lucky that I could even take off. The damn thing was smoking like a chimney."
On the horizon I saw the town he was talking about. Now entering Port Hampton, said the sign by the road.
"Drop me off at the town hall," Brad told me, "The building with the bell tower."
As I pulled into the parking space, it hit me; the streetlights were on, and a ton of buildings had light pouring from the windows.
"Thanks," Brad said, getting out with the briefcase, "This town owes you big time. There's a motel on Gordon Street on the other side of town if you need a place to crash."
He shut the door and disappeared inside the old brick building. I decided to check out the motel. The drive to the other side of town was overwhelming. Never, in three months of driving all over the state, had I seen a town so populated. The parking spaces were filled with cars, and there were police officers patrolling the streets, uniform and all. How could this place exist?
Like the rest of the Port, the motel had electricity too. I rented a room and started unloading my stuff. I took note of my car, a green 1971 Holden Monaro GTS sedan. The lower body was completely covered in dust, and I considered cleaning it, but pushed the thought out of my mind. There was more work to do.
I opened the trunk and took my things in one by one; Plastic bags of clothes, food, camping equipment and other supplies. Then there were my personal belongings. My old phone, also a Nokia Lumia, with a cracked screen. I only kept it for the spare battery. My M1 Garand that belonged to my great-grandfather that he brought back with him after serving in the U.S Army. Then there was my old PS2. Now you might ask what the hell is wrong with me, but that PS2 gave me some of the best memories during my childhood, and I came to treasure it more after my dad threatened to break it. I sure as hell wasn't going to leave it with him.
I locked the car and put the keys on my bedside table. There was a nasty smell in the room, and I had barely registered it when I remembered I hadn't had a shower in about two weeks. I wondered how I'd never noticed the smell while driving, but I put it out of my mind as I undressed and entered the shower.
The night air was cool afterwards. There was a light breeze, not uncommon now that summer was over. It wouldn't be long before winter came, bringing relentless rain with it.
I decided to have a look around town, since I would probably get going again the next morning. About two blocks away from the motel, was an old, but fancy-looking pub, doing excellent business, judging by the chatter inside.
I'd come across populated towns many times before, but they never had more than 20 or 30 people. This pub alone seemed to have 40 people. And there were lights on in most of the buildings. It was as if the past three months hadn't even happened. My curiosity took over. I went inside.
The entire place was alive with people chattering and laughing and the clink of glasses. A bit of 80's music that sounded familiar was being played from a very old-looking stereo.
"What can I getcha?"
Speaking above the noise was the bartender, an older man with a scar on his lower lip. I took a seat at the bar.
"You got anything that isn't alcohol?" I asked.
"Coke?" he suggested, "Fanta? Pepsi?"
"Pepsi, thanks," I said. He came back a moment later with a glass full of dark liquid and ice. He set it on the table in front of me and I payed him with cash.
"I ain't seen you around here before," the bartender said, "New in town?"
"Just arrived tonight," I replied, taking a sip of my drink, "Some guy from around here crashed a plane outside of town. I let him hitch a ride back."
The bartender frowned. "That's odd," he said, "We've only got three planes here, and none of them took off today."
"His name was Brad Abraham," I told him, "He was raiding some camp and had to make a getaway."
BANG. BANG.
I recognized them as gunshots immediately. Then I heard tyres screeching outside.
"Light the place up!" a voice shouted. Everyone kicked tables over, sending glass shattering, while I leaped over the bar. There were more blasts, and more glass shattering. I glanced up over the bar; everyone had guns out and were point them at the door.
"You got a gun?" the bartender asked.
"Right here," I replied, showing him my M1911. He nodded in approval.
"Be ready to shoot."
I peeked out over the bar again and aimed at the door. There were footsteps approaching, and I saw shadows moving in the shattered windows. My finger rested on the trigger as the door flew open. I squeezed off a round, which hit the first gunman in the shoulder. He yelled and fell backwards. The two men next to the bar fired revolvers at the door. A second gunman fell through the doorway, screaming and holding his leg, while another yelled, "Fall back!"
"Push 'em back!" one of the Port residents yelled, moving forward and firing off a few more rounds. In the distance, I heard what sounded like a bell ringing.
As we stepped out into the street, bullets whistling past us, tearing up the wall and shattering the nighttime silence, my mind went back to a day three months ago. The day every TV in Australia was showing Canberra, crumbling in a mass of brick, steel, smoke and flames. Among the carnage was the gunfire, muffled and unpredictable. But it was nothing compared to this. Back then, I only heard people trying to kill each other. But these guys, they were trying to kill me. This was nothing like what I'd seen on the TV. This was a war.
There was a weird sort of popping noise, and I saw a small, round object fly under a streetlight and through the window of the building across the street. I couldn't yell fast enough.
"GRENADE!"
My warning was drowned out by the explosion, which lit up the entire street and sent us all retreating. Through the orange mass I saw the brick walls of the two story building. I saw a figure jump from the corner wall of the second floor, hit the pavement, and then they shouted in pain. I fired off two more rounds at the gunmen, some of whom were rolling around on the ground, their clothes on fire.
Regardless of what side that grenade had come from, we'd won this battle. The bell was still ringing, and two blue-and-white police cruisers cut off the retreating attackers. A fire truck, sirens blaring, stopped in front of the burning building, and began spraying the place. Residents ran over with buckets of water.
"Drop your weapons and put your hands on your heads!" one of the officers ordered from behind his car door, his gun out. The gunmen, shouting profanity at the police, threw their guns to the ground, and were forced on their knees by the officers, who cuffed them. The crowd shouted in approval.
"That's what you get for fucking with the Port!"
"Up your arses!" shouted one of the attackers.
"Alright everybody!" an officer said to the defenders, "You've all fought well today, but we gotta get to the bottom of this. I know it's late, but we just gotta get statements from everyone."
More officers arrived, on the scene, and I couldn't help myself.
"Excuse me," I said to the nearest officer, "Can you tell me how many people are in this town?"
"Two-thousand, according to the last count."
My jaw dropped. The officer laughed.
"You knew in town?" he asked. I nodded.
"That old Monaro, the green one at the motel. That yours?"
"Yeah."
"Ah," the officer said, nodding, "You must be the one who Brad came in with. Well, this town owes you, sir. Brad's done a lot for this place, and everyone will be glad to know he's safe."
I gave a silent nod.
I gave my statement to the officer, and the crowd began to disperse. As I made to leave, the same officer stopped me.
"Listen," he said, "Everyone here says you dropped more of those guys than anyone else. This town owes you, a total stranger, for what you've done today. You'll always be welcome in the Port."
"I appreciate it," I said. And it was true. I'd spent only a few hours in this town, and already they'd welcomed me as one of their own. You have to be really trusting, or really foolish, to do that in this day and age.
"Listen, if you plan on sticking around, the police force could use someone like you. We've got outlaws jammed up our ass, and it's difficult defending this town with only 50 cops. You could be a big help to us."
"I'll consider it," I told him, "I plan on staying anyway. This is the most normal town I've seen in months."
As I made my way back to the motel, I genuinely considered his offer. To be completely honest, I was tired. Of the endless driving, dodging bandits on the road, and passing through near-ghost towns. Perhaps I was meant to be here, helping to defend this place, having a purpose other than surviving just to survive tomorrow. I decided to sleep on it, and get to know Port Hampton before I made my decision.
It's definitely better to play from the beginning to understand the core concept of the game's universe. R&C Future Tools of Destruction is an origin story of Ratchet's race, directly comes after is a mini-game Quest for Booty, then to Crack in Time (Clank origins, and has a villain from 3rd game in the series, Up Your Arsenal). They have a collection of all three of the original games, but if you want to understand CIT play Tools of Destruction first. But starting from the very beginning makes the series even more better imo.
Also, the guns are intentionally over the top and crazy. It's the spice that goes with the entre.
@Welcome_To_Woodburry
@Megami_Kizukanai
YYEEEE, blanks!
Now I no longer feel cold, thanks! \ ^w^ /
I had chicken...
It was soo good!
(Some of you may get the reference.)
Welp... there goes the unpopular opinion I just made along with the thread....
So it would seem that the Unpopular Opinion thread has been closed...............yet again.
It was getting rather heated... oh well, I'll enjoy staring at this interesting creature.
EDIT: NVM, I'M ALREADY CREEPED OUT BY STARING AT IT! SORRY!
Anyone here is abandoning the TFTB forums like me?
ye boiii
Can't play till friday.
Last night, I think I created the hardest capture game on GTA Online. I basically would've died 100 times if I didn't have invincibility while doing the run n' gun style during the test. This capture literally punishes those who doesn't take cover. Taking cover and teamwork are the only options to survive in this. Ehehehehehehhehehheehheh! >w>
Remember that one time you penetrated my car with your car in one of those Rig Races? Good times :]
Looks like a false alarm, just someone trolling.
Oh, hai Elian. Yeah, it was fun doing those together. But my god was it a nightmare in some of them.
Oh thank God, okay never mind, don't have to leave the forums yet.
...
And that's a bad thing?
I'm kidding, I know all the reasons for that to be bad.
No one appreciates the truth.
I'm curious, what console do you play on?
[removed]
Damn...Max?! Really?
No.....and .....no.
Do you want this thread to be closed too? Lmao