so gaming gives you inspiration to write?
so gaming gives you inspiration to write?
Your Buddy and Best Friend
no, writing keeps me in the game while my girlfriend hijacks the PS3 for Netflix sitcoms
(NOTE: This is a 12-part story following a burly as he navigates his way through the ranks of the Jokerz and leaves a mark on Gotham City like no other Impostor before. Comments, feedback, etc. appreciated.)
A JOKERZ' JOURNEY:
CHAPTER 02 - Where's the Fire?
Mighty Mike squeezed the joystick and slammed down on the controls, mashing away at the buttons like a pro. He guided his knight from platform to platform, hurtling over spiked enemies as he made his way to the top; still not good enough for the high score, but at least this time he beat it. He left the machine, now filled with his coins inside, crushing empty Vigor Chug cans that littered the floor around the console under his feet as he walked away; it was his pollution but not his problem, not on the Mile.
The arcade was packed with green and purple-clad clowns of all shapes and sizes, hunched over air hockey, skee-ball and pool tables, shoving each other to get to the front of the line to shoot hoops at the free throw nets, and pouring entire pockets of coins into the hungry slots of all the awesome retro arcade machines: Joust, Defender, Robotron, Smash; they were all there. There was a lone pinball machine too, but no one played that except for a mountainous mighty with muscles the size of mammoths everyone referred to as Ping - all he ever did was stand there and grunt along with each sharp ping of the ball bouncing off an object. All the guy ever carried with him was a Falcon Blade and coin purse.
Ping's invisible tent was pitched in the corner of the room and blended seamlessly into the rest of the scene: bells, whistles and chimes blared like a traffic jam of emergency vehicles, broken cigarette butts played the role of carpet along with spilled soda and energy drinks, and everyone wore their true colours on their sleeves - and faces. If anyone had grown up fearing one Joker, Mighty Mike couldn't imagine how they'd ever be able to deal with an army of murderdeathkill clowns. The atmosphere was hypnotizing and voices spun around his head echoing from every angle, and as tired as he was, he was still on a high from his first kill and there was just too much to see and do on the Mile.
He took a sweeping glance around the arcade, but as usual, found nowhere to restock his supply of energy drinks; there were a couple vending machines for Spab Cola, but he was never able to stomach the stuff. There were other places he could go to get his fix though, so he left the Joust console he'd been playing and was on his way. Shouldering past a couple speedies all dandied up in bright orange dress shirts with purple vests, yellow gag sunflower broaches, and silly shiny silver spandex that rode up their thighs in all the wrong spots. Still, that was better than all the grease-lathered mighties in teeny tighties roaming around; those guys just had something wrong with them, up in the head.
The burly-in-purpy exited through the only familiar tunnel to him, leading out from under a big paved platform where impromptu grunge concerts, rap battles, and dance-offs would break out between rival gangs of Jokerz who banded together and were never seen apart from each other. Mighty Mike was never one to fall into a wolfpack himself; even Tears was just a guy he met on patrol that night and whose location he had no idea or even half-a-care about. Jokerz loyalty, or so he thought that's how it should be: spend enough time watching someone else's back and sooner or later you'll end up forgetting to watch your own as well.
Passing by the entrance to the Fun Hole, a crazy psychadelic funhouse, on his hunt for a stash of Vigor Chugs, Mighty Mike couldn't help but gaze up at the big red decaying face of Carnie the Amusement Animal, the Mile's mascot. The crazy little multi-coloured b*stard had also long ago been adopted as the unofficial mascot of the Jokerz, and some of the more sadistic clowns would leave plush Carnie dollies held in the arms of their slain foe's corpses; rumours told of a guy named Grinnin' Gap Gary that started the whole shtick back in the day because they both shared the same dentist. The dude's goofy face was plastered on nearly every other flat surface in the park, including blue ones on the construction signs around the blocked-off expansions that never saw completion due to escalating violence during the early days of the Bats and Jokerz' unruly city-wide turf war.
Outside, the grounds weren't as packed as the arcade but were just as busy as the mindless masses rollerskated, walked, and stumbled along on their merry ways, each with their own story like Mighty Mike's, or maybe nothing like it at all, and that was the point of the masks they wore: exposing their true identities like only caked-on facepaint could.
The Mile's identity was unmistakable as the playground that made up every delinquent's wet dreams growing up: ramps, trampolines, air vents, ziplines, and slides to go with the merry-go-rounds, ferris wheels, drop zones, and an intimidating roller coaster that wove its way through the premises, twisting and turning every which way like a bat without sonar. A bonus was all of the over-sized novelty items left lying around and stored in the basements of the gift shops, arcades, snack bars, restrooms, and other various buildings. Inflatable insoles, spring shoes, a surprising amount of grappling hooks, and even the odd glider rig, although they were all outdated and had already been claimed by some of the more dominant personalities among the bunch; clowns they may have been, but there were still some Bozos that took themselves all kinds of serious.
Continuing his walk down the path towards his chosen destination, the dog-thirsty Joker couldn't catch a stray yawn before it barked out of his kennel, accompanied by a customary rub of the burning bloodshot eyes. Even if he did find a re-up of Vigor, he wasn't sure how long he could keep from just staight-up passing out cold, but it didn't matter - when he wanted a Chug, he wanted a Chug, and there was one place he knew he could always find one regardless of the rest of the Mile's supply: the Ice Cream shack.
A little kiosk just down from the arcade and Fun Hole, it was constantly stocked with all kinds of fudge, ice cream, soda, candy, and other sugar-packed sweets, making it the place to be for those with rotten teeth, but when he got there, it was locked up with the metal window pulled down and sealed; the joint was closed. That didn't sit well with Mighty Mike though, and still reeling in from his exciting patrol on Crime Alley, took full pride in his Joker status and started jimmying the lock with his knife. When that didn't work, he simlpy drew his Kingmaker, aimed it at the bolt, and fired; problem solved.
Ransacking the one-man booth, the burly burglar sifted through boxes of Hairy Mangos, Pickle Strudels, Rancicles, and Fudge Clumps; tossed away trays of Choco-hams and Hot Dog Fingers; and ignored the freezer full of Vanilla Salmon. As tempting as his choices were, nothing stood out to him; it wasn't what he wanted. Leaving the big fridge for last, Mighty Mike opened the door and was washed over with happiness like surf on the beaches of paradise: sitting there were over a half-dozen unopened cases of Vigor Chug with a crown on top surrounded by white light and fireworks. He quickly piled the cases on the counter, and about to leave, decided to do something he'd always wanted to since he was a kid: opening the metal window, he climbed out of the B&E'd kiosk and gathered his stash after emerging from the other side, which took a bit of a struggle for the pot-bellied perp.
Carrying his stack of energy drinks, Mighty Mike decided to call it a night; the sun was shaking off the rust of a good night's sleep, and so it was time for him to retreat with his haul. Heading over to the nearby exit gates, he noticed a commotion as a group of disgruntled Jokerz kicked around a helpless bum between them like a deadweight soccer ball. "You're not getting away like those stupid Batholes!" one warned the wino. Mighty Mike ignored the homeless haggard's pleas for help and kept on his way, strutting with the cool confidence of a c*ck; not everyone could have a good night like his.
Last edited by the_hobe21; 04-04-2012 at 01:02 PM. Reason: fixed expletives
Next On... MIGHTY MIKE: A JOKERZ' JOURNEY
Chapter 03 - Rodent Removal
His first big mission takes Mighty Mike back to Crime Alley.
Nice work, keep it up! I'll start writing chapters of Amidst Chaos more frequently when I get back from Turkey so the plot gets going more quickly.
This is a an awesome story man
I'm office batman the one and only maby....
That's great man.
I ROCK it HARD, you know, the way you like it BABIES!
thanks, i'm glad everyone's enjoying Mighty Mike's journey so far. stay tuned and he'll be back after the weekend; take care and hammer out those challenges.