Helmet design

Carries a Power Maul

and a Grav-Gun (Sorry, no pictures as of yet.)

That's what I got so far. Any input?

*Watches a potato levitate and a choir singing*

o.o ... This is gonna be a bitchin' hashbrown.

*Shotgun blast, and a demon rolls down a staircase with a giant hole in its chest. I rack a shotgun*

Yeah. Just another day in the neighborhood.

*Sprints forward as A7X's "Carry On" plays*

"Listen, kid- LISTEN! *Slams a hand in front of the locker by their head* You gotta keep going. You gotta keep moving forward, even when life's given upon the hits and got a god damn baseball bat- YOU KEEP GOING! There's gonna be days I'm not here, or your friends are gone, or your family leaves you,and you will be in the dirt. ALONE. But that's how life is... facing shit alone, and knowing you can get through it! You got fingers, and hands, and arms, and feet, and legs! USE THEM! Claw your way out of the dirt and get what YOU want! It's gonna be hard! I won't lie, it's going to be so fucking hard, that you will want to just fall and curl up in a ball. But ya can't. You got too much to prove, kid, and not to me! Or mommy, or daddy, or your scumball of an ex! To YOURSELF! You are worth so much in this god damn existence, but yer just too stupid to see it! NOW SEE IT! *Slaps them upside the head* ... Now get out there, and get what you want. You can do it, kid... *Watches them go* I know ya can..."

- Elijah Edward Krewson to ... anyone.

"Huh?!"

*Hefts up a heavy bolter, the Space Marine screaming down the dark corridor*

"You ugly sons of bitches!?!"

*Opens fire as a screech fills the air, the tunnel illuminated with the trails and impacts of bolt rounds into Tyranid flesh. The Blood Angel keeps screaming as he fires on full auto and the bugs pile up before his one position*

"You want some?! You want some, too!? Come on, baby! Come on! Come on! "

=Ammunition near limit. Five hundred rounds left. Four hundred rounds left...=

*The Marine grins and cackles*

HELL OF A WAY TO DIE!

There is one near my campus.

It's called Fantasy Comic and Games, and they actually gave me an application when I entered, and saw how giddy I was!

Comics, Magic, Dungeon and Dragons...


But... most of all...

WARHAMMER. They sell fucking Warhammer and Warhammer 40k.

My happiness! MY JOY!

"Huh... so, let me get this straight; the demi-god amongst us, the one person I know of who can take bullets and get hit by a train without flinching, is actually scared? Such... it's so damn funny. I can die falling from a good height, or even stepping wrong in the bathroom, but I'm not afraid. Maybe it's because I'm not afraid to get fucked up to do what's right. So, you can preach all ya want, Glory-Slut, but I don't give a rat's ass. Now get back to your strip club before I lose my temper."

- Michel, Specter of Hero for Hire during an exchange with the superheroine Glory Gal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~


... *Gives her some ice*

GG: >_>

You dun goofed.

M/W/F/-

Biology at 8:00 a.m. to 8:50 a.m.

History from 12:00 p.m. to 12:50 p.m.

English from 3:00 p.m.

Tuesday-

Bio. Lab at 8:00 a.m. to 10: 30 a.m. (time leaving can vary, as once we finish the lab for the day we can leave)

Freshman Experience at 1:00 p.m. to 1:50 p.m.

Thursday-

Freshman Experience at 1:00 p.m. to 1:50 p.m.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Breakfast: Normally 9:00 a.m. every day.

Lunch: 11:00 a.m. every day

Dinner: 4-5 p.m. every day

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time in lobby can vary.

Hero For Hire reveals a secret long hidden from the common agent; an elite group within their ranks who operate in areas even the finest can not attempt.


They are Specters.

Yep. We're back.

Good to see.

I guess I could tell you what I did... I did nothing. *glances down and sees a gloved hand poking from under my bed; the glove has the mark of the Spetznaz. I discreetly kick it back under*

Yeah... *smirks slightly* ... nothing.

*Lifts off his helmet, wearing full Space Marine battle plate that is shined to maximum level*


Tis serious business.

... I'm going to class. I'm doing what I do every day.

That is all ya need to know.

"Help me, God. Help me please!"

The corrupted tears of such a self-indulgent, pathetic scum, only help my resolve in this hunt. He calls to Him, in a vain attempt of salvation and sanctuary; it is not coming. I was sent by Him to end this one's disease.

Who better to fight disease.. than disease?

His breathing picks up, and his hazel eyes grow wide as he turns the last corner of the sewer system, just feet away from light. The light is blocked by a human-esque silhouette. Even with the light, and the shadow casting out any features, I can see the man's body quiver harder than before. Even with a lack of nostrils, I can pick up the faint aroma of ammonia. Did he just soil himself?

Humorous. So I chuckle.

I think I made him even more terrified; that pleases me.

"Charles "Chuck" Robins..." Water splashes and evaporates at my mere presence, leaving great dry spots in the drainage tunnel. Charles backs up a step, and just halts. He knows the time has come to meet Judge, Jury, and Executioner. "You have made your living off the innocence of children, and the lives of innocent people. How do you plead?"

"... N-Not guilty..."

I watch in sick satisfaction as agony envelops the cretins face. The rusty chain currently embedded into his gut wrenches him forward, and my cold, leather-clad hand wraps about his neck. He screams.

"You are found guilty."

The screaming stops as the rot envelops his throat, and then his entire head. His skin breaks out into boils that spew puss, and his eyes melt in their very sockets. Skin falls away in thick, rubbery pieces of sickly green, and hit the water as ash. I drop what's left of his corpse, now headless and stinking of rot.

The insects buzz loudly about my bare skull... and I hiss.

"Another disease into the fold; another corpse in the grave."

I walk from the drainage tunnel and inhale the stink of sewage.

I am Pestilence.

I am the demise of the corrupt, and the sick of soul.

And I would have it no other way...


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Heh...

He was just a rookie trooper and he surely shook with fright,
He checked all his equipment and made sure his pack was tight;
He had to sit and listen to those awful engines roar,
"You ain't gonna jump no more!"

(CHORUS)
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
He ain't gonna jump no more!

"Is everybody happy?" cried the Sergeant looking up,
Our Hero feebly answered "Yes," and then they stood him up;
He jumped into the icy blast, his static line unhooked,
He ain't gonna jump no more.

(CHORUS)

He counted long, he counted loud, he waited for the shock,
He felt the wind, he felt the cold, he felt the awful drop,
The silk from his reserves spilled out, and wrapped around his legs,
He ain't gonna jump no more.

(CHORUS)

The risers swung around his neck, connectors cracked his dome,
Suspension lines were tied in knots around his skinny bones;
The canopy became his shroud; he hurtled to the ground.
He ain't gonna jump no more.

(CHORUS)

The days he'd lived and loved and laughed kept running through his mind,
He thought about the girl back home, the one he'd left behind;
He thought about the medic corps, and wondered what they'd find,
He ain't gonna jump no more.

(CHORUS)

The ambulance was on the spot, the jeeps were running wild,
The medics jumped and screamed with glee, they rolled their sleeves and smiled,
For it had been a week or more since last a 'Chute had failed,
He ain't gonna jump no more.

(CHORUS)

He hit the ground, the sound was "SPLAT", his blood went spurting high;
His comrades, then were heard to say "A hell of a way to die!"
He lay there, rolling 'round in the welter of his gore,
He ain't gonna jump no more.

(CHORUS)

(slowly, solemnly; about half the speed of the other verses)
There was blood upon the risers, there were brains upon the chute,
Intestines were a-dangling from his paratroopers suit,
He was a mess, they picked him up, and poured him from his boots,
He ain't gonna jump no more.

Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
He ain't gonna jump no more!

J. H. Kight, © 1943.

Meant to be sung to the tune of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic".

Wish I could be a paratrooper.

You know those bed time stories your parents, or grandparents, would tell ya? Of the monsters hiding in the trees, the caves, weird-ass places NOTHING should live in? Or... maybe those horror flicks you watched with that broad of yours, and you just knew it get the girl all close to you, and give ya some grope-action?

Those are fake, right? Monsters... ghosts... spirits... demons...

Ain't no such thing.

Bullshit. Everything exists for a reason; someone saw zombies, vampires, werewolves, all that jazz.

Shit exists, and, unfortunately, it showed up back in 2014...

Location: Anchorage, Alaska
Date: December 2nd, 2014
Current "Beast": Vampire

Yeah. Alaska. Polar Night lasts for about a month there, so what better place for bloodsuckers to go nuts?

Same shit, as always, corpses, fires, blood in the snow, limbs...

Standard shit.

You think the deadheads would get creative; maybe a tree made of dead bodies? Or maybe just giving out hugs.... that would be nice for a change..

THUMP

Whoop. That guy's dead; thrown out of a third story window by one pissed off lookin' vampiro. I can tell, since the doe-eyed son of a bitch is staring right at me from the shattered glass.

I sigh.

"Well... FUCK..."

It lunges; it falls into a heap, as a silver bullet pieces the ugly fuck's head. Two more shots to the head JUST to be sure. I cock my Navy Revolver and look back to the main road of Anchorage; I count at least fifty deadheads now in the street.

I grin and pluck a hatchet from my right hip, and wave it at them all.

"Wassup, Doc?"

A collective shrieking that makes my head hurt; even BETTER reason to kill them all.

"Alright, deadheads... who's first?"

They all charge forward at me with dripping claws and fangs, mouths decorated in the gore of their prey.

"Oh, yeah."

I raise the hatchet.

"I love my fuggin' job!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Plays The Heavy's "Short Change Hero"*

Elijah Krewson: Monster Hunter.

Coming this Halloween.

Cause it's the only country metal enough to have three, giant swords acting as a monument.


Fuq yah.

'Your father was a good man -- growing up without him is going to be hard. It is going to hurt. You will feel alone, out to sea, with no shore in site; you'll wonder, why me? Why him? Remember, you have warrior's blood in your veins -- the code that made your father who he was is the same code that will make you a man he will admire. Respect.

Put your pain in a box -- lock it down; like those people in those paintings your father used to like. Real men, made up of boxes -- chambers of loss and triumph of hurt and hope and love. No one is stronger or more dangerous than who can harness his emotions -- his past.

Use it as fuel, as ammunition as ink to write the most important letter of your life"

- Chief Dave, Seal Team SEVEN, Act of Valor, in a letter to the son of slain SEAL, Lieutenant Rorke.

I still ain't wrote a damn thing. :/


Probably won't, either.

Cause fuck expectations- I WANNA BE MY OWN MAN!

I heard someone say that hermaphrodites, or any sort of "condition" pertaining to such things, is scientifically impossible...


http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/.....cle/001669.htm

Read ALL of that. READ IT YOU STUPID MORONS.


I can't simplify it enough for all of you idiots out there, so here's something basic.


Good lord...

I'm shaking in a fit of utter RAGE.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


"Don't... let go..."

I look at them all; they are trapped BEHIND the barrier, safe and sound from the coming darkness. The looks on my friend's faces range from anger, grief, and silent acceptance. I can only do one thing for them; the raising of my thumb and the curve of my lips into a smile.

"I love you, guys."

THe whisper, so soft and subtle, tears my throat to pieces. The agony in their eyes intensifies, and some are starting to bang against the invisible force. I turn away to look at the coming darkness.

I don no armor; I wield no weapon. I stand bare before the coming storm of my end.

So glorious...

~

"I'm sorry, but... he passed during the night. His heart finally stopped..."

But DAMN,  lustrous

No need to get all STORMY about it!

http://www.washingtonpost.com/natio.....897_story.html

I swear to God, I laughed my ass off at this.

People who say they are "insane"...

And are actually just morons :/

Buddy, I KNOW insane. It runs in the family. YOU, my friend, are just an idiot trying to be what he's not.


So... go eat glue with the special education class, and save the Unibomber quotes to guys like me.

"...Jenna..."

Glory Gal didn't want to turn; she couldn't bear the thought of what she would see, to see the giant that had fought and protected her for so long... was not getting up. The tigress slowly turned with her eyes red hot, tears coursing from each.

"... Goliath..."

She stared into the one, beaming eye of the machine, which flickered on and off randomly. Sparks flew from his shattered head, and down his body. Armor had been ripped away to reveal circuitry and hydraulic fluids splattered his rust red frame like blood. He dwarfed her, now, even when he laid crumpled on the ground.

"... Do not... let them... see your tears..."

Goliath rumbled weakly at Glory Gal, his one, functioning hand scraping against the ground as it went to her. It fell onto the back, palm up, and Glory Gal immediately climbed into it. THe hand gently curled about her, and the tigress sobbed as she held onto the machine's index finger. Goliath kept speaking.

"Stand... strong. Stand... proud. You will live..."

The hand began to uncurl. Glory Gal kept clinging to his finger and cried onto the metal. Her tears washed away the dust on his finger.

"Goliath... must... rest..."

Glory Gal shook her head rapidly and pleaded.

"Goliath, don't leave me. Goliath, please!"

A mechanical sigh; a last sign of function. The machine's hand went limp, and his optic went dark.

"GOLIATH!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Space Marine rises up, his black and red armor torn and rent by the blows of his enemies. Elijah Vanderbilt looks over the corpses of both friend and foe, many of whom having died by his own hand. The Astartes closes his brilliant green eyes.

" Ave Imperator..."

He raises the combat knife clenched firmly in his left hand. Elijah whispers.

"Forgive me."

The knife plunges into his chest plate, and into his twin hearts. The eyes go blank, and he falls onto his back without another sound.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We... die...

You... live....

... I don't...

I can't ask this...

... FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK....

I'm an idiot. I'm an idiot who can't show weakness...

...I ... need... HELP....

I... wish... to ship... university pin... to special someone.

Cost... $50... need... $50...

Can do commissions... if people donate to ...

Ffffffffffffff-

PAYPAL...

I am Elijah Krewson on paypal... or eekrewson@yahoo.com...

*rubs face* Uuuuuuugh....

I AM NOT WEAK

... *A sea turtle bobs in the ocean, just a few yards from the shore. The turtle blinks...and is raised into the air, the unfortunate marine reptile tied to the head of a familiar tiger. He stares ahead and grins, sighting the glorious wealth ahead*


Ehehehehe... perfect.

*Sinks back down, the turtle lazily floating to the shore*