Vex

From the beat of Riding Dirty, Weird Al brings us, "White and Dirty"

http://my.break.com/...ontentID=155086

Discuss

Well here we are again. Due to some overreacting I will only be posting my major custom sprites because some people *you know who you are* think its really easy and I'm "stealing" from nintendo by using bases. *cough whereyougettingyoursigimagesthief cough*

--=Stills=--
Sworduser-->Swordmaster-->Battosai
Masterknight
Legend

--=Animations=--
Himura Kenshin
Shur'tugal

--=Halo Collection=--
Master Chief Running
Master Chief Duel SMGS
Master Chief Battle Rifle

--=Mugs=--
Shur'tugal(new) and Nina

--=Newest Pieces=--
Keith from "You Are Now Leaving Hollywood"
John from "You Are Now Leaving Hollywood"

Well i've quit my main forum due to the maturity and questionable sexuality of its members.

Anyway I've come to spread my joy to you all. And this time since I no longer have another forum to leech off of, this is now my #1. I've even branded the Neocodex logo over my old internet logo/tattoo.

So i'll probally be spamming up the sprites again and spamming up the book I was writing so welcome me back fools.

Alright, well I see no harm in sharing my progress. Besides I think Ink forgot all about the book anyway =P With school and all, writing is hard to get time for but I got some time lately. Notice since Ink's gone I may need a new editor if anyone's interested.

Chapter 2: Dead Rain
April 20, 2035 12:34pm

The rain was pounding on the window and my soup was getting cold. After a long day of traveling, my brother John and I had found a small community that had survived the worst of the bombs. From the outside, it looked just as desolate and hopeless as any other town, but the people survived in the small houses as best they could. As my brother retold our story to the townsfolk gathered in the small home, I looked back at the last few hours…
The motorcycle groaned to a stop as we arrived at another ruined town. We had passed many deserted colonies like this yet we had not stopped at any others. The windows were shattered, the street was rubble and jagged, the streets were dark, and the place was devoid of life. I could not figure out why this place was so much different then the others. As I dismounted the bike, I saw myself in a puddle. The face that stared back at me was, not surprisingly, a different person. It had been weeks since I had worn clean clothes and even longer since the last time I had bathed. My brown hair, already too long for my liking, was in a mess atop my head as if an animal had died. My eyes were empty of hope and my face was devoid of warmth. What were once blue jeans were now a series of conjoined holes and tears. My wife beater was practically gone and the shirt over it was no better. What had once been a man of twenty now looked many years older.
The image in the water became distorted as a ripple appeared, then another. Soon the puddle was in a constant ripple; it was raining. My brother had not yet dismounted from the bike, but was instead looking into the settlement. Removing a whistle from his coat pocket, my brother blew it three consecutive times, each louder then the next. I looked at him confused as the last of the notes lingered in the air. From the distance, I could hear doors creaking open. From the shadows of dust and death, figures became visible. Only one at first but more added on as it pasted through the barren streets. I readied my Colt and aimed it square ahead only to have my brother stand still studying the approaching men and women.
“You can put your gun away Keith, they’re not going to hurt us.” He sighed out of embarrassment and I could hear a small sense of pity emanate from it.
As they came closer, I could see their faces clearly. All of them looked exhausted, both physically and mentally. Their features were worn and aged and their clothes were more tattered then mine. Some wore only pants, some just a blanket. The bodies seemed to walk on their own without a mind telling them to do so. After what seemed like an hour of waiting, the group finally came to a halt about five yards away. I looked to John to see him drop his shotgun next to his bike and motioned for me to do the same. I leaned down placing the Colt on the ground never taking my eyes off the approaching citizens. John did not seem to notice that I kept my nine-millimeter in my other pocket or he had forgotten he gave it to me. Thunder clapped overhead and John silently walked forward to the group. A representative from the many also walked forward, to meet with John. Without a clue of what was going on, I stayed put and watched my brother and the strange man talk. Lighting flashed, illuminating his face, and the grim expression on my brother. The man looked to be in his late thirties and was fragile looking. He wore only a pair of jeans and a half torn up white shirt. His blond hair was everywhere and looked like it had not been cleaned in a long time. After watching as an argument broke out, both men returned, John to his bike.
“What happened?” I thought I had already figured things out, but I felt I needed to ask.
“They’re going to give us a place to stay for the night.” John seemed exhausted, his face was the only thing stopping me from making him go on through the night. He needed sleep, and so did I. My brother left our weapons in the bike’s pouch and hid it behind a bush. It surprised me how rare a bush had become to come across. Everything now was just desert and waste. Without my noticing, most of those who had come out had already returned to their homes and those who were left departed. Only the blond haired man and a scraggly looking woman remained. I presumed them to be married, and the people who were going to house us for the night.
It was a silent trip through the roads as the rain began to come down harder. John and the man exchanged few words and his wife seemed to forget she could speak. I did not blame her however, times were hard and there was not anything joyous to talk about anymore. Their house was a small rundown home; before the bombs, it could have been a modest house. It was two stories, its white paint chipped and browned, its windows shattered, and its life gone. What was left of a once prosperous home, was a shattered dream. As I walked up the small steps to the blown open door, I felt a wave of pity for the couple. It seemed that they had lost everything. A small red cap, a size fit for a small boy, was hanging on a cross, made of sticks, next to the door.. Even now, that image still haunts me, and shares with me their pain.
Inside, the house was deathly still. Furniture was overturned and destroyed, the walls crumbled, and the stairs had caved in preventing access to the second floor. The man and woman led my brother and me to the back of the house where a small crowd was gathered. Most were wrapped in blankets but others had nothing but rags. The cabinets of the kitchen were gone, all used to board up the holes, probably for warmth. In the middle was a table standing on three legs and a stack of books. Four chairs surrounded it and dust covered it. A small fire was blazing on the tiled floor; I could not tell if it was there on its own or had been created, yet again for warmth. The man motioned us to sit and introduced himself as Richard Pulaski, a banker who used to take in children who misbehaved or ran away from home, like a personal orphanage. His wife brought us both a hot bowl of soup and two spoons. Those surrounding the fire moaned in protest but quickly quieted when they were also served.
The soup was the best thing I had ever tasted. I knew that it was only noodles in water, and I knew that I had eaten much better a year ago, but after what happened, it was the best meal ever to me. Forgetting about the spoon, I greedily picked up the bowl and drank it like I would a glass of water. John eyed me with annoyance and put the spoon to his mouth. Even an apocalypse wouldn’t stop him from being polite. I looked up and noticed that the Mr. and Mrs. Pulaski were not the only ones staring at my brother an me any more. The group, now done devouring the small bowl of soup, had gathered around us now. Their eyes eager to hear what news outsiders brought. Somehow John had known what they wanted and began to retell his side of the story thus far. I put down my spoon and looked out at the pounding rain…
Another clap of thunder tore through the sky and shook the home. They noise was followed by three quick bangs of sound. The noise wasn’t right…it wasn’t thunder that time. Another round of shots and I heard a woman scream outside. I jumped to my feet and pulled out my nine-millimeter. The people around me recoiled in fear as I went for the door, my brother followed. Just as I had ran from the kitchen, I heard automatic fire open up. Bullets ripped through the house as if it were paper and I heard more screams. Worried I turned on my heels and saw that the kitchen had become a graveyard in the few seconds I had left it. Mr. Pulaski had a hole in the middle of his forehead, Mrs. Pulaski was screaming over her husband, and half the remaining in the kitchen were clutching wounds, slowly and painfully dieing. My mourning for the poor souls was cut short as my brother threw me to the ground as more shots erupted through the house. I could not longer hear Mrs. Pulaski shouting inside…

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If you missed Chapter 1. Just don't necro there of course, post anything here.
--=EDIT=--
Changes were made to Chapter 1 since I began writing this chapter, If you haven't read the revisions, you might need too.

Today is Darkness's birthday and you don't celebrate? Burn sinners burn.





tomorrow is mine >.> celebrate?