Rate the writing skills of RP'ers on the Vine!

I wrote this years ago, talking when I was like sixteen. Found a FLOPPY DISK rofl I'm curious what people think. I only read a quarter of it before pasting here.

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RICTORS RICHES

I fcking hate elevators. don't get me wrong their a technological marvel, But I a still fcking hate them. Not that I'm one you would assume uses the stairs on a daily basis…I just cant stand confined spaces, I was a P.O.W. in desert storm. they kept us in cages the size of a luggage case, just big enough to occupy without having to cut your legs off…bad times… I do that sometimes. this damn elevator…every time I step into one of these i FEEL LIKE i'm back in that steel coffin in the middle of the desert…the tension starts to build…the three months all pass painfully slow, dredging out every bad memory and drawing them out like a blade that will cut into me and leave a scar that reverberates into this time, like clanging metal in an abandoned building reaching a passer-by on an empty street. just as the dings start to overwhelm,as I start sweating, listening to the dreary old music dully playing behind me, I hear the the sarge yelling simper fi while having his earlobes roasted by heated tongs, and I remember how I came within seconds of death, with the noose around my neck….I begin to feel tight at the collar, "Ive gotta get out…gotta get out" I start to think over and over assured that if I do so one more time it'll make the fantasy a reality. "gotta get out gonna die in here..gonna die gon-" then the door opens with a small hiss, and a ding with the light on the button panel based on the 33rd floor. I can't contain myself I exit with the speed of a shocked new york roach. I hold my knees in my hands as Im bent over in front of the mens room mirror, then raise my head to look in the mirror at the middle-aged shell of an intelligent, young athlete with the world at his feet. now just a shaggy bearded balding man with a stigmatism and a beer gut. I shake off the feelings of self-loathing, crawl back inside myself, and remember my old days on the field, "time to put on your game face roy" I tell myself, just as the coach used to so long ago. I fix my loosened tie, wipe my face of the dried sweat, put on

a comfortable smirk, and enter into the lions den.

What I do, now, is handle insurance claims. Im on the 33rd floor of Rictor Corporation Head Quarters. We'll get to there history in a bit. I'm here because the owner of the wealthy organization has disappeared…literally up and vanished. he was last seen getting on a jet en route to china, but his plane never landed. you understand what Im saying? He didn't just disappear, the plane, the crew, the pilots, everyone just…poof. So Im here to figure out if the claim is legitatment or a fraud by another rich man trying to become even richer. you'd be surprised how often that happens..or not depending on your perspective. I've rounded the corner now to the central conference room where Im greeted at the cut of the corner by a young scrawny kid with glasses and parted blonde hair.

"Roy Wright?" He extends his hand, making it obvious he knew who I was, and just likes to waste breath, from just meeting him I already know this guy is full of shit. then again this whole place could be one big septic tank filled to the brim with pieces of shit. John Rictor wasn't an open man, not many knew how he came about his empire, only that he suddenly sprang up twenty years ago and began dominating the weapons industry with tech that scientists of the time didn't think was possible to even begin theorizing until this time, 25 years later. since then he's been known as a suspiciously hidden and somewhat eccentric, entrepreneur. He had a hand in other early stage markets that have expanded over time, from the internet to cellphones, from reagan to obama. And now a man that powerful is gone without a trace. I stared down fighter planes directly in front of my nose, so close I could see the pilots girlfriend on the dash, but this man…thinking of how literally limited his resources are….It'd make hitler shutter at the thought. I shake the brittle pale faced kids hand "Thats right. I wasn't aware my assistant had called ahead of me.." I say with a hint of suspicion "Oh, she didn't mister Wright. we like to stay on-top of all funds related issues, and this is one that must be addressed above others" yeah because you pencil dick jerks want what the guy earned for yourself instead of finding him "right, right…So lets get started then"

"Of course of course right this way, my office is down the hall", I stop him by grabbing his mid-turned shoulder, this kid must weigh a total of 98 pounds, max. "no i need to start with Mr. Rictors main work area" I say barely trying to sound official, "Hopefully find some evidence of this being what I think it is" thats it roy, lettem know "Oh? and please mister Wright, tell me what we're up-to…allegedly"

He says opening the door to the C.E.O. office at the end of the hall.

"Not sure, could be a number of things. just like how when my garbage stinks," i set my case on the desk after crossing the condo sized office, and pull down a latex green glove over my hand "it could be anything, but Im not going to focus too hard on what it is that smells so rotten…just the fact that it needs to be taken to the dump with the rest of the stinking crap. " the small man lets out a small giggle, yet the sweat from his forehead is making the glasses slide off of his narrow nose, I hit a cord. "hmm. mr.Wright, I can assure you, there was no foul play in the disappearance, on our part in any case, of president Rictor"He uses his clicking finger to push his heavy coke-bottle lens designer glasses back onto his spearhead nose.we are all deeply upset about the-"I stop him short of his soulless and memorized press speech "yeah uh-huh, why don't you take a walk, I'm sure we'll be speaking again short enough mister…" "steinberg, Franklin steinberg…"hehe. he seems offended, guess he thinks himself as someone important "right, figures. anyway ill call if I need anything, or anybody." I say with my back turned giving him a dismissive wave of my hand "….Please do…." he turns with a strange goose step army twist, then walks out the doors, closing them behind him.

chapter 2

ICARUS' S FALL

In the desk I find some old progress reports, a few shipping documents, and a bottle of vintage scotch. These fat cat big corporation types, every time I investigate one, its like these damn european desks are shipped with a bottle of scotch. I take a swig after bagging the glasses and move onto the computer. For someone who helped bill gates with windows startup, he didn't invest too much in software with security measures, guess he deemed himself untouchable a long time ago. On his desktop marked clear as day, after bypassing a firewall and finding a backdoor, is a file that says chem. 23. my investigative training takes over and im skimming for all the keywords Im looking for and get stopped at the second page by diagram of the chemical composition of this, 23. apparently, im no biologist or chemist,this seems to be a pathogen, an airborne disease capable of rewriting dna and imprinting its own information… so maybe I took a semester or two on chemistry. if this is possible you could change genetic traits caught thru inheritance, like alcoholism, abuse, mental illness, physical deformity….or add those traits or worse to an innocent persons core individuality. But how could Rictor possibly begin to understand this information, let alone apply it or find the correct formula? A lot of random pieces to this puzzle… on etchings certain it isn't for the greater good or all that shit rictors campaign implies. I knew these guys were shady I didn't think they were down right villains…just like im sure they didn't think an insurance claims investigator could crack an encrypted file on the C.E.O's hard-drive, which obviously the police haven't even thought to go snooping on, most likely paid in full. Nothing much here….I think scrolling down the list of hidden files. mainly a few blackmailing photos of senators with underage teens, some boys. others of evidence against known crime figures and terrorist organization leaders through out the world.

Jesus Christ, this guy was second to satan. "Hello-" I catch out of my peripheral a file that read chem. 23, sub-level 12….with this address on the blueprints, which are of an unpublicized 30 level sub-basement. Rictor popped up twenty year ago this blueprint is dated 25 years ago, whatever this its been in the works for a long time, maybe his whole point of starting this business, just to fund chem. 23.

I wish I could investigate it now but without a warrant its inadmissible in court, and I wouldn't be able to pin it on anybody because the mastermind is gone, and he's made sure no one else would be implicated with painstaking precision….hm ill just put this on my flash drive for later….the download completes and I walk out onwards the office of Steinberg, and knock on his door. "Mister Steinberg, I'm done with my investigation for the evening, and Ill be leaving now" I say while keeping my hand on the knob, ready to make a swift get away with my evidence, but of course steinberg wants to dig for any sign of reassurance that he wont be known as the bitch of tier 3. 'er mister wright mister wright please no need to be so abrupt, please come in have a quick coffee, I think we could help each other here….don't you?' he raises his brow at me and looks over his malcolm x goggles, with an exaggerated presumption of bribing me. Seems as though he knew what was on that hard drive, or at least had an idea, but not enough time to handle it, obviously or he'd have been gone already,"highly doubtful…and I don't drink coffee… is that a ming dynasty original?" I point at the vase taking a shot in the dark with what little I knew about art, hoping watching 60 minutes paid off for something other than talk around the water cooler. "Why..yes it is, im surprised Mr. Wright, and impressed perhaps your more resourceful than you look." Oh he has no idea, i think. I notice a pass card clipping to his desk lamp that says sub pass, its got to be to the lower levels. "I've often had that effect,surpassing expectation is what I do,"I stroll slowly towards his desk with my hands in my pocket, "well I cant say I don't make myself fit the image of an incompetent, it helps throw off the" I use my fingers to make imaginary quotes "bad guys." Steinburg,as insecure as I assumed he was, broke eye contact and swiveled around to his wall sized office window and stares out,"Hah, well played, well played." The card is within my grasp, right in-between his wasteful double usage of well played I swipe the card from the lamp with not so much as a clang. "yes well, I should be going, you be careful..Franklin Steinburg" I walk out then turn before closing the door"oh, Steinberg? word of advice? next time try and spring that extra dollar on the encryption software huh? you be careful" I click his door shut,not before hearing a small choke in steinburg's throat, and head for the coffin on a rope. the suns just gone down and I realize the building is emptier than a dope fiends wallet. I pay it little mind, its after 5:30 anyway makes as much sense, I don't think much of it.

Im in front of the elevator, I press the large lit triangle and wait for the matchbox to ascend from hell. The door hiss's and opens with a ding. I step in, and turn around only to be facing steinberg and a .45. Bastard walks like a housecoat "You thought I was some sniveling coward didn't you, mister,wright, you thought I'd just let you just come in here and destroy everything we've built.. over an insurance claim?! You talk to me as though I'm the nerd in your high school, try to intimidate me..! You thought of me as some kind of coward! and whats more" he pulls back the hammer "you thought I'd take it sitting down"

Oh whoops wrong thread. Accidentally bumped it to the top >_>

These are my collective posts(so far) from the Anime Vice/Comicvine RPG Invasion, on the Vice side. For more details retaining to the posts, just hop over there and find them; easier said than done...

Post 1

As the fearsome invaders occupied themselves with the spirited boxer, the portal behind them began to churn ominously... and then, as if Poseidon himself had declared this assault heresy, a torrent of water and ice flooded through the twisting rift. The cold stream, defying physics, flew into the air above the battlefield's combatants. It stopped, and it's shape shifted... the water formed a serpents head, with shards of ice becoming spines and fangs. The newly-formed draconic beast stared down upon the fighters like a wolf upon unguarded lambs. Then, roaring like thunder, the water serpent lunged down towards it's prey with open fangs.

Just before the aquatic beast would of swallowed the warriors, however, it's body exploded outward, sending gallons of water and shards of ice down upon the combatants. From the gullet of the beast flew a golden guardian, landing between the foreign invaders and the overzealous boxer. Lifting his Trident into the air, the golden haired saint brought it violently down upon the snow he stood upon. As the godly metal plunged through snow, the Earth seemed to tear apart in fear. A crevasse opened up between the warriors of different worlds, like a bottomless, black wound in the ice below them.

With water still raining from the sky, the golden saint stood up. Though he spoke no words, the fierce look within his eyes as he stared towards the invading forces from his own world said everything; the gods themselves were disgusted with this travesty, and sent their herald to give their warning.

Post 2

Poseidon's herald watched with confidence as the antagonists were swept away by his waters. He was preparing to advance his assault when, from waters to flames, Hell broke loose. From the sky, rifts opened and released pillars of lava down upon the frozen Earth, creating madness across the battlefield. The Golden Saint watched in confusion, before looking up and seeing one such pillar of fire falling down towards him.

Lifting his Trident upwards towards the molten rock, the water that he had used to disrupt the battlefield initially flew into the sky and engulfed the entire pillar, rapidly cooling the magma to a solid as it fell. Now forming a steaming boulder, the mass of rock plummets towards the ground, only to be split with a jab of the tidal titan's golden weapon, it's pieces falling harmlessly to the ground.

Sighing, the oceanic guardian looks around, trying to get a hold on the battlefield when, with the sounds of thunder erupting in the air, a storm of bullets fly past him... towards the native he was trying to protect. Spinning around, the Golden Saint prepares to intercept the rounds... only to see they had already hit their mark. He watched in anguish as the Spirit Boxer fell to snowy ground... defeated. His grip tightened around his weapon as his grief turned into hatred, hatred for this barbarians from his world.

-----Xorion

Before he could take the fight to the madmen that had shot the boxer down, Hell broke loose once more... this time much more literally. Some form of wizard had entered the fray, and had wasted no time in opening a new portal, and out of it a horde of demonic creatures as released. Turning from the horde to the wizard, and then to the crowd, the tidal titan brushed his hand over his head, trying to think of what to do. Staring down at the weapon in his hands, he lifts it to his face. "Dominus maris, adhibete arma sumere vires."

The Golden Saint whispers to his ancient weapon, before letting it fly from his hands and into the skies above. Poseidon's tool glowed brightly as it ascended above the battlefield, and flashes as the King of the Seas asserted his invisible power over the weapon. Water and ice from the frozen wasteland began to lift into the air, and melded together. From the snow, warriors of ice began to rise; the God of the Ocean's own army. The frozen troops turned their attention to the demonic invaders, and formed lines to clash with the Hellbeasts. A few small squads formed outside the lines, going after the straggling antagonists by the will of Poseidon.

-----La Espada

While Aleixandre's lord had put his weapon to good use, loosing the Trident had costed the Golden Saint his most potent capabilities; storm summoning, potent hydrokinesis, and the simple right of having an weapon... he was significantly more vulnerable. Still, the Knight of the Oceans stood strong, searching the battlefield for a fitting opponent. His sight fell upon a mountain of muscle crawling out from a man-shaped hole in a glacier... Aleixandre almost snickered, knowing full well of how the thick-skulled invader had ended up in there.

The Golden Saint watched as the Combat Colossi bowed his head, though with a cocky smile on his face. Memories passed through the herald's mind, memories of the Coliseum, memories of the Olympic tournaments, memories of being unarmed and overpowered... this was his instinctual temperament for a single combat; remember not your victories, but your failures. Remember the mistakes you made, remember the consequences, remember the pain... the Saint opens his eyes, and he is back in reality. Now he is ready.

In an instant, the Martial Arts Mammoth begins combat with a surprisingly quick strike. Fortunately, Aleixandre did not move to the right to avoid the hit, he ducked underneath it, unknowingly ceasing the Mauler's planned assault. Charging forward, the Tidal Titan reaches his arms around the Mammoth's massive frame, and rearing his legs he attempts to lift him into the air. Although the Mauler was clearly gargantuan, he was hardly more than a few tons; the Saint of the Seas would have no more issue lifting him then he would a car. If not stopped, the Oceanic Guardian would run forward with the Mauler in tow, charging straight into the wall of the glacier the Gargantuan Fighter had just escaped from with the force of a freight train.

Aleixandre's technique, though simple, was all he knew. He wasn't an traditional martial artist, he had no formal training in the art of fists. He knew the unnamed art of simple grapples, slams, and sweeps that the Greeks perfected. They, like many ancient arts, pale in comparison to the techniques of the modern age like a spear to rifle.

(Someone rate this. I added more to it while on my lunch break today. It is for my Outpost thread.)

The tundra shimmered with blistering cold winds. Olaf the Asgardian glared out over the rolling desolation and involuntarily teased his long beard of silver-white with his powerful hand. He stood like a statue of ice in the snow, apparently impervious to the subzero wind chill, though his only garment was a bearskin loincloth, girdled by a wide gold-buckled belt from which hung his twin silver war axes. On his gorilla like limbs were evidences of healed battle wounds.

He strode throughout the waist-high snow, in search of fallen tree remains that he may take his axe too in order to collect tinder for kindling. The fires of The Outpost needed stoking, it seemed to be a full time job just to keep them going. His massive sleigh was already half filled with the remains of fallen trees, he had already collected. The twin Rams Flukin and Shmorgin were eager to return to their warm stables, and they were moaning out in protest to their masters ears. "Aye... Tis bitter cold. Not much longer now fellas." he assured them.

From out of the mist of fallen snow came the Lord of the forest in all his majesty and with all of his pride. The Lord of the forest was stout even for a Bull Moose, and his antlers were massive and brutal. He wore many scars from his many battles with challengers to his crown.

The giant of a Moose that Olaf calls Lord of the forest shows no fear when he approaches him and sniffs his face, taking in his scent. There is a moment of silence, as the two Lords recognize one another as kindred spirits. Then like a ghost or perhaps a dream the Mighty Lord of the forest slowly backs away and vanishes into a thick curtain of the snow that fell from the heavens above.

The territory known as the Yukon was a harsh mistress, and all that called her home knew this all to well. Snow came down by the foot in minutes of time, it was indeed blizzard country.

Olaf Silvermane had built his Outpost here in this place, because it reminded him so much of his beloved home of Jotunheim, only the locals were much less hostile and way more pleasant to be around.

These Inuit, or Yupik people were superior people in terms of being well rooted to their culture, not modernized like so much of the rest of world. Many of the other countries that harbored tribal people were hot climate zones. Deserts, and jungles. Not places that Olaf considered pleasing to live in, being a northmen himself.

He doubted he would encounter anything as equally majestic as the recently encountered Lord of the forest, that he met eye to eye mere moments prior. The Moose was an iconic representation of the territory itself. He respected all that it stood for, and a smile even crossed his parched lips as he thought on it.

Olaf reaches for his deer-skin-mead-pouch, realizing that he left it back on his sleigh. "Well boys, I guess this is where I call it a day." he says to his miserably cold pets. "Lets head back to the homestead, fellas." he finishes, as he wades back to them.

Flukin and Shmorgin understand the words home-stead perfectly, as they become excited to the point of the stubs on their rumps, where their tails ought to be, start to wag.

The north winds had picked up and it was getting tiring to spot the fallen trees anyways. Olaf knew that these winds would bring down many more trees for him to retrieve for the morrow. So for now it was back to the Outpost, for some warm spiced mead and a smoke of his favorite pipe, by his fireplace. Which was of course the best place in the house for a nice relaxing nap, for that was where his favored recliner was. Recliners were his new favored thing, and the best thing that Mortals had ever invented in his mind.

I don't know how I would rate this numerically, we don't have any metric or anything like that, however I would say these are some top tier posts. Exciting, clear, fresh, great character, just awesome.

The universe endlessly expands. Galaxies were formed, each with an adequate quantity of planets and one or two stars to cover the spacious gaps between each humongous planet. Life scattered through the galaxy, some at the apex of inter-dimensional technology, others labouring with ancient tools. Yet, each civilization is different, each civilizations has its quaint aspects. Despite acknowledging we aren't exactly alone, we still believe on Earth's insulated position. Its inferior technology, renowned by some as antiquated and rudimentary. So we work without halting, we give sweat and blood for our families and feed the capitalism. Only if people could see what really mattered. If they could perceive the true majestic characteristic of Earth. Its natural beauty, its sapphire rivers with crisp water, the grizzly and snowy mountains. Then they would savvy that it didn't care what one or other extra-terrestrial or odd life form stated, due to the purity of our land. A purity leisurely devastated by wars and pollution.

The teenager acquainted as Blue Marble sat at one of many craters at the flawed surface of the Moon. The spinning motion that Earth performed, circling the Sun whilst twisting around its own axis. His windows glistened from the extraordinary sightseeing, an unique opportunity. He oftenly fled there to reflect about life, about what would he do with immense power. Mostly subjects of any teenage heroes around the globe. For instance, one of the most used topics was the fact that he never truly found love. The armour's voice resonated Oxygen reserves are low, mister Carlos. It was about time to halt sinking and bereave himself from the luxury of having free time to displace ideas and craft new ones.

The jaunt lasted for a few hours, yet, those seemed alike seconds. Arising from his spot, the Sapphire Scarab leaped towards Earth. The flight was swift, somewhat uneasy since his lapse of caution could have dealt several hazard to the biological suit. That's when the distress call reverberated through the emptiness of the helmet and the scatterbrained youth's head. Bluntly exchanging courses and switching mentalities, forthwith identifying Loki as a major threat and conjecturing the mischievous God to pose as a peerless being, which meant he would probably underrate those whom endeavour was solely to halt him. His ignorance would also be notorious as his immense downfall.

Teeth and fists clenching as the superior mileages were beaten. Boasting from precise flying ability, Carlos did what most humans imagined impracticable. The majestic and puissant Asgard, land of bloodcurdling inhabitants and masterful Gods. Shifting his right wrist as a sharp blade he awaited for a proper greeting, albeit the veracious motive was merely gather enough information to know who to shoot or chop. Fathoming the area with courteous but mindful eyes, he seeked for Victor, the catalyst of the message, the desperate God craving for aid of those with a pure heart, those who main objective is to help without expecting nothing in change for their services. The situation yelled for heroes and, as flies attracted to light, they would respond nearly immediately. Marble took a profound sigh, perhaps the last. Once you immersed onto war, there was no pledge that one would come out respiring or dying in sore. All he could do was hope.

Hey guys I just decided to do a post on here as a writing exercise. What do you think?

That was the things that kills you when you live in the city. No it wasn' the disease ridden trash running amuck across the pre-apocalyptic industrial armageddon, or the angered and bewildered drivers of the manufacturing wasteland that populated the restless streets of that great, big, poison apple that sat to the right of the great big poison branch that grew as a country on the whole great tree of despair, poison and the icecapades.

The world looks so small, that is until you are staring down the face of a money-hungry Irish psychopath's jury rigged silenced and completely blood soaked AR-15. That was after all the situation Axel Aarons was in, covered in his own little bits of puke, shattered meth container glass and enough blood to start a tampon factory. He cowered down and looked over at his fellow members of the Lost Boys mutant biker gang, all twelve filled with the dreaded 5.56mm hollow point rounds that tore them to shreds when combined with the accuracy of the Malicious Marksman, the Ammunition King and the Drop Dead Crazy...Cain O'Panell.

"Ohhh...Ahhh...Sweet jesus, what th-... The f*ck?" He said, his left minority puncher rising to his line of sight, revealing a massive hole torn through from the prior festival of violence and gun shots. He saw the sight of the man who committed the festival of blood that lay scattered around the room, his tall frame leaning down to pour the Jerry Can's floor across the bar, brothel, meth lab and boat parking building's cheap beer and c*m stained floor. Axel had his blood flowing and knew that with his left knee shot out, that whatever this man was up to was not going to be fun. He reached to grab the TEC-9 that had earlier been befallen to his right and raised to squeeze the hair trigger...

Only to hear that dreaded metallic click that signified the magazine was as barren as his aunt's womb. He went for the possibly least expected option and dropped the heavy steel magazine and whipped it with some his remaining energy at the assassin who had come cloaked with a skull patterned balaclava that signaled death itself.

Cain had stumbled back a bit and dropped the red can, the clinging sound of plastic meeting well varnished wood combined with his dark combat boots racing forward soundtracking the moment. He looked over to Axel and lifted his mask to reveal a sweaty, but overall focused face, some could even consider it handsome to a degree, others a sign of a relentless monster, but when his eyes leered down the electronic reflex sight's tiny green dot, nothing mattered to him, not heaven, hell, philosphy, morals, televison, sports, masturbation, or rock n' rolla cola wars, he couldn't take any of it any more except one thing. The Scrooge McDuckian Pile of Money that would wait for him once he got done with this job, because that's what being a mercenary is really about: Capitalism.

"Sorry Ta' Break it to ya' boyo...but uhhh..." He smirked watching the panicking face show as he saw that cute little death rattle echo and bellow out of him. "Even if yer Charlie f*ckin' Bronson, you can't end this life alive..." The sweat stained and blood hardened black mop atop his head was flipped with a shake of the neck as he gave a grin. He noticed the expanded knee and made a move, throwing the loaded gun to the other side of the room "There boyo...If you can get to the rifle I'm sure this will be a fair fight...but it's only a matter of time..." He gave that merciless grin a try and walked outside, removing a road flare from one of the saddle bags of the steel horses parked outside, striking the cap he went outside, whipped the flaming torch to one of the puddles of gasoline and waited for the fireworks to start.

Just another day at the office

Thread bump cause I like this one.

If only anybody ever responded lol