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"dont shot me plox" i sed

the alieum ignorded me andd sh0t me 4 no reesons like wtf mang

it hurted but i surviveded

suddnly mastur chef came and killed alieum

"wow thankz mastur cheef" i sed

"no problems i kill alieums and i doesnt afreid of anythigns its my dooty" he sed

than i got in my kar and went 2 teh hospitel but i couldnt get treatd becauz i dont hab helthcare

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i showd up and help halo with heel and master cheif said wer alien live

"alien liv on bunker hill we need 2 pay respeks 2 our founding fathers and fite aliens away"

we teach halo 2 hunt animals and serch 4 berrys whil me andd master cheif fite alien base

we get shoot like 20 times andd master cheif dies becuz obama has shitty helthcar anywey (wat a surpris, lol? xD)

"am dying" say master cheif

"please stay with me dood" i cri and mastr chif pass away

he says last werds "i thot u r cooler than halo tho"

"thx m8" i stil liv and run hom after kill alien boss (who was sekritly mastr chief)

com back and halo missing. Wher r?


Also spidermun sho up and we kiss and it isnt weird or anyfibg

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aftr pickign sum berries and killing cute forst animels w/ my bear hands i wen2 wher the other ppls r

i watchd silentley in teh shadows as my her0 mastur cheef died n while fiting n i thot 2 myself

"kek wat a scrub"

howevur wheil he was dyign i herd his last werds bcuz i hab soopr dooper heering n how he sed the othr scrub was betr then me (NOT TRU)

so i got rlly mad n i lefts b4 the goy saw me 2 go buy teh big stick that goes boom b0om

i kill scrub

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The words spoken by hive before he thrust me into the air lingered upon my mind like how dew lingers upon blades of grass after a light mist in the morning. "ayyy is on u, skrub" were the fateful words my cerebrum had deciphered from the tremors of hive's vocal chords.

Such a profound statement, yet the veracity of the sentence instilled within me a peculiar feeling of acceptance.

As I sailed through the air, the state of my mind developed into a sense of utter tranquility.

This phlegmatic state of consciousness was utterly perplexing; how, with death being imminent, could I be so serene?

During the lapse of time in which I continued to travel my way across the first of the three heavens, time seemed to move at a leisurely pace. I felt a connection with the world; whether the connection was amalgamated by the copious amounts of dimethyltryptamine being released in my body or by some supernatural force was of no matter to me.

I was at peace.

This bond was immediately severed when my cranium impacted the hard terra firma of the world. My vitality was beginning to wane rapidly. Before I departed from this being into the next, however, another recherché statement suddenly invaded my mind.


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As I witnessed Halo ascend throughout the cosmos on his penigration towards fate, I could only envisage with my own savage nature. I observed with utter awe as halo soared through the open air, fading ever so slowly, far-removed from our expanse of where the battle had begun, and soon after ended.

As I confronted myself with the soul of a now-changed man, however, I developed a feeling of sufferance for the violent misunderstanding that was our conflict; a true, beautiful friendship that had never blossomed, never would, at this point in time.

I plummeted to my knees in a sudden state of deep paroxysm for what I had done to halo. At that moment, I was overcome with a deep and compassionate empathy for the world, and all of its magnificent sights and sounds, all flowing through me en masse.

I glimpsed to my blade, sheathed at my side. With the deep comprehension of my world, slowly overtaking my conscious, I then realized what had to be done.

I slowly withdrew the long, burnished steel broadsword from my hip, allowing the energies of the world flowing through me to gaze upon it as well.

I allowed myself a short moment of adjudication, before turning the weapon on my own being. I serenely allowed the blade to strike myself through the chest with one, nimble motion, feeling the energies of the universe slowly flow from my chest into the weapon.

I shut my eyes calmly, satisfied with the resulting pain emitting from my newly carved wound. As the vivacious potency of all that ever was drained from me, it took my own spiritual animation with it.

My own evanescent vision slowly faded, as I felt my life drain and seep into the Earth below me.

As my vision faded, so did the pain, as both were overtaken by a peaceful consciousness of the universe and all inside of it, until there was nothing left but understanding to be witnessed. As I spiritually shifted through a dark, whispering void, I felt the presence of another energy traveling towards me.

With no true form, a silent message was implanted into my being, as a familiar presence was soon detected in the dark with me, a potent scent of cheeto dust and mountain dew suddenly present in the void. The message, with no true form, quietly spoke to me.

It quoted.

"ayy lmao"

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ohn Stalvern waited. The lights above him blinked and sparked out of the air. There were demons in the base. He didn't see them, but had expected them now for years. His warnings to Cernel Joson were not listenend to and now it was too late. Far too late for now, anyway. John was a space marine for fourteen years. When he was young he watched the spaceships and he said to dad "I want to be on the ships daddy."

Dad said "No! You will BE KILL BY DEMONS"

There was a time when he believed him. Then as he got oldered he stopped. But now in the space station base of the UAC he knew there were demons.

"This is Joson" the radio crackered. "You must fight the demons!"

So John gotted his palsma rifle and blew up the wall.

"HE GOING TO KILL US" said the demons

"I will shoot at him" said the cyberdemon and he fired the rocket missiles. John plasmaed at him and tried to blew him up. But then the ceiling fell and they were trapped and not able to kill.

"No! I must kill the demons" he shouted

The radio said "No, John. You are the demons"

And then John was a zombie.

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  • 3 weeks later...

Farcry and Chaz stepped on to the elevator, holding hands. Unbeknownst to the pair, the other person on the elevator with them (a man wearing a pastel pink suit, an orange cap, and reflective sunglasses), was a hitman named Rusty. He had been sent by the Russian mafia due to a botched money pickup involving Farcry. The three stood there in silence, none of them aware of the intentions or identities of the others.

Holding Chaz in his arms, Farcry glanced over at the man in the suit- and caught a glimpse of a concealed tentacle. Suddenly, the situation became clear. Turning, Farcry pulled Chaz close and gave him a long, passionate kiss. Letting him go, he whirled around, slamming Rusty's face in to the elevator wall. The hitman slumped to the floor, tentacles and sand spilling out of his pockets. Farcry raised a boot-clad foot, and stomped on Rusty's head again and again until all that could be heard was a wet squelching. The door opened, and Chaz ran out, horrified. Farcry didn't attempt to follow him.

The last thing Chaz saw before the elevator doors closed was Farcry staring at him, a look of longing in his eyes.




(No I didn't steal the scene idea leave me alone)

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In an instant, Rusty's body reconstituted itself into its true form, a mass of writhing tentacles. He ripped both of Farcry's legs off before dissolving the rest of his body with an acidic sand attack. He then proceeded to strip the flesh from the legs and turn the bones in them into daggers, which he then threw into the back of Chaz's skull as he ran away.


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((Sorry, this is too hilarious to not join in on))

The ground shuddered and gave way to an abyss in which a figure erected itself from

The figure held out a hand, palm facing the ground beneath it as the gap closed itself. Dark green roots emerged, holding onto an elegant scythe covered in the bounties of nature. Grasping the scythe in its hand, the figure raised it in front of itself, glaring into the distance. The ground in front was barren, a wasteland.

"Arrise!"it commanded. They arose. Variations of pumpkins groaning and awakening, breaking through the dry earth. All stopped and glared at the figure who summoned them.

The figure turned around, staring at a vast world in front of it... and simply spoke...

"All your bases are belong to us."

The Gourd Armada has arisen. War has begun.

In a completely different place a butterfly attacked a velociraptor with gust.

It was super effective!

Velociraptor has died

The butterfly simply screeched in butterfly talk, "Kek, get rekt 1v1 skrub I wil rek u all. Am tayk ovur word and fyt al hu apows mi. Am bst preti."

A not so giant bird which didn't even look like a bird swooped down and ate the butterfly.

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Hive woke, sitting upright and letting out a short cry. He would shake himself back to his senses, staring around his room.

"oshit! de gurd armeda!!!!!!!"

He gripped his sheets forcefully and tossed them off of himself, leaping out of bed and striding to his closet. He swung the doors open it with one, swift motion, sending them slamming outward. He grabbed the pulse rifle located inside with care, slowly lifting it and running his hand down the long, cold barrel of the rifle.

"oshit i need my fukken weed camo 4 dis shite m8 i had 2 get lik 3 fukken tactikal nuks 4 dat shit. fuk. kek."

He walked outside and headshotted pump.


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Farcry could only look on in anguish as the scummy drug dealer Hive blew off Pump(his one true love)'s head. He gritted his teeth, his vision becoming red, and then he put his foot to the floor. The corvette burst in to motion, crashing in to Hive and sending him flying. Farcry jumped out of the car, wielding a claw hammer, and approached Hive's mangled, twisted body. Kneeling down, he grabbed Hive by the hair. Pulling his face closer, Farcry choked out, in a pained voice,


Hive looked back, his eyes empty. His mouth twisted in to a cruel, crooked grin, and blood began to leak from it. He was dying, and all he had to say was...

"kek get rekt loser 360nosc-"

His tirade was cut short by the claw hammer tearing in to his eye socket. Farcry struck him again and again, pulping his head and staining the sand of the Miami beach a dark, insidious crimson. Finally, hands shaking, he dropped the hammer and stood. Collecting himself, he retrieved a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his letterman jacket. Putting a cig between his gore-spattered lips, he lit it up, exhaling smoke out of his nose. Looking out across the waves of the nocturnal Atlantic, he noted how the moon seemed to dance upon the sea like a beautiful ballerina.

He returned to his car, and drove away in to the night, leaving it all far behind.



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