Newgrounds.com — Everything, By Everyone.

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Next time. I will emerge victorious.

You have my word.

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damn i hated the justin bieber show....

first

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Shit...forgot to divide some parts of my story into sections...plus I spotted one small mistake...I hope the judges will forgive me, really sorry about that.

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At 6/24/10 01:32 PM, TrevorW wrote: There will be one, as Tom has said. Now please use the search bar, we have had plenty of discussion on this.

/thread PLEASE

Sorry, I'm a newfag :(

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Okay I've seen a lot of rumours floating around that there might be a writing portal. Anyone on theinside, or anyone more experienced than me, can tell me whether a writing portal has a decent chance of happening?

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Part 3

'Good,' smiled Mcmillian, getting out of the chopper. He watched as the old man got nearer. His eyes stared at Mcmillian, boring into him, trying to tear him apart.

Mcmillian's grin grew wider. This was going to be interesting.

Finally, 1-55 reached the helipad, hands above his head, staring defiantly. A half dozen guns were pointed at him, and there wasn't much chance of him trying anything.

'Jonathan Doyle,' Mcmillian greeted his enemy. 'Fancy seeing you here. I'd knew you'd survive.'

'Same can't be said for you,' spat Doyle.

'You know the funny thing, Doyle?' Mcmillian said. 'It's this.' He cast his hand around the desolate landscape, with the dead bodies and the crows. 'Many fine, fit young men. All dead. For nothing.' Suddenly Mcmillian was laughing again. 'Isn't that funny, Doyle? Men getting killed for nothing? My men, your men, we're all being trapped in one gigantic joke.'

'They didn't die for nothing,' snapped Doyle. 'They died for revenge.'

'Revenge is rather pointless, isn't it?' Mcmillian moved closer. 'You know another funny thing? You. "The human soldier", they used to call you. Always thinking of your enemies, showing as much mercy as possible towards them. Even leaving teddy bears at every scene. But I guess every man has his breaking point.'

O3 was dying and he knew it. His breath came in short gasps, and his vision was fading. Without thinking, he stretched his hand out, trying to reach for something, anything that would help him.

His fingers found the teddy bear.

'What the hell?' Charlie Three muttered, bending down and reaching for the teddy bear. 'What the hell is this?'

'Not our concern, Charlie Three. Move!'

Charlie Three hesitated for a second, then picked it up. 'It's heavy!' he exclaimed. 'Something's inside.'

'Charlie Three, our orders are to - '

'Gamma's got the situation controlled,' retorted Three, turning the bear over in his hands. He made a decision, took out his knife and started to slice the stuffed toy open.

'So?' Mcmillian raised his hands. 'Are you going to contradict me? Say I'm wrong? that actually you are still "The Human Soldier"?'

'Would you mind if I have a smoke?' asked Doyle suddenly.

'Sure,' Mcmillian smiled. 'Go ahead.'

Doyle slowly reached into his jacket...and took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.'

'Want one?'

'No thanks. I don't smoke.'

'Ah. Too bad then, you never will.'

Doyle then put the cigarette in his mouth. 'In regards to your previous question, by the way - you're absolutely right. I'm no longer human.'

Mcmillian bellowed with laughter at that one. 'Neither am I, friend,' he chuckled. 'So you finally joined the club. That's...hilarious.'

'Three - '

'Fuck you,' Three replied, and finally finished making the cut. He ripped apart the skin eagerly, and took a look at what was inside.

A yellow, square package. A blinking red light was attached and wires were sticking out. Three stared at it in mounting shock. He knew what that was.

A block of C4.

Slowly, Three turned to look beside him. There were several red barrels very, very near him. These red barrels had a picture of a flame on them.

'Fuck.' Three said.

'I guess our little chat is drawing to a close,' said Mcmillian.

'Absolutely right,' agreed Doyle, and flicked the lighter open.

Mcmillian saw what had been hidden underneath the cap, and realized Doyle wasn't holding a lighter at all.

Doyle pressed down hard on the button.

A loud boom was heard. Instinctively, every Gamma member turned their heads, to see what was going on. They saw two great pillars of orange flame, hungrily rising up, destroying everything in its path, burning everything.

They saw all this, and then Doyle moved. He grabbed the nearest guard's gun, jerked it out of his hand, drew a knife from his jacket with the other hand. He spun round in a circle, firing one-handed, slicing and slashing. Gamma members fell down, shot in the head, stabbed in the heart. The last man turned round, leveling his gun. Doyle swung the knife upwards, leaving a bloody arc behind him. A severed head landed and rolled on the floor.

He turned, and aimed the sub-machinegun at Mcmillian.

Reyes fired his pistol.

Doyle stumbled back, a hole in his shoulder. He dropped the gun.

Reyes fired again.

Doyle jerked backwards, his feet tripping over one another, as he desperately tried to remain standing. There was a gaping wound in his chest.

He raised his good hand, the one with the knife in it. He threw the knife just as Reyes fired one last time. The bullet went straight through Doyle's brain, and the human soldier fell down dead.

The knife whizzed through the air. Mcmillian ducked, and the knife hit Reyes straight in the eye.

'Sarah,' Reyes managed to get out, before falling down dead. Mcmillian slowly stood up, surveying the carnage around him. Dead bodies, with streaks of red, and also flames and smoke rising in the distance. It looked like Hell itself.

Mcmillian shrugged. 'What the fuck,' he said. He picked up Reyes's pistol. This was long overdue, anyway. He jammed the barrel into his mouth. Pulled the trigger.

He keeled over, dead. Nothing was left living on the helipad, except for a single crow that began to feed.

***

O3 ripped open the teddy bear. Inside was a single photograph.

He gasped. He recognized the people in the photo. How could 1-55 have gotten this? That guy must have called in every favor to track them down, just for a photo. For his old friend, O3.

O3 felt a tear trickle out of his eye. He touched the photograph. She was beautiful.

'Doyle, you bastard,' he said, suddenly breaking into a smile. Looks like 1-55 hadn't changed that much at all. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed, infected with some giddy happiness, looking at his daughter, and then laughing some more.

He was still was smiling as he died, comfortable with the knowledge there would always be humans in the world

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Part 2

First Lieutenant Mark Reyes was calmly making some tea. Earl grey, as it happened. The Colonel's favourite. His tea making activities was disrupted when the radio beside him squawked.

'Control, this is Gamma One. We found Delta and Echo. They are all dead, killed by silenced weapons.'

Reyes grabbed the radio. 'Search the base immediately, Gamma one. We are putting the base on high alert. Control out.'

'Roger that.'

Reyes then switched channels to the public channel, and said, 'The base is under attack. This is not a drill. Search the base immediately. Team Bravo, you are to escort the Colonel to the LZ. Control out.'

'Roger that. Alpha out.'

'Roger that. Bravo out.'

'Roger that. Charlie out.'

Reyes didn't say any more, in case the enemy was listening in. He picked up the cup of tea and walked to the corner of the room.

'Sir,' he said. 'Unfortunately, the base has been compromised. We need to get you out of here.'

A meaty hand lined with lots of scars grabbed the teacup and the liquid inside disappeared in one gulp.

'Shit.' Said Colonel Mcmillian, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

There was a knock on the door, and Bravo One appeared. 'Sir!' he saluted. 'The heli is prepped and ready.'

Mcmillian didn't seem to have heard. 'Only one man would come here,' he rasped. 'Only one man knows who I truly am.'

'Sir,' Reyes patiently said. 'We have to - '

Suddenly, Mcmillian broke into a smile. That itself was amazing. But then he proceeded to even chuckle, a chuckle that evolved into a full blown burst of laughter.

Mcmillian fell off his chair, laughing hard, and Reyes rushed forward. 'Sir,' he said. 'We must go.'

'Yeah, yeah, whatever,' chuckled Mcmillian. Bravo One tried to keep his face composed as he and Reyes led the Colonel out the door.

***

1-55 heard the words on his stolen radio, and clenched his fist. 'We're running out of time,' he growled.

'Again - '

'We gotta get to Mcmillian before he escapes - ' 1-55 suddenly spotted one, then two, then three guards emerging from a warehouse.

'Move!' he hissed, ducking into another warehouse. The pair retreated to the farthest corner of the building, and they stayed absolutely quiet.

They heard voices.

'Alpha Two, take the left flank.'

'Roger that.'

'Into that warehouse. Alpha Five, take point.'

O3 quietly switched to his P90. It looked like they might have to engage.

A guard entered the warehouse. Then another one. Then two more, and two more after that.

'Spread out. Flashlights on. Alpha Two, move up. Alpha Six, take his place. Stay frosty.'

'Shit, shit, shit!' cursed O3.

1-55 cradled his own P90. They were well concealed in the darkness of the warehouse, but the guards would search the warehouse thoroughly. There would be no escape.

'Get ready,' he whispered to O3.

Suddenly a flashlight blinded 1-55's face. 'They're here!' he heard a guards voice call.

'OPEN FIRE!' roared 1-55, shredding the guard to pieces with his P90. O3 did likewise, pumping the trigger, in short sharp bursts. The warehouse was lit up by wildly strobing lights, seven guns firing all at once. The cacophony of discharges rang heavily in 1-55's ears.

'FUCK YOU!' yelled 1-55, spraying his P90 left and right. A bullet tore through his hip. 1-55 overcame the pain, continued firing. One, two, three men jerked backwards, fell onto the ground, writhed in their death throes.

He stopped to reload, and ducked behind an empty can. He finished and peered round at the warehouse. It was deathly silent.

Six bodies lay on the floor. Six guards had come in. Everyone had been eliminated.

'Come on,' 1-55 said. 'Mcmillian's gonna get away!'

O3 didn't reply.

1-55 looked beside him. O3 was lying on the ground. The front of his shirt was reddened. But his chest was still rising, he was still alive.

'Goodbye, O3,' 1-55 said. O3 tried to speak. But his mouth was full of blood. All that came out was 'umm, mmm.'

1-55 placed a teddy bear gently next to O3. As a form of compensation, of course. Then, without hesitation, he sprinted out of the warehouse, leaving O3 to his fate.

***

Reyes saw the chopper in the distance. 'Don't worry, sir,' he shouted over the whirring of the blades. 'You'll make it!'

Mcmillian's only response was to chuckle again. Although this was very odd indeed, Reyes had seen odder things on the battlefield, and he didn't care anyway. They ran up to the helicopter, Bravo team covering their backs.

'Okay sir,' Reyes said, watching Mcmillian get into the chopper, 'You're safe now.'

Then one of the guards fell to the ground.

'What - sniper!' yelled Bravo One sprinting to cover. Not fast enough. His head exploded and his body crumpled.

'He's here,' Mcmillian said, and then suddenly he was laughing again. 'I'm so looking forward to meeting him.'

'I'd advise you duck, sir,' Reyes replied, pushing the Colonel down. He himself drew his pistol, and surveyed the scene. Three of Bravo's men were dead. The other's were milling in confusion, trying to locate the sniper. Then another guard went down, grabbling at the wound in his chest, drowning in his own blood.

'Take off!' ordered Reyes, waving at the pilot.

'Can't. I'll need a few more seconds.' The pilot yelled, and then suddenly his head jerked back, a cloud of red formed, and he slumped down dead.

'Looks like we're in trouble, sir,' commented Reyes, ducking down as well. He switched on the radio. 'All teams, sniper targeting the helipad. Request immediate assistance.'

'Roger that. Charlie out.'

'Roger that, Gamma out.'

Reyes watched as the last Bravo man dropped dead. 'Prepare to engage, sir.'

From what he could gather, 1-55 - Mcmillian seemed to think it was him - couldn't snipe them from his position. Therefore they were safe - as long as Gamma and Charlie could arrive in time.

'Wait,' Mcmillian said. 'Tell the men to capture 1-55 alive, then bring him to me.'

'But sir - '

'Do it.'

Reyes shrugged and relayed the Colonel's orders to Gamma and Charlie. Then they waited.

Silence. A crow swooped down and began pecking out the insides of the pilot's head.

'Where's my camera?' asked Mcmillian.

Reyes ignored him and continued waiting, his hands sweaty from gripping the pistol. All was silent again.

Then suddenly the radio squawked. 'We've got him, sir,' Gamma One said.

Reyes peeked out from the chopper. Gamma Team was there all right, and they were slowly leading a old man to the helipad.

'They've got him, sir,' said Reyes. 'You can do whatever you like to him now.'

---

The Human Soldier part 1

O3 scratched the back of his neck with unease. Damn, it was hot. He returned to silently surveyed the weapons that lay on the table, these tools of death that would easily kill a man in many different ways.

He picked the first one. A .50 Barrett, great accuracy, equipped with a silencer, perfect for stealth missions like the one they were about to embark on. With expert hands he checked the stock, then slid it back.

'It's a suicide mission,' O3 said to the other man in the room. 1-55 just stared blankly at the wall, lost in his own world, brooding. His hand held a stress ball which he squeezed every two seconds.

'Do you hear what I said?' O3 spoke louder now. 'We gonna get our bloody asses killed. You hear me?'

1-55 continued staring. O3 wasn't sure if the old bag cared about dying or not. Hell, 1-55 hadn't cared about anything but this mission, ever since O3 had met him again back in May.

O3 sighed, and went back to the weapons. The next one, a P90 machinegun, filled to the brim with fresh rounds. Then the next. A M9 pistol, for emergency purposes. Then a traditional commando knife. Never leave home without it.

However, O3 didn't feel reassured. He looked up at 1-55. 'You've gone senile, old man. Only two of us, take down an entire base? You're mad. Barmy. On crack.'

1-55 spoke one word. 'Thousand million.'

The thought of that money shut O3 up immediately. He returned to the table, and checked 1-55's share of weapons. 'All done,' he announced, settling back on a chair.

1-55 didn't respond. He was still squeezing his stress ball. O3 looked at him anxiously. Money and possible insanity aside, he was rather found of the old man, who had used to be one of his friendliest clients.

'All done,' O3 said, louder this time.

Silence.

'Hey old man,' O3 said, knowing 1-55 wouldn't mind being jabbed at. 'Have you died from all that crack?'

'Mcmillian.' 1-55 said, making his partner jump. He looked down at the stress ball, as if it was the very man himself.

'Don't worry old man,' O3 said. 'We'll get him.'

'He's already dead,' 1-55 said in a cold, gravelly tone. He carelessly dumped the stress ball to one side. O3 noticed that it had deep scratch marks in it, as if fingernails had scraped against the surface repeatedly, venting out their frustration.

1-55 picked up his weapon, and without further instruction, ran out of the shed and started sprinting down the road. He reached the rocky hill and started climbing up with tremendous speed. O3 was even more amazed. 1-55 hadn't sprinted like that in ages. Colonel Mcmillian must have done something that really, really pissed 1-55 off.

After a few minutes of trying to keep up, O3 stopped abruptly at a turn in the rocky path. He saw a building in the distance, and looked through his binoculars. to study it better. Electronic fences, security fences, and guards. A lot and a lot of guards.

'Closer,' 1-55 whispered. They crept nearer to the base, retrieving their sniper rifles. Details came closer into view. Four guard towers with a sniper in each.

'Take the snipers,' 1-55 said. 'I'll take the patrols. Be quiet about it.'

'You won't hear a damn peep, gramps.'

He sighted down his scope and focused on the guard by the farthest tower. Dressed in black garments and goggles, the guard looked like an elite mercenary. A sleek, black scoped rifle nestled in the crook of his arm.

O3 centered the crosshairs on him, taking his time. As he watched, the guard looked from side to side, and then fished out a packet of potato crisps, opening them and stuffing himself.

'Sorry, buddy,' muttered O3 as he pulled the trigger. 'Wrong place, wrong time.'

The guard jerked backwards, and then collapsed on the floor next to his rifle. He came too late to savor his first taste of bacon flavored potato crisps.

Instantly O3 moved his rifle left, firing once, then his arm blurred right, another shot fired, left again, another guard died. So far, so good, all four had been taken down without any sound.

1-55 lowered his rifle. 'Move,' he said. 'Before they discover the bodies.'

The slid down the mountain and sprinted towards the base. They reached the entrance, and as they passed a dead guard 1-55 stopped. 'Take point,' he said gruffly. 'I've got to do a few things first.'

O3 slowly moved forward, covering every opening, but he couldn't resist looking back to see what 1-55 was doing. He was searching the guard's dead body, and grabbed a radio off him. Good, able to monitor enemy chatter, but still O3 waited.

Would he? Much of him had changed, but would he at least do the one thing he did after every firefight? The one thing that made him so likable?

1-55 reached into his jacket. Yes, he could be...O3 watched as 1-55 drew a small teddy bear and placed it gently on the guard's body.

Every man with a gun in his hand, sooner or later, found a way to redeem themselves. 1-55'S way was to leave a teddy bear at every scene. Usually a few dollar coins would be stuffed inside. A way of saying, sorry about the death, hope you'll accept this token.

'Move up,' 1-55 said in a deadened tone. O3 snapped his attention back to the mission and they slowly progressed forward, covering each other's backs. Two guards came into their view, chatting to each other. Immediately they dropped down dead without knowing what hit them.

O3 quietly reloaded his rifle. 'Hey old man,' he said. 'Not the best time, but I was wondering - what happened to those Sand Company guys you were dragging around? Thought they'd give you a hand.'

'They're dead.'

There was an uncomfortable silence.

'Mcmillian - ' began O3 tentatively. 'You're not saying - '

'He and his man massacred Sand Company. I'm the last one.'

Another silence.

The radio suddenly crackled into life. 'Delta Six, Delta Six, please respond, over.'

1-55 started jogging forward, ignoring the radio. 'We won't have much time until they find out we're here.'

'You got that right,' O3 muttered, moving with him.

A guard suddenly appeared when they were about to turn a corner. Immediately 1-55 sprang forwards, grabbed the man's mouth, and stabbed him in the chest.

The guard's eyes bulged, but he was still alive. He struggled, but 1-55 kept him in check.

'Hey,' O3 said. 'Just break his neck.'

'No,' 1-55 growled. O3 realised what he meant and lapsed into another silence, a shocked one this time. Finally, the guard went limp, dead. 1-55 cast him carelessly aside.

He took out a teddy bear from his jacket and dropped it next to the body, as if for some form of compensation.

'You sure have changed, Gramps.' Said O3.

'Haven't we all,' said 1-55, starting to move forward again.

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Well I haven't even written anything down yet so I want a heads-up, should I be writing furiously fast right now or should I take it slow?

Also, is there a target audience i should be aiming for?