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[LP CYOA] Test-Run
- Thread starter treave
- Start date
Nevill
Arcane
- Joined
- Jun 6, 2009
- Messages
- 11,211
Hey, you are the one picking up a fight with a nigga who is also a gangsta and is shown to be explosive and violent in the very first update.
I was thinking about starting with a nice safe hobo and then work my way to juicier targets. So, no, this deathwish is yours.
a cut of domestic sheep prime
Guest
Well, yeah, but I have to stay true to my principles. I just really can't stand the gangsta type...Hey, you are the one picking up a fight with a nigga who is also a gangsta and is shown to be explosive and violent in the very first update.
I was thinking about starting with a nice safe hobo and then work my way to juicier targets. So, no, this deathwish is yours.
Nevill
Arcane
- Joined
- Jun 6, 2009
- Messages
- 11,211
Jesus sacrificed himself for mankind. Not for niggas and hobos! 
Cait Esquilax and Absinthe, then?
So, will you hit on
Last edited:
- Joined
- Jul 6, 2008
- Messages
- 11,370
There'll likely be personal votes on character development, depending on the events.
Like, say, a triggered Francesca can go full Jesus Warrior, or Self Sacrificing Jesus mode.
Or Donna the fitness trainer falling in love with Benton, Edgar and/or Aaron.
Like, say, a triggered Francesca can go full Jesus Warrior, or Self Sacrificing Jesus mode.
Or Donna the fitness trainer falling in love with Benton, Edgar and/or Aaron.
Baltika9
Arcane
- Joined
- Jun 27, 2012
- Messages
- 9,611
I'm glad we understand each other so well.
There seems to be some sort of misunderstanding that Benton is a bitch that will let y'all fuck him. I don't know about him killing people, but some RACISTS!!! may need to start some mental math about how much apologies are worth versus broken bones.
a cut of domestic sheep prime
Guest
Maybe Benton should shut his PUNK-ASS mouth like a good little slave or else step up and fight us so we can show off our Liam Neesan skillz.
Baltika9
Arcane
- Joined
- Jun 27, 2012
- Messages
- 9,611
Lambchop19, does Aaron post on Stormfront?
a cut of domestic sheep prime
Guest
Aron is wearing a white hood right now and carries around a noose for just this kind of occasion.
a cut of domestic sheep prime
Guest
Just means that Benny's time is postponed. Gonna poison his fried chicken and watermelon at our earliest convenience.
a cut of domestic sheep prime
Guest
Then hear this: before this is over, I'm gonna split your head open and have some chilled monkey brains - Indiana Jones style.
- Joined
- Jul 6, 2008
- Messages
- 11,370
Minds Will Be Blown
“You want me dead, you momma-loving chickenhead?” Benton snarls angrily, his hands spread out wide and his chest puffed out, in the classic posture of male dominance. “You wanna make something of it, white boy? Come on, do it!”
“I… no, bro, I just…” Aaron backs away, shrinking back fearfully. Shit, man, niggers gonna nigger.
“What the fuck did you just say? That’s it, your ass is mine, bitch.”
“S-stop it!” yells Caitlyn, before Benton can close in and make good on his promise to Aaron. “Everyone, stop fighting! This is unproductive! I know we’re all feeling stressed, but-“
“Hey, you shut it, hoe! You want the old man dead, there’s no room for your skanky ass to talk. Shit, man, you some stone-cold bitch,” retorts Benton, jabbing his finger at Edgar. The homeless man hasn’t said a word so far, not even when Caitlyn’s thoughts were broadcasted to him. The only thing he is offering is an unwavering, silent stare, locked onto the girl.
“I… I didn’t…” Feeling stressed and uncomfortable, Caitlyn looks away guiltily.
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I thought, bitch. Now where was I…” Benton turns back to Aaron, cracking his knuckles.
“Quit it!” roars Donna, stepping in between Benton and Aaron. He folds his strong arms and frowns. “This is not helping!”
“Well, you’re one to speak, you fag,” growls Benton, staring up at the muscular, bearded fitness trainer. “You thought about having that pasty-ass motherfucker dead, didn’t you? I'll do it for you.”
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t really want it to happen. I’m not playing this psycho game.”
Their arguments are interrupted by the sound of a striking harp. The timer has reached zero. The countdown is over. As the Devil’s chord from Camille Saint-Saen’s Danse Macabre begins to fill the room, the cue card returns.
A quick succession of mugshots flashes across the screen, repeating over and over. Aaron. Benton. Caitlyn. Donna. Edgar. Francesca.
The pictures slow down, and finally stop on one person. Donna.
Suddenly, confetti showers down from the high ceiling. The door swings open, revealing another room beyond.
“What… just what is going on here?” says Francesca, wide-eyed and confused.
“They’re just trying to mess with our heads,” says Donna. “Nothing’s gonna happen. Look, I know all of us here aren’t the best people around, but we are all in this together. Fear is what stops you, courage is what keeps you going. It’s not about how hard you can hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit, and still keep moving forward. We strive for progress, not perfection. It’s not who we are that holds us back, it’s who we think we are not. Clear your mind of can't. We know each other’s thoughts now, so if we can be honest with ourselves in mind, word and deed, we can get through this. Together.”
After a moment of silence, Caitlyn and Francesca begin to clap at Donna’s inspirational speech.
And then, Donna’s smiling face bulges outwards suddenly, as if there is a balloon being inflated rapidly within the skull, deforming it. The eyes pop out, dangling loosely from the nerves. Dark red blood and whitish-pink brain matter ooze from the nostrils and the ears. Twitching, Donna falls face forward onto the white tiles with a loud thud.
There are screams. There are a lot of screams. As one, they mindlessly rush for the open door. in fear for their lives. If someone had set a razor wire at the passage at knee-height, so that the first to get there would get their lower legs sliced badly, that would have been rather unfortunate. Luckily, such a sadistic trap is not in place. All five remaining survivors make it into the next room. Once the last of them – Aaron, slow on his feet – has passed through, the door slams shut again, separating them from Donna’s corpse.
Mental echoes of ‘what the fuck?’ continue to reverberate around the room, as they stand around in stunned silence.
Benton punches the wall. “Fuck. Fuck! The fuck was that shit?”
“This is really psyops stuff. CIA? Or is it foreign, KGB?” mutters Aaron. “Only the government could do something like this…”
“Are we… are we in hell?” asks Francesca fearfully.
“It must be some insane dream.” Caitlyn clutches her head, breathing heavily. “It’s not possible. It’s a dream.”
The monitor in the new room lights up. The sweet, soothing melody of Elgar’s Salut d’ Amour is played over the speakers, to calm their frightened spirits. Again, unfortunately, it does not seem to have any effect at all.
One.
Aaron winces at the sudden, loud thought appearing in his head. The number – his number – is one. He looks at the others, who look just as confused as he is. Having heard the numbers in their heads as well, he knows that Benton is two, Caitlyn is three, Edgar is five and Francesca is six.
For the first time since they entered the room, the survivors look at their surroundings. On either side of the screen, there were indeed cages. Each one seems to be big enough to carry multiple people, and at the top of each cage a chain is attached.
***
Group Vote
The numbers available are 1, 2, 3, 5 and 6.
The combination to form 9 should be:
A. 1, 3 and 5.
B. 1, 2 and 6.
C. 3 and 6.
For this choice, decisions will take priority over indecision: anyone who ends up being undecided will go along with the flow of the majority.
“You want me dead, you momma-loving chickenhead?” Benton snarls angrily, his hands spread out wide and his chest puffed out, in the classic posture of male dominance. “You wanna make something of it, white boy? Come on, do it!”
“I… no, bro, I just…” Aaron backs away, shrinking back fearfully. Shit, man, niggers gonna nigger.
“What the fuck did you just say? That’s it, your ass is mine, bitch.”
“S-stop it!” yells Caitlyn, before Benton can close in and make good on his promise to Aaron. “Everyone, stop fighting! This is unproductive! I know we’re all feeling stressed, but-“
“Hey, you shut it, hoe! You want the old man dead, there’s no room for your skanky ass to talk. Shit, man, you some stone-cold bitch,” retorts Benton, jabbing his finger at Edgar. The homeless man hasn’t said a word so far, not even when Caitlyn’s thoughts were broadcasted to him. The only thing he is offering is an unwavering, silent stare, locked onto the girl.
“I… I didn’t…” Feeling stressed and uncomfortable, Caitlyn looks away guiltily.
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I thought, bitch. Now where was I…” Benton turns back to Aaron, cracking his knuckles.
“Quit it!” roars Donna, stepping in between Benton and Aaron. He folds his strong arms and frowns. “This is not helping!”
“Well, you’re one to speak, you fag,” growls Benton, staring up at the muscular, bearded fitness trainer. “You thought about having that pasty-ass motherfucker dead, didn’t you? I'll do it for you.”
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t really want it to happen. I’m not playing this psycho game.”
Their arguments are interrupted by the sound of a striking harp. The timer has reached zero. The countdown is over. As the Devil’s chord from Camille Saint-Saen’s Danse Macabre begins to fill the room, the cue card returns.
A quick succession of mugshots flashes across the screen, repeating over and over. Aaron. Benton. Caitlyn. Donna. Edgar. Francesca.
The pictures slow down, and finally stop on one person. Donna.
Suddenly, confetti showers down from the high ceiling. The door swings open, revealing another room beyond.
“What… just what is going on here?” says Francesca, wide-eyed and confused.
“They’re just trying to mess with our heads,” says Donna. “Nothing’s gonna happen. Look, I know all of us here aren’t the best people around, but we are all in this together. Fear is what stops you, courage is what keeps you going. It’s not about how hard you can hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit, and still keep moving forward. We strive for progress, not perfection. It’s not who we are that holds us back, it’s who we think we are not. Clear your mind of can't. We know each other’s thoughts now, so if we can be honest with ourselves in mind, word and deed, we can get through this. Together.”
After a moment of silence, Caitlyn and Francesca begin to clap at Donna’s inspirational speech.
And then, Donna’s smiling face bulges outwards suddenly, as if there is a balloon being inflated rapidly within the skull, deforming it. The eyes pop out, dangling loosely from the nerves. Dark red blood and whitish-pink brain matter ooze from the nostrils and the ears. Twitching, Donna falls face forward onto the white tiles with a loud thud.
There are screams. There are a lot of screams. As one, they mindlessly rush for the open door. in fear for their lives. If someone had set a razor wire at the passage at knee-height, so that the first to get there would get their lower legs sliced badly, that would have been rather unfortunate. Luckily, such a sadistic trap is not in place. All five remaining survivors make it into the next room. Once the last of them – Aaron, slow on his feet – has passed through, the door slams shut again, separating them from Donna’s corpse.
Mental echoes of ‘what the fuck?’ continue to reverberate around the room, as they stand around in stunned silence.
Benton punches the wall. “Fuck. Fuck! The fuck was that shit?”
“This is really psyops stuff. CIA? Or is it foreign, KGB?” mutters Aaron. “Only the government could do something like this…”
“Are we… are we in hell?” asks Francesca fearfully.
“It must be some insane dream.” Caitlyn clutches her head, breathing heavily. “It’s not possible. It’s a dream.”
The monitor in the new room lights up. The sweet, soothing melody of Elgar’s Salut d’ Amour is played over the speakers, to calm their frightened spirits. Again, unfortunately, it does not seem to have any effect at all.
One.
Aaron winces at the sudden, loud thought appearing in his head. The number – his number – is one. He looks at the others, who look just as confused as he is. Having heard the numbers in their heads as well, he knows that Benton is two, Caitlyn is three, Edgar is five and Francesca is six.
For the first time since they entered the room, the survivors look at their surroundings. On either side of the screen, there were indeed cages. Each one seems to be big enough to carry multiple people, and at the top of each cage a chain is attached.
***
Group Vote
The numbers available are 1, 2, 3, 5 and 6.
The combination to form 9 should be:
A. 1, 3 and 5.
B. 1, 2 and 6.
C. 3 and 6.
For this choice, decisions will take priority over indecision: anyone who ends up being undecided will go along with the flow of the majority.
Last edited:
a cut of domestic sheep prime
Guest
WE'RE NUMBER 1!!! WE'RE NUMBER 1!!! WE'RE NUMBER 1!!!
For the first time in our life no doubt...
C - the needs of the many...
A - for reasons of racial purity
For the first time in our life no doubt...
A - for reasons of racial purity
Last edited by a moderator:
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