sketchy sketchy sketch

19 Jul

I MAY be getting closer to a style I’m happy with. MAYBE. POSSIBLY.

worried

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ARMOR IS HARD

18 Jul

NO SERIOUSLY HOW DOES ARMOUR EVEN WORK.

ARMOR

technical difficul- [explosions]

17 Jul

No post for today, thanks to a series of truly TERRIBLE computer glitches. Currently, we are blaming pixies.

redcoat

15 Jul

Oh, gotta love the internet. You can find reference photos for fancy coats just as easy as you can find porn!

redcoat

Internet Campfire Tales: Rachel, A Creepypasta Review

14 Jul

Oh, great, a Creepypasta named after my least favorite Animorph.

internet_campfire_tales

 

Just kidding, my least favorite is Cassie. Anyway! Let’s dig in to the inoffensively titled Rachel, to find out… whether it’s as bland as it sounds, I suppose.

Ahem!

“In 2002, Rachel Moores disappeared from a train station in Sydney, Australia.”

‘Cane Toads are wanted for questioning.’

“After three weeks of investigation, the police found and arrested a man living in Blacktown Sydney.”

Wait, is there an actual place in Australia called “Blacktown”?! Jesus fucking christ, Australia! No wonder England exiled you all to an island!

“He was charged with third degree murder and sentenced to 25 years in prison.”

But because it was Australia, he was actually safer in prison then anywhere else. Go figure.

“He is now 10 years into his sentence and his rehabilitation is going well. Or at least, that’s what the public is told.”

In reality, he got eaten by vampires five minutes in.

“He escaped three years ago and now could be anywhere in the world. He collected a large sum of cash robbing a bank after he escaped.”

Wait, Australia uses real money? I thought they just used their contempt for other countries.

“How do I know this? I am the one who killed Rachel Moores.”

If anybody claims to be surprised by this plot twist, I will cut you into fifty pieces and deep fry you.

“You always remember your first kill, the feel of the blood spilling over your hands and the screaming – how could I forget the screams, begging for her very life!”

‘Wait- no, she was just asking for some change. Scratch that.’

“I remember cutting off her fingers one by one, I remember ripping her stomach open and pulling out her intestines, I remember cutting through her soft flesh like butter, as the blood sprayed over my white shirt turning it red.”

Um. Actually, that would turn your shirt sort of a reddish brown? Maroon, at most. And also, great, now you just ruined your shirt. NOW ARE YOU HAPPY.

“Hahaha although she was the first, she definitely wasn’t the last. Each kill gave me more ideas for torturous and, let’s say, creative kills.”

‘And creative arts and crafts. Look! A macrame owl!’

“In fact, I see my next target right now. I think I’ll wait under the bed until dark, then I’ll strike.”

‘Strike the mattress, I mean. That thing is just tacky.’

“Oh, and by the way, you have a lovely house.”

Hah, I know you’re lying! My house is shit!

So, um. That was… incredibly boring. Next!

 

duck and cover

13 Jul

Stevenbomb 3 is upon us.

Today’s Word of the Day is: [gross sobbing].

Melanie

12 Jul

Working on a video game Creepypasta, because those have been so popular of late, but- I mean, DAMN. This is a big one. Like, it’s so freaking big, the entire set-up qualifies as it’s own separate post, BEFORE THE SCARY STUFF EVEN HAPPENS! 

Yeah, okay, I’m a dick. I admit it.

It’s not just me, though, right? Like, we all have that one friend who has something we don’t. Whether it’s a truck to help us move, or a system to play a game we don’t have, or a hobby that proves way more useful then anybody suspected. And for me, that was Melanie. Sweet girl, really, but couldn’t socialize her way out of wet paper bag. Barely said two words to anybody. But she had seemed nice, so I went out of the way to be kind to her. Asked what she was reading, tried to cheer her up if she was feeling down, spent a lunch with her every couple of weeks. But after a nasty break-up left my social circle a few degrees too toxic, Melanie was my only friend left.

… Wow. What a depressing thought.

As it turned out, Melanie’s passion was video games, above anything else. I mean, I like video games too, but she never shut up about them. I swear to god, trying to talk to her during E3 was like trying to make friends through a spam filter. (What even is a Fallout 4, and why the hell should I care?) But it was sorta cute to see her getting all fired up. And after a few weeks, I guess she finally felt comfortable enough with me to show me what she’d been working on after school. Turns out, she didn’t just like games, she taught herself how to program them too. Yeah, yeah, we’ve all had that one friend who was convinced they were “super supreme ultra hacker who was going to be picked up by Valve immediately”.

Melanie, meanwhile, ported Dead Space: Extraction to PC. And had converted the first half into a typing simulator.

So, yes. Melanie is something special. And that’s where me being a dick comes in.

I wasn’t as into games as Melanie- not as a genre. But every once in a while, I had a nasty habit of falling in love with a game and just getting sucked in. When I first grabbed Portal 2, nobody saw me for a week. I could practically recite the script by the time I was done. The first two Dragon Age games had me head over heels, and god, Inquisition was even worse. But the one that really stuck with me was one I played when I was just tiny, and my family had grabbed a classic Xbox at Christmas: Psi-Ops: The Mindgate Conspiracy.

And damn, was it cool. You played at Nick… Scryer? Skyler? Skyner? He wasn’t terribly memorable. Anyway, Nick was a psychic secret agent, given amnesia to sneak into the Movement, the local terrorist group with Nazi-overtones, trying to take over the world. It’s you against the world, if by the “world”, we’re talking about an army of mind-controlled meat puppets and their psychic quirky mini-boss squad. It’s supposed to be a stealth game, I think, but as a kid, I never cared. You had psychic powers, people. Telekinesis, to let you throw objects and people around at break-neck speed, Pyrokinesis, which let you bathe the floor in fire for a straight line in front of you, Remote Viewing, which let you leave your body and examine the area up ahead, Mind Control, which let you take control of one of the meat puppets and fight without getting your body in danger, Mind Drain, which would burst the brains of any unsuspecting target and fill up your psychic power bar, and Aura Viewing, which let you peer in to the space between worlds.

And they wanted you to sneak.

SNEAK, people.

I started subtly, of course. Well. As much as I could manage. I would just mention Psi-Ops in passing, checking to see if she knew about it. She didn’t, of course, and I got to spend an enjoyable hour gushing about the game. And after that, I asked if she’d be able to make me a sequel to the game. As a joke, of course.

I wasn’t even slightly joking.

She told me she couldn’t, that she had no experience modding for such an old system- and on disc, no less. Melanie gave me other things, of course. For birthdays and holidays and such- a steampunk Portal 2 Co-Op mod, for instance, or finally making Poison Ivy a playable character in Batman: Arkham City, but I never really let up. When she made it clear a full sequel was out of the question, I started asking for new content. New levels, or new enemies, or maybe whole new powers? And after that, I asked if she’d at least fix the game’s co-op mode- seriously, two people play the same character. One controls the movement and aiming, and the other controls the powers and shooting. Where’s the fucking fun in that? Anyway, you get the point. Day in. Day out. For months.

Finally, I settled on a single glitch that I wanted Melanie to patch. See, there’s this Practice Room, where you’re immortal and omnipotent, and you get to play around, fighting an infinite amount of soldiers. There’s all kind of fun toys and guns in there to play with, just to fuck around and kill things. And one of them in this giant hamster ball, that turns baddies into SOUP. Like, pink mist. It’s rad. Only problem is, one of the enemies was… different.

Look, embarrassing to say, but they scared me. The Aura Beasts. These pink, wiggling, flying… things, that floated in the space between worlds, and would come out of nowhere and try and eat your face off. Basically, cross a Headcrab with a shrimp. Or take a vagina, and stick it on the end of penis. They were low res and pretty silly looking, but I was little when I played it, and I- I guess it sorta stuck with me. And when you hit an Aura Beast with the ball, the entire game would freeze up. Immediately. And as a little girl playing that game- playing the game, only for a monster to appear out of nowhere, and when you try and kill it, the game makes a horrible screeching noise and freezes?

That stuck with me.

Look. Shut up. It made sense at the time.

So, that was my final request. Simple, right? Reasonable, right? Well, I guess at that point, I sorta used up Melanie’s patience. To be fair, that could have been from me actually bringing my copy of the game to school, and shoving it in her face.

Yes.

Dick.

As previously mentioned.

She threw her lunch to the ground, and started yelling at me for only using her for games, and not even caring about her. About how I hate her, just like everybody else. And some choice, less then savoury words. Eventually, she just snatched the game out of my hands and stormed off, skipping all of her afternoon classes with barely a word to her teachers.

Which made me feel just about the worst. I went home that day, and sent her about a dozen messages over Facebook, trying to apologize for the horrid way I’d been treating her. Trying to tell her why I really do value her. And trying to explain to myself why I felt like I had been punched in the gut. I told her she could forget it, told her she could break the game if she wanted to, told her I’d do anything to make up for it. Nothing. No responses.

I didn’t eat dinner that night.

It was a Friday, which meant I would have to wait two whole days before I could apologize to her in person. But as it turned out, I wouldn’t have to wait that long.

I was woken up early Saturday, when the doorbell rang. I dragged myself out of bed to go answer it. Parents were out at the cabin for the weekend, so I knew I didn’t have to worry about them getting it. I threw on some clothes, tried to straighten my hair, and staggered to the door in a hurry. I needn’t have bothered. Nobody was there.

But there was something in the mailbox.

A small brown bag, containing my copy of Psi-Ops, wrapped in butcher’s paper. I opened it up, biting my lip, feeling a handful of sharp thumbtacks running through my chest.

When I opened it, a small slip of paper fell out. I caught it. The manual and the disc were still there, no worse for wear, so I looked at the paper. It was written in baby blue crayon, with an odd, halting cursive.

Kar en. I com ple ted those ad just ments you re quest ed. Have a look. Mel an ie.”

The thumbtacks in my chest turned into razor blades.