This is story, the story of my life.
At a tender age of 3, my foster parents, two German assassins had already taught me the basics of warfare. I would wake up at 4 in the morning, and run from Sqwaikctumfpaka to the suburbs of Addna, chained with weights on my ankles. By the age of 7, I had killed my first victim, a fat dude. I was taught to hate. Hate those who are different. Hate those who aren't perfect.
Mongoliagermanian customs are harsh. One had me to be circumsized under a cherry tree. They used a spoon. Unsuccessful, they ripped it out with their bare hands. My insides cried like a madman. Outside, I was as cool as DavidHasselhoff. If I was to show a minor gesture of pain, they would throw me in a dungeon with Mandy Moore's song playing loudly. Suffering.
I had grown up into a sadist. I spot a butterfly perching on a branch. I approach it and tear its wings off. I'll place it next to a black widow and watch the black widow devour it's tender meat. I laugh. WAWAWA exdee.
Fast foward into the new millenium. Heavily scarred on the outside, I never showed sign of emotion. I was hired by BUNTAK, Brazilan Ultimate New Time Altimate Killing, a group dedicated in fighting wars. I was their leader.
1/2/2001
Planes dropped their load of missiles on a stretch of already barren burning land. A rogue grenade flew past my face heading towards Pahwah, a fellow battalion mate. I whipped out my laser gun and shot it at the grenade, metres away from Pahwah. I saved his life. I heard cries from my other troops, family to me. I was kneeling behind a cover of rocks. There was no way out. Army robots surrounded us. I did a count through the heavy cloud of dust. 1.2...3...4.5..6...7...
That was all that was left of my battalion. The army of robots approached us slowly. Surrendering was not an option; robots show no mercy. There was only 1 thing to do.
I got up and lashed out a frag grenade. I triggered it and ran foward. The robots unleashed a stream of bullets at my direction. I dodged them all. I counted in my head, 3...2....2.....1.... OH SHIT.
I was great at fighting, but hopeless at maths. I overcounted. The grenade went up in my hand. Everything else was a fuzzy memory. I awoke. Men dressed up in sissy labcoats were around me. I heard a buzz of excitement from the pundans.
'Call in Najibbit'
A man trudged in the room. My vision cleared up. He was a heavily built man, tanned and had a limp to his walk. He made his way towards me.
'Found you in the desert. Heard you fought a great fight with the robots. Love someone like you in the team. Fattroops we're called. You're quite fat you smelly ass.'
I managed a smile. Never in my life had I been talked to as nicely.
'We managed to fix your hand. Technology. We made it out of horse shit and walrus dick.'
.... From that day on, I fought my fights with Fattroop. I was Najibbits right hand man, weapons specialist. Fattroop gave me back my life, my life now is dedicated to Fattroop.
At a tender age of 3, my foster parents, two German assassins had already taught me the basics of warfare. I would wake up at 4 in the morning, and run from Sqwaikctumfpaka to the suburbs of Addna, chained with weights on my ankles. By the age of 7, I had killed my first victim, a fat dude. I was taught to hate. Hate those who are different. Hate those who aren't perfect.
Mongoliagermanian customs are harsh. One had me to be circumsized under a cherry tree. They used a spoon. Unsuccessful, they ripped it out with their bare hands. My insides cried like a madman. Outside, I was as cool as DavidHasselhoff. If I was to show a minor gesture of pain, they would throw me in a dungeon with Mandy Moore's song playing loudly. Suffering.
I had grown up into a sadist. I spot a butterfly perching on a branch. I approach it and tear its wings off. I'll place it next to a black widow and watch the black widow devour it's tender meat. I laugh. WAWAWA exdee.
Fast foward into the new millenium. Heavily scarred on the outside, I never showed sign of emotion. I was hired by BUNTAK, Brazilan Ultimate New Time Altimate Killing, a group dedicated in fighting wars. I was their leader.
1/2/2001
Planes dropped their load of missiles on a stretch of already barren burning land. A rogue grenade flew past my face heading towards Pahwah, a fellow battalion mate. I whipped out my laser gun and shot it at the grenade, metres away from Pahwah. I saved his life. I heard cries from my other troops, family to me. I was kneeling behind a cover of rocks. There was no way out. Army robots surrounded us. I did a count through the heavy cloud of dust. 1.2...3...4.5..6...7...
That was all that was left of my battalion. The army of robots approached us slowly. Surrendering was not an option; robots show no mercy. There was only 1 thing to do.
I got up and lashed out a frag grenade. I triggered it and ran foward. The robots unleashed a stream of bullets at my direction. I dodged them all. I counted in my head, 3...2....2.....1.... OH SHIT.
I was great at fighting, but hopeless at maths. I overcounted. The grenade went up in my hand. Everything else was a fuzzy memory. I awoke. Men dressed up in sissy labcoats were around me. I heard a buzz of excitement from the pundans.
'Call in Najibbit'
A man trudged in the room. My vision cleared up. He was a heavily built man, tanned and had a limp to his walk. He made his way towards me.
'Found you in the desert. Heard you fought a great fight with the robots. Love someone like you in the team. Fattroops we're called. You're quite fat you smelly ass.'
I managed a smile. Never in my life had I been talked to as nicely.
'We managed to fix your hand. Technology. We made it out of horse shit and walrus dick.'
.... From that day on, I fought my fights with Fattroop. I was Najibbits right hand man, weapons specialist. Fattroop gave me back my life, my life now is dedicated to Fattroop.
