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Life Workin for HBO, Part One by Hunter_Killer
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Life Workin for HBO, Part One
Date: 3 December 2003, 10:35 PM
RING! RING! The alarm clock blared, and I moaned. It must be 6:30. A.M.
I got up, and rubbed my eyes. After showering, brushing my teeth, eating, crapping, dressing in my work clothes[A White T-Shirt and Blue jeans, along with my Glasses and tennis shoes], and feeding the fish(Not in that order), I set off for work, which was about a block away.
I observed the rows of houses, some lights coming from a few. It was a nice day in Cybercity, in the country of Cyberspace.
My job was at(you guessed it)HBO.
I came to the 200 story office building. There was a very large neon sign with red letters: HBO on the front, with about 500 windows looking over the mile-and-half lawn that CEO Lewis Wu owned.
There was a huge electric(300,000,000 volts)chain-link fence, topped with barbed wire to keep out viruses and other undesirable pieces of cyberstuff.
I passed through the gate, giving a salute to the Assault-Rifle-wielding Marine sentry posted there, and walked up the paved road towards the doors leading inside HBO.
Before I could get there, I noticed a person on top of the huge neon sign. Then, I noticed a Warthog on the roof of the building. "Hey Hacker! Get down, before you..." I yelled up, suddenly being cut short when he fell of the building.
He crashed about 6 feet from me, hard, into the Jackhammer he used to get up there. "Holy Crap... he's dead..." I said, and a little paper popped up.
YOU KILLED FROGBLAST
Then, Frog miraculously got up, and waved to me. "Hey, Fan Fic Dude! Don' worry 'bout me, got a overshield!"
Another piece of paper popped up.
NEVER MIND
I hit myself on the head, and walked inside the double-doors. I was in a big hallway. To the side of me, there were rows and rows of lockers. Each had an HBOer's Tag.
Mine was ninth to the left on the middle row. I opened it took everything out of it. I closed it again, and went to sit on a bench to avoid the cluster of ten HBO French Artists entering, speaking in their language about their newest 'masterpieces'. I slung my AR, Shotgun, and Sniper Rifle, put my extra boxes of ammo on my utility belt, which I also put my M6D, twin knifes, and Grenades. An overshield went in my pocket(you never knew when a hacker could mess up big time.), and an active camouflage(turned off)in my other pocket.
And my briefcase. It contained the pieces to my Jackhammer Rocket Launcher, the keys to my Banshee, Hog, Ghost, and Scorpion(everyone except the janitor had their own-he just got the Hog and Banshee.), my bundle of cash to spend at the cybershops on floor 12, a tank of oxygen and a gas mask(you never know when a hacker could mess up BIG TIME.), and a few other things.
Wu, Mnemisis and the other Admins had put up Christmas I walked over the an elevator and pressed the call button. An explosion rocked the building, although nothing broke.
The doors to the elevator opened, revealing a blackened and charred Hacker. The hacker told me, as I walked in and he stumbled out, "Man, never try to copy a Frag Grenade 50 times over. It works, but for some reason, they all go off."
I pressed the button for Level 23, where the departments were. The elevator rumbled to life, and it began to climb. I looked out the one huge, vertical window built so when you ride up the elevator, you could see the city.
It looked pretty cool. Of course, I was used to it by now, so I checked my weapons(up past Level 10, you could never tell what was going to happen.). However, there was one other person riding with me. A n00b. "Woah, man. Did you know there was a window here?" He asked, attended at the window.
I currently had little patience for n00bs, so I replied darkly, "And did you know there's a n00b roast in the Café at eight o' clock!?"
That shut him up for the rest of the trip, which was like 20 seconds.
DING! The doors opened, revealing a dark(but see-able)hallway, made of dark brown oak wood. Several small torches illuminated patches of the hall.
A sign above the elevator door said:
DEPARTMENTS
"Um... Mr..." Asked the n00b, scared(apparently)that I was going to pull out a Ronco® Cooker and roast him like a 10 lb. chicken, "Where's the Art Department? I'm new here."
"I could tell," I responded, "It's the second door on the right."
An infection form crawled out from a crack, and the n00b let out a little yelp. "Oh no! A new kind of Covie! Ahhh!"
I snapped out a pistol and squeezed off a single round. The n00b yelped at that too. The bullet hit one of the tentacles, causing the whole thing to pop into 3 fleshy bits. "That wasn't Covenant, you n00b. That was flood."
I knew his response. I had dealt with n00bs before. "Flood!? Didn't look like water to me, Mister. Flood... I never heard of it. I only got to level 3, you know."
"You don't need to go to Art. You need the HSP," I said to him, and pointed out the door farthest to the right. I answered his question that he was about to ask by, "Halo... Story... Page. HSP. Now go."
After guiding my feathered friend here to the HSP, where he would get some serious Halo info, I went the second-to-first door on the right. On the wall to the left of the polished wood door, a golden sign said:
FAN FICTION
And I entered.
It was a huge contrast to the hall: large lights hung on the ceiling, about 30 ft. above, illuminating everything, the walls and floor were white tiles, and people were bustling in and out of the room. A full hundred doors led to more huge rooms; this one was just the common room.
I looked at the bulletin board. There was a For Sale sign on a 2000 M6D, a lost Grunt notice("Answers to 'Scruffy'"), a list of the newest Fan Fiction posted("Hey, my next Blue Squadron Chronicles part got posted," I said jovially.), and a few other things of various sizes and shapes. I looked around. 12 Couches, 7 TVs and 5 X-Boxes and a few guys playing.
A grunt hurried by, followed by two frantic people.
And I made my way to an even bigger room. This had 600 doors; all leading to a different Author's Office. As soon as you submitted fiction, an office was built for you.
I entered my office. The room was 30' by 38'. It had a desk, with a computer, pens, paper, pictures, and several other office-y things. There was a 23 Inch Sony Plasma TV, hooked up to an X-Box, a Cable Box, and two VCRs. A recliner was sitting in the perfect position for TV Watching. There was also a very comfortable office chair at the deck. A Soda Machine was by the door.
I learned all you had to do was wire the machine once with the machine Mendoza used to open the door in 343 GS(The Level)[I bought it from him], and sodas came out free.
So, I got a soda, and sat down at my deck. "Time to compose Fan Fiction..."
Life Workin for HBO,Part Three
Date: 16 December 2003, 12:20 PM
I emerged through a door. Or rather, I was violently hurled onto the floor in front of the door. "Smeg," I mumbled groggily, as I got up.
"Yah, sorry, mate," An Aussie Marine said to me, "The Hackers're s'posed to fix 'at soon, they are. Oh well. Hackers..."
"I hear ya', Aussie," I replied, dusting myself off. "So, anything going on?"
"Nah. Oh, Elfster beat Simpsons Rule." I was stunned at the news.
I was shocked. This had NEVER, and I mean NEVER, happened in the grand history of HBO. "How'd he do it?"
"Apparently, Simpsons was cheating, he had unlimited ammo for all of 'is guns. 'E got 'imself disqualified, he did." I looked around the lobby.
There were hundreds of doors, for hundreds of games. Every time a new game started, a new door appeared. In the room were several big red couches on which a team of five were relaxing after a grueling game, and a few fancy lamps.
There was a bulletin board on the wall. There was one paper, a long one, attached. It was a list of games going on. There were five-hundred entries. The names were ever changing: there was now 480 games on the list. Now 510.
I told the paper, "Ok, I'm looking for games to watch."
Cortana's voice answered. "Ok, H_K..."
The paper suddenly got a lot shorter, and it showed 13 games. I touched a game name, and a door began to glow.
I opened the door, and was sucked into game number 142...
Well, I was now inside a huge skybox with one other person: Hikaru-117 was in the first seat ,and I sat down in another one.
Hikaru was hunched over a piece of paper, busily writing on it with an Official HBO Ball-point Pen("Made in Taiwan").
"Yo, man," I said to him, trying to look over his shoulder, "You should write at Yo office..." I didn't have much success, me being 11 and about 5 feet tall, and him, well... taller.
"Shh..." He replied to me, "Not now, little man. I'm trying to record everything going on in the Multiplayer match down below."
"So you're the new chronicler..." I said, mainly to myself. I remember the last bloke who had that job. He had to be at it(literally)24/7. Well, he said he liked his job. Go figure. And the way he passed on the job? Frensa Geran shot him in the head 12 times with a pistol from 900 meters away and under, because one time he accidentally recorded that Frensa had died, when it was really Mainevent who bought it.
I then turned my attention to the Two-on-Two Team Slayer Deathmatch going on below.
A Marine and an Elite versus Sergeant B and the Game's Sergeant Johnson. Johnson ducks a rocket, and returns fire with his AR... The Marine takes cover, then pops out from it and sends a rocket hurling into Sarge B. It explodes, but he's not hurt. Doh! He had an overshield on. The Elite takes a belly full o' led, and respawns behind Johnson. Look out, Johnson... Oh.. not a pretty way 'ter go. Not pretty at all.
This match was really exciting and fast paced. Not what I expected from Computer Generated Chars. Sergeant B, however, was usually into high-risk, high-payoff maneuvers. Like using the Warthog Jump Attack Formation, invented by Sarge B. Damn, this guy was fun to watch try his stuff.
Then, suddenly, Sarge B tripped right in the middle of a very delicate and tricky stunt. As a result, the Grunt, two Warthogs and 5 foot by 5 foot clump of dirt he was using fell to the ground, and onto him, killing him.
A bell sounded three times in rapid succession, as the referee made hand signals. Cortana's voice now said, "And the winner of this Game is Corporal Mendoza and Bulla Bullalee'!"
Then, the ground inside the skybox turned into a hole, and we fell through it.
Me and Hikaru fell appeared out of thin air, and crashed into the lounge floor.
Aussie walked up to us, and gave us a hand getting up. "Sorry, mates. Hackers're s'posed to-" I cut him off and finished the sentence, predicting what would happen: "-fix it soon. I know."
I looked at my watch, and it said 3:00 P.M., CST. Then, my cell phone ringed. I answered it. It was Mnemisis. "H_K. We got another n00b headed towards your department. Show him around; get 'em comfortable. He'll be gettin' the office on the left side of yours. Ok? Good. He'll be waiting for you just inside the Fan Fic Common Room. Good Luck." The phone went dead.
DING! The elevator opened, and I stepped into the familiar oak wood hall. Entering Fan Fiction, I looked around, and found a person with a name tag on their shirts(only n00bs had to wear those). He said to me, "Mr. Hunter_Killer! Glad you're here! I was attacked by my paper only minutes ago!"
Hawk 7889 was passing by, and he stopped at us. "Hi, H_K. So, gotta get this n00b settled? Lol, god help you. This guy has no clue how to work anything, and is constantly screwing up."
"Hey, Mr!" The n00b said to Hawk, "Didn't my paper attack me?"
"No," Replied Hawk, "You got a paper cut. See, H_K? This guy is hopeless. Well, I better be getting back to my office... see ya!" Then, he was off, and disappeared into a room. The door slammed shut.
I led the n00b to my office, and showed him his. I opened the door, and looked inside. The room was 6' by 5', with a tiny wooden desk crammed in there, along with a creaky old chair. On the desk was a stack of blank paper, and a typewriter dating back to 1930.
You see, when you first join Fan Fiction, an office is automatically created. But it's a rat hole. And I apologize to rat holes for the comparison. For every Fan Fic you make, the room gets one foot wider, and the quality of the instruments at your disposal increases. At 18 Fics, they install a carpet and a window.
The n00b went in, and I said to him, "Fan Fic tight. And don't let the Fan Fiction Bugs bite," As I closed the door.
I could hear his voice from inside his office before the door closed: "Fan Fiction Bugs!? AH! Get em' off me!!!!"
Life Workin' for HBO, Part Two
Date: 17 December 2003, 1:17 PM
"There," I said, standing up and stretching after 4 hours of Fan Fiction Writing, "My Newest Piece is complete. Plus, it's twelve noon; I better get this submitted and head down to the café for lunch."
I printed out the two new stories. I saved, then shut down the computer. Exiting my office, I deposited the papers in the slot by the door out of the common room.
I, along with Elfster, rode the Elevator up to Level 89: The Café. Along the way, we chatted about the Hog we saw in the yard of HBO far below doing |337 tricks.
PING! The doors opened, to reveal a hall clad in blue carpet and wallpaper, with a single door. We entered into the café.
It looked just like the PoA Mess Hall, only this one was literally 10x bigger. Elfster ordered first at one of the vending units, and I did it afterwards. I had a burger dinner; he had a chicken dinner.
We chose a quiet back table with two Marines and an Elite at a table. "I don't get why we gotta fight you guys in the game," One of them was saying. I recognized him as Mendoza.
"Yah," Said the second. This one was Jenkins. "You Covenant are set up as bad guys in the game, what with the homicidal campaign of death against Humanity, but you Elites are pretty nice. The Grunts are cute, too," He continued.
"Worp worp, you Humans ain't so bad... you make good turkey too..." The elite said, and he sunk his mandibles into a 10 lb. Turkey, devouring it with incredible speed.
After lunch, I took the elevator to Roof Level; that's where the hanger was. HBO closed to it's workers at 10:30 P.M., and opened at 5:00 A.M., although with jobs like Fan Fiction, you're probably done at noon. The schedule was open, but mostly I get the work over with early.
For the rest of the day, the employees are free to do as they please. Except the HSP Crew. They're locked up in there day and night, breaks short and far between.
Oh well. At least their ramblings are a good read on HBO.network.net, the Local Area Network Website that connects every Computer in HBO to each other. You can also find wicked Multiplayer Matches at HBO.network.net since HPC came out.
I stepped out into the fresh air. It was a very nice day. Little cloud cover. Perfect for Banshee flying.
A lot of HBOers figured this too, as several dozen banshees screeched overhead. I walked over to the massive building on the roof and entered the door.
An armed Tech greeted me, and I got my Banshee ready. It began to hum, as it rose in the hanger. "Ok, Tech," I said over the radio, "Open the hanger doors."
The huge steel doors began to open, pouring sunlight into the hanger. The Banshee swooped out, into the sky.
I flew over the entire city and back. It took me 30 Minutes. I had done this only once before, for some weird reason. After doing this, I had a mock dogfight with Mainevent, and flew into the hanger to get the right wing fixed back on.
"How can that guy fly so good!?" I asked the Tech, as he welded a new wing on.
"He practices in all his spare time. You ain't the first with this story. The MorningStar was got this morning in the right wing, we ain't heard from John-117 since yesterday, and Count Zero was fished out of the HBO River"(He was referring to the river that ran through the HBO yard about 800 Yards away from the HBO Building)"five minutes ago." Said the Tech.
"Oh well. Hey, how long will this take?" I asked to the guy, as he welded away.
"Day and a half, at least. Sorry, but this is alien tech here." He responded, and I left the hanger, feeling dejected.
I rode down into Level 100; Multiplayer Deck. Upon stepping out of the elevator doors, into a bright light, the Building's AI, Cortana's voice appeared.
"Welcome to Multiplayer Deck. Are you here to play, watch, or volunteer for referee?"
"I'll watch," I replied into the light.
"To proceed, ID must be confirmed. Please state name and ID Number."
"Hunter_Killer. ID 34861."
"Confirming ID... Confirming Name... ID accepted... Name accepted... Loading lobby... Standby..."
I began to twirl around, all the blood rushing to my head... Then, all was still...
TO BE CONTINUED...
Life Workin for HBO, Part Four
Date: 24 December 2003, 3:18 PM
(indent)The Sarge sent a rocket into the reactor, causing it to meltdown. "Let's get outa here," Yelled The Private, and the two started down the hallway...
I was working on another piece of fiction. The Adventures of Sarge, Part Thirteen[FINALE]. It was almost finished, anyway.
I printed out the large piece of Fiction(it took 5 and ½ Pages to print out), and shut down my computer.
I stood up, and exited my office. I submitted it, and sat down on one of the couches.
Two men, carrying a grunt trapped in a net between themselves, walked past the couch. "Got him," Said one, obviously relived and worn out.
I looked at up on the large grandfather clock of the wall. 5:00 P.M. And I was once again bored. So, I went into the departments hallway.
I walked up and down the great oak hall, with little to no aim. Then, my eyes spotted a small piece of lighter-colored wood, and I pressed my foot down on it.
The piece of wall in front of me turned around, flipped, revealing a door. The gold sign over the door read:
ONE ONE SE7EN
I entered, into a medium sized room, with white tiling for floor, roof, and walls. There were two doors. About 50 people were in line in front of one. It had a sign over it: GUEST STRIPS.
The other had a sign: KEEP OUT- STUNTMUTT ONLY
"Wow," I said, "He goes to great lengths to keep this Guest Strip Queue-"I looked at the tremendous line-"somewhat under control. Then why the hell does it continue to grow?!"
Two Sentinels hovered in front of me, and I jumped. "Are you Here for Guest Strip Queue?" One asked in mechanized voice.
"No..." I began. Then, I dived out of the way just in time to avoid a laser, which would have penetrated my chest cavity.
"REAL Great Lengths," I said to myself, as I ran out of the One One Se7en Office. The Sentinels did not pursue.
I decided what to do next. I would go out to the courtyard, and participate in the 'Hog Rally. That entertained me until 8:00 P.M. I won 5 Races, lost 3, and had 1 Draw. I won the rally.
At eight o' clock sharp, I proceeded to the Café, to participate in the n00b roast. That's right, folks. I wasn't lying to the n00b in the elevator in the morning.
A few interesting notes: 130 HBOers(Not including the 30 n00bs)turned up for it. Including Sterfrye. Ster was special; he was half man, half machine. Hawk and Agent Shade debated whether to roast him; in the end a few good rockets made the decision not to roast.
I came home at 9:30 P.M., with a 20 lb. slice of n00b meat wrapped up on my shoulder. Opening the door, I launched the meat onto my teak wood table. N00bs are heavier than one may think, man!
I turned on the TV, and noticed a Commercial with wide interest. A news team from Channel 11 News will be exploring HBO on live TV all morning long. Go figure. I hoped they wouldn't meddle into our affairs to much, for our sake, and they wouldn't go wandering off in HBO without an escort or guide. For their sake. You have no clue what lurks on the higher Levels until the roof.
I went to bed at 11:00 P.M., figuring tomorrow would be a nutbuster.
RING! RING! RING! I knew the drill. Pushing my blankets off of me, I climbed outa bed. After getting in my usual preparations in, I put on a Black T-Shirt, Blue Jeans, White Trenchcoat(Sometimes I wear this to fancy events at work. Oh well, you'd be surprised that how good it looks.), and tennis shoes. Oh well. No one looks at you feet at this job, mostly.
Having 'saddled up', I proceeded to work. When I got to the gate, I noticed that the news van had just arrived, and were checking in with the guard.
The smile the reporter had on didn't fool anyone, not even the Guard. She was telling the camera, "Amazing, isn't it? All this, just built around a computer game..."
I, walking up to the gate, said to her, "More than a game. A way of life. A job. From 7:30 to 9:30."
"Well, It appears we've run into an employee here. An interesting opportunity," She said, then rushed me in front of the camera. "Ok, hello. What's your name, and what do you do here at HBO?" She handed me the microphone.
"I am Hunter_Killer, and I work in the Fan Fiction Division of HBO," I said into the camera, not trying to fake a smile.
"And yes, I guess I'll show you around a smidgen, K? Good. If you'll follow me, It's easier if I lead..." I said to a question about to be poised.
But she said to me, "Just one more question before we begin, Mr. Hunter_Killer. Is every HBOer as young as you?"
"No. Most are at least 5 years older than me. In fact, I happen to be the youngest Employee in the history of HBO. Now, Let's go..."
The doors burst open, and I headed for my locker, like usual. A few Forum-goers were gossiping about various crap, as they usually do, and two Hackers were showing off to each other their cool weapon skins they made, on the benches to the side.
I opened my locker, and prepared my things. While I was packing and holstering and loading, the Reporter eyed my armament with interest.
As I was holstering my M6Ds, she couldn't contain the question any longer: "Mr. Hunter_Killer, why do you carry guns and ammunition and explosives? You're underage, and besides, those are dangerous. You shouldn't be handling them."
I knew this question would be poised, and was ready to give an answer. "I am fully qualified to bear arms under State Law, from a 45 Caliber Pistol to a 190mm Self Propelled artillery piece. Don't worry. People don't get hurt here."
I noticed screams of pain, and watched as a stretcher, pushed by four Medic Marines, rolled it's way down the hallway. On the stretcher was Walker, his left arm missing, and with blood all over him.
"Much," I added, with a weak smile and weaker laugh.
Life Workin for HBO, Part Five
Date: 24 December 2003, 3:21 PM
I began to walk towards the elevators, and the News crew followed. The reporter looked at the red and white streamers, ornaments and assortments of other holiday stuff on the walls and the ceiling, which was about 30 feet up. "Looks like it's gonna be a good Christmas for HBO," Said she.
"It always is," I said, and pressed the Call Button for Elevator #12. "Especially when the Hackers get stuff done. You know, maintenance and other things like that."
I heard the PING!, and the doors opened. Sterfrye and BOLL were in, and I climbed in. The cameramen had a hard time getting the equipment in, but they got it after a minute or two.
"Where to, H_K?" Asked Cortana. This elevator was state-of-the-art; Voice Control.
"Um... Departments," I replied. BOLL tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned around. "Eh?"
"So, Hunter_, looks like you caught 'em before me," He said. "You get all the fame and publicity, whilst poor little old me gets nothin'!" He continued in a fake sad voice.
"'Cept the boatloads of money, a 60' by 60' Office, and a million other things of smeg," I said.
"Um... I was wondering, If one of you could explain the difference between HBOers. Like, these 'Hackers' you mentioned earlier," Piped up the reporter.
"Ok, as I earlier mentioned, Me and many others work in Fan Fiction. Sterfrye here writes for us. Some are Artists who draw Halo pictures. The Halo Story Page Crew are our own brand o' conspiracy nuts. The Halo Hackers... have a special gift. They can bend time and space, alter reality, make the rules of gravity void, and much more. You cannot learn such a power. You must be born with it. They perform many, many essential tasks for HBO. BOLL is one of the most popular and well known Hackers in history, man.
The Forum is... well, massive. It's like a chatroom, almost. Over 3000 posts each day. Maybe more. The Admins control the show. We have only a handful of these leaders, yet they somehow bring order-or something resembling such-to the huge operation that is HBO. This is the main HQ building. However, there are several more like these around the world, with different, foreign crews. Our main CEO is a man called Lewis Wu, our main CEO has founded HBO, our main CEO has built up the empire that is HBO, making it one of the-if not the biggest-Halo Fansites in the whole of the universe.
And the n00bs. They... well, n00b stands for "newbie". They know nothing, talk a lot, are new employees... we've all been n00bs at some time or another."
"And," I said, more loudly, mainly so Ster would notice more, "SOME of us are still n00bs, coughcoughSTERcoughcough."
DING! The doors to the elevators opened, and we all stepped out. The reporter rushed excitedly to the nearest gold sign. "WOW! Real Gold! On a normal sign. You guys must be rich."
"Nah. The hackers whipped up these signs as quick a you can stare at 'em. I reckon they about $400,000,000 each. C'mon, me and Ster will show you around Fan Fiction. Unfortunately, only Hackers are allowed in the SECRET HACKING LABORATORIES! So you can't enter. Well, you can, but you would burst into holy flames if you don't have the Hacking power about 5 seconds in," I said, opening the door to Fan Fiction.
We entered, and the news crew gasped at the size of the room. I would've too, except I've worked here for about a year. I thought about how a newcomer would see things, then remembered my first day here. My eye absolutely popped at these fantastic sights.
Sprawled on a lime green couch, two men were obviously worn out. A jolly grunt, a net over him, raced around the couch.
The reporter said, "Aww... How cute!"
As we walked, I noted, "Yah. That one's a pretty domesticated Grunt. See 'em when they mean." I left that looming sentence, as we approached my office.
"As we understand, every single person has an office of some kind, correct?" Asked the reporter.
"Right," I answered, as I ushered them in my office. "Mine is pretty mid-sized."
"Woah, this office is bigger than most other normal jobs would ever get you!" She said in astonishment. "He even has a mini-bar. You here at HBO know how to live it up."
After showing her everything in Fan Fiction, and realizing it was 12:00, Me and Ster(along with the news crew, which would be departing after Lunch)went to the Café. This time, I decided to order the 'Christmas Special'. Ster had the Chicken Nuggets Meal, and we sat down at a front table, where the two hackers and three Jackals already seated observed the crew the entire time.
"This Cafeteria, like everything else in HBO, is simply astounding!" Said the Reporter, helping herself to a few of Ster's Chicken Nuggets.
"Hey Ster, this time someone really did 'Steal Yo Nuggets'!" I noticed, laughing.
Life Wrokin for HBO, Part Six
Date: 4 January 2004, 4:10 AM
After Lunch(and the Press)were behind us, I went into my office for a few minutes to try to write. It was no good. I just wasn't inspired today.
I decided to enter the multiplayer lounge again. This time, I just had to step through the door to the lounge. No swirling. No rough landing.
Aussie was standing there, with a broad smile. "It was an early present 'or us from the Hackers," He explained.
I noticed a man with funny clothes(sorta like a ringmaster at the circus), who was standing in front of a door and attracting quite a crowd.
In an impressive tone, he proclaimed: "Step right up and sign this petition for the special Champions vs. 80 n00bs match! We need 180 Signatures to get Louis Wu to make this highly irregular match!"
"Champions vs. n00bs?" I said, making my way through the crowd to this guy, who had grabbed me attention. After all, I was(and still are)The HBO Intercontinental Champion.
"Exactly what it sounds like, kind sir! You, the IC Champ, teaming with the HBO World Heavyweight Champion, The World Tag Team Champions, The US Champ, The Cruiserweight Title Holder, and the HBO Champion, versus 80 snarling, bad tempered, armed to the teeth, three-days-on-the-job n00bs!" He responded. "And you can be the first to sign."
"I dunno," I said, "I already have a match where I'm scheduled to defend the Intercontinental Title... Two huge matches like that.... Oh, what the hell." I took the pen, and scribbled my name on the very first line of the very first paper.
Leaving the crowd, I found the door for my match. I opened it, and walked in. When I came out, I could swear the Hackers put an air freshener in the portal. Nevertheless, I emerged unharmed(which was a first)into the "Green Room", the place where the combatants prepare to come out from the curtain. I was the first one here, a tradition I had kept since my first day and was very proud of.
I exchanged my weapons for Multiplayer Versions of the same. You see, to win in a multiplayer match, most likely you'll have to kill someone else. Normally, that would mean bye-bye for the guy/girl on the receiving end. Except the Hackers, on the third day of HBO, Hacked a ton of weapons to that the victim would respawn after being killed. Except when he/she was out of lives. Then (s)he was teleported to a skybox to watch the action.
I got 4 grenades of each kind, an Assault Rifle and a Plasma Pistol. A lot of people hated the AR. I didn't care. It was one of my personal favorites. Good for the flood, and when you're lost. Probably a reason why I liked it. And the Plasma Pistol was a basic.
Then, people started arriving. A few trainers and other people like that emerged from portals, and filled me with advice and stats and such.
"Ok, Ok. I got it," I said.
"H_K, we know you like those big risk moves. However, we strongly recommend against these. If you slip up, or get slipped up, you would stand a high-HIGH risk of being defeated and loosing the title," Said one, my most trusted advisor.
"As you know," I responded, "I cannot do that. I love those moves." A portal opened, and out stepped the number-one-contender for the IC Title: Hawk.
"You ready?" I asked, Obtaining my Intercontinental Title Belt from the Ref, who had appeared.
Hawk gave me a shrewd smile, and replied, "Say your good-byes to the belt, cause you are toast, my man."
Before I could respond, A bell resounded through the arena. "The following Multiplayer Match, a 5-man Slayer with unlimited grenades and standard weapons, is for the Intercontinental Championship," Cortana's voice announced.
My music began to pump through the whole local via huge loudspeakers; The rhythmic drum beat you hear when you see the Marine Bay on the Level The pillar of Autumn. Realizing I "was on", I stepped through the curtain.
"Introducing first, from Fan Fiction, he is the Halo.Bungie.Org Intercontinental Champion, Hunter... _Killer!!!!" As I walked with the ref towards the middle of the ring, I raised both hands. I heard cheers from the 2 dozen(at least)skyboxes lining the walls of Blood Gulch. Apparently, many people had come to see if the up 'n coming contender could beat ol' H_K for the title.
"And introducing the Challenger, from Fan Fiction, Hawk 7889!!!!" Another uproar of applause came with his emergence out of the curtain.
The Referee held my IC Belt up high, for all to see. He then put it down, and Cortana sounded the bell.
I jumped on the hood of a nearby Hog, and leapfrogged straight towards Hawk...
TO BE CONTINUED...
Note to Readers:
Not to fear, for soon ASoWE-Sequel will return soon. That is all I can say at this time. Peace out! =)
Life Workin for HBO, Part Seven
Date: 8 January 2004, 12:23 PM
Hawk stepped to the right a little, just enough to(hopefully)dodge me. I managed to hit the ground on my feet, although I almost stumbled.
My opponent took advantage of this, and he pulled out his Flame-thrower. "Time for another n00b roast, H_K!" He yelled menacingly at me, and pulled the trigger. The flames began to collect in the nozzle.
I smiled. "Indeed," I said, and dropkicked the weapon. It fell onto the ground, pointing towards Hawk.
He smiled. "It won't cook through my shields, you must know."
"Naturally," I said, and revealed what the green glow behind me was. The over-charged Plasma shattered his Shields, just in time for Hawk to take the heat.
His smoking corpse fell to the ground, and Cortana announced, "Hunter_Killer has toasted Hawk. 4 kills to win."
I laughed, not realizing the fuming challenger behind me. My body went limp, as a grenade threw me dead corpse fly 50 feet into the air. "Hawk has blown away H_K. 4 kills to win."
I respawned on the other side of the map, and saw the Scorpion. I started that bad boy up, and grinded my way towards the challenger, intending to show him *real* Rolling Thunder.
BOOM! RAT-T-T-T-T-T!!!!! I let loose a shell and a volley of Machine Gun Fire, Forcing my adversary do dive into Blue Base
Perfect. I blew another shell into the base, and watched Hawk run. Then, he attained a Ghost, and began to fire on me, while circling. The Circle of Death!
Plasma splattered against my tank, while I tried to nail the little- BOOM! RAT-T-T-T-T-T-T-T!!!! -with tracer bullets.
Realizing this wouldn't do, I quickly jumped out of my tank, and charged for the Ghost. Normally suicidal, and Hawk saw this. I readied my AR to fire, and let loose a stream. As anyone knows, this is extremely annoying. He fired a whole shitload o' Plasma my way. I ducked, still firing. I was now close to the Ghost, and armed a Plasma Grenade.
Hawk saw the lit 'nade, and swerved wildly, attempting to avoid me. However, I utilized a Frag Grenade Jump to get on the very hood of said Ghost. Hawk was shocked.
I waved at him for a second and smiled. And we both knew it wasn't a friendly smile. "Catch," I said, sticking the 'nade to his head. I then jumped a double jumped, allowing the speeding Ghost to zoom past me. It hit a canyon wall, as the 'nade blew up. Somehow, that lucky SOB survived, although his health was at about one bar.
I readied my Plasma Pistol. And the rest of it, is history. No, seriously. The match was so damn good and close, it was archived, and is up for the most memorable Title Match of the Year Award.
And I take you now, to the end of the match. The announcers that call the match up from the skybox's comments will be included in this record.
Jim: Actually, I was two time IC Champ. But that's a different story.
Dick: Yah. And right now, both men on the end of their ropes. All their lives are spent. Amazing endurance by both of them.
I was flattened out on the turret of the battered tank, who had been taking punishment all the time. I had blood pouring from at least five places. I was totally spent. I tried to muster the energy to get up, to little avail.
Hawk was flailing in pain, about 10-20 meters from the tank. He was in a REAL bad way.
I got on one knee, and saw the perfect position for my signature stunt, the Hunter_Bomb. I leapt free of the turret, and prepared to stick my elbow straight into the Heart of the Hawk.
Jim: GOOD GOD! H_K, don't do it! It's the Hunter_Bomb! The Hunter_Bomb! If this hits, it's over! If it doesn't, we have a new Intercontinental Champion!!! God almighty! _Killer will take chances, has no fear. His arsenal is astounding.
Dick: Yah, H_K's high flying style. I tell you, he will come at you from all angles, all degrees, all dimensions. Take that, versus the ground and pound, old-school style strategy employed by the Challenger. He will grind you, slow you, crunch you. But now, H_K's setting the pace. That's not good for Hawk.
I closed my eyes, and waited for the hit...
It was over. I felt my elbow being dug deep into another human being, and felt warm blood splatter all over me.
My music began pounding in the stadium. "The Winner of This Match, and STILL the HBO Intercontinental Champion, HUNTER_........ KILLER!!!!!!!"
TO BE CONTINUED...
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