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tampered2006-11-01 05:17 pm
eisernadler.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-11-01 05:17 pm
Long:ongoing
When Nov 1 (evening)
Rating R for Iron's dirty mouth
Characters "Iron Eagle" Eisernadler, and anyone who'd like to meet him
Summary A beat-up and bloodied soldier finds himself in a nightmare
Log
Jesus Christ.... my chest hurts
Before everything had gone black, the man who called himself Iron had been charging down a blood-soaked jungle path with his machine gun, "Curse", and felt a searing pain in his chest.
Now he was laying on cold concrete. The soldier brought his hand to his chest, and when it came away, it was covered in blood. He frantically searched for the wound, but found none.
What the fuck
He flexed his arms and legs, making sure everything worked. Satisfied that it did, he stood, slowly, and buttoned his trousers, taking a piss on the concrete. Yep, that still worked too.
After returning his bomber to it's hanger, he looked around himself at the vast expanse of insanity in which he'd landed.
A fuckin' merry-go-round? And why the fuck is everyone dressed like it's hallow-fuckin'-ween?
People with wings, people with blue hair, people who werent... people. He'd never seen anything like it, and quickly patted his shoulders to make sure he still had his belts of ammunition slung across his chest. Yes. Okay, that was the first plus of the day. The second, as he quickly found, was that he still had half a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes in his helmet band. Sliding one between his lips, he began his walk into the dusk, to see that the fuck was going on.
Rating R for Iron's dirty mouth
Characters "Iron Eagle" Eisernadler, and anyone who'd like to meet him
Summary A beat-up and bloodied soldier finds himself in a nightmare
Log
Jesus Christ.... my chest hurts
Before everything had gone black, the man who called himself Iron had been charging down a blood-soaked jungle path with his machine gun, "Curse", and felt a searing pain in his chest.
Now he was laying on cold concrete. The soldier brought his hand to his chest, and when it came away, it was covered in blood. He frantically searched for the wound, but found none.
What the fuck
He flexed his arms and legs, making sure everything worked. Satisfied that it did, he stood, slowly, and buttoned his trousers, taking a piss on the concrete. Yep, that still worked too.
After returning his bomber to it's hanger, he looked around himself at the vast expanse of insanity in which he'd landed.
A fuckin' merry-go-round? And why the fuck is everyone dressed like it's hallow-fuckin'-ween?
People with wings, people with blue hair, people who werent... people. He'd never seen anything like it, and quickly patted his shoulders to make sure he still had his belts of ammunition slung across his chest. Yes. Okay, that was the first plus of the day. The second, as he quickly found, was that he still had half a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes in his helmet band. Sliding one between his lips, he began his walk into the dusk, to see that the fuck was going on.