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Skuld

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Everything posted by Skuld

  1. Congratulations Boom and Slade

    1. Boom115

      Boom115

      Thank you Skuld, I appreciate the kudos!

    2. Slade

      Slade

      Muchas gracias, amigo Skuld!

  2. You find some horrifying images researching the real life inspirations for Zombies, that being said, I advise you to never search the explosive balloon effect, lest you wish to be haunted by ghoulish images.

  3. Unfortunately, due to the nature of the Origins map, I wouldn't put the Maxis represented within the game being dissected as the true Maxis, especially given the end cutscene following its Easter Egg, therefore I'd not count it as his corpereal form since the cutscene shows it isn't a true story after all. Not to mention, I don't doubt he's a character within the story, and my reference to him as an author is due to his manipulations of said story, hence the capitalization, I mean Author as akin to a manipulator, a being like the Editor in the Sisters Grimm series, or an entity removed from the story in such a way as to be able to influence it, yet still be intertwined within it. A Doogie Howser MD inner monologue situation, applied to the entirety of the zombies story if you will. Gimmick you may think it, that certainly doesn't remove it's potential to achieve anything represented in the theory, for I'd believe it altogether not unlike Treyarch to play upon a minor detail such as this being used throughout the game, and expanding it into a greater plot device. Supposedly the yelling of Sam by the zombies in Nacht was altogether imagined by the first players, and yet later was expanded into the character Samantha by the zombie producers. At this point I can't properly debate the validity further, as the term theory suggest I'm certainly not writing this intending you to taker it as known fact. Nor can you deny it's possibility either for the same reasons. However, I'm not one to be boisterous, so I will certainly concede if this proves a fruitless theory.
  4. Entry 1 Countless times I had dreamed of achieving my own enlightenment, meeting eyes with my own maker. So I toiled, constantly, without rest or woe as soon as I had graduated. Germany unfortunately had hit hard times; there were no calls for bright young minds, no room for creativity. Every man, woman, and child, felt the weight, the burden of, a war lost. Financial debt consumed our government, and soon led to my own, and many others, left with poverty. But I continued on, trying to exploit something, anything, that would let me see my maker, and yet avoid the cold kiss of Death. But alas, without funding, it was none more than a silly dream. And then, a light of hope spread 'round my town, nay my country. The favored Nazi Party brought with it the promise of jobs, and money, an end to the nation's troubles. And infatuated with their glittering promises, I selfishly ignored the devil speaking through them. Joining their party, along with rising through it's ranks, caught the eye of our Fuhrer. He was, not to say the least, unhinged, yet he undoubtedly wanted to fund my early exploits into the Afterlife. For what reason I could only ever guess: perhaps for the more unsavory ideals he omitted in those early campaigning speeches, or maybe he wanted to see the face of our Lord, to hear His judgement, most likely the sick fantasy that he would be given some holy blessing. The man had lost many a young German to his ill-fated war, one that encapsulated our entire world, for the second time. Whatever the reason I was happy that I could work towards my goal again. Entry 2 It appears I have made the most foolhardy of mistakes in accepting this offer. My funding is virtually cut off, and progress has yet to be made, it seems I am to be shipped to the 935 facilities as yet another of their "bright" consultants. Their work apparently is much more important than my own... Entry 3 Work here at 935 is steadily disappointing, who would think that so many brilliant minds would be set towards these unthinking abominations?! The Undead, resurrected by the meteor one can only name as Wormwood, mined for radioactive material, will be the destruction of us all! My displeasure is not unheard of however, the good Dr. Richtofen, another consultant who's own work was cast aside, has agreed to induct me into a secret group of Alumni. Secrets within secrets, our burgeoning supplies of metal must be for soundproof walls, for I had never heard of such a group. After much consultation, and even some praise at Edward's foolish teleportation machine, I had earned a seat at the society. Under the cover of night, my work was transferred to a Russian base, run by the very same Illuminati. Perhaps soon, I shall travel to that haven to meet my creator, visit that Aether realm. But first, work is to be done on the device to carry me there.
  5. The whir of helicopter rotors eases as we touch down to the forest based garbage facility. Before I can get bearings, a grotesque scent assaults my nostrils, mounds of trash envelop my vision, the occasional plastic bag violently forced away from our landing zone, as our vehicle's blades create a whirlwind of refuse around us. Not too eager to consent to the foul odors, I pull up my mask, blocking off the evil smell, directing the other members of the squad to do the same, lest it distract them from competent mission conduct. Trudging forward through the mounds of rusted cars, broken toys, the occasional marking station, whereas the actual facility is a vague impression on the outskirts of the horizon, we arrive at the first Hive growth. As if by miracle, the rotting stench has increased tenfold, breaching my mask, but risk of attack by the adversary lends a fervent speed, and I start clearing waste to allow for the drill to puncture through, and that's when I see it. A lifeless appendage, perhaps a hand, and desperation latches on to my heart, and I claw at the remaining rubbish, revealing a ring of corpses round the Hive, tendrils bonding them to it, gaunt eyes burning into me. Whatever new occurrence this may be, I know with clarity that the dead workers are fertilizing the Hive growth, like some twisted version of true decomposition. The sight disgusts my fellows, and I allow them a few fleeting moments to steel their stomachs. Once again gathered, I place the drill, flinching as it cracks through bone, and we await the arrival of the Cryptids. For several anxiety-filled minutes none but the shriek of the drill is heard, no enemy, adrenaline laced blood calms to normality. There was nothing. No pools of acid burning the soles of our boots, no talons tearing into flesh, after what may have been just 10 minutes, the sickening pop is heard, and we watch the Hive collapse upon itself. Pushing the curiosity aside, I point the team onward, towards the next target. That's when we hear it. Shrieks, piercing calls the noise burrowing into my skull, resounding across my mind. Shadows lapped at the edges of my sight, prowlers provoking fear within my stomach. But without warning the screams ceased. A calm before a storm. Then, out the surrounding garbage, pounced our attackers, the freakish insectoids trying to rip away limbs. Military experience, no, will, failed us then we hesitated staring at the monsters facing us. They were skinny, but well muscled, minor exoskeleton covering their bodies, pronged horns like that of a dung beetle. Teeth bared I fired, whereas Tom, perhaps James, I just hadn't learned their names, too many die, stood dumbfounded. He was the first to go, wailing as they packed around his flesh, gouging him, but that was to be expected, what happened following, was not. Before we could continue the battle, they simply dragged his corpse away, without even the most modest regard for the bullets firing into their forms. I wanted to run after, save him, save a dead man, cowardice stopped me, halted us all. Guilt clouded thought afterwards, depression, I remember little. Just periods of silence interrupted by those eerie shrieks, and the loss of another man, and us all watching the beasts drag the bodies through the junk. I finally collapsed at my goal, the Hive, alone mayhaps aided by another survivor, truthfully I was too long gone by then to even care. Begrudgingly I shuffled back up, placed the drill, and did the same old procedure, wiping off the point of contact for the drill. I should have expected it, I must have honestly thought those damn Cryptids took their corpses to some heavenly pile of refuse, but the blow to my psyche preempted all that dribble, and instead I looked upon the festering faces of my squad. I cried. I was a grown man and I just wailed, cursing whatever gods I could dredge up. It was folly, because as soon as the sorrow ebbed away, I noticed the sound hadn't stopped. Shrill cries in tandem with my own. This time I just sat in place, felt eager hands surround me, strapping me in with my fellows. Shelter for shelter, company for company, I felt woozy as the Hive enveloped me, but I had a clarity enough to watch as those of my squad beckoned me along, we'd stay together, all feeding the Hive. Loyalty to each other, to the Hive. Valkyries: Cryptids resembling that of a seeker mixed with the common Dung beetle, they ensure Hives are well kept. Prowling in the background they shall await a kill by their brethren, to gather aroundst a corpse, dragging the dying soldiers to the next nearest Hive to serve as a fertilizer of sorts. The steady supply of deceased to a Hive Growth increases it's regeneration ability. In game: Seldom provoked to attack a player alone, Valkyries will wait until he is downed, and then proceed to drag him to a Hive not currently being drilled upon. Ignorant of any bullets, they can only be stopped by death, but be forewarned, even with the intention of saving an ally from being enveloped into a Hive, when a Valkyrie has its grip on a player, that same player may be subjected to friendly fire. Should the Valkyries succeed in placing him on a Hive, and he dies, that Hive will now require a longer amount of time to be drilled. Considering such, allowing an ally to die at the hands of several Valkyrie only serves to detriment the entire match, as players must then endure greater waves of enemies. At higher rounds, losing a player to a Valkyrie, can mean a couple more Rhinos to do in the survivors. (The above is merely a concept I'd enjoy being introduced to Extinction, written and completed 3/6/2014)
  6. Actually Electric, it's entirely possible that Maxis, in the "true reality" is still nothing other than an electronic recording, a Hal 9000 for his "Family". It would explain why, in an effort to perhaps bond with her "Father", Samantha gives herself a German accent in the original maps. And if you backtrack to the plan of creating unquestioning soldiers, who would be more easily impressionable than children? Imagine a community wherein Maxis' plan is realized by collecting the orphaned children of an apocalypse into a society of his own making, free to indoctrinate them with all matter of lies, for there certainly aren't heroes to stop him yet. In fact there are several oddities in the Origins End Cutscene: 1: As they exit through the door, what appear to either be bullet or claw marks on the door itself. 2:Samantha's teddy bear is covered in the trademark blood, despite their seemingly safe home. 3: On the Dresser's leg, you see tally marks; Eddy's has less, because he has not been at the community as long as Sam, her father being the one in charge. (Eddy 10 days, Samantha 20) 4: "Their eyes should be blue" perhaps, unlike Samantha who has seemingly been safe with Maxis from the start, Eddy knows of the true zombies eyes. 5:"Girls don't know enough about Zombies." Eddy says this as if it is a daily part of life, the history of zombies. Perhaps there is a REAL history taught to the inhabitants, he says it as if "Girls don't know enough about sports" resulting in the feeling that zombies have been around for ages. 6: The siren resounds around the house, if the community was just their one house, why use a siren, Maxis could merely open the door and ask them to go into the basement. This shows the community is much larger. 7: "My father has a plan." Safety Plan. But what would need curing? 8: Maxis has stayed a voice throughout the whole game, even our cut scene with the children. Omnipotence is a gift.
  7. Salutations my peers! Within this article you shall find a collection of facts regarding the supposed science-fiction hive mentality of our insectoid trespassers, as introduced in Extinction. A common misconception of these alien creatures would be the application of the term "Hive Mind" to their social functions. This implies a collective conscience, where all members share the memories and experience of another organism of their swarm. In fact, the actual term for the foreign Extinction race's organizational ability, would be Eusociality. The most common participants in such an animal society would be ants, bees, wasps, and termites; each has a caste based existence, each level of caste serving various functions, from worker to warrior, such applies to Extinction creatures as well. Due to this, one can place the Extinction beasts in a separate category than the all-consuming force some of the community have labeled them as, as if they were akin to The Flood, etc. A secondary consequence of their eusocial activities, would place them lower on the food chain, meaning that there are others, greater predators, and the seemingly mindless insectoid destroyers are not apex predators, but perhaps secondary/or primary consumers, requiring by nature that a larger threat exists among the stars. Although the monsters' apparent colonization strategy coupled by their increased aggression could mark them as artificially engineered shock troops, sent by a higher echelon of intelligence. Continuing on, I have prepared an analysis of more recent events, namely "The Solaris Event" (a term propagated at one time by the PTGCentral YouTube channel). The most common cultural reference I could obtain with relevancy is in relation to the novel Solaris: "Solaris chronicles the ultimate futility of attempted communications with the extraterrestrial life on a far-distant planet. Solaris is almost completely covered with an ocean that is revealed to be a single, planet-encompassing organism, with whom Terran scientists are attempting communication. What appear to be waves on its surface are later revealed to be the equivalents of muscle contractions. Kris Kelvin arrives aboard "Solaris Station",[3] a scientific research station hovering (via anti-gravity generators) near the oceanic surface of the planet Solaris. The scientists there have studied the planet and its ocean for many decades, a scientific discipline known as Solaristics, which over the years has degenerated to simply observe, record and categorize the complex phenomena that occur upon the surface of the ocean. Thus far, they have only achieved the formal classification of the phenomena with an elaborate nomenclature— yet do not understand what such activities really mean in a strictly scientific sense. Shortly before psychologist Kelvin's arrival, the crew has exposed the ocean to a more aggressive and unauthorized experimentation with a high-energy X-ray bombardment. Their experimentation gives unexpected results and becomes psychologically traumatic for them as individually flawed humans. The ocean's response to their aggression exposes the deeper, hidden aspects of the personalities of the human scientists — whilst revealing nothing of the ocean’s nature itself. To the extent that the ocean’s actions can be understood, the ocean then seems to test the minds of the scientists by confronting them with their most painful and repressed thoughts and memories. It does this via the materialization of physical human simulacra; Kelvin confronts memories of his dead lover and guilt about her suicide. The torments of the other researchers are only alluded to but seem even worse than Kelvin’s personal ordeal. The ocean’s intelligence expresses physical phenomena in ways difficult for their limited earth science to explain, deeply upsetting the scientists. The alien (extraterrestrial) mind of Solaris is so greatly different from the human mind of (objective) consciousness that attempts at inter-species communications are a dismal failure." - Obtained from Wikipedia The main purpose of the tale is for the readers to recognize the futility of human communication with an extraterrestrial specie. This is due to vast differences in each race's evolutionary process, beings that develop from different classes of organic life will no doubt create cultural differences and moral standards so foreign to an alien world, that to apply any type of human thought to them would be impossible. The ideology of war, colonization, emotions, languages, nations, science, none would apply. This lack of communication would entail dangerous outcomes put into play by both sides. We would be unable to comprehend extraterrestrials at most, if not all, levels; how can one put aside the millennia of history that we as a race have input to our very core? Death is guaranteed, if They didn't pull the trigger, soon we would; our only hope for integration would require such an unlikely similarity between each race, as to allow minor communication, which itself is a very low probability.In correlation to Extinction, one could assume this refer to a point of attempted communication by one species to another, only to meet utter failure. Cross' existence could suggest she would be a catalyst to bridge a Solaris event, and establish communication, possibly even command between each specie. Should this be the same Solaris, we are at the mercy of lifeforms who know, and perhaps care not of us, for that is the sad truth of such a Solaris Event.
  8. There is a growing certainty within me that our Maxis is more than a mere man, and maybe not even by spirit standards either. A common Literary ploy that re-occurs in many a book I read: Omnipresent 3rd Person Voices are normally Authors. And the fact that The Zombies team strives so much to keep Maxis from becoming physical in ANY way at all in our story points towards that. You see to be an author you cannot be a character. No exceptions. Even if an author made a character named after himself, who looks, speaks, and thinks like himself, he is not the Author. It's not only due to the fact that by writing any type of fictional story, the characters therein are fictional as well, but because no man can write his entire being onto paper, no matter how vast or even minuscule his thoughts be. I could strive my entire lifetime to sum up my personality, my features, with the strokes of graphite amongst a lined paper canvas, and fail. Because every person who attempts so always skews the truth: Ignores whether they have blatant flaws, like selfishness or jealousy, not willing to admit such to the reader. Instead what they make is only a storybook counterpart, an amalgamation of ideals the author believes applies to himself. But the fact that we never see, nor directly interact with Maxis, he stays Omnipresent. Now we come to the Godly part. The only other explanation beyond Maxis being an Author of sorts, is omnipresence. Immortality separates you from this plane. If one is a God you are Immortal, and immortality means time does not effect you. But without time, you may never touch the Earth, nor travel, smell, see; no, in order to view our dimension space and time must be in tandem, you cannot have one without the other. Schrodinger's Cat: Once the cat leaves space or view it becomes neither alive nor dead, we cannot be certain of it's form without seeing the space the cat occupies. Same goes with time: if one becomes immortal he must adjust to a new plane of existence, one wherein time is no longer a factor. Unfortunately this theory upon Maxis' condition would be skewed, if he was immune to time (different then eternal life), he shouldn't be able to contact us at all, unless some dimensional rift was between his place of habitation and ours. This again points back to his possible position as an author or such. So far throughout the entire story-line the actions of Maxis have dictated our players, and even Samantha's and Richtofen's actions. Indeed if Maxis tells us to do, we do so. The same would be if on paper Maxis wrote them; as much as we believe his orders are suggestions, they are fated. Just look at how we view the story: To advance the plot we must either follow or contradict Maxis. In fact the only freedom one can experience as one of the Author's characters is via Richtofen's orders, but like the others his orders are made in response to Maxis, if it were not for Maxis interruption into Edward's scheme, he would have no need to order us, thus his orders are because of Maxis'. Until Maxis becomes more than a voice, he will always be the puppeteer. An Author, a Narrator, we just don't know, but as of yet he is most definitely a director for every step, every action we take. (I'd welcome any debate on the above within the comments below, so as to refine it, and further explain it to those who question an exemption or mistake I've made in it's creation, for I would like to further elaborate upon it should you find err.) Yours truly, Skuld
  9. Fire and brimstone. The words repeating constantly throughout his skull, rebounding amongst the twisted corridors of his mind. It had become all he knew when the world had ended. But that wasn't true. I knew of other things. Of Flesh, torn asunder, by people he once knew; the people now mockeries of life, their decaying meat revealing bloodied grins, hungering for my own skin. I ran for so long. But you can only run so far, until you realize there isn't anywhere left. Today I made my newest home in the crumbling corpse of what was once a great skyscraper, now a perfect haven from the hordes of the plague-ridden. I crept into my cot, falling into slumber at the burning skies, as ash darkened them, beckoning night. My body awoke to screams. I hesitated, self-preservation had become my savior despite the sin; the other Savior I knew abandoned me long ago. But, acting on what was left of a moral compass, I rushed from my hiding spot onto a nearby stairway, and begun the descent, hoping I would not be too late. Adrenaline fueling me, I gathered in the gory scene; blood caked the floor, and several of the unholy creatures strove for a being in the back of the dim hallway. I gripped my only weapon, a lengthy steel bar, whittled into a razor edge, equipped with crosspiece and grip, a regular sword of ages past hand built by my weathered hands. The sharpened metal edge cleaved through bodies and skulls, brain matter and bone fragments began to fly in my wake. Each of the hungry souls lusted after my flesh, and I met their avarice with its only mode of satisfaction, free entry into abyss. Finally I breached the mosh of undead, reaching my goal, a young girl, whose wails had all but died, thanks to a series of gaping wounds, bit deep into her flesh. I was too late. Dropping to my knees, as darkness worked its way into my muscles and bones, beckoning me to sleep endlessly and join this young child, promising me an end to the misery I was forced to experience each day. But what little humanity in me flickered, causing me to reach out, close her eyes, the beginning of a process of burial I'd carried out one too many times in the latest years. Bloodied hands touched her pallid face, only for the eyes to erupt open, blue light streaming from newly re-awakened sight, as one more starving mouth leapt forward, sinking into the flesh of my hand and scraping across bone, mere moments before I could silence her with a stroke of cold iron. Such pain as I'd never known crashed amongst my senses, eliciting a primal scream, brought forth from the deepest wells of agony in my hollowed body, viral infection now coursing throughout my veins, unto my heart. Oh how I yearned for abyss before disease could take my mind. Such thought sparked action, and I raised my sword shakily, dissecting the offending hand from forearm, perhaps it would be enough to stop infection. Thus so, I kicked away the truly dead girl, and stood frailly upon my feet, as blood spurted from my wound. I eased towards my hideaway, hoping to medicate myself, but upon arrival, I collapsed, as darkness embraced me.
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