If you happen to come across this page, please visit my deviantART page! I have put a lot of effort into my work, and I need tips, constructive criticism and stuff. If you do go, tell me what you thought of my work either here or there. Appreciate it, if anyone bothers to do it. :)

Hey all, if you ever happen to stumble upon this page, please either go to my deviantART page and have a look at some of the fruits of my labor, or look at Mystery of the Circles, my quick puzzle game. If you do, please review. :)

k10

This is a short science fiction story I wrote when I was in New Zealand, also viewable on my deviantART page. Tell me what you think of it.

AMBUSH

The lone man slowly ventured up to the old abandoned office block on the corner of Logan Street. It was one of those lazy Sunday afternoons, where virtually everyone stays at home to rest and recover after a hard week's work at one of the local BlueCo facilities.
This man's name was Russ Jackson. He was one of the few building site developers left in the United States, and he had the hard job of observing a new site and reporting back to BlueCo with details such as block size, any obstructing building that had to be demolished, and if there were any stubborn owners that didn't want to surrender their land to BlueCo. After these, he would give his recommendation for the facility that should be built on the land. Either a Meat Grinder, which was a BlueCo food factory, which on the inside looked like a common slaughterhouse, a power station, which was virtually a slave driven unit, a BlueCo retail outlet, which sold food, drink and other necessities or an Admin block, home to a squad of BlueCo commandos, elite soldiers highly trained for going into an area and killing everyone in sight. One of the closer blocks was home to one of their leaders, Nick Michaeleaux, one of the most ruthless soldiers in the world. If anyone saw him, they instantly knew their death certificate had been written and shoved into the faces of their families.
Russ held in his left hand a clipboard with a wad of legal documents relating to the seizure of the property and demolition of the onsite building. Just in case anybody came by disagreeing with him. He had been told beforehand that there was no need to report any immovable owners, as the owner of this land had died a week ago of a heart attack.
It was extremely unusual, even on a Sunday like this, to see the streets completely empty. There were no vehicles on the roads and no pedestrians on the pavement. The only vehicle Russ had seen was a lone van, brandishing an advertisement for BlueCo Enhanced Cola on its flanks, sitting across the street.
Before he entered the building, Russ glanced up at the sky. The sun glowed bright orange on the horizon. If he wrapped this up quickly he would be able to quickly go down to the nearby BlueCo retail outlet for a six pack before the place closed.
Russ opened the door leading into the office block and had a quick look around. He groaned silently.
"This place is a dump," he muttered. He scrawled a few notes onto a blank sheet of paper attached to his clipboard and moved on.
Cobwebs were draped over the dusty old furniture, covered in some places with up to an inch of dust. Decaying old phonebooks from 2013 were lying in small piles on some desks. Lots of the windows were broken, no glass inside the building though. Either someone had cleaned it up, or someone had jumped out of the windows.
Russ rolled his eyes and jotted down a few more notes on his paper. He moved on.
After taking a few more notes on this floor, he moved over to a set of stairs leading up to the first floor. He hurriedly walked up them. When he arrived at the top, he saw the first floor, in all its crappy glory, and his right hand became a blur as he scrawled down more notes.

Hushed voices, speaking in a darkened area.
"Where is target located at present?"
"First floor, second window on the left. Sitting duck for the snipers. Robinson, Allen, take aim. Fire on my mark."
"Yes, sir."

Russ quickly unwrapped a BlueCo Generic Cough Soother and popped the contents of the wrapper into his mouth. He didn't actually have a cough, but for some reason, he felt like having something that tasted like wax.
So far, he had filled up a page and a half of notes and comments on the building state alone. And he still had to look at the land out back.
Guess I'm not going to get that six pack after all, he thought. Damn.

"Yo, Robinson, let's take this fucker's head off," one of the voices in the darkened room whispered.
"Gladly," the replying voice said. The owners of the voices pulled back the safeties on their highly accurate 50 caliber 'Pegasus' automatic sniper rifles.
Over on floor one, Russ began to slowly walk towards the stairway leading up to the second floor. He hadn't been told what was up on the second floor or any of the other floors above that for some reason. It was as if he didn't need to know.
What he needed to know, however, was that there were ten fully armed men lying in wait for him behind the door.
Without thinking twice, Russ ventured right up to the door and opened it fully.
The next ten seconds happened in slow motion.
All ten men immediately emerged from their hiding places, high powered weapons raised and firing. Russ's eyes bugged out and he whirled around and ran as fast as humanly possible back down the stairs. Amazingly, Russ wasn't hit in this assault of gunfire, but the same couldn't be said for the walls around him. They were shredded almost instantly.
One of the men up on the second floor talked into his throat mike.
"He's heading your way Robinson," he said, whilst jamming a fresh magazine into his weapon. The ten men pursued after him.
As soon as Russ went past the windows that Robinson and his buddy were aiming their guns at, they let rip with a short burst of devastating fifty caliber sniper rounds.
The enormous rounds pock marked the wall with huge craters. Russ ran for all he was worth, all the shots missing him by inches. Small bits of debris and rains of dust from the ageing plaster and brick wall showered onto him.
Robinson didn't miss a beat. He calmly reached into his pocket and grabbed a radio. He flicked it on and spoke coolly. "Ground team, this is sniper team. Stay frosty. He'll be out any minute."
Russ sprinted across the first floor, practically leaping over old dusty couches, heart pounding in his chest, many questions flowing through his head. Who were these guys? Why were they trying to kill him? Who ordered the killing?
Russ pushed the questions out of his mind and burst out onto the streets.
As soon as he was out of the building, the van parked across the road burst open, another fourteen fully armed men to flood out, guns pointed at his head.
Suddenly Russ heard an earsplitting roar virtually right above him. He looked up and freaked out.
It was a BlueCo VTOL (Vertical take off and landing) dropship, capable of carrying up to thirty armed men and essential equipment such as EMP emitters and cloaking devices.
Out of either side of the dropship, long ropes shot out into the road, tethering the ship to the ground. Lines of men slid down the ropes and landed on the ground, guns pointed at Russ.
As they hit the ground, Russ knew he had no other options. He put his hands behind his head and got down on his knees.
The sniper team emerged from the entrance of the building next to the office building, guns disassembled, semiautomatic pistols raised and pointed at Russ.
In total, nearly sixty men were surrounding him.
From the outside of the ring of men, a large black man entered the ring and walked up to Russ, lying pathetically on the ground.
Russ glanced up at this man. He knew him only too well.
It was Nick Michaeleaux. Leader of the BlueCo commandos in this area.
Russ's eyes widened as soon as he saw him. Michaeleaux was huge; nearly six foot nine and his eyes possessed the authority of someone who expected to be obeyed.
Michaeleaux pulled out a BlueCo standard issue AntiRecoil pistol and held it firmly in his grasp. He knelt down beside Russ.
"Well, well, well, who do we have here? My man...Russ Jackson! How long has it been since chu and I had a little talk..." Russ's eyes burned with hatred as Michaeleaux stared into them.
"So, what have I done this time, Michaeleaux? Russ slowly said, staring at Michaeleaux, "Have I urinated a little too far to the left? Have I burned my wood too thoroughly? No, that's it, I've been chewing my food too loudly again?"
Michaeleaux growled and shoved Russ to the ground roughly. He scraped his face, leaving a painful graze on the left part of his face.
"Don't screw with me Russ, because you know what happens when I'm screwed with," Michaeleaux snarled. He yanked Russ off of the ground, holding him by the scruff of his neck.
"You remember our little...date at your place of residence..." Michaeleaux said. He grinned as he said this, which seemed to infuriate Russ.
"How could I forget...you killed my daughter!" Russ yelled.
Michaeleaux brought his AntiRecoil pistol to Russ's temple and smiled evilly.
"Now, now, Russ, you know that was an accident...she was...in the way of the bullet when I fired at her-oops, did I say that out loud?" Michaeleaux laughed without humor.
Russ growled angrily and punched Michaeleaux in the face, but as the punch hit home, it did virtually nothing. Michaeleaux grinned again.
"Ah, you forgot about that little accident I had with that wife of yours? She seemed to...not enjoy the killing of your daughter, so she grabbed a knife and slashed my face multiple times. So I was the first to receive a revolutionary new facial reconstruction technique. They put my remaining face on a shock absorbing pad to take any kind of trauma that anyone can dish out at me."
Russ blanched. Michaeleaux dropped him onto the ground and cocked his pistol. Russ knew what was coming, so he got up off the street as fast as he could, and ran down the road. Some of the troops around Michaeleaux raised their weapons, but Michaeleaux ordered them to hold fire.
"It's been a while since I've had a moving target," he said blankly, raised his gun and fired three quick shots into the back of Russ's head.
Russ dropped like a stone and hit the road. Blood pooled beneath Russ's head, flowing out of the one perfect hole that all three shots combined made. Michaeleaux put his pistol back into its holster and turned around to face his men.
"Okay people, let's saddle up...we need to get back to HQ...some punks have tagged up the local retail outlet...let's go get 'em."

I made a lolcat pic. Also viewable on my deviantART page.

If anyone happens to stumble upon this userpage, please go to my deviantART page for everything that I don't want here. Or something like that. Just click the link to the left of the screen.

New animation coming soon. Hopefully it will go better than the last two.

It has been a whole year since I joined Newgrounds. I know that may not be much compared to others who have been here since the beggining, but I'm pretty happy. As a treat, here's a funny pic.

Woah.

Hey, if anyone wants to read one of my novels, go to my deviantART page. I would appreciate it if you commented on the stories, because I want to know what other people think of them. If you're not a Deviant, comment here. If you are a Deviant, comment on my page. Thx.

k10

I am starting to learn and use Flash CS3. Hooray! It's easier than I thought. That's why I submitted my first real attempt called Stick Shot a little while ago. Of course, it got blammed, but I am making another one called *Error* which will hopefully make it past judgement when I submit it. It will involve various stupid and funny error messages that I have created and sourced off the web. If you want to try the error message generator, go to atom.smasher.org/error

Until I submit *Error*, here's one of the messages I created to keep you amused if you actually happen to stumble onto my userpage.