Mac wrote:

Warning: Spoiler!

MAMAzBoYz. The big guns. You've been in near-awe of them from day one. And now, Eddie P. Rex has just invited you. But it.s not just MAMAzBoYs. You look at all the big names that just invited you. Do the swords really have that much power?you wonder.
You look at your kdr and the player menu, thanking God that you had the fortune to have your best game in a lobby with all these guys.
You do your best to hide your exhilaration. "lol um lemme think about it" you type. It's a screen, they have no idea how awesome this is.
VonDouche pretends to be upset. "what's to think about?" He replies. Then, realizing that you might legitimately think he's upset, he quickly adds "lol jk".
The game rolls on, and the kills pile up. So do the deaths. Parachutes have a one-in-ten chance of ever hitting the ground, and the valley of death has become a veritable elephant graveyard of carnage. It finally ends with Eddie P. Rex splitting through the red defense and grabbing that final hangar. An eight-kill streak, with some elite-level spiraling thrown in as Mr. Blunt pulled off the runway for a final shot. And that might be what makes your decision. MAMAzBoYs, definitely, you think with grim satisfaction. At the very least, I'll have an excuse to switch sides when Eddie is red
"Place your request, then PM Cry, so your request can be voted on and processed" instructs UltimateF1, the premier dogfight master of MAMAzBoYz. I can't believe this, you think. I'm gonna be in. Omg. Just... Wow.



TWO DAYS LATER


You're in. You were accepted. You post an emotional little anecdote on the thread, thanking the members for accepting you. An hour later you check back. 7 "thank you's". So it begins, you think.
You go to fly, checking out the brand new tag, and see how it fits. Messiness? Vimy? Festubert? you wonder vaguely. Festubert. Definitely Festubert.
You enter the server, and are awe-stricken immediately. There, resplendant in his SSIV and a blue tag over his head, is Cry.
Cry is THE man. The most polarizing figure in Dogfight, Cry has been around since Zuperman decided to make a WWI flight simulator. He is as witty and intelligent as he is hard to shoot. He may not be the best pilot in Dogfight, but he's the best that everyone knows about. And here he is, on your team.
"Welcome to MAMAzBoYz, bud" he types. "Thx, mate," is your hurried reply. You have a battle to fight.
This. Is. Awesome

Mac wrote: MAMAzBoYs. Chapter 2.

Warning: Spoiler!

Two weeks later, and things have settled down a bit. You're flying quite a bit, and the experience has been great so far. The best part is unfolding right now.
You are in Borimov. Bomb the base. 2-v-3. You and that level 28 that never talks are German. The blues include a group captain who apparently thinks that sneaking around the edge of the map is an effective strategy in a tank, a level 29, named SneakySnake, who talks way too much and usually gets shot while typing, and a level 18 from one of those newer squads with a bird in its name, who seems very worried about your tag.
"Is there such thing as 'MAMA love?'" He asks?
You frown. "Mama love"? You've never heard the term before.
"so i tld my cuz, 'thats a turky' lololol" types level SneakySnake as you unload 8 shots into him.
"Of course there's mama love," you reply. "How do YOU think you were born?"
"my mama is white, but my dad is white too lololol" SneakySnake as you destroy his tank.
"Am I on the love list?" asks the level 18.
"i have 2 gfs, but they dont no about each other lol"
SneakySnake crashed
You're starting to get the picture. By "love list", djiuhv (as the level 18 is named. Why? I have no clue) is referring to some sort of hit list: players your squadron hates and spawnkills relentlessly.
"My squadron leader hates MAMAz, so he told them he wanted them dead" explains djiuhv.
"dont hate ur momma, bro, youll gey unborn lolol" SneakySnake brought down by FullBlown (your teammate)
You pull over, bombing the hangar. Djiuhv is parked in the runway, and Snake crashes into him. ("lolol")
"Yep, we have the list, and you're on top," you quip, and begin to relentlessly spawnkill him. Snake quits. Within 5 minutes, Djiuhv also quits. You and Fullblown collect the rest of the hangars. The Air Commodore in the tank is never seen again. To this day, his ghost is said to still haunt the corner of Borimov, in a tipped-over tank.


Later, you're on world chat, celebrating a hard-fought, 2-hour epic.
"I think we destroyed more planes that game than the entirety of both world wars", you type.
"Not a chance."
??
You look at the name, and moan inwardly. It's DryGuy. The crusty veteran who can't take a joke, or let anything go, for that matter.
"It was a joke dude" replies Dipster, your chat companion, who finished the previous game with a 2:1 ratio.
"I never said it wasn't, I was just saying, you could not have possibly destroyed more planes than both world wars".
"Seriously?"
"Yes, apparently unlike you."

The argument continues for several minutes. Finally, with all the joy sucked out of your momentary experience, you exit chat. Some things, you just can't win

McFate wrote:

Warning: Spoiler!

Feeling kind of cocky ‘eh? Well “Special Ops” may be the most serious squad out there, and there’s no denying their high level of skill. They are known to aggressively prosecute the game mission and though they are known to spawnkill, camp and drop they also seem to make fast work out of a game. While you never see them leave a teammate un-covered you also don’t see them going for cheap kills.

After the game ends in a quick victory you meet VonDouche on world chat.

“Yes sir, Major Douche”

“‘Captian VonDouche’. He corrects without missing a beat. "Now go to the forum and make a post on the 'Official Special Ops Squadron" thread. State your intention to pledge, your current stats, your hangar load out; planes and upgrades both German and Allied, your in-game currency, your annual gaming budget, your join date, weekly schedule of availability, any dogfight player with whom you associate IRL ….”

“I-R-L?” you ask.

“In Real Life” The Baron curtly explains. You are a little taken aback by the seriousness of the Douche. Is he for real? Does he realize it's only a game? You guess that he's just really into it. Poor guy. You wonder what he does "IRL", probably sits at home 24/7 in his gaming chair with built in speakers, probably lives just for dogfight. LOL! But still, isn't he taking the roll-playing aspect a bit farther than seems…sane? You gather up the necessary information and post it to the forum thread, it's reminiscent of some sort of military induction process. (Where is the "group W" bench?) Within minutes of your posting, a notification appears that you have a new Private Message waiting.


It's from "Major Sirus" Head recruiting officer for "Special Operations Gretchland Division" There's a password and link to the "Gretchland External Security"" website.

ATTENTION SPECIAL OPERATIONS RECRUIT!!!
(Fill out the form below and immediately post it to the secure website in the link above.)
ONCE THIS FORM IS COMPLETED AND SUBMITTED YOUR MEMBERSHIP IS COMPLETE AND BINDING. THERE CAN BE NO TURNING BACK. MAKE NO MISTAKE AND DO NOT SUBMIT UNLESS YOU ARE PREPARED TO FULLY COMMIT TO SPECIAL OPERATIONS TACTICAL DUTY.


'Immediately'? ‘FULLY COMMIT’? You laugh as you fill out the "form". You pause for a moment before entering your cell phone number and actual street address. Hmm...what harm can it be? You figure it's just so they can send you some swag. Guys who take it this seriously probably have all kinds of squad insignia patches or stickers they mail out to every new member. You hit send.


That night your dreams show signs of your growing addiction to the game. You’ve had them before but this time the 'dreams' are more visceral, more ‘real’ somehow. You are flying your SE5a , the same as in your typical dogfight dream, but this time you can feel the g forces, you specifically notice because at times you're having trouble keeping your head facing the intended direction, you're using all of your strength to keep your hands from falling from the control stick and into your lap. Since when did you play dogfight with a control stick?!!! As you pull out of a dive you feel your blood run from your head to your feet while your slumbering brain calmly wonders why , when everything else is being pushed down, the contents of your stomach is about to head in the other direction. You feel like you're being chased, any moment expecting bursts of machine gun fire. Something else is different too. It's a feeling... It’s like the game will “END”. Not the same end as when Zaza or Blaze 24/7 have14 kills in a dogfight and you know they’re on your tail. This seems much more…

BAM! BAM! BAM!

“WHAT, what the?!!!” Your’re wide awake! Your head is trying to reconcile your dream and the obnoxious pounding. You try to shake away the confusion “Who the &%#@ is knocking on my door at 5:am?!!!”

Voices outside say “This is it. We’re going in.”… Boom! The door flies wide open and in rush three uniformed 'troops' with 'SOG' insignias and tactical gear. You jump back and take a stance to defend yourself. The intruders are looking directly into your eyes as they advance upon you yet their expressions are more urgent than malicious. You stand poised for an attack that never comes.

“We are so greatfu…plea…no, honored! Sir!” They snap to attention.

“What in the HELL is going ON?! Get OUT of my HOUSE!" you bellow! You expend a great deal of effort resisting the impulse to kick the jaw of the closest one, plant a fists in the face of the guy on the right, then drive your left elbow and right fist into the face on the left. It's not that you've been trained in hand-to-hand combat and you aren't someone who goes looking for fights, but the few times a conflict has been unavoidable your assailants have regretted their actions. Somehow with your natural reactions, time seems to slow down. It's the same within the game. When you come upon a "wall of reds" your mind automatically reacts like it's some sort of puzzle. While other pilots seem content to point and shoot at each enemy one at a time, you subconsciously prioritize your targets like a champion billiards player laying out a sequence of shots; dodge the high-rank red head-on dead-eye shooter, snap off a couple rounds at the other red marshal who is steadily targeting your teammate, with luck he goes down and frees the other blue to assist you with the dead-eye, you continue to draw fire and dodge as your teammate takes out your attacker. You're then free to almost leisurely pick your way through the remaining lower ranked reds while simultaneously dodging the rifle fire from the parachutes. While some players seem to always target the chutists, you try to exploit the advantage caused by the delay before a downed red will respawn and be back in the ideal position to defend against your incoming bombs...Sure your tactics may not be fool proof, nor do they yield the highest kill-to-death ratio (KDR) but it just makes sense to you somehow.

“Our sincerest apologies sir, but everyone is waiting. We must go now! Everyone power up.” The three begin to bring out several electronic devices. One goes to your window and quickly sets up a dish type antenna device; another connects what appears to be a military grade wireless router; the other is using a Kevlar cased loptop and reports “128 BPS and steady. Ready to ping for lag.”

“Ping now." Then to you; "Where is your device, sir?”

“Uh….” Your mind is reeling. You have been awake for only about 45 seconds and are not convinced that any of this is really happening. Bemused, you look at the ‘ping guy’ who is now kneeling amid a fortune of equipment. You say matter of factly; “This can’t be happening. I'm asleep. I am still dreaming.” In an effort to prove your point you back-hand him across the face, fully expecting to somehow “respawn” in your bed with your face deep in your pillow and the covers still pulled up nice and tight…oops.

The next thing you know the three of them send you face first into the rug, arms pulled up nice and tight behind you as you feel a needle prick in your gluteus maximus...3-2-1... BOOM!!!! The 5 ccs of adrenaline hit you like a million volts. Now you’re the one standing and they’re all picking themselves up from the floor.

“Feeling better now, sir?” asks the ‘ping’ guy, only slightly perturbed. “I need your device. If I can harvest your control settings, you can link and be ready to fly in about 30 seconds.”

Understanding suddenly blossoms. “You mean ‘what do I play Dogfight on’? This is about DOGFIGHT?!!! " Confusion now replaced by disbelief, you glance at your charging tablet. One of the troops follows your gaze, grabs it and tosses it to Ping.

“Hey! Give me that! What are you…?” You watch as Ping connects a mini USB. Your tablet makes a bright flash and a wheezy popping sound. You know at once that it is dead; smoked, cracked, shattered and fried. Disbelief gives way to adrenaline enhanced rage. You’re just about done planning the complete destruction of the intruders when Ping brightens with a relieved smile. A moment before can you snuff out these annoyances he shoves a strange helmet/goggles/headset thing into your violently trembling hands.

“Just put it on. All your settings are loaded” Anger morphs back into confusion. You hold it up for inspection. “PUT IT ON NOW!....please, sir?.” Resignation finally takes over and you set it on your head. “Oh, yea." Says Ping. "I think you’re going to like this!”

First there is a moment of deep, dark nothingness so complete and profound that you wonder if you have just blacked out. Then the Echoboom logo suddenly appears in front of you and familiar music “Dun Dat Da, Dun-dat-da, dun dat da ….” It fills your senses more completely than a THX Dolby surround sound 3D theatre. You are naturally expecting the first game screen to appear but it never does.

You blink and rub your eyes and find yourself standing in front of the “The Prancing Pony”, the lodge in Gretchland village. But this is not the same village you have explored in-game, this is a living landscape with grass and trees swaying in a faint breeze, mountains, blue sky and buildings made of wood and stone. There’s a somewhat alpine scent in your nose and the sounds are of people hustling about. The three goons who had invaded your house are right there beside you but they now have the animated character look of the soldiers from the game, their familiar sight is strangely comforting. “Ummm…Ooookay…” you stammer, the jitters of adrenaline may be the only thing keeping you from dropping to the grassy ground in shock. The goons are stupidly grinning with huge, unblinking eyes and bolt action carbines. They motion you through the doors. “After you, sir.” Dumbfounded, you rub your eyes again and this time, when you open them, there are a bunch of people, a few women but mostly men of every age group and walk of life They’re all being directed into the doors of the lodge by more of the uniformed soldiers.

Bringing up the rear, you walk up the stairs, through the open door and into a scene you never would have imagined you would see in Dogfight; a town hall meeting. There look to be about 300 people. You feel certain you’ve never been in the same room as any of them before but there are a few who you recognize from the ‘Faces of Dogfight’ thread. As a matter of fact there’s Zuperman standing center, behind a big table at the far end of the hall. He’s surrounded by bewildered onlookers who seem to be waiting to hear him address the crowd. “Last one, Boss” say the goons as they follow you in and close the doors behind you.

“Well? What do you think of the latest update?” asks Zup with a grin. The room erupts into an uproar that takes several minutes to quiet back down. “Easy, calm down. We don’t have a lot of time so let me explain. First of all, welcome to Messins, the command Cube of the ‘ESPS ECHOBOOM’, an interplanetary spacecraft.” Dead silence. “I know, you were hoping for “Squad Wars” or more game options, but this must come first. The simple fact is that the “trolls” are taking up too much bandwidth. They log in with multiple accounts, they spam chat, they overload the reporting system and the auto-ban mechanisms, they flood my email with their stupidity and bash the game in reviews complaining about the problems they cause; and worse, they’re growing!” Gasps all around. “You should have starved them from the beginning! Didn’t you hear the wisdom when people said ‘don’t feed the trolls’? Now look! They have grown so strong and so many that they feeds themselves. They are taking over the game so completely that new players can easily mistake the trolls’ nastiness for the status quo here in Dogfight. This is not what I want for this game. Now I need your help. If you want Dogfight to reach its potential we need the ‘good’ players to ‘moderate’ the threat caused by the ‘bad’. The ‘good’ are all of you. Those gathered here by the soldiers. You have all been found worthy through your good gaming spirit! You have all shown a desire and the drive to make the game a better experience for everyone!”

The meeting hall erupts into a cacophony of cheers and clapping. You find yourself caught up in the moment, looking from face to face and seeing a common resolution, but when your eyes fall on the ridiculous soldiers, reality (what’s left of it…) comes crashing into your thoughts. “Hey! Wait! Worthy of what?” The din quickly subsides. “What the heck are we supposed to do?“

Zuperman holds his laptop up like a sacrament and proclaims “I have work to do. Von Douche and the other squad leaders will share with you the situation and the plan. This is everything! Fail, and it is all over! Succeed, and the game will be as it should, no more trolls, lag will be banished and Squad Wars can finally be launched!”

“Will there be team-chat?” some jerk yells from the side of the room.

“Yes” Says Zup as he vanishes just like ‘Star Trek’ characters when they get beamed back to the USS Enterprise. ‘Yea, right’ you think to yourself. Von Douche of Special Ops, Eddy P Rex of MAMAsBoYz and GooRue of the Delta 9 High Flyerz take the stage.

“Alright everyone…” starts GooRue. “Abandon all reason everyone who enters here. Do NOT try to make too much sense of any of this. If you do, you will not make it through this mission and your loved ones IRW will have to spend the rest of your life spoon feeding you and making sure your teeth get brushed.” He smiles a nearly toothless grin. “That’s right! The lag, the unbalanced servers, good people quitting, Zuperman needing to waste countless hours of development time on disciplinary nonsense, it’s all because of the trolls. We can’t just sit back and watch them destroy the game. Some of us have already formed a taskforce and have been watching from behind the scenes, looking for clues and signs to tell us who and how many of they are and where in the world they come from. While there may be many trolls, only a few seem cause most of the strife. We have identified the three most troublesome trolls. We believe that these three encourage all the rest. They also have a numbing effect on the good players thereby making them desensitized to the abuse so it’s easier to spread anger and apathy over all of Gretchland.”

“Anyway, so we’ve ID’d the three main ones. We’re calling one troll the “Filtch”, short for the ‘infiltrator’ has tricked his way into many squads and torn them apart. He has been known by the names; Crobar92, zackster, cheesebait, flybum, Smackattak, Slaphappy…The second (probably the most foul mouthed) has been known “The Mouth” known in-game as: MissPratt, Suey22, InContinental, papschmerlda, .SMedusa…The third seems to be the worst of all. He has actually contacted several players to harass them in real life: TheDogofDogs, Shintstir, Legion of Spleen, Braindead, ManChile9, StupedoVon Schiet… we usually just refer to him as ‘tDoD’.”

“So where are they and what do we need to do?” demands the same guy who asked about team-chat.

“Um, well… we believe thay have all gotten together with several hundred minions and are now headquartered on Europa.” Says GooRue, once again to dead silence. “You know? Europa. Jupiter’s 6th moon? Ever hear of it, maybe in 2001 A Space Odessy? ” Blank, silent stares...”Remember the part about not making sense? Anyway, we need to go to Europa and destroy the trolls’ net connections once and for all. While we’re at it we should try to rehabilitate any of the minions. I’m sorry to say that many of them are former friends and good players, even a few squad mates lost to selfish stupidity. I would like to see them return to their former good standing rather than be permanently banished.”

Murmurs of confusion come from the assembly. “How do we get there? Why us? How long will this take? When will we be back? I’ve got school, work, dinner, my wife will be furious….!”

Eddy P Rex is the next to speak. “Everyone here was hand picked for their combination of skills, dedication and for their display of social responsibility to the game community. You have all been brought here under your own authorization. You have all signed the contract which was specific to your squad but it contained the wording ‘MAKE NO MISTAKE AND DO NOT SUBMIT UNLESS YOU ARE PREPARED TO FULLY COMMIT…’ So here we are. We’re all here for as long as it takes. If all goes well we’re looking at 2-3 days to get there and another 2-3 to return. BUT, if all goes well Zuperman should be able to run up the game clock so time in the real world only moves 1/8th as fast as it does here.” This seems to have a calming effect on the still very confused crowd.

Eddy continues. “As Zup said, this is the ‘ESPS ECHOBOOM’. It’s an enormous improvised space craft made up of all six game maps. The game maps are actually cubes with the center of the sky being one corner. The playing map is a surface suspended a little below half way between the top point and the bottom point. Everything above the ground surface of the map is the sky that we fly in. Below the surface is the ‘underground’.

“The underground is real? Why has it always been a secret?” Ask several voices in the crowd.

“Yes. The underground is real, well, as real as anything can be in a digital world, but slow down a moment here and I’ll tell you the whole thing. Okay the ‘ESPS ECHOBOOM’ is a long craft made of the six game map cubes all in line. Messines is the command module. The ship is powered by a borrowed ‘Infinite Improbability Drive’ unit. Manufactured by Douglas Adams. The only trouble is that the manual is incomplete. All it says is ‘Don’t Panic!’ and that whatever the question the answer is ‘42’. As long as we keep it fed with warm tea it seems to keep track with whatever destination we collectively imagine.” Silence…. “Don’t try to make sense!”

“Fine, we’re in huge space craft. How do we fight the trolls?”

Eddy continues. “Okay, our Spads and Fokkers are WW1 style and obviously not designed for space flight. Here comes the fun part. Are there any ‘Star Wars’ fans in the house?”

‘Whoop’s are heard and many hands shoot into the air. *Sigh* Sci-fi nerds!

“Great! So I’m sure that many of you will know that George Lucas recently sold the ‘Star Wars’ franchise to Disney. The sale included the rights for the movies, video games, and the primary story line books, however it did not include many of the extended stories in the ‘Expanded Universe’. The good news for us is that there was a lot of confusion over all of the property and some of the equipment was ‘misplaced’ in transfer of LucasArt. In details which will never see the light of day, Gretchland became home to 300 small space craft, including A-wings, B-wings, ARC-170s and one Consular Class Cruiser.’

“What about X-wings or Jedi Star fighters, or battle cruisers and destroyers?” Asks ‘Red Five’.

“Sorry. All of the most well known ships were moved under heavy press coverage and were all closely accounted for. We got what fell through the cracks. But hey, what do you want here? Jedi powers too? Sorry, different game. The down side is that the trolls play dirty. We have reason to believe they have some accomplished hackers on their side and there is no way to know what they may throw at us. This means we need to come up with a multifaceted plan that can change depending on what we find once we get to Europa.” At this point Eddy pauses to let everyone take it in.

Someone who looks like they’ve spent time fixing equipment speaks up “’Star Wars’ has been around for almost 40 years. Are these old blasted out heaps or are they shiny and new? What kind of condition are these ships in?”

“Come see for yourselves. Follow me and I’ll show you the fleet.” Eddy turns around and opens a door in the wall opposite the entrance. The crowd follows with giddy anticipation. The door opens to a long set of steps leading down beneath the town. Everyone follows until the stairs end in what the echos tell you is a huge cavernous room. When the last person enters Eddy bellows “Welcome to the Dogfight Underground! Perhaps now you can see why it has been a guarded secret.” He hits a switch and the lights burst on to reveal an enormous underground hangar. The passage disappears Eastward off into the distance it is at least 30 meters wide and 10 meters tall. Along the length are the formerly fictional space fighters. Some are brilliantly polished while others have obviously seen some action. “Feel free to check them out, just don’t go in the cockpit until you have received your individual briefing. We will begin flight trainings this afternoon.”

“Yea!!!” People are absolutely ecstatic. Some are transfixed in awe while others are climbing up whatever they can and running their fingers over every surface.

“Hey! Get your dirty fingers off my planes! Have some respect! Lord only knows where else you’ve been sticking them!” shouts an old grey-haired man. He’s wearing the classic WW1 leather helmet and jacket. Everyone jumps down or takes a quick step back from the ships, clearly startled by his rebuke. “Eddy! What the hell are you doing bringing all these TOURISTS into my tunnels? Where’s Gretch? I’m pissed! And when I get pissed someone’s bound to get pissed on!” His words are crazy-mad but for just a moment you happen to catch his eye. You see something there that doesn’t quite fit with what you hear coming from his mouth.

“Oh yea here’s someone you need to meet.” says Eddy. “Everyone, this is Paul. He is the keeper of the tunnels. Paul found them a couple of years ago and spent some time mapping them out. He made a journal of his adventures but wisely decided to limit access to them by laying misleading clues on how to find them. Thank goodness he did or every noob in the game would be down here sneaking under from one airport to the other, using dynamite to take out hangars instead of dropping bombs. When Zuperman was developing the game at one point he was going to try to have full out ground war an addition to the dogfights. He made trenches and underground bunkers but was unable to make the mobile platform support more than 8 players at a time, so he ended up covering it over with a new layer of ground to cover this one. The result is a network of tunnels, vaults and bunkers. There are only a few openings left and hardly anyone knows about them, in fact, I think that it’s mostly only a few of the squad leaders that knew for sure until now. They have been working together to lead people away from them so we could hide these ships for when we would need them.”






(to be continued)


Feel free to write your own contribution!

Big Joe wrote:

Warning: Spoiler!

While trying to figure out what to do, you decide to check out Kill'n'Fokkers' tatts and you discover a secret code which leads you to a hidden website belonging to the squad with butloads of tips and pointers so you take a look and decide to enter a game and give a few a go.

You suddenly find yourself vs the best player in the game (Hairspray) so you try out what you have just learned and BAM you dodge all his fire and race past him at 78,738,927,892.6 mph so you quickly turn and fire and your sweet sweet bullets now seem to to hunt him down like a poor injured animal lost in a field.

Everybody is noticing how good you are for a mid-level player and begins to question what you play on and they try to figure it out but they can't, so they start calling you a cheater. Wow, you think to yourself, for 19 levels these guys have been owning me, but I never called them out when their bullets flew at me like magnets at a Billboard sized refrigerator, so why once you figure out how to do the same to them are you suddenly cheating? But you just give it a big "whatever" and keep on killing fools.

By the time you finish the game you are just in shock at how the big boys acted once they couldn't take you down, and rather than let everybody think they just got destroyed by a mid-level player (or as they call you "noob") they would rather label you a cheat. So you down a cold one and head to the nearest Tattoo parlor with photo of K.F. logo in hand.

You head in and get comfortable as you can while they poke away at your arm. They soon finish and you settle up and head to the tatt coffee shop to upload some pics and let K.F. know their newest recruit just made it official, but before you get through the door your new is spotted by a dude wearing a whole lot of hairspray. As he approaches you throw up your K.F. Signs to rep your squad and before you can put your hands back down BANG! He pulls out his Glock and unloads in your direction. Fortunatly for you he is not that good of a shot and they all seem to miss. This is when you realize the strange man shooting at you is none other than the one and only "Hairspray", just then you feel a sharp pain in your arm, you brush it off thinking its the tatt but you then realize its the other arm hurting and YOU'VE BEEN SHOT DOWN!!!!......... "To Be Continued"

McFate wrote:

Warning: Spoiler!

“Alright! Delta 9 High Flyerz!”

“Awesome dude! Hey lets bounce and I’ll sign you in right now!” says Mr Blunt

“Well, wha…? What about the game…?” you stammer.

“What ev’. They’ll be here for hours. Come on I’ll show you around HQ.”


So you quit in the middle of your run and follow Mr Blunt into a dark and smoky hangar, at least you thought that’s what it was… This is no mechanics shop, oh no. The place is festooned with the finest Persian rugs and wall hangings. There are aeronautical photos all over the walls, pics of exotic places everywhere. A strange donut shaped contraption is gently pulsating in the center of the room. It resembles a stack of two large truck tires but it seems to emanate a faint blue light.

“What is that thing?” you ask loudly.

“Hey! Who’s there?” demand some voices from the darkness beyond the object of your attention..

“Relax!” says Blunt. “It’s a new recruit I just picked up in Festubert. Say hey to the newest Niner!”

“Hey, Yo, fresh meat! Welcome to the show buddy!” You start to make out some faces. Mr. Blunt first introduces you to the long-white bearded 'GooRue'.

“GooRue is da boss around here; what he says, goes. You can have the tag but you’re not on the bus unless GooRue says you’re on the bus, a’ight?”

GooRue steps up and you can’t help but squirm a bit under his perfect eye contact. “You noticed the double toroids. Everyone is drawn to their elegant simplicity. Our plan is to develop the harmonic vortex engine and put it in a Spad XIII”

“The old stiffs won’t know what hit ‘em" says a tall, lithe girl all in black, silver and royal blue. (Lol, gamer avatars!) "Ha! Once we get these things tuned and fitted the good-old boys will be longing for the good-ole' days when lag switching and bit rates were the big worry! We’ll be able to fly silent patrols there and back twice before they realize we aren’t meeting them in the middle, their last hangar will be all lit up!”

That’s “Blaze 24/7” says Blunt. “And believe me, she does. And the one who is lurking over there is “CandyManCan” he’s the go-to guy if you need anything”

“'ello,” Hmm… “So what's that thing, some kind of space age engine? What are you doing with it in a 1917 video game? You can’t possibly consider it okay to use 21 or 22 century technology here and call it a fair game, can you?” Your incredulity is obvious and perhaps your tone is a little sharper than you had intended, but really? “You want to win by cheating?!!”

You’re amazed as you witness the literal act of four grown adults ROFL (their) AsO. Since GooRue is the only one able to speak, and still on his feet, you hit him a quizzical stare. He looks you over for a moment. You feel him taking in every twitch, every thread every hair. Suddenly you’re sure you know how it feels to be subjected to a polygraph examination. “What?!” you demand.

“Relax. No one is going to use it to try to win games. We’re just going to use it to blow minds. Just wait until we use it to blow by Eddy, VonDouche, Banjo and Hairspray! They’ll be flaming us all over the forums! And we’ll just be here watching the show. No, this will be way better than any ‘win” or any high KDR stats. Take a look at that plaque on the wall. You see what it says?” It has only two lines of text. The top says “Enjoy” the bottom says “5269/4831”.


GooRue sees your eyes blink in a moment of consternation. “Those are the answers.”

“Huh? What are the questions.” you ask

“What do you seek when you keep coming here, day after day? Is it the kills, the wins, the triumph? Is it the domination over your adversary?” GooRue patiently asks.
ur focus softens as you begin to realize there is more to the true nature of these guys than just competitive drive.

“Hey, I got an idea. Let’s sit out a dogfight and go up the mountain with the noob.” Blaze proposes enthusiastically.

“Yea, get in your plane and follow us!” They all chime in. They vanish like cockroaches when the lights go on and you’re the last one to get into position for takeoff. CRASH!!! You spawn on top of CandyManCan twice and you’re getting all bothered riding the throttle and brake as he just starts rolling leisurely down the airstrip. You wait a moment too long and do a face plant without getting anywhere.

You’re now 0-3 in your first flight with your new Squad! “Sorry guys, I’m not usually this bad…”

“Relax and follow” says GooRue. You take off from South base and follow in line as they turf their way between trees; wing tips seemingly skimming the ground. They hug the terrain as they head up and over the hills and drop to the surface of the western lake. The allied carrier is making it’s lazy turns in the distance. The squad heads for the Jolly Roger and buzzes the place so low you’re sure the bottles are rattling on the shelves. "Let that shiver your timbers, Jackaroe, Ya ole' pirate!" They then sweep under the bridge and deftly pull up, around and through the structure following the roadway. Your knuckles are locked as you desperately hang on, following as they calmly circle the bridge footings and fly between the upper supports. As they break off from the bridge you can see them curiously glancing back to see if you’re still there, then continue on an insane tightly contoured flight path. (And they call themselves the "High" Flyerz?!!!)

North base comes into view to the East. There are a handful of reds twisting around each other like rabid fireflies, too busy to care about 5 planes turfing their way up the West slopes of Duckwing Mountain. Suddenly the squad ahead of you all go inverted still at tree level. You’re actually a bit shocked to see this unnecessarily reckless flirt with death. They continue move as a flowing stream; their wheels, still pointed skyward begin to suggest antennae of a strange insect. As the procession nears the summit they break away and making perfect use of the combination of the ascent and the drag of the adverse yaw they dump almost all of their speed a moment before touching down in the pitched field in front of DUCKWING1’s memorial. You had recently read about this Dogfight legend on the forum. This guy had gained universal respect for his skills and sportsmanship. The fact that he was a real-life soldier who had been injured by an IED in Iraq was secondary and relevant to his game play because it had left him as a triple amputee. He had found Dogfight while in the hospital. By suspending his tablet he was able to play one handed and even somehow managed to deliver and drop bombs.

You are caught by surprise by their sudden landing and overshoot the field. By the time you have come back around and landed they are placing a wreath of wild flowers at the foot of the monument. There is a feeling of ceremony in the air as you are directed to sit in the middle of the bench which has been turned toward the setting sun. You ponder for a moment how the sun is still above the horizon in your peripheral vision but when you turn to face it, it drops and spares your eyes in a gesture that actually seems polite. You are also presented with a wreath of purple, red and orange flowers, they remind you of the sceen in the Wizard of Oz where Dorothy, Toto, the scarecrow, tinman and the lion are succumbing to the Wicked Witches field of poppies….Hmmm… That was the Emerald City in the background….wait…You’re not in OZ,…LoL…You’re in Gretchland… Are there munchkins here too? You’ve never seen any yellow brick road… Dang….You’re always busy fighting…Can’t abandon the mission, you know. Gotta keep pushing those stats. Gotta keep up the fight! Something inside keeps telling you to go...go…go! Your mind is busy but you can't seem to keep your eyes open as the sun begins to "peak" back above the horizon....

Luna wrote:

Warning: Spoiler!

It’s been this way for as long as you remember.

You question if you’re even alive; if your existence is anything more than just fly, crash, die, repeat. The exasperating drone of WWI-era plane engines and terrifying cracking of machine gun fire has all but consumed your mind. Your reality, whatever it may be, is a living hell with seemingly no end. However, there’s something that compels you to take off that runway every single time. Some unknown urge that pushes you towards a hailstorm of bullets or a torrent of explosive shells in order to complete a unanimous objective. More often than not, you’re not alone. You usually find yourself pitted with (or against) others in this nightmare, and as real and alive as they all may be, you can’t help but feel that all of you are helpless drones trapped in someone, or something’s, unknown agenda.

Fly. Crash. Die. Repeat.

Why?

The time for free thinking is over, as you feel the compulsions return. Before now, nothingness surrounded you, and you were alone with your thoughts. However, slowly, a green world starts to materialize around you, and with it, a new thinking in your mind. It’s all you could describe it as; a separate consciousness within your own that seems to control your body just as a pilot controls her plane. Unable and unwilling to fight it, you let it take you over, and its thoughts become yours.

The green plains around you begin to take a more tangible shape. Rolling hills and sporadic trees quickly fill the landscape, and in the distance you see massive mountain formations rise from nothing. The blackness of the sky transforms to a soothing light blue, and you see a large orb of brilliant light glow bright above you. Some artificial structures start appearing around you; airplane hangars, watchtowers, and a paved runway directly below you. Your body is next to appear. From a formless consciousness comes a human being, and an influx of the other senses become a part of you. All this happens in what feels like a few seconds. At first, this entire ordeal was extremely overwhelming to you, but by now you’ve grown accustomed to it, something you’ve taken to call “Spawning”.

Your have a body, but you do not attempt to move. The last thing to come into existence is your airplane. An almost an instant, an aircraft that you know by the name “S.E.5” appears below you. You find yourself seated within its cockpit. A string of text flashes in your mind.

Bomb the enemy hangars!

With the world around you and your objective fully realized, you take no delay. Your plane’s engines come to life on its own, and with a swift movement, you push the throttle and begin take off. The plane’s propeller begins to rotate faster and pushes you along the narrow strip of asphalt. As you gain speed your wings gain lift, you feel the wheels below you part the ground.

Your takeoff was swift and clean, something you’ve done many times before in the past. After a long look around you, you find the skies completely empty. No one follows you from the runway behind you. It seems you’re alone for this run.

You check your bearing and hope for the best.

You take your solitary time to your advantage to appreciate the universe set before you. Other than the dark void that fills most of your time, this is what you’ve come to accept as your home, if it could ever be called such a thing. At times, your home is consumed by a bitter blizzard, or a relentless rainstorm.

But sometimes, the sky is littered with a perfect arrangement of clouds, partly blocking the afternoon sun in the distance. Rays of dazzling light squeeze through the clouds and create a comforting palette of yellows, oranges, and reds on the landscape far below. Trees spot the ground far underneath you, and in the distance you pass a small group of houses and homey structures. Towards the passing horizon you see a large reflection of the perfect sky; a lake that stretches for miles. Above it lies an old bridge that connects opposite sides. On one end, an old tavern that gives you a welcoming impression; on the other, quite the opposite, a hauntingly quiet and empty storage hanger. You shiver quietly as it passes from your peripheral vision.

A series of familiar buildings break over the horizon before you. It’s your objectives; the enemy hangars that you need to destroy. You check the cumbersome bomb that your aircraft is carrying, and make sure it is ready for deployment. A quick scan of the area around you reveal no enemy aircraft, so you close into the enemy base, smiling with anticipation.

As you approach your target, you ready your hand to release the bomb. “The timing must be perfect, and with no distractions, there should be no excuses,” you think to yourself. You aim for the middle of a pair of hangars, in hopes to kill two birds with one stone. You pass over, you release the bomb at best possible time, and mentally cross your fingers.

The bomb hits dead-center between the hangars, but they still stand intact.

“Damn it!” you shout audibly. With minutes wasted, you turn back towards your home base to re-arm your plane. “I knew I should have gotten the bomb upgrade. Well, at least nobody’s shown up yet, so I should have ti-”

Your train of thought is interrupted by a series of text that flashes in your mind.

BoomUrDead has joined the game!

SkyKiller has joined the game!

XxlolSWAGxX has joined the game!

UrMOM has joined the game!

* - * has joined the game!

FyreWolf has joined the game!

“Well... great,” you say. Scanning reveals six enemy aircraft spawning in at the airbase not too far behind you. You hear the sound of machine gun fire and see tracer bullets start flying past you. One of these bullets were lucky enough to clip your left wing, and you momentarily lose control of your aircraft. These guys want you dead.

Text flashes in your mind.

XxlolSWAGxX>Haha n00b ur gonna lose.

Already, you know this is going to be interesting...

* BOOM *
Suddenly, cannon fire brings you back to your senses. You’re sitting straight up on the bench, the wreath of flowers lies on the ground at your feet. Your new squad mates having a blast in their tanks, lobbing shells at North Base. GooRue sees you approaching and you feel everyone’s attention as he asks “So, the answers are right there on the plaque at HQ. Do you remember? It said ‘‘Recreate’ and ‘5269/4831’ right? Well have you figured out the questions yet?”

You venture “Well to ''Enjoy' is pretty clear. The first question must be: What is my true purpose for coming here?...”

"Yea. It's pretty simple, right? Somehow some people don't get it right. They think that enjoyment is a self centered thing. The word is 'en' which means to 'make' or 'cause to be' and 'joy'. So the Delta 9 High Flyerz take it as our highest order: to cause joy wherever possible. " GooRue and the others all flash mischievous smiles but their sparkling eyes are completely welcoming. “And the second question?”

You’re at a bit of a loss and no one offers any help. “What is this, one of those philosophical questions like ‘What is the sound of one hand clapping?’”

“Close!” They shout and go for the full ROFLMAO schtick. Then with a beaming smile “5269/4831…” GooRue savors the moment “is the KDR of one hand dogfighting! While it may not be the highest ratio it is one that was fully earned, by a good man who took no heavy handed advantage and simply fought a clean fight to the best of his ability. Anyone who can truely claim that throughout their entire dogfight career is a true 'Ace'. It will be clear to everyone else when it is clear in one's own heart.”

Stats for DUCKWING1
Top # Name Game Rank # of kills # hangars bombed # of deads # crashed Won Games
#317 Duckwing1 Air Vice-Marshal III (22) 5269 1211 4831 2067 942

You take a few moments to ponder what it would be like to fight one handed while laying in a hospital bed. You somehow begin to feel pity for the pilots who spawnkill without reason and the stat-padders who prey on noobs and honorable players without regard for the mission. The Delta 'niners' have returned to their mischief. You watch with some detatchment as it takes a full 15 seconds for their tank shells go from the top of the mountain to the North Base runway. They even occasionally manage to hit a spawning plane!

“Woohoo!”
“Nice one!”
“Yea!”

In one sence they’re actually spawn killing from tanks in a dogfight and cheering about it?!!! On the other hand it does take some luck, and is from the top of the mountian... Sure, why not?... What have you gotten yourself into?

Warning: Spoiler!

Yea? Well then write your own story! I'll insert it. We can create a transition or if you only have part of a story feel free to submit it for collaboration.

McFate wrote:

Shot Down!

(A choose your own adventure story)

“Thwick-Thwack!”

You’re SE5a just took two hits. The sound is not unlike a couple of walnuts falling on the hood of a car. You bail out while your plane goes down in flames. You desperately bring your rifle to bear! The MORAF in the on rushing D8 is opting to take you out directly rather than just aiming for your chute or your doomed plane. But you’re investment of time has honed some skills and chat announces that you have won the ridiculous quick-draw competition twice! YES!! First his plane then his chute! You’re amazed at how hard your heart is pumping. A moment later you’re soldier is touching down in the fields of Gretchland.

Congratulations!
You have leveled up to
Air Vice Marshal III

"Congrats"
"Gratz"
"GJ"
"Congratulations!"

"thanks!!! Woohoo!!!"

You have just reached rank #22

It’s been a good long stretch and your fires are stoked! You have finally earned your swords! The yellow rank insignia is no longer 3 stars dangling above your plane like the connect-the-dots sword below Orion’s Belt, they have been replaced by the two elegant crossed cutlasses! That distinction with which your eye has come to automatically mark players whom you know must not be taken for granted. Now, you are one of them. There are unfamiliar red noobs now who spot you with dread, and more blues who are glad to have you spawn on their side! Ah yes, the swords are nice…hmm… they would look even better surrounded by stars…

You close the in-game stats board and see that the timer has finished counting down. You have missed your chance to lob some hopeful tank shots at the airport. The rabid red defenders are now strafing your corpse, some have even come back around to bomb. Lol! You hit Retry and start on another run feeling just a touch distracted. The other blues are still in sight as you level off at 200m and pick up a little speed.

The red who’s D8 you took out from the chute says
“ns”
“interested in a squad?” It’s ‘Eddy Puz’ a top 100 player with a ‘MAMAsBoYz’ squad tag. They are one of the largest squads; a real powerhouse. It’s rare to find more than a few games without at least one of them presiding at the top of the leader board.

Before you can answer, you get other offers for squad membership:

“drop by our forum thread and say you’re ready!”
“Tell them I sent you” says ‘Kegel VonDouche’of the ‘Mean Streakers”; a focused killing squad with their own website, separate from the forum. They usually fly together and rarely show any mercy.


“They wish! Yur signing up with us right?” Says ‘Banjo Plucker’ of the ‘Kill’n’Fokkers’ They are known for their bad-ass attitudes as much as their deadly skills. They have a palpable driven team spirit and are the most likely players to have real squad tattoos and tee-shirts.

“Hey bro, you’re pretty good, gratz on the swords”
“We’ll let in if you wanna cruise with us” says ‘Mr. Blunt’ of the ‘Delta 9 High Flyerz’ They are the mellow guys who can display some awesome skills but other times you see them just sitting on the mountain tops or driving tanks off in far corners of the map.

You had been holding out, waiting for invitations form all of these squads. Now the choice is before you. What will you decide? Do you:


Check out the MAMAsBoYz

Warning: Spoiler!

Request more story for your adventures with the MAMAsBoYz squad

Check out the Mean Streakers

Warning: Spoiler!

Request more story for your adventures with the Mean Streakers squad

Check out the Kill’n’Fokkers

Warning: Spoiler!

Request more story for your adventures with the Kill’n’Fokkers squad

Chill with the Delta 9 High Flyerz

Warning: Spoiler!

Request more story for your adventures with the Delta 9 High Flyerz squad

Turn them all down and Make your own Squad

Warning: Spoiler!

Yea? Well then write your own story!

Big[G.I.]Joe wrote: and then.....

Warning: Spoiler!

While trying to figure out what to do, you decide to check out Kill'n'Fokkers Tats and you discover a secret code which leads you to a hidden website belonging to the squad with butloads of tips and pointers so you take a look and decide to enter a game and give a few a go.

You suddenly find yourself vs the best player in the game (Hairspray) so you try out what you have just learned and BAM you dodge all his fire and race past him at 78,738,927,892.6 mph so you quickly turn and fire and your sweet sweet bullets now seem to to hunt him down like a poor injured animal lost in a field.

Everybody is noticing how good you are for a mid-level player and begins to question what you play on and they try to figure it out but they cant, so they start calling you a cheater. Wow, you think to yourself, for 19 levels these guys have been owning me, but I never called them out when their bullets flew at me like magnets at a Billboard sized refrigerator, so why once you figure out how to do the same to them are you suddenly cheating? But you just give it a big "whatever" and keep on killing fools.

By the time you finish the game you are just in shock at how the big boys acted once they couldnt take you down, and rather than let everybody think they just got destroyed by a mid-level player (or as they call you "noob") they would rather label you a cheat. So you down a cold one and head to the nearest Tattoo parlor with photo of K.F. logo in hand.

You head in and get comfortable as you can while they poke away at your arm. They soon finish and you settle up and head to the coffee shop to upload some pics and let K.F. know their newest recruit just made it official, but before you get through the door your new Tatt is spotted by a dude wearing a whole lot of hairspray. As he approaches you throw up your K.F. Signs to rep your squad and before you can put your hands back down BANG! He pulls out his Glock and unloads in your direction. Fortunatly for you he is not that good of a shot and they all seem to miss. This is when you realize the strange man shooting at you is none other than the one and only "Hairspray", just then you feel a sharp pain in your arm, you brush it off thinking its the tatt but you then realize its the other arm hurting and YOU'VE BEEN SHOT DOWN!!!!......... "To Be Continued"

Luna wrote: I guess this is a good time as any to release this. I wrote this quite some time ago during a bout of boredom, but I had no intentions of releasing it. Oh well, I guess it couldn't hurt to do it now. I'm not sure if this fits the criteria of the thread, but here goes:

Warning: Spoiler!

It’s been this way for as long as you remember.

You question if you’re even alive; if your existence is anything more than just fly, crash, die, repeat. The exasperating drone of WWI-era plane engines and terrifying cracking of machine gun fire has all but consumed your mind. Your reality, whatever it may be, is a living hell with seemingly no end. However, there’s something that compels you to take off that runway every single time. Some unknown urge that pushes you towards a hailstorm of bullets or a torrent of explosive shells in order to complete a unanimous objective. More often than not, you’re not alone. You usually find yourself pitted with (or against) others in this nightmare, and as real and alive as they all may be, you can’t help but feel that all of you are helpless drones trapped in someone, or something’s, unknown agenda.

Fly. Crash. Die. Repeat.

Why?

The time for free thinking is over, as you feel the compulsions return. Before now, nothingness surrounded you, and you were alone with your thoughts. However, slowly, a green world starts to materialize around you, and with it, a new thinking in your mind. It’s all you could describe it as; a separate consciousness within your own that seems to control your body just as a pilot controls her plane. Unable and unwilling to fight it, you let it take you over, and its thoughts become yours.

The green plains around you begin to take a more tangible shape. Rolling hills and sporadic trees quickly fill the landscape, and in the distance you see massive mountain formations rise from nothing. The blackness of the sky transforms to a soothing light blue, and you see a large orb of brilliant light glow bright above you. Some artificial structures start appearing around you; airplane hangars, watchtowers, and a paved runway directly below you. Your body is next to appear. From a formless consciousness comes a human being, and an influx of the other senses become a part of you. All this happens in what feels like a few seconds. At first, this entire ordeal was extremely overwhelming to you, but by now you’ve grown accustomed to it, something you’ve taken to call “Spawning”.

Your have a body, but you do not attempt to move. The last thing to come into existence is your airplane. An almost an instant, an aircraft that you know by the name “S.E.5” appears below you. You find yourself seated within its cockpit. A string of text flashes in your mind.

Bomb the enemy hangars!

With the world around you and your objective fully realized, you take no delay. Your plane’s engines come to life on its own, and with a swift movement, you push the throttle and begin take off. The plane’s propeller begins to rotate faster and pushes you along the narrow strip of asphalt. As you gain speed your wings gain lift, you feel the wheels below you part the ground.

Your takeoff was swift and clean, something you’ve done many times before in the past. After a long look around you, you find the skies completely empty. No one follows you from the runway behind you. It seems you’re alone for this run.

You check your bearing and hope for the best.

You take your solitary time to your advantage to appreciate the universe set before you. Other than the dark void that fills most of your time, this is what you’ve come to accept as your home, if it could ever be called such a thing. At times, your home is consumed by a bitter blizzard, or a relentless rainstorm.

But sometimes, the sky is littered with a perfect arrangement of clouds, partly blocking the afternoon sun in the distance. Rays of dazzling light squeeze through the clouds and create a comforting palette of yellows, oranges, and reds on the landscape far below. Trees spot the ground far underneath you, and in the distance you pass a small group of houses and homey structures. Towards the passing horizon you see a large reflection of the perfect sky; a lake that stretches for miles. Above it lies an old bridge that connects opposite sides. On one end, an old tavern that gives you a welcoming impression; on the other, quite the opposite, a hauntingly quiet and empty storage hanger. You shiver quietly as it passes from your peripheral vision.

A series of familiar buildings break over the horizon before you. It’s your objectives; the enemy hangars that you need to destroy. You check the cumbersome bomb that your aircraft is carrying, and make sure it is ready for deployment. A quick scan of the area around you reveal no enemy aircraft, so you close into the enemy base, smiling with anticipation.

As you approach your target, you ready your hand to release the bomb. “The timing must be perfect, and with no distractions, there should be no excuses,” you think to yourself. You aim for the middle of a pair of hangars, in hopes to kill two birds with one stone. You pass over, you release the bomb at best possible time, and mentally cross your fingers.

The bomb hits dead-center between the hangars, but they still stand intact.

“Damn it!” you shout audibly. With minutes wasted, you turn back towards your home base to re-arm your plane. “I knew I should have gotten the bomb upgrade. Well, at least nobody’s shown up yet, so I should have ti-”

Your train of thought is interrupted by a series of text that flashes in your mind.

BoomUrDead has joined the game!

SkyKiller has joined the game!

XxlolSWAGxX has joined the game!

UrMOM has joined the game!

* - * has joined the game!

FyreWolf has joined the game!

“Well... great,” you say. Scanning reveals six enemy aircraft spawning in at the airbase not too far behind you. You hear the sound of machine gun fire and see tracer bullets start flying past you. One of these bullets were lucky enough to clip your left wing, and you momentarily lose control of your aircraft. These guys want you dead.

Text flashes in your mind.

XxlolSWAGxX>Haha n00b ur gonna lose.

Already, you know this is going to be interesting...

I'm not sure what to make of this myself, so if anyone has anything to say, please do!

McFate wrote:

Warning: Spoiler!

“Alright! Delta 9 High Flyerz!”

“Awesome dude! Hey lets bounce and I’ll sign you in right now!” says Mr Blunt

“Well, wha…? What about the game…?” you stammer.

“What ev’. They’ll be here for hours. Come on I’ll show you around HQ.”


So you quit in the middle of your run and follow Mr Blunt into a dark and smoky hangar, at least you thought that’s what it was… This is no mechanics shop, oh no. The place is festooned with the finest Persian rugs and wall hangings. There are aeronautical photos all over the walls, pics of exotic places everywhere. A strange donut shaped contraption is gently pulsating in the center of the room. It resembles a stack of two large truck tires but it seems to emanate a faint blue light.

“What is that thing?” you ask loudly.

“Hey! Who’s there?” demand some voices from the darkness beyond the object of your attention..

“Relax!” says Blunt. “It’s a new recruit I just picked up in Festubert. Say hey to the newest Niner!”

“Hey, Yo, fresh meat! Welcome to the show buddy!” You start to make out some faces. Mr. Blunt first introduces you to the long-white bearded 'GooRue'.

“GooRue is da boss around here; what he says, goes. You can have the tag but you’re not on the bus unless GooRue says you’re on the bus, a’ight?”

GooRue steps up and you can’t help but squirm a bit under his perfect eye contact. “You noticed the double toroids. Everyone is drawn to their elegant simplicity. Our plan is to develop the harmonic vortex engine and put it in a Spad XIII”

“The old stiffs won’t know what hit ‘em" says a tall, lithe girl all in black, silver and royal blue. (Lol, gamer avatars!) "Ha! Once we get these things tuned and fitted the good-old boys will be longing for the good-ole' days when lag switching and bit rates were the big worry! We’ll be able to fly silent patrols there and back twice before they realize we aren’t meeting them in the middle, their last hangar will be all lit up!”

That’s “Blaze 24/7” says Blunt. “And believe me, she does. And the one who is lurking over there is “CandyManCan” he’s the go-to guy if you need anything”

“'ello,” Hmm… “So what's that thing, some kind of space age engine? What are you doing with it in a 1917 video game? You can’t possibly consider it okay to use 21 or 22 century technology here and call it a fair game, can you?” Your incredulity is obvious and perhaps your tone is a little sharper than you had intended, but really? “You want to win by cheating?!!”

You’re amazed as you witness the literal act of four grown adults ROFL (their) AsO. Since GooRue is the only one able to speak, and still on his feet, you hit him a quizzical stare. He looks you over for a moment. You feel him taking in every twitch, every thread every hair. Suddenly you’re sure you know how it feels to be subjected to a polygraph examination. “What?!” you demand.

“Relax. No one is going to use it to try to win games. We’re just going to use it to blow minds. Just wait until we use it to blow by Eddy, VonDouche, Banjo and Hairspray! They’ll be flaming us all over the forums! And we’ll just be here watching the show. No, this will be way better than any ‘win” or any high KDR stats. Take a look at that plaque on the wall. You see what it says?” It has only two lines of text. The top says “Recreate” the bottom says “5269/4831”.


GooRue sees your eyes blink in a moment of consternation. “Those are the answers.”

“Huh? What are the questions.” you ask

“What do you seek when you keep coming here, day after day? Is it the kills, the wins, the triumph? Is it the domination over your adversary?” GooRue patiently asks.
ur focus softens as you begin to realize there is more to the true nature of these guys than just competitive drive.

“Hey, I got an idea. Let’s sit out a dogfight and go up the mountain with the noob.” Blaze proposes enthusiastically.

“Yea, get in your plane and follow us!” They all chime in. They vanish like cockroaches when the lights go on and you’re the last one to get into position for takeoff. CRASH!!! You spawn on top of CandyManCan twice and you’re getting all bothered riding the throttle and brake as he just starts rolling leisurely down the airstrip. You wait a moment too long and do a face plant without getting anywhere.

You’re now 0-3 in your first flight with your new Squad! “Sorry guys, I’m not usually this bad…”

“Relax and follow” says GooRue. You take off from South base and follow in line as they turf their way between trees; wing tips seemingly skimming the ground. They hug the terrain as they head up and over the hills and drop to the surface of the western lake. The allied carrier is making it’s lazy turns in the distance. The squad heads for the Jolly Roger and buzzes the place so low you’re sure the bottles are rattling on the shelves. Let that shiver your timbers, Jackaroe, Ya ole' pirate! They then sweep under the bridge and deftly pull up, around and through the structure following the road way. Your knuckles are locked as you desperately hang on, following as they calmly circle the bridge footings and fly between the upper supports. As they break off from the bridge you can see them curiously glancing back to see if you’re still there, then continue on in an insane tightly contoured flight path. (And they call themselves the "High" Flyerz?!!!)

North base comes into view to the East. There are a handful of reds twisting around each other like rabid fireflies, too busy to care about 5 planes turfing their way up the West slopes of Duckwing Mountain. Suddenly the squad ahead of you all go inverted still at tree level. You’re actually a bit shocked to see this unnecessarily reckless flirt with death. They continue move as a flowing stream; their wheels, still pointed skyward begin to suggest antennae of a strange insect. As the procession nears the summit they break away and making perfect use of the combination of the ascent and the drag of the adverse yaw they dump almost all of their speed a moment before touching down in the pitched field in front of DUCKWING1’s memorial. You had recently read about this Dogfight legend on the forum. This guy had gained universal respect for his skills and sportsmanship. The fact that he was a real-life soldier who had been injured by an IED in Iraq was secondary and relevant to his game play because it had left him as a triple amputee. He had found Dogfight while in the hospital. By suspending his tablet he was able to play one handed and even somehow managed to deliver and drop bombs.

You are caught by surprise by their sudden landing and overshoot the field. By the time you have come back around and landed they are placing a wreath of wild flowers at the foot of the monument. There is a feeling of ceremony in the air as you are directed to sit in the middle of the bench which has been turned toward the setting sun. You ponder for a moment how the sun is still above the horizon in your peripheral vision but when you turn to face it, it drops and spares your eyes in a gesture that actually seems polite. You are also presented with a wreath of purple, red and orange flowers, they remind you of the sceen in the Wizard of Oz where Dorothy, Toto, the scarecrow, tinman and the lion are succumbing to the Wicked Witches field of poppies….Hmmm… That was the Emerald City in the background….wait…You’re not in OZ,…LoL…You’re in Gretchland… Are there munchkins here too? You’ve never seen any yellow brick road… Dang….You’re always busy fighting…Can’t abandon the mission, you know. Gotta keep pushing those stats. Gotta keep up the fight! Something inside keeps telling you to go...go…go! Your mind is busy but you can't seem to keep your eyes open as the sun begins to "peak" back above the horizon....

Luna wrote:

Warning: Spoiler!

It’s been this way for as long as you remember.

You question if you’re even alive; if your existence is anything more than just fly, crash, die, repeat. The exasperating drone of WWI-era plane engines and terrifying cracking of machine gun fire has all but consumed your mind. Your reality, whatever it may be, is a living hell with seemingly no end. However, there’s something that compels you to take off that runway every single time. Some unknown urge that pushes you towards a hailstorm of bullets or a torrent of explosive shells in order to complete a unanimous objective. More often than not, you’re not alone. You usually find yourself pitted with (or against) others in this nightmare, and as real and alive as they all may be, you can’t help but feel that all of you are helpless drones trapped in someone, or something’s, unknown agenda.

Fly. Crash. Die. Repeat.

Why?

The time for free thinking is over, as you feel the compulsions return. Before now, nothingness surrounded you, and you were alone with your thoughts. However, slowly, a green world starts to materialize around you, and with it, a new thinking in your mind. It’s all you could describe it as; a separate consciousness within your own that seems to control your body just as a pilot controls her plane. Unable and unwilling to fight it, you let it take you over, and its thoughts become yours.

The green plains around you begin to take a more tangible shape. Rolling hills and sporadic trees quickly fill the landscape, and in the distance you see massive mountain formations rise from nothing. The blackness of the sky transforms to a soothing light blue, and you see a large orb of brilliant light glow bright above you. Some artificial structures start appearing around you; airplane hangars, watchtowers, and a paved runway directly below you. Your body is next to appear. From a formless consciousness comes a human being, and an influx of the other senses become a part of you. All this happens in what feels like a few seconds. At first, this entire ordeal was extremely overwhelming to you, but by now you’ve grown accustomed to it, something you’ve taken to call “Spawning”.

Your have a body, but you do not attempt to move. The last thing to come into existence is your airplane. An almost an instant, an aircraft that you know by the name “S.E.5” appears below you. You find yourself seated within its cockpit. A string of text flashes in your mind.

Bomb the enemy hangars!

With the world around you and your objective fully realized, you take no delay. Your plane’s engines come to life on its own, and with a swift movement, you push the throttle and begin take off. The plane’s propeller begins to rotate faster and pushes you along the narrow strip of asphalt. As you gain speed your wings gain lift, you feel the wheels below you part the ground.

Your takeoff was swift and clean, something you’ve done many times before in the past. After a long look around you, you find the skies completely empty. No one follows you from the runway behind you. It seems you’re alone for this run.

You check your bearing and hope for the best.

You take your solitary time to your advantage to appreciate the universe set before you. Other than the dark void that fills most of your time, this is what you’ve come to accept as your home, if it could ever be called such a thing. At times, your home is consumed by a bitter blizzard, or a relentless rainstorm.

But sometimes, the sky is littered with a perfect arrangement of clouds, partly blocking the afternoon sun in the distance. Rays of dazzling light squeeze through the clouds and create a comforting palette of yellows, oranges, and reds on the landscape far below. Trees spot the ground far underneath you, and in the distance you pass a small group of houses and homey structures. Towards the passing horizon you see a large reflection of the perfect sky; a lake that stretches for miles. Above it lies an old bridge that connects opposite sides. On one end, an old tavern that gives you a welcoming impression; on the other, quite the opposite, a hauntingly quiet and empty storage hanger. You shiver quietly as it passes from your peripheral vision.

A series of familiar buildings break over the horizon before you. It’s your objectives; the enemy hangars that you need to destroy. You check the cumbersome bomb that your aircraft is carrying, and make sure it is ready for deployment. A quick scan of the area around you reveal no enemy aircraft, so you close into the enemy base, smiling with anticipation.

As you approach your target, you ready your hand to release the bomb. “The timing must be perfect, and with no distractions, there should be no excuses,” you think to yourself. You aim for the middle of a pair of hangars, in hopes to kill two birds with one stone. You pass over, you release the bomb at best possible time, and mentally cross your fingers.

The bomb hits dead-center between the hangars, but they still stand intact.

“Damn it!” you shout audibly. With minutes wasted, you turn back towards your home base to re-arm your plane. “I knew I should have gotten the bomb upgrade. Well, at least nobody’s shown up yet, so I should have ti-”

Your train of thought is interrupted by a series of text that flashes in your mind.

BoomUrDead has joined the game!

SkyKiller has joined the game!

XxlolSWAGxX has joined the game!

UrMOM has joined the game!

* - * has joined the game!

FyreWolf has joined the game!

“Well... great,” you say. Scanning reveals six enemy aircraft spawning in at the airbase not too far behind you. You hear the sound of machine gun fire and see tracer bullets start flying past you. One of these bullets were lucky enough to clip your left wing, and you momentarily lose control of your aircraft. These guys want you dead.

Text flashes in your mind.

XxlolSWAGxX>Haha n00b ur gonna lose.

Already, you know this is going to be interesting...

* BOOM *
Suddenly, cannon fire brings you back to your senses. You’re sitting straight up on the bench, the wreath of flowers lies on the ground at your feet. Your new squad mates having a blast in their tanks, lobbing shells at North Base. GooRue sees you approaching and you feel everyone’s attention as he asks “So, the answers are right there on the plaque at HQ. Do you remember? It said ‘‘Recreate’ and ‘5269/4831’ right? Well have you figured out the questions yet?”

You venture “Well to 'recreate'. Like recreation? The first question must be: What is my true purpose for coming here?...”

"Yea. 'Recreate' is the root of 'recreation' but it also means to 're-create'; to enliven or bring new life to something." GooRue and the others all flash mischievous smiles but their sparkling eyes are completely approving. “And the second question?”

You’re at a bit of a loss and no one offers any help. “What is this, one of those philosophical questions like ‘What is the sound of one hand clapping?’”

“Close!” They shout and go for the full ROFLMAO schtick. Then with a beaming smile “5269/4831…” GooRue savors the moment “is the KDR of one hand dogfighting! While it may not be the highest ratio it is one that was fully earned, by a good man who took no heavy handed advantage and simply fought a clean fight to the best of his ability. Anyone who can truely claim that throughout their entire dogfight career is a true 'Ace'. It will be clear to everyone else when it is clear in one's own heart.”

Stats for DUCKWING1
Top # Name Game Rank # of kills # hangars bombed # of deads # crashed Won Games
#317 Duckwing1 Air Vice-Marshal III (22) 5269 1211 4831 2067 942

You take a few moments to ponder what it would be like to fight one handed while laying in a hospital bed. You somehow begin to feel pity for the pilots who spawnkill without reason and the stat-padders who prey on noobs and honorable players without regard for the mission. The Delta 'niners' have returned to their mischief. You watch with some detatchment as it takes a full 5 seconds for their tank shells go from the top of the mountain to the North Base runway. They even occasionally manage to hit a spawning plane!

“Woohoo!”
“Nice one!”
“Yea!”

In one sence they’re actually spawn killing from tanks in a dogfight and cheering about it?!!! On the other hand it does take some luck, and is from the top of the mountian... Sure, why not?... What have you gotten yourself into?

baron rojo wrote: Bom me exploto la cabeza y hay estaba.un tipo que no entendia mucho, ni de.foros ni d juegos
Ni siqiera de escribir, pero ese tipo fue feliz...al pricipio todo hera.oscuro no conseguia caer nada todos los demas pilotos le destrozaban.ni siquiera su eqipo le.entendia.pero con el tiempo los pozos oscuros se covirtieron en lagos trasparentes como un espejo, ya no le temblaba el pulso eso tipo hera respetado y tambien querido por sus amigos, jamas lloro, siempre aprendiendo, siempre alegre, ese maldito juego le envolvio pero tambien para ser feliz.ya nadie mas se rio de aquel tipo, ese tipo sigue escribiendo sobre la guerra y tambien sobre la paz.

McFate wrote:

Warning: Spoiler!

(Feeling kind of cocky ‘eh?)

After a quick victory you meet Baron Kegel VonDouche on world chat.

“Yes sir, Mr. Douche”

“Ehem, ‘VonDouche’. Post on the Official Mean Streak Squad forum thread. State your intention to pledge, your current stats, your hangar load out; planes and upgrades both German and Allied, your in-game currency, your annual gaming budget, your join date, weekly schedule of availability, any dogfight player with whom you associate ITRW….”

“I-R-T-W?” you ask

“In The Real World.” The Baron curtly explains. You are a little taken aback by the seriousness of VonDouche. Is he for real?!!! It's only a game! You guess that he's just really be into it. Poor guy, probably sits at home in his gaming chair with built in speakers, probably just lives for dogfight. LOL! But still, isn't he taking the roll playing aspect a bit farther than you would have expected? You gather up the necessary information and post it to the forum thread, feeling slightly like it's some sort of military induction day. (Where is the "group W" bench?) Hit him minutes of your posting a little notification appears that you have an awaiting Private Message.


It's from "Sgt.Major Serious" Head recruiting officer for "MEAN STREAK Ltd."

ATTENTION MEAN STREAK RECRUIT!!!

(Fill out the form below and immediately return to sender.)

ONCE THIS FORM IS COMPLETED AND SUBMITTED YOUR MEMBERSHIP IS COMPLETE AND BINDING. THERE CAN BE NO TURNING BACK. MAKE NO MISTAKE AND DO NOT SUBMIT UNLESS YOU ARE PREPARED TO FULLY COMMIT TO MEAN STREAK LTD.

'Immediately'? You laugh to yourself as you fill out the "form". You pause for a moment before entering your cell phone number and actual street address. Hmm...what harm can it be? You figure it's just so they can send you some swag. Guys who take it this seriously probably have all kinds of squad insignia patches or stickers that they send out to every new member.




(to be continued)
Feel free to write your own contribution!

McFate wrote: Here is an idea for a start for the "Mean Streak" squad.

Check out the Mean Streak squad

McFate wrote:

Warning: Spoiler!

(Feeling kind of cocky ‘eh?)

After a quick victory you meet Baron Kegel VonDouche on world chat.

“Yes sir, Mr. Douche”

“Ehem, ‘VonDouche’. Post on the Official Mean Streak Squad forum thread. State your intention to pledge, your current stats, your hangar load out; planes and upgrades both German and Allied, your in-game currency, your annual gaming budget, your join date, weekly schedule of availability, any dogfight player with whom you associate IRL ….”

“I-R-L?” you ask

“In Real Life” The Baron curtly explains. You are a little taken aback by the seriousness of VonDouche. Is he for real?!!! It's only a game! You guess that he's just really be into it. Poor guy. You wonder what he does "IRL", probably sits at home in his gaming chair with built in speakers, probably just lives for dogfight. LOL! But still, isn't he taking the roll playing aspect a bit farther than you would have expected? You gather up the necessary information and post it to the forum thread, feeling slightly like it's some sort of military induction day. (Where is the "group W" bench?) Hit him minutes of your posting a little notification appears that you have an awaiting Private Message.


It's from "Sgt.Major Serious" Head recruiting officer for "MEAN STREAK Ltd."

There is password and link to the MeanStreakLtd.com website.

ATTENTION MEAN STREAK RECRUIT!!!

(Fill out the form below and immediately post it to the secure website in the link above.)

ONCE THIS FORM IS COMPLETED AND SUBMITTED YOUR MEMBERSHIP IS COMPLETE AND BINDING. THERE CAN BE NO TURNING BACK. MAKE NO MISTAKE AND DO NOT SUBMIT UNLESS YOU ARE PREPARED TO FULLY COMMIT TO MEAN STREAK LTD.


'Immediately'. ‘FULLY COMMIT’? You laugh as you fill out the "form". You pause for a moment before entering your cell phone number and actual street address. Hmm...what harm can it be? You figure it's just so they can send you some swag. Guys who take it this seriously probably have all kinds of squad insignia patches or stickers that they send out to every new member. You hit send.


Your dreams that night show signs of your growing addiction to the game. You’ve had them before but this time they were more visceral, more ‘real’ somehow. You were flying your SE5a , the same as is typical in your occasional dogfight dream, but this time you could feel the turning forces, you specifically noticed because at one point you were having trouble keeping your head facing your intended direction, you were using all of your strength to keep your hands from falling into your lap. As you pull out of a dive you feel your blood run from your head to your feet while your slumbering brain calmly wonders why it is that while everything else is being pushed down, the contents of your stomach is about to head in the other direction. You feel like you’re being chased and are expecting bursts of machine gun fire at any moment but some thing is different. It’s like the game will “END”. Not even the same as when Zaza or Blaze 24/7 have14 kills in a dogfight and you know they’re on your tail. This seems much more…

BAM! BAM! BAM!

“WHAT, what the?!!!” Your’re wide awake! Your head is trying to reconcile your dream and the obnoxious pounding. You try to shake away the confusion “Who the &%#@ is knocking on my door at 5:am?!!!”

Voices outside say “This is it. We’re going in.” Boom! The door flies wide open and three uniforms and tactical gear pour in. You jump back and take a stance to defend yourself. The intruders are looking directly into your eyes as they advance upon you yet their expressions are more urgent than malicious. You stand poised for an attack that never comes.

“We are so greatfu…plea…no, honored! Sir!” They snap to attention.

“What in the HELL is going ON?! Get OUT of my HOUSE!" you bellow! You expend a great deal of effort to resist the impulse to kick the jaw of the one in the middle, plant a fists in the face on the right, then drive your left elbow and right fist into the face on the left. It's not that you've been trained in hand-to-hand combat, you aren't someone who has ever gone looking for a fight, but the few times a conflict has been unavoidable your assailants have regreted their actions. Somehow in your natural reactions, time seems to slow down. It's the same within the game. When you come upon a "wall of reds" your mind automatically reacts like it's some sort of puzzle. While other pilots seem content to point and shoot at each enemy one at a time, you subconsciously prioritize your targets like a champion billiards player would lay out a sequence of shots; dodge the high rank red head-on dead-eye shooter, snap off a couple rounds at the other red marshal who is stedily targeting your teammate, with luck he goes down and frees the other blue to assist you with the dead-eye, you continue to draw fire and dodge as your teammate takes out your attacker. you're then free to almost leisurely pick your way through the lower ranked reds while simultaneously dodging the rifle fire from the parachuting reds. While some seem to always target the chutists, you try to exploit the advantage caused by the delay before the downed red will respawn and be back in the ideal position to defend against your bombing run...Sure your tactics may not be fool proff nor do they yield the highest kill-to-death ratio (KDR) but it just makes sence to you somehow.

“Our sincerest appologies sir, but everyone is waiting! We must go now!”.



(to be continued)
Feel free to write your own contribution!

I intend "Mean Streak" to be a front for a "black water" sort of thing where they are using a video game to scout talent for remote drone pilots. (think "Ender's Game" or "The Last Starfighter" )

Mac wrote: Idk how to spoiler, so McFate, can I post this here, no spoiler, and then you can do that stuff for me in post 1?

Mac wrote:

Warning: Spoiler!

MAMAzBoYz. The big guns. You've been in near-awe of them from day one. And now, Eddie P. Rex has just invited you. But it.s not just MAMAzBoYs. You look at all the big names that just invited you. Do the swords really have that much power?you wonder.
You look at your kdr and the player menu, thanking God that you had the fortune to have your best game in a lobby with all these guys.
You do your best to hide your exhilaration. "lol um lemme think about it" you type. It's a screen, they have no idea how awesome this is.
VonDouche pretends to be upset. "what's to think about?" He replies. Then, realizing that you might legitimately think he's upset, he quickly adds "lol jk".
The game rolls on, and the kills pile up. So do the deaths. Parachutes have a one-in-ten chance of ever hitting the ground, and the valley of death has become a veritable elephant graveyard of carnage. It finally ends with Eddie P. Rex splitting through the red defense and grabbing that final hangar. An eight-kill streak, with some elite-level spiraling thrown in as Mr. Blunt pulled off the runway for a final shot. And that might be what makes your decision. MAMAzBoYs, definitely, you think with grim satisfaction. At the very least, I'll have an excuse to switch sides when Eddie is red
"Place your request, then PM Cry, so your request can be voted on and processed" instructs UltimateF1, the premier dogfight master of MAMAzBoYz. I can't believe this, you think. I'm gonna be in. Omg. Just... Wow.



TWO DAYS LATER


You're in. You were accepted. You post an emotional little anecdote on the thread, thanking the members for accepting you. An hour later you check back. 7 "thank you's". So it begins, you think.
You go to fly, checking out the brand new tag, and see how it fits. Messiness? Vimy? Festubert? you wonder vaguely. Festubert. Definitely Festubert.
You enter the server, and are awe-stricken immediately. There, resplendant in his SSIV and a blue tag over his head, is Cry.
Cry is THE man. The most polarizing figure in Dogfight, Cry has been around since Zuperman decided to make a WWI flight simulator. He is as witty and intelligent as he is hard to shoot. He may not be the best pilot in Dogfight, but he's the best that everyone knows about. And here he is, on your team.
"Welcome to MAMAzBoYz, bud" he types. "Thx, mate," is your hurried reply. You have a battle to fight.
This. Is. Awesome

Chapter two to come... Um... Whenever I get around to it![/

Mac wrote: MAMAzBoYs. Chapter 2.

Warning: Spoiler!

Two weeks later, and things have settled down a bit. You're flying quite a bit, and the experience has been great so far. The best part is unfolding right now.
You are in Borimov. Bomb the base. 2-v-3. You and that level 28 that never talks are German. The blues include a group captain who apparently thinks that sneaking around the edge of the map is an effective strategy in a tank, a level 29, named SneakySnake, who talks way too much and usually gets shot while typing, and a level 18 from one of those newer squads with a bird in its name, who seems very worried about your tag.
"Is there such thing as 'MAMA love?'" He asks?
You frown. "Mama love"? You've never heard the term before.
"so i tld my cuz, 'thats a turky' lololol" types level SneakySnake as you unload 8 shots into him.
"Of course there's mama love," you reply. "How do YOU think you were born?"
"my mama is white, but my dad is white too lololol" SneakySnake as you destroy his tank.
"Am I on the love list?" asks the level 18.
"i have 2 gfs, but they dont no about each other lol"
SneakySnake crashed
You're starting to get the picture. By "love list", djiuhv (as the level 18 is named. Why? I have no clue) is referring to some sort of hit list: players your squadron hates and spawnkills relentlessly.
"My squadron leader hates MAMAz, so he told them he wanted them dead" explains djiuhv.
"dont hate ur momma, bro, youll gey unborn lolol" SneakySnake brought down by FullBlown (your teammate)
You pull over, bombing the hangar. Djiuhv is parked in the runway, and Snake crashes into him. ("lolol")
"Yep, we have the list, and you're on top," you quip, and begin to relentlessly spawnkill him. Snake quits. Within 5 minutes, Djiuhv also quits. You and Fullblown collect the rest of the hangars. The Air Commodore in the tank is never seen again. To this day, his ghost is said to still haunt the corner of Borimov, in a tipped-over tank.


Later, you're on world chat, celebrating a hard-fought, 2-hour epic.
"I think we destroyed more planes that game than the entirety of both world wars", you type.
"Not a chance."
??
You look at the name, and moan inwardly. It's DryGuy. The crusty veteran who can't take a joke, or let anything go, for that matter.
"It was a joke dude" replies Dipster, your chat companion, who finished the previous game with a 2:1 ratio.
"I never said it wasn't, I was just saying, you could not have possibly destroyed more planes than both world wars".
"Seriously?"
"Yes, apparently unlike you."

The argument continues for several minutes. Finally, with all the joy sucked out of your momentary experience, you exit chat. Some things, you just can't win

Paul Mantz, Jr. wrote: Just saw your request.

I'll work on the updated tunnels for you....