The Survivor
Bill_Door
Join Date: 2003-01-04 Member: 11792Members
Join Date: 2003-01-04 Member: 11792Members
<div class="IPBDescription">Just another NS fanfic.</div> <span style='font-family:Times'><span style='font-size:15pt;line-height:100%'>The Survivor</span>
<span style='font-size:13pt;line-height:100%'>A story of one man's brush with the Kharaa.</span>
<span style='font-size:12pt;line-height:100%'>As John McPeterson sighed. He was stuck patrolling the United Free States Waystation 759 darkest and most crime ridden slums <i>again</i>. A member of the
UFS watchmen he had to deal with crime everyday. Prostitution, drugs, gangers, domestic violence, smuggling and racketeering, he saw it all every single day.
His only weapons in this struggle for control were a flashlight and a Cx-10 pistol, his defenses were quick wits and a dodgy vest.
"I don't get paid enough for this." he grumbled.
It was an all too common complaint in the overworked and underpaid watchmen. One that had many of his fellow employees taking bribes to overlook the crime.
Here crime paid well.
He walked through the gloom, stepping over the piles of litter that were heaped everywhere. Neon signs blinked on the walls, advertising bars where the only redeeming feature is cheap alcohol, greasy spoon cafes selling food fatty enough to cause a coronary, semi-legal stores and 'masseuses'. People looked away as John passed, hurrying about their business seemingly oblivious to his presence.
But John knew better. He could feel eyes staring at him from the darkness. Eyes that belonged to the local crime-lords' men, as well funded as the legendary TSA, and as well armed.
John's radio came alive, “All Units, Control. Radio check, over.”
“2-11 reads, over.”
“2-9 reads, over.”
“This is 2-14, I read you command, over.”
John keyed the send button, “2-13 reads, over.”
“2-10 reads, over.”
Static filled the air. John waited for unit 2-12, his best friend Matthew, to report in.
“ Unit 2-12, Control, Radio check, over”
Static.
“Unit 2-12, Control, <i>please</i> report in, over”
Static.</span></span>
So what do you think so far? Worth continuing?
<span style='font-size:13pt;line-height:100%'>A story of one man's brush with the Kharaa.</span>
<span style='font-size:12pt;line-height:100%'>As John McPeterson sighed. He was stuck patrolling the United Free States Waystation 759 darkest and most crime ridden slums <i>again</i>. A member of the
UFS watchmen he had to deal with crime everyday. Prostitution, drugs, gangers, domestic violence, smuggling and racketeering, he saw it all every single day.
His only weapons in this struggle for control were a flashlight and a Cx-10 pistol, his defenses were quick wits and a dodgy vest.
"I don't get paid enough for this." he grumbled.
It was an all too common complaint in the overworked and underpaid watchmen. One that had many of his fellow employees taking bribes to overlook the crime.
Here crime paid well.
He walked through the gloom, stepping over the piles of litter that were heaped everywhere. Neon signs blinked on the walls, advertising bars where the only redeeming feature is cheap alcohol, greasy spoon cafes selling food fatty enough to cause a coronary, semi-legal stores and 'masseuses'. People looked away as John passed, hurrying about their business seemingly oblivious to his presence.
But John knew better. He could feel eyes staring at him from the darkness. Eyes that belonged to the local crime-lords' men, as well funded as the legendary TSA, and as well armed.
John's radio came alive, “All Units, Control. Radio check, over.”
“2-11 reads, over.”
“2-9 reads, over.”
“This is 2-14, I read you command, over.”
John keyed the send button, “2-13 reads, over.”
“2-10 reads, over.”
Static filled the air. John waited for unit 2-12, his best friend Matthew, to report in.
“ Unit 2-12, Control, Radio check, over”
Static.
“Unit 2-12, Control, <i>please</i> report in, over”
Static.</span></span>
So what do you think so far? Worth continuing?
Comments
This chapter dedicated to you then.
<span style='font-family:Times'><span style='font-size:12pt;line-height:100%'>“This is control. Unit 2-10, proceed to James' Street, I want 2-12 FOUND! All other units continue your patrols, over.”
“Rodger control, 2-10 heading to James' Street. over,”
John seethed. His friend was in trouble and he couldn't help Matt. John should be the one responding to this, not that under trained rookie, so new that John couldn't even remember his name. However, orders were orders. Fail to follow them and then you starve, as all the legal jobs were corporation run and the quasi-legal operations would never hire an ex-watchman
He continued his patrol. 5 minutes later he'd reached the giant meat lockers, near docking port L-2, when his radio came alive:
“Control, 2-10. I've found 2-12... He's injured! Man, what a mess...”
“2-10, Control. What's your location? Over.”
“Standby Control... Hey! You! Yeah you, buddy! Tell me the name of this alley <i>now</i>. Don't mess me around here!...”
“Thats the best way to get yourself in deep trouble, rookie.” John thought to himself. He was heading past a maintenance hatch when he thought he saw movement, just in the corner of his eye. As soon as he looked over to the hatch it was gone.
“Eh, getting jumpy. This place would do that to anyone. Too many lights have blown and the corp can't or won't replace them. Cheap sods.”
“...Control, 2-10, I'm on the corner of James' Street and Indigo Lane. Just, please, get the medics here fast! Over.” 2-10 said, his voice shaking.
“Roger that 2-10, Med-team 2 and TAC-teams 1 and 3 are on route. ETA 2 minutes. Just hold on 2-10. Over.”
It was obvious to John that 2-10 wasn't ready for this and Control knew it. He did have to give the dispatcher some credit for trying to keep the rookie calm. Some didn't care at all.
A loud clang brought his attention firmly to the situation at hand. It had come from a cavernous cold room ahead, and John rushed to find out what had caused it. The company had a very poor view on watchmen who allowed <i>any</i> of their goods stolen, even if it was just sewage.
“Dispatch, 2-13. Noise near meat locker 8, proceeding to check it out. Over.”
“Control reads you 2-13, watch yourself in there. Over.”
He approached the ajar door, treading lightly. He controlled his breathing, taking long, shallow breaths. Rust streaked the tall metal doors and obscured a sticker. Quietly, John drew his pistol and flashlight, moving right towards the join. Peering into the darkness, all John could see were stacks of corroded barrels. Water dripped to the sheet metal floor, a steady rhythm keeping John's heart rate high. Static crackled in his headset, white noise preventing him hearing as well as he would have liked.
“Command, 2-13 is going send only, over.” John whispered into the microphone”
“Roger send only 2-13”
He switched his comm unit to send only, If Control needed to contact him they could use a vibrate mode on the radio. Silence blanketed him, broken only by the sound of his own breathing and the constant drip of the water.
He stepped into the darkness.</span></span>
“White paste?” John thought, “What could that be?”
He straitened up and saw on the barrel in front of him a partially obscured yellow label. Brushing away the gunge revealed a warning: Raw Nano-paste, Decontaminate any spills immediately.
Glancing around the corner again, John spotted a short, fat creature. It was making its way from the spilled nano-paste towards a set of four supports. Each support was heavily furred with the organic infestation that coated the room. Looking up revealed a totally alien growth hanging suspended from each pillar, pulsating in time to the sound of a heart beat, the same heartbeat John had thought his own.
“Oh, crap.”, John switched to normal send/receive on his comm and radioed in, “Control, 2-13, We have a situation here. Its a code Kilo Five, I repeat a code Kilo Five. We've got a Kharaa infestation in meat locker 8. Over”
“2-13, please confirm Kharaa presence. Kharaa don't eat... Standby... Bloody hell, that's the locker that they're using for extra paste storage. Crap! 2-13, get out of there now, I'm sending this to station command.”
“Roger command.”
John turned and started running for the exit. A shape flickered in his peripheral vision, falling from the ceiling. It landed with a roar and charged after him. Turning, John raised his pistol and torch together, illuminating an almost dog like creature.
“That's a skulk,” a random thought from his sub-conscious told him as he sighted at the wiry creature running faster than anything John had seen before. Gently squeezing the trigger, he took his first shot calmly and in control. The bullet flew true out of the Cx-10 pistol, hitting the skulk right between the eyes. Despite sending a gout of yellow-green blood from the creature's head it still came closer, seemingly unfazed by the hit. This continued attack nearly panicked John, causing him to rapidly fire off the rest of his ammunition into the charging monster. Its front legs seemed to collapse, the momentum bringing it to a sliding halt at John's feet.
John took a deep breath, almost sobbing at his brush with death. Turning and walking away, John holstered his flash light. He then ejected the spent magazine from his pistol and fumbled at his ammunition pouch. With shaking hands he slammed the fresh magazine home and pressed the slide release. With a satisfying clunk the slide chambered a new round. He was ready to take on any Kharaa who wanted some action. But first John wanted some heavier weaponry. And perhaps some better armour.
John ran away from his first kill of the engagement and towards the Watch-house. Today was going to get worse and he wanted to be ready.</span></span>
<span style='font-family:Times'><span style='font-size:12pt;line-height:100%'>Panting, John arrived at the watch house, his body amour stained with sweat. He ran up the stairs and through the main doors, under the huge stained UFS logo. Sound bombarded him. The sound of nervous people, waiting for confirmation, waiting for action. Inside, the watch house was packed with people, hurriedly moving from job to job in varying states of dress. All, however, were armed and armoured.
“2-13, Control, get your arse up to the captain's office right away, over.”
“Wilco Control. Over.”
John pushed his way through the mob and towards the back of the boxy room. He moved towards a thick, swipe card locked door. John pulled his dog tags into his hand and swiped them through the slot. Entering the secure corridor he noticed riot troops lining the walls. Nervous talking filled the air, lame jokes became hysterically funny. They were on edge. Seven round transparent magazines, jutting from the black, sleek shotguns, showed bright red shells.
“Buckshot... that's rare. But then so it the threat of Kharaa infestation.” John mused to himself. He squeezed between two of the riot-shotgun armed men, to present himself to the captain.
“Private John McPeterson, unit 2-13, reporting as ordered sir.”
“Do sit down, please.” The overweight captain said as he motioned for John to take a seat. He was sitting next to a lean, predatory, figure in a smart suit. The rolls of fat, evidence of overindulgence on the corrupt chief's body contrasted with the wiry muscles of the visitor. In a strange way they almost reminded John of the aliens back at the locker. In a way they were worse. The aliens only killed you. These people would enslave you, quite legally too, using the fine print in the work contracts.
“Ah... Mr McPeterson. How nice to meet you. Now, before we do anything too hasty, lets just run through some facts,” the suited man spoke, his cold emotionless tones breaking into John's thoughts, “You say that you saw Kharaa in meat locker 8, true?”
“Yes sir”
“You called it in as a code Kilo Five, if I am not mistaken?”
John nodded, before the suit continued his monologue, “That means that there was a hive and a gorge, correct? You saw no other aliens?”
“Sir, I was attacked by a skulk on the way out, but I managed to kill it.”
“Is that all? Think carefully now.”
“Sir, that is all I saw.”
“Right. Thank you Mr McPeterson. You may go.” The visitor said as he dismissed John.
“Sir? If I may ask? How is Matthew Larson, 2-14?”
The captain chipped in, “Mr Larson is currently stable, recovering from multiple bullet wounds. We must thank the corporation for the armoured vests that they have seen fit to provide, for it has saved his life.”
“Thank you sir.” John turned and left. As he was closing the door, he heard the stranger say,
“We don't need to get the TSA involved, captain. You heard the officer. They are still weak. Your riot troops can deal with the threat.”
“Very well Governor.”
“I'm glad you see things my way captain. A small bonus may well be forthcoming...”
“Riot teams 2, 5 and 6 are to move to the meat lockers and await further orders. Use frequency Alpha two niner.” blared out of the speakers of the intercom units. The troops stationed in the corridor got up and checked their weapons, joking and boasting as they did so, before filing out through the doors and into the rapid response unit hangers.
All John could do was wait.</span></span>
And your sig, by a complete coincidence, is also my setinfo in #naturalselection. Hehe.
I like it, very smooth and you've managed to build up a complex background to your planet. Keep at it!
--Scythe--
John found a quiet place to sit. He set his radio frequency to Alpha 29 and listened to the riot troops
“Alpha 2, In position south of the lockers. Over”
“Alpha 5, Ready and waiting north lockers. Over”
“Six is in position, ready for the sweep, over.”
“Roger that. All unit, this is Control. Weapons free. Six, start your sweep now. Over.”
“Six reads. Beginning sweep now. Stay frosty men. Over.”
Static filled the ether. John waited in tense anticipation. He knew the Kharaa were there, he'd seen them, killed one of them. Why was everything so quiet?
“Damn! Just been stung!”
“What're you talking about? We're on a fething asteroid. There aren't any insects on this damn rock”
“Felt just like a sting...”
“Dammit! You two shut up and listen!”
“Sir!”
“This is Hotel 5, I'd swear I just saw something move!”
“Stay frosty and keep your imagination in line!”
“This is Alpha 6, entering locker 8 now. Over.”
“Roger six, over.”
“What the hell's all this slime?”
“You're asking me?”
“Shut up and focus.”
“I hear movement, Echo 2 hears movement!”
“Can you pin-point the location Echo 2? over.”
“Its... (Alien chuckles)...Uhh...”
“Crap! Echo 2's down!”
“This is Alpha 5, they're coming out the god-damned walls! We're taking casualties”
“I got one! I ripped one a new...(crunch)”
“It... it... was an... an ambush... they... they're like... ghosts...”
“Fall back! Fall back!”
“Roger that Charlie, lets run like hell!”
“Wha...”
“Holy crap!, a... a <i>thing</i> just appeared out of nowhere and wasted Bill! Shot a spike right through him!”
“(coughing)... gas... it... (cough)...burns...”
“I'm the only two'er left! I'm... gak... where the... hell'd ...that come from... 'cross the room in a blink...”
“Control to all units. Status report, over.”
Static
“Control, anyone respond...”
Static was the only reply.
Scythe: Your the third or fourth person on the forums to comment on the name. Guess I dont post enough <!--emo&;)--><img src='http://www.natural-selection.org/forums/html//emoticons/wink.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='wink.gif' /><!--endemo-->
As for the sig/setinfo thing, its a good line, one of the ones that makes the Discworld Death so cool.
Glad you liked the fic so far, and I hope to continue to please.
keep the good stuff coming
keep the good stuff coming <!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
Well, ain't this ironic <!--emo&;)--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html//emoticons/wink.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='wink.gif' /><!--endemo--> <!--emo&:p--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html//emoticons/tounge.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='tounge.gif' /><!--endemo-->
John ran over to the captain's office. He reached the door and heard the captain's voice raised in obvious anger.
?...heard the damn transmission as well as I did. I'm not putting my troops on the line for your little operation anymore. I can't be bought on this one.?
?Very well <i>captain</i>. Let present an <i>alternative</i> arrangement... You don't call in the thrice damned TSA, you, your wife, your beautiful, young, daughter, get to live. Otherwise... well, I will just have to introduce them to my best <i>negotiator</i>...?
?Damn you... you misbegotten wretch!?
?I would not put my hand near that drawer, if I was you. People going for firearms makes me tense... And a tense person pointing a gun at you is not a good thing. Unfortunate <i>'accidents'</i> tend to happen.?
?Anyone ever tell you that you're an ice hearted bugger, Hobbson??
?Is that supposed to be an <i>insult</i>? Because you make it sound so awful.?
?FETH...?
Using the Chief's bellow of rage as a distraction, John burst through the door. In a split second he noted the positions of the Chief and Hobbson, lined up his shot...
?...YOU!?
...exhaled and squeezed the trigger. Time seemed to slow, dilate. John swore he could almost hear the firing pin hit the primer, the powder burning with a hissing sound. He saw the recoil start to move the slide backwards. The muzzle flash appeared as a growing ball of fire. The spent brass case just cleared the weapon when he saw the shot hit Hobbson in the base of the skull.
Then the slide snapped back home, Hobbson fell and time continued as if the brief distortion had never occurred. The captain blinked incredulously.
?McPeterson??
?Yes sir??
?You just shot the governor...?
?Yes sir.?
The chief pulled himself together, and stood up
?Get to comms now. We need the TSA here last week. I'll get the men organised and the evacuation started.?
?Yes Sir!?
John turned to go.
?One last thing, please McPeterson.?
The Chief walked over to a cabinet by the door, and pulled out a sleek, black weapon. It was the same depthless, midnight black that all of the Helios special operations range had.
?The Helios SOMOD Light-bringer carbine. A beautiful weapon, accurate and deadly. I want you to take it. You'll also need this disc. Insert it and then everything will happen automatically. Now go. I have an evacuation to organise!?
With a vital disc in his pocket and a brand new weapon in his hands, John set out to perform his mission. One that could decide the fate of the way station.
keep'hm coming <!--emo&:)--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html//emoticons/smile.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='smile.gif' /><!--endemo-->
i want to see some fancy moves out of John
He headed along a darkened street. Shadows obscured most of the buildings, creating a thousand opportunities for an ambush. He listened for the slightest noise that would alert him to an alien ambush, his heartbeat ringing loudly in his ears.
“Click”
Startled, John raised the carbine and pointed it down the side street that he had just come to. Seeing nothing, John depressed a bulge on the Light-bringer. A bright spot of light illuminated the place... nothing. He continued on his way, redoubling his vigilance. Up ahead, the pressure door for the lift shaft was brightly lit. John increased his pace, he was close to his goal now. As soon as he reached the...
A deep roar uninterrupted his thoughts. John turned in time to see a tall black creature 200 metres back. He raised the carbine fully intending to introduce the monster to a whole new world of pain, when it crossed the distance in a blink, crashing into him and sending John sprawling. It quickly raised its arms... arms that terminated in long scythe-like blades.
“BLABLABLABLABLAM!”, John squeezed off a five round burst, the rate of fire merging the shots into one long sound. The bullets struck the nightmare like creature in the face, its dark carapace shattering under the influence of the high velocity ammunition. The creature seemed to stumble, falling right next to John's body. Glancing over to his defeated enemy he noticed most of the back of its head had disappeared. Green blood was dribbling down its back from the gaping wound.
“Whoa...”
John didn't have long to admire the damage his new best friend had caused, as angry screams tore the air. It sounded like the Kharaa weren't happy and they were going to take it out on him. John rolled to his feet, turned and ran to the switch.
He slammed his hand onto the button, the door slowly splitting in two and allowing him entry. A loud pounding and a high pitched scream came from behind. A huge creature, looking like a twisted cross between two legendary creatures, the Rhino and the Elephant, was charging at him.
“Oh... no...” was John's only comment as he hit the door close button on the control panel. The heavy doors started to slowly close. It didn't look like it would close in time, the onos was moving so quickly for a creature of its immense bulk. Hopelessly, John set the carbine on to fully automatic and sprayed the monstrosity charging him down. The bullets hit the creature's massive bony head, sending chips of its carapace flying, but even the high velocity ammunition failed to cause enough damage to slow it down significantly. The thunder of the carbine abruptly ended with a beep.
Almost an entire magazine of ammunition and it was still coming... He ejected the empty magazine, placing it into this pocket. It was then he realised that the captain had forgotten to give him any more ammunition.
“Oh... crap.”
John glanced down as he was drawing his pistol. A hazard marked box containing a button on the control panel drew his attention. He broke the glass covering the button using the butt of his pistol and glanced up. The onos was only 50 metres away and was rapidly closing. He slammed his hand down again, depressing the switch.
“Warning. Depressurisation alarm pressed. Sealing main shaft.”
The doors sped up, but not quite by enough. The door wasn't going to close in time to lock the onos out...
The onos reached the gap at a flat out charge. John cowered before the mass of bone, muscle and chitin that was bearing down on him. With a huge crash, the walking tank's shoulders hit the doors. The seemingly irresistible force had hit an even more immovable object.
Normally, the huge pressure doors would have reversed due to the obstruction, but as the computer had registered an alarm, the doors were not stopping for anything short of a massive steel I beam. With a sickening crunching sound the blunt edges of the door sliced through the thick toughened hide of the onos, decapitating it.
John sighed a heartfelt sigh of relief. He had faced a giant few have seen and had not only survived to tell the tale but had killed the beast. John punched the button for the comm centre
The elevator started the journey up towards the comm centre and the main docking bays. Air tight doors locked down the inhabited levels as it rushed upwards. John turned his radio on to listen in on the evacuation efforts.
“...I'm telling you Control, we need to start attempting to evac using the freight lift...” The Chief's voice, recognisable despite of the distortion, filled his headset, “...we can't hold out much longer like this. The shuttles just can't take this many off!”
“Roger that Boss, but wouldn't that spread us much thinner?”
“Get a big group together and we'll rush the lift... Some may not make it, but I'm sure its more than this way.”
“Chief, this is 2-13, scratch the freight lift plan. There's a bunch of annoyed Kharaa hanging around there.”
“John! You made it!”
“By the skin of my teeth, Boss, by the skin of my god-damned teeth. Even so, I picked up a little friend.”
“Just how little?”
“'Bout 1.6 metres tall, massively armoured skull with a horn half a metre long.”
“Jesus...”
“Looked like an Elephant crossed with a Rhino.”
“How'd you kill it?”
“Decapitation with a pressure door.”
“Heh heh heh, nice one.”
“Thank you... By the way, you forgot the extra ammunition for the carbine.”
“What can I say? Mea Culpa.”
“I hear you on that.”
She ain't singing yet. That's just her warming up.
Post all stories in the main thread, and just post that you've made an update.
Well, enough talk, time for what you're here for:
Doors flashed past as the elevator headed for the upper levels. John took the time to rest, the events of the last few hours having taken a heavy toll on his body. He knew he'd have a minute or two.
Suddenly the lift shaft became transparent. Looking out into the void beyond the clear walls of the shaft he saw the cavernous dry dock facility, two great leviathans were berthed here for repairs. Mega-freighters. The true giants of space, these dwarfed the heaviest dreadnoughts. Despite extensive automation, over a hundred crew were required to run one of these behemoths. Over a third of the left hand ship's hull was infested with the biological growth that signalled a possible hive location. The thought of just what that could mean chilled John's blood...
A loud explosion rocked the shaft. The blast wave lifted John off his feet and threw him against the the opposite wall. Fragments of glass and bone tore into his un-armoured limbs. Stunned by the concussion of the blast, he dropped to the floor as the panels of the shaft shattered and fell away. John blacked out.
When he regained consciousness, John found himself staring into the face of a strange, bat-like creature. He snatched for his pistol, bringing it out of his holster as it used its wings to aid its leap forward. Forced to defend himself from the close ranged attack, he dropped his pistol, grabbed the Lerk by a wing and its neck, barely avoiding its bite, and threw it off the elevator, sending it plunging downwards.
?It'll be back.? John said, deliberately misquoting the clich?d line. He scooped up his pistol and awaited its return.
John didn't have to wait long to be proved right. And this time it had brought some friends, another 4 Lerks. John aimed at the centre Lerk.
?Well hell. Today just got even more interesting.?
He opened fire, rapid aimed shots as they dived in to attack. As they swooped down upon him, John rolled out of the way.
?Nine, ten hits aren't enough for these buggers??
John rapidly reloaded as the opponents turned back for another run. This time they weren't so helpful and attacked from the sides as well. Again John engaged them with rapid pistol fire, but this time it was more effective. One of the attackers, hit in the wing, fell off downwards. However, the multi-pronged attack bore fruit for the attackers, as one managed to lacerate John's back with its claws as it passed.
?One down..? John managed to squeeze out between panting breaths as he reloaded.
Again, the Lerks did their attack runs. Swooping in, intent on only one thing, John's death. Equally determined, John fired upon the attacker in front of him. Whether by luck or skill, John couldn't tell which, two of his shots hit his target in the wings. The once graceful flyer was turned into a ballistic missile, plunging in an un-powered nosedive straight into the void below. That left three.
Glancing off to his right, John saw a Lerk aiming right for him. He threw himself to the floor,barely dodging the attack. The Lerk, unable to stop or pull out in time crashed through a gap in the railings, smashing both wings to ruined fragments. It let out a pitiful cry as it fell.
Seeing their numbers so reduced, the two survivors turned and each shot a green glob at the elevator. One missed, sailing wide, but the other burst. It unleashed a green gas cloud that ate into John's skin. The acidic spores burned his eyes and lungs, making the world blurred as the eyes flooded with tears and caused him to cough. He was completely vulnerable to attack and would half welcome death to end the intense pain that the spores caused. He could hear them close, on their leathery wings, like twisted and warped angels of death.
As for a pdf version, well, I'm too lazy to put one out until its all done. Please note that the version won't be exactly the same as the posted version. No swear filter to worry about with a pdf <!--emo&;)--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html//emoticons/wink.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='wink.gif' /><!--endemo-->.
These forums are sort of dead. Have you posted some work of your own? Could jump start this forum.
It stopped because the Unknown Worlds forums went offline for nearly 2 years. It just vanished one day in 2004 I think, it may have been due to hacking, I really can't remember now.....
There were a few like me who religiously checked the site once every few weeks in the vain hope it would come back, and then, in around 2006 I think, it reappeared. Anyway, most of the old forums members never came back, and in fact, there are some that are only appearing very recently.
This was a pretty big and busy community before the outage, however, when we came back, the Fan-Fic forum never really took off again, it's almost like all the people playing NS who liked writing had vanished..
Also this thread is from 2004. What am I even doing in the fanfic forum...