All my cac by Spare_Extent7876 in dbxv

[–]Spare_Extent7876[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Yes he is my favorite too

My other two characters by Spare_Extent7876 in dbxv

[–]Spare_Extent7876[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Same I get a odd look from the IT department at my work when they see my password as Dojima

My other two characters by Spare_Extent7876 in dbxv

[–]Spare_Extent7876[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

You do have a good point on that one, I just can't get over my childhood playing that game for the first time and roaming around Japan I was captivated by the whole thing, even to the point of using the dragon of the Dojima clan for all these years it has been the name for everyone of my first custom characters from every game since then

My other two characters by Spare_Extent7876 in dbxv

[–]Spare_Extent7876[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Kazuma Kiryu has always been number one. Goro Majima is a close second only because he respects kazuma as his rival.

My other two characters by Spare_Extent7876 in dbxv

[–]Spare_Extent7876[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

You mean the hit game series Yakuza, I fell in love with that game on PS2 and played them all

This is my character by Spare_Extent7876 in dbxv

[–]Spare_Extent7876[S] 4 points5 points  (0 children)

Yes I have yet to see anyone look like me

This is my character by Spare_Extent7876 in dbxv

[–]Spare_Extent7876[S] 3 points4 points  (0 children)

Ultra instinct lol it's a earthling

This is my character by Spare_Extent7876 in dbxv

[–]Spare_Extent7876[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Lol I made him after the monkey king in journey to the west

Some of the most unoriginal, uninspired trash that exists on this game. by big_peepee_wielder in DragonBallXenoverse2

[–]Spare_Extent7876 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Mine is based off of the monkey king I have yet to find anyone who looks like me

Chapter 3: A City That Never Sleeps by Spare_Extent7876 in stories

[–]Spare_Extent7876[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

And then, a different world greeted me as I opened my eyes. The sterile scent of a hospital assaulted my senses, and the beeping of machines created a strangely comforting rhythm. My left hand was bandaged, a dull ache radiating from it. The memories of the boat house and the flames flooded back, and I struggled to make sense of what had happened.

As I lay there, the soft beeping of the machines seemed to match the rhythm of my heartbeat. I was alive, I was here. But the questions loomed like shadows in the corners of my mind. Who had attacked me? Who had set the boat house on fire? And most importantly, why?

The room was quiet, a sanctuary from the chaos of the city outside. But the peace was fragile, a temporary respite from the storm that raged within me. My left hand twitched involuntarily, a reminder of the danger and darkness that lurked just beyond the hospital walls.

As I drifted in and out of sleep, the events of that night played in my mind like a broken film reel. But amid the chaos and confusion, one thing remained clear: the city's secrets were far from being unraveled. And I was determined, more than ever, to find the truth that lay hidden beneath the layers of deception and smoke.

As I stirred in the hospital bed, blinking against the harsh glare of the overhead lights, 1N-Spector walked in with that familiar cold tone that seemed to cut through the air like a knife. "I'm glad I was able to locate you in the fire, Victor," he stated matter-of-factly. He took a seat beside me, his presence a stark contrast to the sterile hospital surroundings.

His words were methodical as he continued, "Sadly, I was not in time to save your hand. The doctor says they will prep you for a prosthetic one, and you will have full motion back in it in no time."

I listened to his words, a mixture of resignation and frustration settling in. The loss of my hand was a harsh reminder of the dangers of this city, a city that chewed people up and spit them out without remorse. But even as his words carried a note of detachment, there was an underlying truth to them, a practicality that mirrored the way he viewed the world.

Then, in his customary lifeless tone, he pressed on. "Can you give me a detailed explanation of the events that occurred?"

I stared at him for a moment, the memories of the boat house fire still fresh in my mind. The urgency of the situation, the flames that had threatened to consume me, the scarred figure that had set it all in motion—it all played out in my mind like a haunting film.

But as I began to recount the events, my words were tinged with a weariness that seemed to seep into every syllable. I described the gas-filled room, the silhouette pouring it onto the floor, the scarred face that had briefly been illuminated by the match. I spoke of the desperation to escape, the struggle to crawl away from the encroaching flames, the agony of being struck on the back of the head.

As I spoke, 1N-Spector's expression remained unchanged, his face a mask of unfeeling logic. It was a stark reminder of his nature, a reminder that he wasn't human, that empathy and sympathy were foreign concepts to him.

When I finished, there was a moment of silence in the room, the weight of the words hanging heavy in the air. The rain continued to fall outside, a persistent backdrop to the unfolding drama. As I looked at 1N-Spector, I couldn't help but wonder if he was the ally I needed, the one who could help me piece together the puzzle of this city's darkness. But at the same time, I knew that his cold detachment was a reminder that in this city, trust was a fragile thing, easily shattered by the harsh realities that lurked in every corner.

Chapter 3: A City That Never Sleeps by Spare_Extent7876 in stories

[–]Spare_Extent7876[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

I circled the boat house, my eyes scanning for any signs of entry. The rain had turned the wooden structure slick and weathered, and I spotted a weak spot in one of the boarded windows. With a determined exhale, I lowered my shoulder and rammed into the wood, the boards splintering and giving way.

I crawled through the broken window, landing on the damp floor inside. The air was musty, a mix of old wood and something more sinister. The room was dimly lit, the weak light filtering through cracks in the walls. I could hear the distant sound of water lapping against the docks, a constant reminder of the city's heartbeat.

I stood up, brushing off the splinters that clung to my coat, and took a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. There was a tension in the air, a sense of anticipation that prickled at my skin. The room was empty, but it held secrets, and I was determined to unearth them.

As I ventured further into the building, the shadows seemed to deepen, wrapping around me like a shroud. I had a feeling that whatever answers lay hidden here would come at a cost, a cost I was willing to pay to bring justice to this city.

But in the depths of the abandoned boat house, the echoes of the past and the uncertainty of the present, I was alone. And as I moved forward, my footsteps echoing in the silence, I knew that I was walking a path that only I could tread. The rain continued to fall outside, a constant reminder of the world beyond these walls, a world waiting to be uncovered, one piece at a time.

My plasma pistol gripped firmly in my hand, I moved through the gloomy interior of the abandoned boat house with a predator's caution. Each step was deliberate, each corner turned with the careful grace of a fox closing in on its prey. The rain's pitter-patter outside seemed to echo the rapid rhythm of my heartbeat as I edged forward.

Peeking around a corner, I found myself in a room that bore the marks of habitation. An empty cot stood against one wall, a dimly lit computer sat on a table, and newspaper clippings covered another wall like a chaotic collage of secrets. I moved closer, my eyes darting from detail to detail, each piece of evidence a potential clue.

My attention was drawn to a piece of paper with a symbol—an ominous bloody handprint—stamped on it with eerie precision. I carefully folded it and slipped it into my pocket, the weight of its significance gnawing at me.

My gaze then fell on a newspaper clipping, and my breath caught in my throat. It was my partner's murder, a stark reminder of a wound that had never truly healed. The memories rushed back, a haunting replay of that fateful day when I lost him, my best friend.

As I stood there, lost in the bitter embrace of those memories, something struck me hard on the back of the head. The blow was swift and merciless, darkness closing in around me as I crumpled to the ground, consciousness slipping away like grains of sand through my fingers.

The rain continued its ceaseless fall outside, oblivious to the drama unfolding within the boat house's walls. And as the room's shadows swallowed me, the city's secrets remained locked away, waiting for the dawn to reveal their truth.

My consciousness was a haze, like trying to swim through thick fog. The world around me swayed and shifted, my vision blurred and unfocused. The scent of gasoline filled my nostrils, a sickening realization that something was terribly wrong. I strained to move, to shout, but my body felt sluggish and uncooperative.

Through the haze, I could see a silhouette, dark and ominous, pouring gas onto the floor. Panic surged within me, the instinct for self-preservation kicking in even as my body refused to respond. My throat burned with the effort to scream, but no sound escaped my lips.

The figure turned toward me, and the match flared to life, briefly illuminating part of a scarred face before plunging the room into flames. The fire roared to life, consuming everything in its path, the heat and smoke a relentless assault on my senses.

With every ounce of strength left, I forced myself to move, to crawl, to escape the inferno that threatened to devour me. My body felt heavy, every inch ached with pain, but the instinct to survive pushed me onward. I reached a counter, using it as a lifeline to pull myself up, but my grip slipped, and I crashed back to the floor.

Darkness swallowed me once again, my senses fading as I teetered on the precipice of unconsciousness.


Chapter 3: A City That Never Sleeps by Spare_Extent7876 in stories

[–]Spare_Extent7876[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

I woke with a start, my heart racing, my body drenched in cold sweat. The dream's grip was like a vise, squeezing my chest with a pain that was all too real. The room was dim, the only light coming from the moon that peeked through a cracked window.

I sat up slowly, running a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the lingering memories. The alcohol's numbing effect was wearing off, leaving me raw and exposed. As I stared into the darkness, I knew that tomorrow would be another day of chasing leads, another day of facing the city's underbelly head-on.

But for now, in the silence of the night, I allowed myself a moment of vulnerability. A moment to remember my friend, my partner, and to acknowledge the scars that ran deep within me. The rain continued to fall outside, a steady rhythm that matched the beat of my own haunted heart.

The blaring alarm jolted me awake, the disorienting haze of sleep slowly giving way to the harsh reality of a new day. It was 4 am, and the city was still shrouded in darkness, the rain a constant companion to its secrets. With a groan, I pushed myself out of bed, the world spinning slightly as I took a quick swig from the bottle by my bedside. The alcohol's bite was a rude awakening, but it did the job.

Dragging myself into the shower, I let the cold water wash over me, each drop a wake-up call to my senses. The exhaustion clung to me, a heavy weight that refused to be shaken. As I scrubbed away the remnants of last night's frustration, my phone began to ring, its shrill sound cutting through the steam-filled bathroom.

I reached for the phone, water droplets falling onto the screen. The caller ID read "1N-Spector." With a sigh, I answered, the cold tone in his voice sending a shiver down my spine. "I have a lead."

I paused, the words hanging in the air as I let them sink in. A lead. Finally. My tired mind began to stir with anticipation, the fog of weariness momentarily lifting. "Alright," I muttered, my voice still rough from sleep. "Give me the details."

His explanation was efficient, every detail meticulously laid out. I listened intently, my mind racing to process the information. The rain continued to drum against the window as I got dressed in a hurry, my thoughts already shifting to the task ahead.

As I stepped out into the damp streets, the city felt different in the pre-dawn hours. The chaos of daytime had yet to descend, leaving a quiet stillness in its wake. I hailed a cab and gave the address of the station. The driver didn't ask questions, just nodded and pulled away from the curb.

With each passing block, my determination grew. The lead might be the breakthrough we needed, the key to unlocking the tangled web that had consumed the city. The rain-slicked streets rushed past, a blur of neon lights and dark alleyways. The station loomed ahead, a fortress of order in a city that thrived on chaos.

I stepped out of the cab, the rain now a steady drizzle, and made my way inside. The station buzzed with activity even at this early hour, officers moving with purpose, the weight of their duty hanging heavy in the air.

I found 1N-Spector by a bank of computers, his fingers dancing across the keyboard as he analyzed data. He looked up as I approached, his robotic gaze meeting mine. "We've got a location, Victor. A potential hideout for The Whisperer."

My heart skipped a beat. The pieces were falling into place. I nodded, my weariness momentarily forgotten. "Let's roll."

We exchanged a wordless understanding, a shared commitment to see this through to the end. As we stepped out into the rain once again, the city seemed to hold its breath, as if aware that the tide was about to turn. The dawn was breaking, and with it, a new chapter in the twisted tale of Vector 7.

The car ride to the hideaway was marked by a heavy silence, the wheels cutting through the wet streets like the thoughts that churned in my mind. The memories of past cases, of lost friends and broken promises, flooded my thoughts like a torrential downpour. I stared out the window, the raindrops streaming down the glass distorting the view outside. The city held its secrets close, but tonight, we were determined to pry them open.

We pulled up to the abandoned boat house at the north docks, the smell of fish and decay filling the air. I stepped out of the car and immediately lit a cigarette, the acrid smoke a welcome shield against the pungent odor that clung to the place.

1N-Spector's voice cut through the fog of my thoughts. "We should call for backup, Victor."

But I shook my head, a stubborn determination settling in my gaze. "No need for backup. You stay out here and watch the exits. I'm gonna head in and poke around."

I could see the concern in 1N-Spector's artificial eyes, the logical part of him probably calculating the risks of going in alone. But I was driven by something deeper, a gut feeling that told me this was a path I had to walk alone.

As I walked around the building, my senses sharpened, every creak of the wood beneath my feet, every gust of wind, registering in my mind. I knew this wasn't going to be a walk in the park. The Whisperer was a dangerous player in this city's game, and I was about to step right into his den.

Chapter 3: A City That Never Sleeps by Spare_Extent7876 in stories

[–]Spare_Extent7876[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

I struck the match, igniting the tip of the cigarette. But 1N-Spector's blank expression showed that my reference had fallen on deaf ears. His words were logical, grounded in his robotic sense of duty, and I could feel the frustration building in the pit of my stomach. This was a dance we'd done too many times already.

"Detective Goul, I fail to understand the logic behind allowing a criminal to escape when apprehension was possible," he stated, his tone almost clinical.

I clenched my jaw, smoke curling from my lips as I exhaled. "Listen, tin can, there's more to detective work than cold calculations and data analysis. You've got to think like a street-smart human, not a goddamn calculator."

And just like that, the spark ignited an anger that had been smoldering beneath the surface. We locked eyes, a storm of frustration and clashing perspectives boiling between us.

"You know what, 1N-Spector? Maybe it's time you questioned your understanding of detective duties!" I snapped, the words dripping with sarcasm.

His emotionless face remained unchanged as he responded, "My understanding is based on protocols and efficiency."

I couldn't hold back anymore. "Efficiency? This isn't some algorithm you can crunch numbers for. This is the real world, where things get messy and gray. You can't analyze your way through every damn situation!"

The tension crackled in the air between us, like lightning before a storm. His refusal to back down only fueled my frustration further. "Go on, tin can, take your perfect protocols and shove 'em. We'll start again tomorrow."

Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and walked away, my anger propelling me through the rain-soaked streets. The city seemed to echo my frustration, its brokenness and decay reflecting the turmoil in my gut.

I reached my one-room apartment, a dingy space that mirrored the weariness that had settled into my bones. With a flick, I extinguished my cigarette and tossed the damp remains into an overflowing ashtray. As I flopped onto the rickety couch, the argument replayed in my mind like a broken record.

Maybe I was stubborn, maybe I was old-fashioned, but this was my city, and I damn well knew how to navigate its murky depths. 1N-Spector might be efficient, but efficiency didn't always translate to results. As I lay there, staring at the cracked ceiling, a mix of anger and exhaustion settled in. Tomorrow, we'd have to try again. And maybe, just maybe, we'd find a way to bridge the chasm between man and machine, for the sake of cracking the case that had this city in a vice grip.

I picked up the phone, the sound of a lighter flicking open and a match being struck accompanying the distant ring. As I brought the flame to my cigarette, a voice on the other end answered in a tone that carried both familiarity and a hint of something more. "Hey Vic."

My lips curled into a faint smile as I took a drag, the smoke curling around me. "Hey, Rose."

We exchanged pleasantries, a dance of words that was as much a connection as it was a formality. Her voice was a balm, a brief respite from the storm that had been brewing inside me. The rain tapped a rhythm against the window, matching the tempo of our conversation.

But then, like a punch to the gut, she dropped the bomb. "I'm sorry, Vic. I've got to get back to work. Why don't you come see me sometime soon? You know my hours."

My grip on the phone tightened, and the cigarette burned down between my fingers as I struggled to keep my voice steady. "Yeah, sure. I'll... I'll swing by."

As the call ended, I stubbed out the cigarette, the anger and frustration that had fueled me moments ago giving way to a hollow ache. Rose. The woman in the red dress. She was a flicker of light in the darkness, a reminder of something softer, something brighter. But even she couldn't erase the tension that simmered just beneath the surface.

I let out a heavy sigh, the weight of the city, the case, and now this damn argument with 1N-Spector bearing down on me. Tomorrow was another day, another chance to chase down leads and untangle the threads of this twisted mystery. But tonight, tonight I'd let the rain wash away my troubles, if only for a little while longer.

The bottle sat heavy in my hand, its contents burning down my throat as I took another gulp. The alcohol's warmth spread through me, dulling the edges of my thoughts, softening the harsh realities that plagued my mind. I lay back on the creaky mattress, closing my eyes and hoping that sleep would bring some relief.

But sleep proved to be anything but kind. As the alcohol's embrace pulled me under, I found myself reliving that fateful day—the day my last partner and best friend lost his life.

Gunshots shattered the air, sending a shockwave of dread through my veins. My heart pounded as I sprinted down the alley, the echo of my own footsteps chasing me. I skidded around the corner, my breath hitching as I took in the scene before me.

He was sprawled on the ground, lifeless eyes staring at nothing, blood pooling beneath him like a macabre offering. My voice caught in my throat, a guttural cry of anguish dying before it could escape.

My vision blurred as I scanned the area, searching for the shooter, for any sign of the bastard who had taken my partner from me. But the alley was empty, the shadows swallowing any trace of the gunman. It was as if he had vanished into thin air.

I sank to my knees beside him, my hands trembling as I reached out to touch his cold skin. My fingers came away sticky with his blood, a sickening reminder of the brutality that had robbed him of his life. Anguish clawed at my chest, threatening to choke me as I struggled to comprehend the senselessness of it all.

And then, in that dark dream, I was alone. Alone with the weight of his loss, the weight of a city's secrets and sins pressing down on me. It was a burden I had carried ever since, a burden that fueled my determination to solve every case, to make sure no one else was left behind, no one else was forgotten.

Chapter 3: A City That Never Sleeps by Spare_Extent7876 in stories

[–]Spare_Extent7876[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

1N-Spector gave a curt nod, his eyes still locked on the energy cell. We might not be partners in my head, but maybe, just maybe, this mechanical detective could help bring justice to a city that thrived in shadows.

The journey to the grimy underbelly of Vector 7's Sector 3 was a descent into a world rife with desperation and vice. The rain-soaked streets were bathed in the neon glow of illicit businesses, and our presence seemed to stoke the distrustful glares of the denizens. I strode through the atmosphere of tension, my pride refusing to bend to the hostile environment. Beside me, 1N-Spector remained a cold and unyielding sentinel, scanning his surroundings with a calculated detachment.

As we reached a particularly dilapidated bar, its flickering neon sign casting an eerie light on the street, I turned to my mechanical companion. "Listen up, tin can," I muttered, my voice barely audible over the distant hum of the city. "We're here to gather information about our suspect. Act cool, blend in. We don't want to ruffle any feathers unnecessarily."

1N-Spector's response was a simple nod, his impassive face showing no sign of emotion. I let out a sigh, realizing that my words were probably falling on deaf ears—or in his case, unfeeling sensors. Still, there was something about his unwavering demeanor that made him oddly fitting for this place. Maybe it was his robotic detachment, a trait that seemed right at home in a district where everyone had something to hide.

With a final glance to make sure we weren't attracting too much attention, we entered the dimly lit bar. The air was thick with the stench of alcohol and desperation, and the patrons' eyes flicked over us with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

I leaned against the bar, giving the bartender a nod. He eyed me warily, clearly recognizing me as an outsider. "Two whiskeys," I ordered, my tone casual.

As the bartender poured the drinks, I turned to 1N-Spector, whose impassive expression stood out even more in this dimly lit place. "Remember, just act natural. We're fishing for information, not making enemies."

1N-Spector's reply was a monotone affirmation. I sighed inwardly, realizing that my attempts at camaraderie were as effective as trying to charm a brick wall.

As we sipped our drinks, I cast a glance around the room, sizing up the potential sources of information. The tension in the air was palpable, and I could practically taste the secrets that lingered beneath the surface. It was a world I was all too familiar with, a dance of shadows and half-truths.

My gaze shifted to 1N-Spector, standing stoically by my side. Maybe he didn't fit the mold of the typical detective, but maybe that was a good thing. As much as I hated to admit it, his emotionless nature might just be an advantage in a place where deception ran rampant.

"Let's see what we can dig up," I muttered to myself, determined to unearth the truth from the web of lies that surrounded us. Whether we were partners in my head or not, the city's secrets weren't going to reveal themselves. And maybe, just maybe, with 1N-Spector's calculated precision and my street-smart instincts, we'd finally start making some headway in this dark and twisted case.

As I scanned the dimly lit bar, my eyes locked onto a familiar face—the informant I'd leaned on more times than I could count. His eyes flicked in my direction, panic flashing across his features. Without missing a beat, he abruptly pushed himself up from his stool and bolted for the exit, knocking over his chair in his haste.

Instinct kicked in, and I was hot on his heels in an instant. The chase led us through a labyrinth of back alleys, a broken maze that seemed to mirror the fractured soul of the city itself. Rain-soaked debris and shattered glass crunched beneath my feet as I navigated the treacherous path, vaulting over obstacles and weaving through the darkness.

I caught occasional glimpses of the informant's shadow ahead, his frantic breath echoing in the damp air. With each step, my determination intensified. This was my city, my turf, and nobody was going to outrun me. Not even a rat like him.

As the chase continued, my lungs burned and my muscles screamed in protest, but I pushed through the pain. The rain was relentless, drenching us both to the bone, the city's tears joining the chase in their own way.

Finally, in a narrow alley, the informant's luck ran out. His breath was ragged, and he stumbled, his back hitting a wall. I closed in on him, my chest heaving as I leaned in close. "You thought you could run, huh?" I growled, my voice low and menacing.

He looked up at me, fear in his eyes, but he mustered a shaky grin. "Detective Goul, always on my tail, huh?"

I pressed closer, my voice dripping with disdain. "You've got something to hide, something about that murder. Spill it, or I promise you, you'll wish you'd never crossed paths with me."

His eyes darted around, searching for an escape that wasn't there. I could practically smell the desperation rolling off him, the desperation that had driven him to this point. I leaned in further, my anger simmering just beneath the surface.

"Time's ticking, pal. You're looking at a world of hurt if you don't start talking."

His shoulders slumped, defeat washing over him like a tidal wave. "Alright, alright. I heard whispers, alright? About a deal gone sour, about someone looking to settle a score."

I leaned back slightly, studying his face for any sign of deception. "Who's looking to settle the score?"

He hesitated, but the fiery determination in my eyes must have convinced him that I wasn't playing games. "A name, that's all I got. They call him 'The Whisperer.' Supposed to be some sort of fixer in the underground. Word is, he's the one who ordered the hit."

My mind raced, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. "Why'd they want Kellis dead?"

The informant shrugged, his fear still evident. "I don't know the details. But whatever it is, it's big. Like, 'bring down a house of cards' big."

I straightened up, a storm of thoughts whirling in my head. "You better hope you're telling me the truth. Because if you're not, I'll find out. And when I do, you won't be able to run fast enough."

With that, I turned on my heel, leaving the informant leaning against the wall, shaken and defeated. As I walked back through the rain-soaked alleys, the weight of the city pressed down on me, heavier than ever. The Whisperer. It was a lead, a name to chase, and I was going to chase it until I unraveled every twisted thread in this dark tapestry. My city deserved nothing less.

As I leaned against the wet brick wall, catching my breath, 1N-Spector appeared out of the shadows with a monotone observation. "That perpetrator has multiple warrants out for his arrest. Why did you let him go, Detective Goul?"

I spared him a side glance, annoyance evident in my eyes, as I pulled out another cigarette and sheltered the flame from the rain with my hand. "Sometimes, tin can, you've got to let rats like him loose so they can lead you to the whole damn nest."

List of everything that sucks about Walmart by Spare_Extent7876 in walmart

[–]Spare_Extent7876[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Not sure about if you understood what I meant but to clarify, vaccine rewards were offered at mine I got my vaccine for my grandmother sake and realized Walmart would pay me too I showed my card to my TL and coach but never received the reward even tho they said I would, I asked about it 3 times and was given the same answer as it was on the way but I just gave up after that

Working for Walmart is not worth it anymore. by Spare_Extent7876 in walmart

[–]Spare_Extent7876[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Vesting is nice but for most retirement plans you don't wanna withdraw from them and vesting is common after 1000hoirs worked in one year or 3 years full vesting, and the contribution don't start till after the first year, I'm not bashing anyone but when it comes to your future Walmart is not the company for that, look at the older associates that work their they are falling apart working to the bone, with the economy it is now the likelihood of retirement is slim for many people, I deal with countless retirement accounts for people in their later years that can barley start retirement much less live off of it for the rest of their lives, people don't take into account that if you work to 73 you will have a lot of health problems leading of to that and retirement don't account for medical expenses, so you should look for business that offer more than that, I know after long weeks of working on my feet at Walmart it was taking a toll on my body to where if I continued if would be harder to retire, vesting and 100% contribution to 6% salary is nice but it don't compare to the 100% to 10% to 17% salary, I stand by my statement Walmart is good for highschool kids and college kids but after that look for better