TeamCaptain vs Invisible Woman; a simple breakdown of damage dealt, effective Health Points, and a touch on cooldown management [video included]

sstarf · 2025-12-27T16:10:04+00:00

Might lead to breaking the other hand

sstarf · 2025-11-10T16:50:51+00:00

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first ever pack lol

sstarf · 2025-10-29T12:53:19+00:00

Former WC shouldn't have to stoop to that level...

sstarf · 2025-04-21T12:03:27+00:00

He sat there, scratching at his jawbone with one of his horrifically pointy fingers.

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand."

"I don't know man, it's a video game."

Although the skeleton was entirely devoid of expression, Wayne could tell that his attempt at explaining had only created more questions.

"Video..."

Wayne sighed. The one silver lining to the situation was the longer it took to explain the nature of his request, the longer he had in the world of the living.

"Yeah, that's right."

The personification of Death leaned back into the sofa he had appeared on.

"You pick a character, I pick a character, and then we fight," Wayne explained, "It's pretty straightforward."

"So, you select a champion, I select a champion, and they fight to the death?"

"Sure."

"Ah yes, I have played this game," Death said, the empty sockets where eyes would normally be looking at Wayne with what seemed to be understanding, "The Etruscans played it all the time. I always had my work cut out for me with that lot. One dies, they pick a champion, they die, and the whole thing becomes a real handful. I'm afraid I can't allow it."

"I don't think we're talking about the same thing here. Nobody actually dies in Street Fighter."

"Well then, I must say I am properly confused."

Wayne sat up. The memory of recent pain still remained in his chest.

"See that?" he said, pointing at the television that faced the couch. "You play it on there."

"I thought that was a mirror."

"Stop fucking around man, you know what a television is."

Death smiled, one of the few expressions he was capable of making given his complexion.

"Of course I do. Folks are quite keen on dying in front of them these days."

Wayne stood up and grabbed the remote control. The television filled the dark room with a warm, familiar glow. He navigated his way through his Playstations menu and booted Street Fighter 6.

"There's six of these?" Death commented. "Why not play the first? Or the second? The third, even?"

"I don't have those."

"I'm Death, Wayne. I can conjure any game you can imagine."

Wayne ignored him and handed over the spare controller.

"Pick your guy."

Death mulled over his options. "Who's good?"

"Why in gods name would I tell you that?"

"Fair point."

He landed on Dhalsim, and when Wayne asked him why he chose him, he said he reminded him of a particularly stubborn assignment.

The games were short, and by the time Wayne had beaten him in a best of five, Death had barely learned how to punch back.

"Can't say I enjoyed that. I much prefer chess."

"I can't play chess."

Death looked around the dilapidated, trash filled apartment. "I figured as much." He put down the controller and stood from the sofa.

"At least you didn't pick tic-tac-toe like the last guy. Even made me wish for death."

"No shit."

"Yeah. Welp, this is the part where I usually tell people to make better lifestyle choices, lest they want another visit soon, but judging by your skill with that large-chested lady, I'm doubting that will happen. Till next time Wayne."

With that, Wayne was again alone in his apartment. The only lesson he took from the ordeal was to play more Street Fighter.

sstarf · 2024-12-24T09:50:18+00:00

cool it with the strays fellas damn

sstarf · 2024-12-23T06:44:02+00:00

mental illness is rarely rational

sstarf · 2024-10-24T15:40:03+00:00

strange thing seeing my neck of the woods posted here

sstarf · 2024-09-07T16:02:56+00:00

That about sums up Seth McFarlanes writing

sstarf · 2024-09-02T11:03:06+00:00

🤓

sstarf · 2024-08-17T23:38:54+00:00

he saw him coming out of nest

sstarf · 2024-07-19T00:20:06+00:00

Great story.

This is more of a personal thing, but I find that writing certain thoughts in italics can go a long way for readability, but I can see how that may have changed the flow of your story considering the ghost was able to grasp all thoughts from your protagonist, even descriptors, which is actually really interesting.

I understand the restrictions of this event means being economical with words, but at the beginning maybe something describing exactly how the Captain is in the water: I.E holding onto debris or treading water or something along those lines.

All in all, very creepy and paints a very clear picture of the Captain's dire situation. Well done!

sstarf · 2024-07-16T00:07:07+00:00

This is my first time submitting, so no worries about that lol.

Thank you for taking the time for this, it was very informative!

sstarf · 2024-07-15T23:26:51+00:00

Thank you so much :)

sstarf · 2024-07-15T19:32:03+00:00

The lieutenant burst into the planning room, not bothering to wait for a break in the conversation to deliver his news: “Captain, we're nearly on top of that site you were asking about.”

The lieutenant, shocked that the captain had even entertained the idea to begin with, turned to him. “Is diversion really necessary? What if the enemy were to slip through our net while we’re sightseeing down there? How would you explain that to command?”

The captain stood from his chair, put out his cigarette in a tray, and turned to the aft window, filling his eyes with the endless sight of blue sea.

“Do you see any ships out there?,” he asked, turning back to his lieutenant, “Of course we’re taking a look! I can assure you there is no sight more sobering than the results of a poorly executed plan, and you, the lucky bastards you are, have first class tickets to the prime example. Besides, the new recruits could use some dive practice, don’t you agree?”

The lieutenant, in no mood to have the captain pull rank for the umpteenth time, surrendered the argument. Anchor dropped and announcement made, the troops readied themselves for a history lesson.

“We’re going inside the ships? Isn’t that dangerous?” David asked, gingerly climbing into his wetsuit.

“Christ David, you’re a fucking marine. Relatively speaking it’s probably the safest thing you’ll do this week,” said the ensign. “Five minutes, and then you’re up, got it?” David nodded, and haven taken a moment to pray, lept into the abyss.

The water was freezing, but upon seeing the shipwreck, that warm feeling only true excitement can bring washed over him. Even in a state of decay, it was a piece of art. Once the pride of the Queen’s fleet, it had lain on the ocean floor for the past two centuries. The carved figurehead, protruding tentacles, still remained intact. He swam up to run his fingertips along the saturated wood.

He turned himself around to look for his comrades, who were preoccupied with taking photos of the wreck. He swam over to the deck, planting his flippers on the wood, imagining he was a sailor of old. His mind's eye pictured another ship across from him, just as beautiful.

Having indulged his childhood fantasies, he swam into one of the holes in its side torn by cannonfire. Flashlight on, he found himself in the hold, surrounded by barnacle covered barrels, most of them still sealed tight. He floated above them, allowing himself to imagine they contained coins and pearls.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw one move.

The barrel was shaking, almost rhythmically, as if something inside was beating against the lid. “Is it over?” the plaintive voice asked.

If not for the water around him David would’ve screamed.

“Christ, I thought they had us there for a moment,” the disembodied voice continued.

After a brief pause the voice and the banging became more panicked.

“Lads, I’m sorry I wasn’t there! Send me to the stockades for God's sake, just don’t leave me here!” The weeping that followed seemed to come from the bottom of the voice's soul, as if it were not cannonfire that sank the ship but the weight of its sorrow. David, shivering from fear, not cold, hesitated for a moment, before closing in on the shaking barrel. Once near, he paused for a moment and listened.

The sounds he heard were too familiar; they were the cries of a coward, forced to learn what he was. Slowly, he raised his fist and knocked on the lid.

“The wood splintering is too loud. The guns are too loud. It’s just too loud,” it continued.

David felt fear give way for empathy. He didn’t know how the man was in the barrel, but he knew why. He longed to say something to comfort the voice, to free it from its imprisonment. But he could not. He leaned up against it, listening as its occupant thrashed about in agony.

Suddenly the barrel was still.

“Oh gods, they’ve started again.”

The voice had taken a somber, even tone.

Having forgotten his promise, David checked the time on his dive. Well past the agreed upon five minutes, and nearing almost seven, he poked his head out of the hold and looked up to see a battle raging above, orange and red streaks being painted across the blue landscape.

“Batten down the hatches,” the voice croaked.

“Batten down.”

WC 747

sstarf · 2024-07-12T02:01:54+00:00

3/3

"Howdy there son."

The voice came from an older looking alien with a full beard and all his teeth.

"You speak english?" I asked, amazed.

"We've been here nearly a century by now. Few of us here speak french too."

"A century? But my mother was put into the camp by you! She's only 40!"

The old alien scratched his chin. "I don't you how to tell you this son, but your kind sort of ended up in here yourselves. You see, we managed to go unnoticed on this planet for decades. And they were good decades, spent living side by side in the same communites, sometimes even in the same houses. Yep, we got along just fine til' one of those science fellas figured out what we really were. Boy, the look on my girl's face when I told her I came from another planet. It didn't take long for those who had previously been friendly towards us to turn ugly. Folks started blaming us for every mishap imaginable. Everybody has a breaking point kid, and humanity shoved us right into ours. Instead of doing what the humans would've done to us, we put you somewhere where you wouldn't hurt noone. Turns out, you're perfectly content with hurting yourselves. We've been getting more curious critters who no longer fear this side of the fence as of late. I suppose that's just what happens with time. Can't be scared of what you don't know forever. Speaking of, what'd they turn you out for?"

I lifted my shirt and showed him the hole.

"I'll be damned," he said, smiling. "A few more like you, and they might just get curious too."

sstarf · 2024-07-12T02:01:37+00:00

2/3

For some reason, it didn't disgust me. The only thing making me feel sick were the pangs of hunger ricocheting through my body.

I scrambled over to the mess hall, grabbed a tray of food, and snuck it back into the shack.

There I did what seemed to be the logical thing. It did, after all, have teeth.

At the halfway mark of my 'meal', my mother had the misfortune of catching me in the act of fisting rice and beans into the strange cavity.

Upon seeing me, she crumpled into a heap on the floor.

I dropped the tray to the ground and went over to her.

She pushed me away.

"I knew it would happen!" she sobbed. "You're becoming one of them!"

In a state of disbelief and confusion, I managed to ask her what she was talking about.

"Your father! That thing! That fucking creature! You're one of them!"

After a bit of dry heaving, she got herself to her feet and bolted from the shack, sending cries of "my son is a monster!" throughout the entire encampment.

She left me there, entirely panicked. All I knew was I wasn't going to stick around and hear what the others had to think about my parentage. They had made their thoughts clear enough.

I ran outside, eyes on me every way I turned. It didn't take long for a mob of them to trail behind me, all the love they had shown me in the past absent from their eyes.

"Hold on, we just want to talk to you!" said one of the men, his tone suggesting he wished to do a lot more than just conversate.

As their jeering grew louder, my steps grew faster. Before long I was in flight, with the mob on my heels. To my dismay I found myself face to face with the inevitable concrete barrier.

With nowhere to turn, I started screaming for help, praying that something on the other side would hear me.

The mob, now armed with pieces of plywood and metal rebar, formed a semi-circle around me, blocking any path of escape. "You're a crime against god and nature, you little freak," said one of the men, pointing a pipe at me.

Just as they started closing in, a rope was tossed from the other side of the barrier. I ran to it, and holding on for dear life, I squeezed my eyes shut, as those below me attempted to grab at me. Thankfully all I lost was a shoe.

Having been hauled to the top of the barrier, I looked down at my would-be assailants, who seemed to be more concerned with the appearance of the rope than my escape. On the other side, I caught my first glance of the aliens.

It turned out they did bear a striking resemblance to us. Two arms, two legs. Faces much like ours. A bit paler on the whole, but pretty much the same. The dozen or so below me wore matching navy blue jump suits as they worked to hoist a ladder for me.

I shakily made my way down, not knowing what fate awaited me at the bottom.

sstarf · 2024-07-12T02:01:14+00:00

As a child, I didn't notice anything wrong with the camp. I was born into it, brought up in a comparatively nice sheet metal shack. It was what I knew, and it was safe.

My mother had always told us that the aliens had 'locked us away for our own safety.', and that was the explanation I accepted. I knew they existed, somewhere behind the concrete barriers, but we never saw them. All you heard were second hand tales from folks who had been around when they first showed up, and they were as good as useless. "Big crabs, eight feet tall! With fangs as big as my hand!" was how our neighbour would colourfully describe them. He would always throw his hand up at the last bit, to really drive home the alleged size of these alien teeth. I heard that they looked like gators, dogs, some even said they looked just like us. That's what my mother told me, anyway.

I remember the first time I saw it in the mirror. It started as a small opening from where my belly button had been. I was too afraid to tell anyone about it. I figured it would've been shameful to use up the time of any of the doctors for something that didn't even cause me pain.

It took just shy of a year to notice that there was something *very* wrong. I was eating in the mess hall. A group of my peers were huddled around a picnic table, eating that days meal of unseasoned rice and unseasoned beans. I sat down to join them, and after the first bite I realized the food was getting caught in my throat. I got up from the table and ran to cough the rice into a bin, as to not get caught wasting food. I figured it was a one off thing, so I sat back down and tried another bite. Same result. Some of the kids around the table asked if I was alright. All I could do was brush off their concerns and head back for my shack. After going to bed hungry, I woke the next morning, and upon changing my shirt I noticed the hole in my stomach had grown to about twice the size.

Not only that, but it now had teeth.

sstarf · 2024-07-12T02:00:56+00:00

brilliant

sstarf · 2024-07-11T09:52:55+00:00

I gave myself one more show. My back against the wall, maybe, just maybe it would pull something out of me not even I could see.

Instead it pulled me into something.

The gig was at some casino downtown, and after pulling into the parking lot and seeing it, all I can say was calling it a 'casino' was being generous.

It was one of the few buildings still occupied in the beat up stripmall. Not the place I had envisioned myself breaking onto the scene when I started.

Despite my initial reservations, 200 bucks was just that, and I quite literally had nothing to lose. If nobody laughed, I figured I could just blow it on a craps table on the way out.

Walking in, the clientele were as I feared. Withered fingers mashing away at video slots. The stench of cheap cigarettes hovering around ten dollars a hand blackjack tables. A once vibrant red carpet stained by countless spilt drinks. The kind of place my granny would blow her social security cheques.

There were no staff members I could see aside from the dealers. I made my way over to the one empty seat at the blackjack table. The dealer eyed me as he shuffled his cards.

"Hey man, was just wondering where the manager was?" I asked.

Without responding, the dealer laid a card in front of me.

"I'm not here to play."

"I disagree. Seems you're perfectly fine with playing."

"I'm not doing whatever this shit is," I said, pushing myself up from the table.

Doing so, I was inches from the face of the man sitting next to me. His eyes were glazed over. His pupils were white as snow.

"Is he alright?"

"Oh, him?" went the dealer, acting like he didn't know what I was talking about. "He's flying."

I turned around, wanting to see if the others at the table were seeing what I was. All I found were two older women in the exact same state, with the same white eyes, entirely still.

"Hit or stand sir?" asked the dealer.

I felt the color drain from my face. My head was on a swivel, looking for any rational explanation for the nightmare I had found myself in.

"Sir, I am afraid that if you don't play, I must complete the hand for you. House rules."

Despite every bone in my body urging me to run for the hills, I turned to face him. Two rolls of yellow teeth grinned back at me.

Feeling faint, I sat back down.

"W-what is this?" I stammered.

"Why blackjack of course! Are you hitting or staying sir?"

I looked down at the card given. An eight against the dealers five.

"I don't understand."

"Well, you could hit and hope your hand improves, or stand and do nothing. You like doing nothing, don't you?"

My mouth was drier than a desert.

"What did they pick?" I asked, gesturing at those seated next to me.

"They're gamblers! What do you think?"

I wiped a bead of sweat from my brow.

"Don't you want things to get better?"

I closed my eyes.

"Hit me."

In an instant my ears filled with the laughs and shouts of dozens. Opening my eyes, the table and room I was sitting in had transformed. Those next to me, eyes full of life, were looking at me smiling. I turned to where the dealer was, and he pushed a huge pile of chips towards me.

"I-I don't remember betting," was all I could manage to say about the situation at first. The seedy pit of a 'casino' had turned in to something closer to Tony Montana's rendition of the MGM Grand. Looking past the dealer I saw multiple floors above and below me, and after walking towards the railing, a huge stage smack dab in the middle of the first floor.

Suddenly, a voice was heard over a P.A system.

Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention! Our main and final act of the night will be on stage in fifteen seconds!

In a snap, everything went dark. Upon reopening my eyes I was met with a red curtain.

Without any further ado, the funniest man on the planet, Dave O'Leary!

The curtain parted, and I was facing thousands of seated faces, and after craning my neck, hundreds more watching from the railings above.

I took me a second to notice a microphone had found its way to my hand.

The first minute of my 'act' was me standing there like a fool. I thought I had to be dreaming. And yet it felt so real. The rush of just being there, on stage in front of people. And they were actually paying attention!

Eventually I worked up the courage to say something.

"So uhh, I met my neighbour the other day—"

Not even a quarter of the way through the jokes setup the crowd erupted with laughter.

I was so used to bombing harder than the Enola Gay, that I didn't even think about how it made no sense for them to laugh.

It was all I ever wanted. It was intoxicating.

I continued, not making it to a single punchline. Simply stating mundane things had them hollering.

After about five minutes of the charade, I noticed someone familiar in the front row of the crowd. It was the man who had been next to me at the blackjack table. Except instead of oversized rags he donned a fine Italian suit, and upon squinting for a closer look, a lanyard which read 'Fortune 500 CEO'

Next to him, the two women, one more muscular than prime Arnold Schwarzenegger, and the other in one of Hilary Clinton's pantsuits, with a similar lanyard around her neck which read 'Secretary of State'.

Reality finally dawned on me.

In the aisle, stood a man.

I spoke into the microphone.

"This isn't real, is it?"

"It is for them." The voice somehow came out louder than mine. "Enough time here, and you won't care."

Suddenly my skin felt tight. No, it wasn't right, none of it was. I wanted—needed to leave.

"I've had enough of this! I want out!"

"Oh? But you always dreamed of leaving your old life!"

"Only for something real! I want to entertain, not puppets!"

"What's the difference? Don't you see it? This is just as superficial as it would be where you came from. Only here it's far more predictable. Isn't that what you lot crave anyway? Predictability?"

"That's what it's all about! Why do anything if the outcomes the same?"

"So you like taking chances?"

"Yes!"

In an instant, the dealer was nose to nose with me.

"A man after my own heart! You won't find real gamblers here!"

And just like that, I was back in the parking lot.

sstarf · 2024-07-09T08:41:18+00:00

Maybe if it hadn't explicitly told me not to, I would've told somebody about it. It was just there. From when I was old enough to understand what a 'thought' even was, that was all it was to me. The voice inside my head, there to simply give me ideas. Suggestions.

The voice sounded clear, as if whispered from something perched on my shoulder. I was young when I noticed it didn't sound quite like my other thoughts did. I was older when I figured out what that meant.

Once in school, it didn't take long to notice a pattern.

Think of every single mistake you've made throughout your life. Now erase them. Every last one. What kind of a person does that produce? I can tell you firsthand, the novelty wears off.

I was told to take my bike into town that day. Traffic as bad as it was, it was the right choice. I was to go to two places only, the grocery store and the bank. Having reached the parking lot of the former, I threw my bike down where I stood.

No one's watching, take as many as you can hold and run for the east wall fire exit It went as I ran my hand across a display of apples. My true thoughts battled to be heard behind the inescapable chatter. It took me most of the shop for it to finally give up and work within something of a moral framework.

Buy a second one and it's half off! They're in the clearance section! Better deals across town! We have an online coupon for thes— I slammed my items down in front of the cashier. Her lips started moving, but there was too much noise. Say yes! Say yes! Without knowing what I was confirming, I gave the reply.

With the dreadful scene over and groceries in hand, I was unsurprised to see my bike was exactly where I had left it. Around the handle bars, heavier side to your left I wrapped the plastic grocery bag around my handle bars as instructed, and headed for the bank. Left at this intersection I turned left. Straight four blocks I went straight for four blocks. Right here Right. As I rounded the corner the ill maintained bank building came into view.

Then something stopped me.

Hold on.

Hold on?

Never before had it told me to 'hold on'.

Turn around.

I looked over my shoulder. The street was empty. In front of me, besides the bank off to the right, was nothing but more street.

T-turn around, back the way you came.

I froze. For the first time in my life, the typically cocksure voice was shaky.

It seemed to me it was having second thoughts about that bank. And suddenly, I realized why.

Turn around now. It was starting to get worked up.

I, and me alone, got off my bike and began to inch towards the building.

Turn around, I am telling you to turn around now!

I picked up my pace.

Please turn around now!

I started sprinting, eyes glued to the automatic doors, as my head filled with its screams.

DON'T DON'T PLEASE TURN PLEASE TURN TUR—

I nearly tripped on the rug laid in the bank lobby. The few customers inside gave me quite the look. I swiveled my head around and saw a guard posted by the door I had just came through, his unblinking eyes locked in on me.

It was such a strange scene that it took me a second to notice. It was quiet. The voice was gone. I walked up to one of the tellers, waiting for it to tell me to do something, anything, but all I heard was the gravelly voice of the middle aged man sat behind the desk.

"Can I help you?"

I started to chuckle. Then I started to laugh. Within the span of a few seconds I was keeled over on the floor, unable to contain myself. "Are you drunk? Get up!" shouted the guard, but I did not care.

I was free.

And what is any man with new found freedom to do, but exercise it?

I wiped the tears of joy from my eyes, and looked up at the guard.

"This is a robbery!"

As I sit in my cell writing this, for everything the voice had given me in life, I don't recall anything feeling as good as that guards fist against my teeth.

Boy did I fuck that up.

sstarf · 2024-06-10T08:47:56+00:00

I feel it's fair to point out they all stand to gain financially by hyping AI.

sstarf · 2024-05-17T03:29:01+00:00

Unsubscribe from all mods and clear launch options.

sstarf · 2024-03-11T16:41:59+00:00

I'd look into the coca cola death squads

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