Catalyst Gaming Short Story Compilation / Contest

[Jellybelly]

Got a good short story or HL2RP/OCRP fan fiction and you want to show it to the world (or, at least, the CG community)? You've come to the right place. Post your stories here! Please note, by 'stories', I don't mean in-game experiences you want to share. That's what the gamemode threads are for. I mean like actual STORIES, with plots, characters, etc.

PS: Please, no "once der waz a dude named bob and hewas all liek lol the end" posts. Heh. Be serious, post your best work.
PPS: Statua said if we get enough entries he'll sticky this.

Just noticed this.

Going to offer an incentive:  The person with the best short story will be given a prize.  The prize is undecided, but will be good.  Stories will be judged by myself and a few others once there are enough to judge them.

-stickified-

[Spassy The Starsailor]

I was kind bored so I wrote this to get the thread started. This is just a simple story about a man who wanted a Ferrari.

The man with the golden ferrari:

There was once a man who worked as clothes sales man. His name was Gerry Stuart. Gerry was once the talk of the town, the man you would buy a suit from. Gerry worked in the same store, at the same location for 35 years until he retired. Gerry never got married because of his fixed income, and he could never afford to support a family. There was one thing in his life, he wanted, he needed, and that was a Golden Ferrari. He had worked for 35 years to gather the right amount of money to buy the car in gold, and finally, he could afford it. Gerry was so happy in the morning of the purchase day that he decided to take a stroll to the car dealership in the outskirts of town.

The stroll began and Gerry was on his way to buy his new car. Halfway there, a man pulled over by Gerry's side in a Sultan RS and opened his window; a young Hispanic man with a big grin looked at Gerry and asked him if he needed a ride, and Gerry responded with a big "YES!”. On the way to the car dealership the man presented himself as Compañero Reinaldo Ernesto Fidel Guevara Castro De La Serna Spassy; the Cuban exile who arrived in Evo City four years ago. He was a very social and charismatic person, so Gerry decided to tell him about the Ferrari. Reinaldo was thrilled about the purchase so he decided to follow him into the dealership and show support.

The two comrades arrived at the dealership and talked with the first salesman they met. Gerry didn't care about testing the car, because he knew he wanted it, so he just signed the papers and paid for the car as quickly as possible. The deal was done, and Gerry's dream had come true, he was the owner of a Ferrari F50. The dealer gave the key to Gerry and he burst out in joy, he gave Spassy a big hug and kissed him on the cheek. Gerry offered Spassy a ride home to his home and he gladly accepted it, but Gerry wanted to go to the bathroom before they left. Because Gerry was so old, his prostate and blather was not that great, so his visit to the bathroom took about nine minutes. Gerry skipped his way out of the car dealer, but when he got outside, his Ferrari was gone. Gerry looked around, and Spassy was gone. The keys were gone from his pocket and Spassy was nowhere to be seen. Where did he go?

As it turned out; Spassy had stolen the key from Gerry's pocket during the hug and he had left town and driven to Mexico. The insurance did not cover this, because he had none. Spassy and the incompetent Police Force enraged Gerry with fury, he started to see red. Gerry snapped and kidnapped the sales man at the car dealer and some other people. He took them to the top of the nexus and executed them in the mayor’s office, and threw the bodies out the window. The proud Ferrari owner’s life ended in tragedy, by a shootout between the Police Force and himself.

So who was this Hispanic person? Was he really good, or was he evil? We will never know, because some mysteries stays unsolved.


                                                  The End

[Scratchie]

Just noticed this.

Going to offer an incentive:  The person with the best short story will be given a prize.  The prize is undecided, but will be good.  Stories will be judged by myself and a few others once there are enough to judge them.

-stickified-

[Nicknero]

The never ending dream.

Tired
Nick Wilkingson was one of the many people who lives in Evocity. He can call himself rich, as he has a nice house in the suburbs and a nice car, but he doesn't have many friends. He is also single, which makes his life quite lonely.
On a evening, he was watching TV in his house while his car was parked in the garage. After the TV show ended he decided to call it a day and went to bed.

The store
Nick walks around in the city while he is shopping around in many market places. Suddenly he notices that one of the shops is getting robbed by a bunch of people with dangerous automatic rifles. Nick quickly grabs his phone to call the police, but as he was about to dial the number, police already arrived. Nick was watching from across the street as the police tried to get the situation under control. The police opened the door of the shop and breached inside. As soon as the first cop storms in, a lot of heavy gunfire is heard, but Nick was unsure what exactly was going on because he was hiding behind a parked vehicle.
When the gunfire stops, Nick dares to slowly peek above the car to see what was going on. Before he could even get his sense back to control, he realized the robbers walked outside directly towards the car Nick was hiding behind. He just realized that this car belongs to the robbers, so he turned around, and tried to run away. While he was running as fast as he could, he heard a lot of bullets flying around his ears. He almost made it around the corner, but suddenly he gets hit directly in the back of his head.

Police chase
Nick suddenly wakes up. He looks around him and realizes he's sitting in a police car in the front passenger seat. He looks down and finds out he is wearing a police uniform. "Are you alright?", said Chris who was the driver of their car. Nick shakes his head and responds: "Yeah, I think I'm just having a slight headache. Nothing to worry about."
Their car is parked around the corner of a tunnel. Suddenly the dispatch announces trough the radio: "All available units respond! We have a report of a heavy robbery going on in the main city street! Current causalities are unknown."
Chris turns on the siren and drives towards the city as fast as he can. Once arrived at the city, they see a bunch of heavy armed suspects jumping in a black BMW as they drive off. Nick looks around the place and sees a lot of dead and wounded people all across the street. Chris goes in pursuit with the suspects while Nick radios in the current situation in the city, and the information about the suspects.
The suspects drive out of the city past the car dealer while they shoot towards the pursuers. Chris takes distance to dodge the bullets flying across their vehicle while he tries not to lose the suspects. They continue to drive past the gas station and see the suspects turning into the suburban housing area. Once they arrive there as well, they see the suspects breaking into one of the houses. Chris and Nick park their vehicle on the road in front of that house and quickly take position behind their car.

Rough wakeup
Nick roughly wakes up in his bed while he hears a lot of noise at his door. He stands up and exits his bedroom to see what is going on. He hears a police car approaching in the distance and suddenly his door breaks open while a bunch of heavy armed men enter his house and point their guns towards Nick.
Nick freaks out and backs up against the wall while he asks what is going on. He hears the police car entering the suburbs. The armed men tell Nick to do exactly as they say, or else he will die.
They take Nick towards the window and scream: "We have a hostage! We demand five thousand dollar ransom and all police to fuck off to give us time to escape or else he will die!"
Nick looks terrified as he sees only one guy leaving the police car and taking position behind it.
The suspects drag Nick back to his bedroom as they take his keys and lock the door.
Nick lies on his bed on his front with his arms on his head while one of the men stays in his room to guard him. Nick has no idea how much time passes by as it seems like it's taking hours while it are just a few minutes.
After a while, a man comes in the bedroom and says: "We haven't received our ransom yet! We give them 10 minutes to do so, or else you die!"
Nick doesn't move a inch while he is terrified and waiting for anything to happen. A while later again, the same man comes in his room again and tells Nick to stand up. He drags Nick with him towards the door.
He opens the door and Nick sees a lot of police cars around his house. The armed man says: "They refused to pay." and suddenly Nick's vision turns black.

Is it real?
Nick shocks awake and nearly flies upright sitting on his bed. He quickly looks around him and sees that he is in his bed in his house. He nearly runs out of his bedroom towards the window and notices it is morning. Nothing weird going on. Just the default morning as he always experienced.
Was it all a dream? Was it a dream in a dream? Nick is confused but glad it its all over.
Nick drops down on his bench and turns on his TV for morning news.
The news announcer reads: "Yesterday afternoon a bunch of terrorists robbed a store in the city. After a long chase with the police, they ended up taking a man hostage in his own house. The police tried everything to stop them, but they didn't give them enough time. The hostage was killed by the terrorists, but the police caught and killed them shortly after that in a heavy gunfight. Causalities are 20 civilians and 5 police man killed, and around 15 civilians wounded."
Nick opens his mouth as he hears the story. So was it indeed a dream, or not?

The end.?

[Jellybelly]

Just noticed this.

Going to offer an incentive:  The person with the best short story will be given a prize.  The prize is undecided, but will be good.  Stories will be judged by myself and a few others once there are enough to judge them.

-stickified-

Holy cripe. A thread I made got stickied....*sniff*.....I'm getting...kinda emotional....
By the way, let me be a judge. I've won several regional creative writing tournaments and was a runner-up for the Golden Pen. I'm MORE than qualified. And, hell, if it weren't for me this whole thing wouldn't even exist right now. Just saying .

On another note, I've overcome my temporary writer's block and are experimenting with some ideas. That's one thing I recommend to all writers: FLESH OUT YOUR IDEAS! I know, it's tempting to skip character development so you can write an action scene, but character development is just as, if not more important than action. After all, why should I care that Bob died if I don't know anything about him?

Nick: I found it interesting you chose to write in the present-tense for a lot of your story. What made you choose this?

[Nicknero]

Nick: I found it interesting you chose to write in the present-tense for a lot of your story. What made you choose this?

A story is never real. Which makes the time when it happened any time you want. I chose to write in present-tense to make the reader believe he is experiencing the story right when he reads it, making the goal of the story (I this case making it thrilling) more effective.

[Jellybelly]

Nick: I found it interesting you chose to write in the present-tense for a lot of your story. What made you choose this?

A story is never real. Which makes the time when it happened any time you want. I chose to write in present-tense to make the reader believe he is experiencing the story right when he reads it, making the goal of the story (I this case making it thrilling) more effective.

I see where you're coming from. Instead of a traditional narrative, you were going for more of an immersion factor. Like a 'first-person movie' or something.

[Nicknero]

Nick: I found it interesting you chose to write in the present-tense for a lot of your story. What made you choose this?

A story is never real. Which makes the time when it happened any time you want. I chose to write in present-tense to make the reader believe he is experiencing the story right when he reads it, making the goal of the story (I this case making it thrilling) more effective.

I see where you're coming from. Instead of a traditional narrative, you were going for more of an immersion factor. Like a 'first-person movie' or something.

To be honest, I have no idea.
English is not my first language, so excuse me if there are any mix-ups between the present and the past. I just kept everything the present as that is easier to write.

[Jellybelly]

(This is something I found buried in my old creative writing folder. Not as good as what I'm currently working on, but I thought I'd post something since I don't have a single story up yet.)

They say the simulations are the most realistic training aids since live-fire exercises. It looks real, and believe me, it hurts like hell to get shot. For some reason I just think a taste of some real combat would help. When the boys from Lazuli's Lowlifes came through on their way to the fighting at Remagen, they made us really envy the sons-a-bitches. They go out and fight and act like it's their daily chore (which we're all sure it is) and just joke around when they survive near-death experiences. They truly are badasses.
   
   Of course, seeing an ACU pass through just makes us want to get out to Remagen even more. It doesn't even discourage us when they ship all the bodies back to base to be cremated. We strip whatever ammo and other supplies are left off of the body then take it to what we affectionately dubbed “The Oven.” The old chaplain holds a memorial service each week, but I figure it's useless. The boys are dead, no amount of begging is gonna bring them back.

   This daily routine of being bored all changed when Evan burst into the tent on some Wednesday
afternoon.

   “Guys! Guys!” He shouted, throwing the tent flaps aside. He was practically panting. He leaned on his rifle for support
   
   I sat up in my bunk. I motioned to the some of the guys who were reclining near the radio. They shut it off.

   “For fuck's sake,” I said, “calm down, Evan.”

   “Sarg... Sergeant Lazuli is dead! The PAC got him at the Remagen bridge!” He replied.

   Corporal Jenkins fell back onto his bunk. “Shit, man, I thought 'ole Lazzy was indestructible. Who's gonna lead the Lowlifes now?”

   Evan handed me a folder with some official papers in it. “Read this, Iggy.”

   “Seriously, who the fuck's gonna lead 'em?” Jenkins inquired to no one in particular.

   I got half way through the papers and my heart skipped a neat. I dropped them, and looked up at the ceiling.

   “I am...”

(As you can see, was supposed to be a series, but decided not to continue. Don't worry, I have a much better story in the works. No spoilers, though By the way, whoever can guess what game this was based off of gets a cake.)

[SkeptiK]

I'll write one up when I get on my PC.

[Reality]

It was a cold and dark Friday morning. Blake Johnson woke up to his usual six o'clock alarm clock. He took a shower and got ready for work like every other morning. Blake worked as a police officer at the local police station. Blake loved his job, but sometimes it got boring. He would patrol the city, arrest a druggie, or have to guard the mayor. Guarding the mayor was the job that no one wanted. He drove to work and it was like every other day. Nothing special happened along the way, except for a phone call from Cosmos FM asking for an interview in the future.

Blake checked into work and went to see the mayor to see his job today. His job today was to patrol the city and make sure everything is in order. This wasn't his favorite job, but was not the worst job. He would be patrolling with Sam Iverson, a newer cop. He was inexperienced but Sam followed orders well.

They got a patrol car out of the garage and started to patrol. They went all through the town. They only saw one person in the entire town. They didn't care that everyone was missing, they actually liked it. Instead of patrolling the lakeside, they decided to go eat at Burger King instead. While eating inside, they were watching the TV. They saw mobs of angry citizens outside of the Nexus. The mom wad upset that that the mayor bought new computers for the government officials, instead of fixing the economy. The economy was at a all time low for Evocity. One citizen went out of the mob, and started throwing Molotovs at the bank. The officers used their newly-issued tasers and arrested the man throwing molotovs. The two officers could not do anything about the mob though, and had to call in the SWAT. The SWAT effectively dispersed the angry mob, and all government officials got the rest of the day off.

While eating dinner, Blake was at home watching TV and turned on the news. The mayor was giving speeches on how he will fix the economy and restore citizens faith in him. He was also threatening people who riot, with punishments worse then jail. Blake realized that today, even though his life was in danger, was probably the best day of his life.

[BltElite]

If only I could do a story of an apache pilot in afgh- idea. Falcon pilot of hl2rp outlands. Will do sometime.

[Calstifer]

I'd arrived at the building in the late afternoon. The hustle and bustle of the city rung in my ears, and I could feel the wind from the endless tide of cars that streamed behind me. The building was inconspicuous from outlook, with cream colored walls and basic brown and dusty doors, but it in fact housed the BBC Bureau for Baghdad, Iraq. I took a deep sigh, and entered. I was struck on how basic the entire place was. There was a security guard sitting lazily on a wooden chair, and there was a receptionist typing intently at her oddly old computer. A surge of doubt entered my mind. Had I entered the wrong place? The monotonous sound of continuous typing stopped, and the receptionist's head snapped up. Her face was cold and stony, and she stared directly into my eyes, bending what free will I had left. I reluctantly asked my question.
"Is this..." I stuttered a bit. Not like me at all.
"Yes, yes it is..."  Her stony look turned into a sweet smile, and she gestured me to the stairs.
"Second floor, to the left. Knock before you enter. And smile, there's no need to be afraid." I smiled a little to hard at her, and she tutted as I moved past here and to the stairs. Intent on getting the last comment, I said before I left
"With a face like that, I think there's full reason to be afraid" I tried to scurry away, but her comment caught up to me.
"With a man bag, I wouldn't be surprised if you were intimidated by the rats!" I hesitated. Rats? I hated rats. And it was a satchel, not a man bag. I continued up the stairs, that looked like they could do with some vacuuming to say the least. The building appeared completely empty, the stairs being small and cramped and my steps echoing as I jogged slightly up the stairs. I opened the door to the second floor, and saw a long corridor, and positioned myself in front of the door. I cleared my throat, tightened my tie, straightened my suit and hesitated for a few seconds. I hadn't relay expected to get this far. It all seemed a bit of a dream. I'd been swept all the way here so far. Was I realy cut out for this? As I framed this thought, someone quickly opened the door from the other side, and looked surprised to see me.
"Ah, Mr Saunders? How are you? Why didn't you knock?" I stared at him stunned for a second. He was a bright sort of person, he reguarded me with instant surprise and general happiness. He was in his late 30's, had slight stubble around his face, and had hair down to his shoulders. He was a little bit taller than me, so probably about 6'3. He had blue eyes, and his hair was a light shade of brown. I responded with slight hesitance.
"Uhh, Well thank you sir!" I replied, deliberately ignoring the reason why I didn't knock.
"Come on in" He said, gesturing me to a chair inside. I sat down in the chair opposing his desk, the warm coals from the stove fire in the center of his room burning my right arm but making my right side freezing.
"So, there's only one more thing to sign" He quickly thumbed out some paper from his desk, and put them on his desk with a pen on top.
"By signing this you acknowledge that any psychological damage, periods of no sex, periods of too much sex, images of horrific nature, stress beyond belief, and the possibility of kidnapping, torture and death." Holy shit. These guys don't screw around. He was still talking, outlining all the horrific things that could go wrong, and why it wasn't his responsibility. He was gesturing me to sign now. Dear god.
"Are you alright? You seem a bit shaky" He was right. I felt a bit hot and pale, and my hands were shaking slightly as I took the pen from his outstretched hand.
"Better than ever" I said, feeling the opposite. I leaned over and took a look at the page. It was pretty much what he had just said, but in legal terms. At the bottom, room for his signature and room for mine. He'd already signed it. I pressed my pen into the page, and wrote my signature slowly. Artyom Saunders

[chunkeymonkey79]

This is a WIP most likely. This is set in the Outlands. It's from a first person view on my good RP scenario from the hl2rp general section.

My name's Derek Curter. I can't say really why I'm stupid enough to take the risk of leaving the city. I'm not a very brave person. I discovered a way out of the city through a drainage pipe in the Sewers. How I dread going down there. I constantly look over my shoulder, expecting to see a CP, or even worse, a squad of OTA units. Tommorow I will begin my journey out.

Day 1: I woke up from my Block C apartment, nervous but fresh at the same time. Looking out from my long shattered window, I could see few CP's patrolling. Good thing it's early. I rose up, not bothering to make my bed. I opened my dingy fridge, swallowing down some supplements that I had been saving, and gulped down a bottle of clean water. I threw the bottle out the window, smashing it, eliminating the evidence. Walking outside, the crisp cool morning air hit me like a fist. These citizen garbs don't do much, I think to myself. Walking forward with my arms folded, I approached the slums area, taking a right to the abandoned area. I unfolded my arms, letting the heat from the burning car wash over me. Doing one last body shiver, I climb my way up the ladder to the left. My footsteps making the tired wood creak, I walked over to the old, rusty abandoned apartments door. Easing it open with a large creak, I walked forward, seeing the small hole that lead down to the sewers. Checking one last time to make sure no one was behind me, I eased myself down using the rusty ladder. I walked to the fork, peering in both directions. It was clear. I took a right and began the not so long walk down to the service station. Reaching the canal, I walked along the edge, wanting to avoid getting in for as long as possible. I noticed the drainage grate, it was open as always. Taking a breath, I eased myself into the icy water. I swam toward the grate, swimming into the darkness.
Swimming swimming swimming. Who knows how long I've been doing it. Reaching a fork in the sewer line, I was unsure. During my quick scouting trips I had never gone this far. By the faint light from a flickering bulb overhead, I chose the path that looked lighter. Swimming down that path, I began to hear rushing water. I swam forward unsteadily. Finding a ledge, I eased myself up, coughing. I can still hear the rushing water. Walking forward, very waterlogged, I came to a drop-off. Luckily there was a service ladder, which I proceeded to climb down slowly because it was slippery from the water. I hit the bottom too hard, slipping on the slippery grating, losing my balance. Throwing my other leg out to stop the fall, it take my whole weight and I can hear a pop. Regaining my balance, I can feel that the foot is sprained. Testing it, it is very painful to move or set down weight. Limping back into the water, I began to swim with one leg and 2 arms, with the light getting brighter all the time.

[vFear?]

"I sat in my bed rocking back and forwards, my legs brought up into my chest with my arms cradling them tightly. I blinked furiosuly to try to swipe away the tears with desperate hands, but they only came faster. My head rested on my plain dark blue pillow gently, offering what support it has to offer. My dooner acted as my protector, my shield, my parent/gaurdian in the times of crisis which I suffered endlessly.

My room was rather plain with wooden walls up to the half-way mark, above that to the roof being a yellow'ish wallpaper decorated with white flowers and brown borderes around each vertical line of white flowers. The roof was made from the exact same wood as the one for the lower walls. To my left was a keyboard with a faded and unreadable brand name atop a set of wooden drawers, to my right a smaller yet deeper set of wooden drawers, atop of that a un-used lamp. The rest of my room was emptey.

The wall and roof style was maintained for the rest of the house, just across the doorway and the hallway was my parents room. My parents room, where it happened. Every night when I was accused deep in my sleep, which I seldom was, my father would begin. I could only see the shadows dance from the lamp in their room, but it'd always start with the plead, the 'Please, you don't have to do this, not tonight...' or the 'Wait, he could be still awake! Just don't do it tonight, not tonight!'

It was always hopeless.

And so the shadows would dance, revealing a dark and emotionless figure which I entitle my father begin. He would start with the punches, the hits, striking her over the head, hands in fist, eyes ablaze.Often blood would fly from my mothers nose, splattering against the wall. Often she would be unable to sit up, wounded and hurt, which would lead to the next event. He approached her dramatically, arms swinging, looking down on her.

He would sit on her, reach down to her breasts, toying with them momentarily before striking her upon the head once more and opening the palms of his hands. His hands would decend upon her throat, his fingers gripping her neck securley, his torso shifting forward as he applied hsi body weight. You could hear her struggle to breath, panting, slowly coming to a halt as she would near the verge of conciousness and unconciousness. Then heavy breathing, panting, then it would all begin again.

It was one night that I snapped. The rocking done had become too much, the tears shed had become too many. As I laid there, hopeless, I suddenly stopped crying. Of course, I was not emotionless, instead of taking it out in tears I took it out in flash rage; flash rage that surged over my body with no set course or destination except the death of the one who summoned it. The sound of a turning dooner was overturned by the pants and breaths of my mother.

I set course down the hallway, footstep after footstep. I would come down on my heel, rolling it at a steady pace towards my toes while keeping my body weight focused on centre mass to avoid disturbing the wooden floorboards. To my left was the lounge room with the 42" plasma TV and the worn couch. To my right was the kitchen, in a wooden holder was a set of sharpened knifes. There was the one knife that stook out to me. It was the knife I would take my fathers life with that night.

I paced back down the hallway, this time stealth was the least of my concerns. I was met by a towering figure, my father. His hands were clenched in fists, his face was bloody and furious.
"What are you doing up? Get back to be- Is that a knife!?" He asked furiously.
"Yes. It is." I replied calmly, my voice tinted with anger.
"Put it the fuck back, you bitch!" he yelled, raising his voice.
"You stop beating mum!" I replied, raising my voice to match his.
"I do what I want to her. I brang you into this world and I'll take you out just as easily!" he yelled as he begin to swing his right arm in a semi-circular motion.

I ducked under it, lunging for his Abdomen after sprining off my toes. My knife was poised and ready, tip forward. With a single scream and an inhuman noise of seperating flesh and muscle, blood poured onto the blade before being flicked onto the wall with a swift flick of my right arm. He fell to his knees, looking at me with a bloodshot eye, furious.

I rested the blade against his neck for the feel of it, for the feel of the sharpened steel against his naked flesh.
"Allow me to correct you... You brought me into this would, now I bring you out." I teased, before bringing my knife back with a swift motion with my right arm, lunging it towards his abdomen. I forced it in, ripped it out and forced it in again in various swift motions, blood and bits of human flesh and muscle showering the area in a rainfall of gore. Blood sprayed all over me, all over him, for the next half an hour. Once he fell to the floor, I stopped. I realised what I had done.

The knife dropped to the floor. It rattled against the floorboards loudly.

Now, years on, look who's back." I looked to the figure before me, strapped into the 'Treatment' room chair. "Miracles do happen, I guess...". I examined the various insturments before me, insturments for removing eyeballs, insturments for removing indiviual testicals.

Now I am the one who towers over. I am the one in control.

I am the one behind the faceplate.

I am Acting Officer of NOVA squadron Five-Oh-One, and this is my story.