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Mutate Chapter 1- Escape

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Mutate Chapter 1- Escape

Post by pokenutter on Sat Jul 03, 2010 2:06 pm

NEWS FLASH!

The Center for Disease Control issued a statement today on the recent mutations cropping up throughout the world. As many as 100 people have suffered from erratic mutations due to unknown circumstances. Victims appear to be random, and have no connection to each other. Many victims have been positively identified as exhibiting characteristics of Pokémon, the well-known Nintendo franchise. Nintendo has declined to comment.

The CDC wishes to remind people that although it is possible for anyone to mutate, only around 100 people worldwide have done so. In addition, mutation does not seem to be infectious. If you suffer from random mood swings, sudden and unexplained food allergies, unexplained urges of any kind, or temporary loss of cognitive function, please alert a family member, or dial 9-1-1 immediately.

The CDC has also stated that many victims lose their minds during the mutation. This has only occurred in three victims so far, but none of them suffered any kind of previous mental illness.

Mandatory psychological and physical evaluations are being held for all mutates, or Pokemorphs as they are also called. If the mutate is found to be safe to themselves and others, they will be released to live a normal life, with all of the rights and responsibilities of other citizens. If they are not, they will be moved to an undisclosed location for therapy or imprisonment depending upon the severity of the danger that they pose to society.

Thank you.

Tom looked up from the notice, and took another look into the tank. Sleeping on the ground was Jess Hamilton, the latest mutate to be deemed "unsafe", if that word could truly be used to describe her. The regulations concerning mutates were presented as fair and balanced, but had a considerable slant. All that one had to do to verify that was look at the numbers.
Twenty-seven mutates had appeared in the United States. Twenty-five had been sent here for "therapy or imprisonment." Jess was the latest, and hers wasn't a pretty tale. She'd mutated in the middle of a crowded street, and had been given immediate medical attention, due to the nature of her transformation. She had passed her psychological exam with no error, but her physical exam presented a single problem. It was this single problem that tore her away from her friends and family, and damned her to spend her life in this glorified asylum.
He leaned forward towards the tank. She was leaning against the wall of the tank, a glass cylinder around twenty feet high. A single door acted as a method of delivering food and mail, but this was more of a pet door than a door in the typical sense. A black box in the back of each tank served as a toilet or a changing room for new residents, who were given a simple red suit which zipped down the back as a uniform. However, there were rumors that conditions were to improve. Last week, one mutate had written home about the terrible conditions, and his family wrote to all the others, and twenty-five family lawyers had clicked their lawsuit pens in unison. It was up for debate if conditions would improve, or if this facility would cough up a load of cash.
Her eyes suddenly snapped open, and the small fire on her tail suddenly flashed into brilliant, flickering light.
"What do you want?"
He jumped a little, startled by her sudden awakening. He regained his composure, and replied.
"Sorry. I was just passing by."
"You lingered at this tank. Unless you want something, keep moving."
"I'm sorry. I just find you fascinating."
This was the wrong thing to say. She stood up, and marched over to the side of the tank.
"So I'm fascinating to you? Am I a little science project to you? What's so fascinating about the little freak show in the tank?"
He backed off. "I'm sorry. I said that wrong."
She flicked her tail irritably. "Sorry, are you? Why don't you let me out, and show how sorry you are."
"I would if there weren't trigger-happy guards ready to cap anybody who did something like that."
She nodded. "Whatever you say, you spineless bastard. I know that you guys in upper management are afraid of us. I passed both of my exams, and my fire can't burn anything unless I really want it to."
"I understand. Truth be told, I sympathize with you guys. I realize that conditions are unfair, and submitted two applications to have conditions improved before the lawsuits even-"
She slammed her fist against the glass, abruptly cutting him off.
"Don't lie! I've seen you pass by here before. Twice you've spoken to somebody, and conditions only worsen- security has tripled each time you speak to someone."
"You may choose to believe whatever you like, but the truth is that I'm on your side."
She scraped her claw against the glass, hiding her face. He decided that now was a good time to leave. Before he could turn away, however, she lifted her head up, pure rage written across her face.
"Don't. Lie."
He turned to leave, in time to catch the light of a fireball heading toward the glass. However, upon touching it, the fireball dissipated.
He stepped into a nearby elevator, just in time to hear the scared, angry Charmeleon sobbing as the door closed.
***
Lunch break. What a morning. Everybody seemed irritable today, and he had only just found why. Apparently, their lawyers, who had each written a book bout legal loopholes, were actually losing their case over mutate conditions.
Tom preferred to take his lunch break separate from everybody else; it allowed him to think more clearly. Everyone else took lunch in the cafeteria downstairs, but hi was taking his in Room 428, which belonged to some hotshot named Smith, who really didn't care who ate where, as long as there was no mess left behind. Even if Smith didn't approve, Tom would still take his lunch breaks here; this office had a wonderful view of Lake Erie and the North end of Cleveland.
He opened the lunch box that he'd brought with him. He pulled out a sandwich, and took a bite. He stopped, and opened the sandwich up in front of him. Ham and cheese. The meat looked good, and the cheese had only been bought yesterday. So why, then, did the sandwich taste terrible?
He took a bite of the bread. Perfectly normal white bread with a sesame seed top. The cheese was typical white sharp cheddar, his favorite kind. However, upon testing the ham, his insides gave a lurch that he was totally sure wasn't healthy.
He recovered after a few minutes, and then lifted the ham up to the light, hoping to get a result. The meat wasn't discolored, and it looked perfectly...
What the hell was happening to his fingernails?
It was almost as though someone was coating them in green paint. Green paint that was sharpening each individual nail into a point. This was a quick process, almost instant. He sat for a minute, daring to hope that this was some crazy, delayed reaction to something that he had done in the lab. He was handling strange chemicals almost all the time, and it wouldn't be the first time something seemingly random had happened to an employee. Jenkins had something blow up in his face last month, and his family was still waiting for his skin to lose its sudden royal purple tint.
Before he could even convince himself of this little story, however, a pain in the dead center of his back exploded into being. It felt as though he had been shot in the back with a tank killer shell. He toppled forwards, and wasn't surprised to feel blood dripping down to his front, soaking his clothes.
He could barely manage to remain conscious, so he focused all of his energy on staying awake and watching. It was a curious visual. It was almost as if fine hexagon-shaped bits of skin were flipping over to reveal aqua-green scales underneath. This phenomenon began from his hands and (presumably) his back, completely covering his body from head to foot. He felt a sudden urge to open his mouth, and was amazed as he felt some of his teeth fell out, followed by sharp canines punching their way through his gum line.
Then, there was a horrible feeling in the wound on his back. He reached back, barely able to do anything beyond feel the area. He was shocked and a little disturbed to feel that the wound had sealed, and had left behind a foot-in-diameter bowl right over his spine. Still, he couldn't shake a terrible feeling that whatever was happening was far from over.
His suspicions were instantly confirmed as he felt something in his back expand. It wasn't a normal expansion, not by a long shot. This was more like fibrous spikes were boring into his stomach and lungs.
A sudden feeling of pressure in his torso was suddenly resolved as a woody stump about four inches in diameter blasted its way out of his newly-healed back. More blood poured onto the ground, and he decided that enough was enough. So, he focused on the phone on Smith's desk, and dragged himself towards it. He was so focused, that he didn't notice the leeching feeling throughout his body as four leafy fronds grew on his back. He was also oblivious to the darkening around his vision as several pinkish petals spawned from the tip of the stump, twisting together to form a bud.
By the time he reached the phone and started to dial, he was almost out of energy. He had just enough left in him to wheeze into the receiver, "Medical emergency. Room 428." before falling sprawled across the desk, unconscious.
***
He awoke a week later, strapped to an IV. In ten minutes, he had a lot explained to him, much that he was still taking in now.
He had lost a lot of blood. Two transfusions had taken place before they could stabilize him. He had left most of his own blood back on Smith's floor, and this was now being tested.
Due to the trauma of putting too much effort into dialing as his brain was reworking itself, he had caused damage to his retinas. Something about unfamiliar chemical reactions and adrenaline pumping through his blood plus exertion had sent some of the wrong chemicals into that area of his brain. He would need glasses for the first time in years. He was lucky to even be able to see.
His struggle had also damaged his digestive system somehow. He was now able to digest any non-meat. His body would have grudgingly taken it if he hadn't fought to the phone, but he had lost that ability. High-protein foods like peanuts and beans were okay, but not in excess.
He had mutated. He was informed that he was an Ivysaur mutate, but he had guessed that himself. He had been a fan of the series for twenty years, ever since he was five. He found the leaves on his back and the flower that towered above them to be durable, but flexible if need be.
In addition to the normal changes, he discovered two thick, ropy vines dangling out of the flower. He found these to be flexible and tough, and he could manipulate them at will. They were like a second set of hands, complete with pain receptors, as he found out when he struck the corner of a solid steel wall with them. They could be moved at the speed of normal hands with no problems, but could also be moved at near-supersonic speeds to deliver powerful blows, as he demonstrated to the hospital bed pillows. This left him tired, however, so he decided to use them only when absolutely necessary.
Before he had been awake for an hour, however, he was escorted out of the infirmary into a small holding cell. He waited for a few hours, occasionally daydreaming, until the doors opened, and an official government Mutate Examiner walked through the door.
"You are mutate number 115, Thomas McDermott, correct?"
"Yes. That's why I'm here."
He sat down, and flipped open a folder.
"Employee of this facility for two years. Working as a geneticist, trying to find out a genetic reason for the mutations?"
"Correct."
He skimmed through the folder, and then paused at one page.
"You advocate changes to the Mutate Safety Doctrine?"
"Yes. Twenty-five mutates have been sent here, and twenty-seven were examined total. Everybody here is a perfectly sane, law-abiding citizen. The only thing that keeps them here is the possibility of the potential danger that they theoretically pose."
"The damage is only theoretical because we've kept them here. Imagine if we let the wrong person go; we'd have nigh-unstoppable terrorists or criminals destroying us within a week!"
"Like I keep saying, that's all theoretical. You're incarcerating innocents. This can't possibly be legal."
With a sour face, the man scribbled something down on a notepad. He reached into a bag on the floor, and pulled out a paper with inkblots on it- a Rorschach test.
"Okay, then. Tell me what you see."
***
No word was given an hour after the results, so he assumed that he'd been deemed sane. They arrived shortly after to give him his physical exam, which was like a combination of an endless collecting of all kinds of samples, as well as a routine doctor's visit.
However, when all was said and done, they weren't exactly delicate with him. He had to caution them at every turn, not knowing how fragile or sturdy he was. The most painful had been when they tried to remove a whole petal from the bud. Five minutes of pained screaming, arguments, and a black eye later, they agreed to simply cut a small piece of the bud off for testing.
It was another three hours before the same examiner from his mental assessment walked back into the room.
"Your mental tests came back positive- you have been deemed 100% sane. However, there are some rather disturbing points about your physical. First off, why did you fight them?"
"The petals on my back are apparently very sensitive. I wasn't aware before, but they're just like hair- they can twist and flex and be cut with no problems, but the moment you pull them, the nerves that connect to them start screaming in pain."
"Ah. What else do you know about that flower?"
"I think that the bud might be motile- I flailed my arms around when the petal got pulled, and don't remember striking with my vines. However, one of the scientists had long, straight bruises on his arms. Otherwise, it's an ordinary flower."
The examiner shook his head. "No. That flower contains something else. The bit of petal that they crushed contained odd pollen. One of our scientists touched it, and was immediately paralyzed from the neck down. We are actually in the process of scraping the pollen off of him in hopes that he will regain mobility. This warrants you as unsafe for society. You will be held here until you are deemed safe."
Two armed guards entered the room. Tom rose, and turned to leave. Before he took a single step, however, he turned back to his examiner.
"There'll be hell to pay for this, you know. Eventually, you'll imprison the wrong person for the wrong reason. Someone who will become the greatest threat to you. And there will be retribution."
The examiner simply nodded as Tom was led out.
***
The tanks were tall enough so that they actually took up two floors. A layer of metal separated the lower half from the top. The top half contained nothing but a fully functional door and a lift down into the tube. It was here that they escorted him, and placed him on the lift.
The lifts weren't exactly safe- they were literally an aluminum platform suspended by wires. They were operated by a winch, which meant that if the load moved in any way en route to the first floor, the platform would pitch to the side, possibly tossing its cargo off. However, their facility didn't have the budget for proper elevators into each of the tanks, and there were too many risks associated with platforms that rose from the floor.
Mutates were stored in groups of two. If no mutates had appeared in the time he'd been unconscious, he had a pretty good idea who he'd be bunked with.
His suspicions were instantly confirmed when he was tackled to the ground, a set of claws grinding into his shoulder.
Jess Hamilton, with the fury of Hell etched across her face, had knocked him to the floor, claws still stuck in him.
"Hello."
She slashed out to the side, opening up a gaping wound and revealing bone.
"I had heard that an employee had mutated; news travels fast here. No other mutates were announced, so it could only be you!"
He rolled to the side, barely dodging another strike, one which would have pierced his stomach. However, in an instant, she was lying on top of him, preventing any escape.
"I'll have a lot of fun killing you."
He quickly ran through his options before finally settling on diplomacy.
"Wait," he quickly shouted. "Are you really going to kill me?"
She grinned sadistically. "Of course. After all the psychological agony you and your colleagues put me through, death is the least you deserve."
He nodded. "I know that you want to kill me. But, I asked if you would. Can you do it? Can you kill another person in cold blood? You're going through all this buildup, but the most you've done is cut me to ribbons. If you can really kill me, than let's see you try."
"Shut up!"
The area around her mouth began to glow, and seconds later, she released a fireball from her maw. The ball slammed into him, and he thought for a minute that she'd actually killed him. Several seconds later, however, he realized that he was breathing heavily. He was breathing, so he must be alive.
She pushed herself off of him, and he sat up. He was about to thank her when she silenced him with a look.
"Save your thanks. I only let you live because doing so would prove everything that they say about us. I'm not an inhuman monster; I won't let that be their only image of me."
She strode over to the opposite side of the tank, and sat down, eyeing him with a look that could make paint peel. He dragged himself to the opposite side of the tank, and simply slumped with his wounded shoulder facing the ceiling. Exhausted, he passed out, hoping that tomorrow would be better.
***
He was abruptly woken up several hours later by a squawking noise coming from the side of the tank. He opened his eyes, and realized the near-pitch-darkness surrounding him. It was obviously the middle of the night, but several points of light kept the darkness at bay. Closer observation revealed that these were fire-type morphs that featured fire as part of their anatomy. Jess even had hers lit up.
The squawking sounded again, and he groggily slid over to the source. A table in the tank stood with all sorts of things on it. Food, water, personal belongings, and- wait, what was this? A small radio sat on the table, occasionally emitting the sound. It was a typical radio with a dial on the side, with fifty positions. A large button on the side read "Open channel". Another one read "Alert other." Finally, of course, was "Talk".
He pushed the talk button, and muttered, "Hello?"
The voice that came back was smooth and feminine. "That's some impressive healing you've got there."
It took a minute for him to realize what the voice was saying before quickly looking at his shoulder. What had been a potentially life-threatening wound had slimmed down to a paper-cut sized slit.
Interested, he spoke again. "Forgive me, but I don't recognize your voice. I've met so many mutates, I identify by face rather than name. To whom am I speaking?"
"Oh, I didn't realize, Tom. I'm Martha. The Zangoose?"
Tom smiled. Martha and James, the terrible twosome, were rather well-known throughout the branch. Martha was a Zangoose, and James was a Seviper. The two were pretty much living examples of "Desperate times call for desperate measures." They had spearheaded more escape attempts than any other mutates combined, and had gotten as far as the front gate before. Despite this, their personalities clashed to a level unreachable by any two normal people. Unless they were outside the tank, the two were famous for their long-winded arguments about basically anything, even going as far as to contradict themselves to prove the other wrong.
He chuckled. "Sorry, Martha. I haven't spoken to you in a while. I take it you recognized my voice?"
"Yeah, you're the one who sounds unnaturally like a girl over any communication line."
"I'll let that go without comment. Anyway, what's with the radios? They weren't here a week ago."
"Do you remember that case over our treatment here? Well, the family lawyers actually won. We're being allowed to communicate with each other and, as long as we behave, the outside world. Which explains why there's no phone or laptop with internet in your tank."
Tom glanced at Jess, who flipped him the bird. He turned back to his conversation.
"So, what did you call about?"
"Escape plan number 47."
It took Tom a minute to realize what she'd said. A moment later, he realized something.
"Wait, number 47? I thought that you had only made twenty-six attempts!"
The voice that came back was a bit smug. "Well… Let's just say that we're never getting ourselves a laptop after this past week."
Another voice came across the line. "I blame you for that last one, Martha. If you hadn't dropped that quarter out of your pocket- Ack!"
There was a tremendous cracking sound, and the radio went dead. No sound emanated from it for about five minutes, and then it crackled back on. A different voice came across the line.
"Tom, it's Smith from Tank number 6, next to James and Martha. The two were arguing, and she bashed his head with the radio. Theirs is now broken, and they can't contact you. They'll get a new radio tomorrow, but they need to tell you this now; when night falls tomorrow, plug the pet door with one of your vines when they send in dinner. If you can do that, they'll walk you through the rest. They said that if this one went right, everyone could escape. That's all."
Tom put the radio down, and sat back down against the wall. He was about to go back to sleep, when Jess's voice called him back to reality.
"Hey. I understand that you and I are from completely different sides in this. Don't think that I don't hate every iota of our existence. However, if it gets us out, I'll swallow my pride and work with you."
Tom nodded, and fell back to sleep.
***
The next day passed with little incident. Tom's civilian clothes were taken, and he was given standard-issue prison uniforms to wear. He wasn't sure if they were made this way on purpose, but they fit him perfectly. Someone had even taken the trouble of cutting holes in the back for his bud.
James checked back every so often to make sure that their new radio was working. Martha only checked to make sure that they remembered what to do that night, but eventually night and dinner both came.
As the pet door swung shut, Tom shot a vine out just in time to catch it. He was holding the edge in a way that it would be undetectable, but he'd have enough room to work it open later. Martha's voice came across the line.
"Right, when they leave, pull it open."
Soon, when no more noise came through the hallways connecting to the tank room, Tom scrabbled his vines along the edge of the plastic, eventually opening it enough to slide his hands underneath. He held it open, and waited for Martha's instructions.
"Right, Jess. Yo do your part. You picked his pocket while he was sleeping last night, right?"
Jess beamed, and pulled an ID card out of her own pocket. "Yep, right here! You sleep like log, you know that?"
Tom was speechless. He thought for a minute before regaining his composure. "Hey, give it back!"
Jess spoke into the radio. "Should I do that, Martha?"
"Do indeed. Now, your vines are 100% controllable right?"
"Yeah."
"Take the card, and reach them over to the nearest computer console. Scan your card, and navigate through the lock override on the tanks."
"How do you know that an override option even exists?"
"Last month, another mutate got canned for escaping as far as the console. When we got these radios, I learned as much as I could from other escapees who failed. She was very thorough in describing the console layout. Now, I can't guarantee that this will work, but I can say that it has a high chance of success, considering an employee turned."
James's voice came through on the other end. "For once, we agree. The chances of success are 39%. This may seem low, but most other escape attempts have a less than 5% chance of success. They would be higher if a certain someone didn't love her shiny quarters…"
Martha's voice carried over the receiver. "Look buddy, unless you want another bump the size of Massachusetts on the side of your ugly mug, I suggest that you keep quiet!"
She turned her attention back to the radio. "Good luck."
Tom shrugged, and snaked his vines through the door, still clutching his card in one of the vines. He stretched them as far as he could go. However, he felt them pull taut, and he couldn't extend them any further.
"Crap," he muttered. He turned to Jess. "I can't reach. Now what?"
"You can't reach? Try sliding under the door."
He slid underneath, even managing to get his bud through the door, but realized something very important.
"I can't move. I brought a lot of stuff with me, and kept it in my pockets. There's so much stuff, I can't move forward."
Jess knelt down next to him. "Try crawling backward. This operation might be a bust if they catch you like this."
Several second followed, then "No good. My sleeves don't generate enough friction. I might was well be crawling on ice."
"Well, crap! What are we supposed to do now?"
"What's going on down here?"
Everybody froze. A man had entered the room.
Tom sized him up. Tall, dress clothes, gray hair… Tom didn't recognize him, and he knew almost every employee in the facility. Thus, he had to be from upper management.
He might as well have been an executioner.
The man sized up the situation, and nodded.
"Ah. I see. An escape attempt."
He wandered over to the computer console that Tom had been trying to reach.
"Tom, you caused quite a stir with your attempts at reform. You see, most of us in upper management were willing to pretend that things were fair. However, when an employee began to question the system, so did many of us. We put reform up to a vote twice. Both times, your list of reforms was stopped at the top."
He pressed a button, and one by one, tanks began to lift into the air. Amazed, every mutate turned in the direction of their savior. He continued.
"The truth was that our board needs a 2/3 majority vote was required to initiate reform. While more than half of our members were in favor of looser restrictions, enough were against reform that the rules stayed in place. Thus, it got to a point where the board of directors were sliced inhalf, with pro- and anti-reform members. Those of us who were for reform made a secret deal with each other- if we happened to be passing by an escpe attempt that looked like it might even be marginally successful, we would help it along. So, what are you waiting for? Run! Company vehicles are in the basement, just waiting to be jacked in a mass escape. They won't go after you immediately, so get going while you can. Travel in groups. If anybody asks, just say that the rules have changed, and that you are safe for society. Now, go.
Jess turned to Tom, and smiled. "Okay, looks like you were on our side after all." She turned to the motley crew behind them, and stroked her chin. Now, let's see what we've got here."
***
Down several floors, below the joyful group of escapees, several tanks lifted. A group of forms shifted, and shielded their eyes as one turned on a light.
"About time one of the mutates upstairs released everybody. I was getting tired of just sitting around."
A hand on the speaker's shoulder silenced him.
"Shh! Do you want to set the alarms off? We're golden as it is, so go quietly. Don't let any of the mutates upstairs see you. Remember, we're the reason that they're being locked up en masse. They might not be happy to see you. See you sometime soon. Or, preferably, not."
With that, the lights went out again, and it was as if no one had ever been in the room. It was just a dark laboratory, with several sheets of paper on the ground, detailing what these people were capable of. They were scattered around the bodies of the government employees who had worked there… Until they had gotten too close.




In society, there are those who uphold the law, and those who oppose it. When the chips are down, the innocent always suffer with the guilty. Thus, the mutates who were setting out had to have been incarcerated for a reason. What sort of power is wielded by those who can unbalance society?

Next time… The darkness of one's subconscious can be a terrifying thing. Who is this powerful figure, who can call forth a power that can shut down the senses? Next time on Mutate…

Episode 2: MINDLOCK
Some things are better left alone…

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Re: Mutate Chapter 1- Escape

Post by Tadukoo on Sat Jul 03, 2010 10:06 pm

So how will you use the character sheets to make the other chapters?

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Re: Mutate Chapter 1- Escape

Post by pokenutter on Sun Jul 04, 2010 8:03 pm

They'll be used as a handy reference reference for our character, although the main purpose for them is to make information on the villains readily available to the players.

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Re: Mutate Chapter 1- Escape

Post by Tadukoo on Sun Jul 04, 2010 9:08 pm

So basically at my house we'll be "playing the game" and that will make the story?

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Re: Mutate Chapter 1- Escape

Post by pokenutter on Mon Jul 05, 2010 9:28 am

Yes. Each of us will take turns GMing, and I'll record what happens as we go.

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Re: Mutate Chapter 1- Escape

Post by Tadukoo on Mon Jul 05, 2010 11:57 am

Okay. so it's like if someone played LFA on this site, and then I made a fanfic about it?

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Re: Mutate Chapter 1- Escape

Post by pokenutter on Wed Jul 07, 2010 4:52 pm

Indeed.

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Re: Mutate Chapter 1- Escape

Post by Tadukoo on Wed Jul 07, 2010 7:33 pm

Can you start going to the super mario galaxy discussion?

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Re: Mutate Chapter 1- Escape

Post by pokenutter on Wed Jul 07, 2010 8:52 pm

Sure. Any other comments?

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Re: Mutate Chapter 1- Escape

Post by Tadukoo on Wed Jul 07, 2010 10:07 pm

No.

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Re: Mutate Chapter 1- Escape

Post by pokenutter on Thu Jul 08, 2010 7:18 pm

Alright, how about from anybody else? On the entire Internet?

...
...
...
...I hear crickets.

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Re: Mutate Chapter 1- Escape

Post by Tadukoo on Fri Jul 16, 2010 11:29 am

I don't think anyone is going to be on the forum for a while.
riku, satan, mr.doombringer, and aacarl probably won't get on unless I call them.
evilsnes64 his band is recording all this week and he's never on anyway.
ESPNfanatic I have no idea about.
Everyone else I have no idea about.

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Re: Mutate Chapter 1- Escape

Post by pokenutter on Fri Jul 16, 2010 11:22 pm

No wonder I heard crickets.
Oh, a wolf howl!

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Re: Mutate Chapter 1- Escape

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