Rorschach
Neutrino
- Joined
- Oct 15, 2016
- Messages
- 13
- Nebulae
- 32
Detective Minge
Noir Short Story
The cheap tequila and whiskey didn’t help calm the mind. Not one bit. I had to fill my stomach with something other than the shitty rations I had been eating on a daily basis. I just hope I won’t have to shove my head into my toilet and puke.
Not a whole lot of people know who I am and to be honest, it’s better that way. My room is always exceptionally clean, as if an angel was using some sort of magic fairy dust to keep it all tidy. My bed was always pristine and perfect; I made sure to keep the floors absolutely smooth. And that was the problem. I hadn’t been able to get my hands on a case for so long, I actually might go mad. Sure, the apartment was clean as it could possibly be, but my mind and body had seen better days. The rugged look might charm some broad in the Grizzly Grotto, but to others I look like a caveman’s version of James Dean. Luckily for me, my looks aren’t that important. What’s important are my skills. Once a minge, always a minge. No-one else knows ‘em like I do, so I’m the best at catching ‘em. Name’s... Detective Minge.
“Yeah, it’s me…” I picked up the phone without much care, knocking over a few of my illegally obtained pills. I hadn’t had the time to explain my addiction to some guy with a college degree, telling me that I had to stop drinking so much. But, enough about me. I have to pay attention to what this guy is calling me about or otherwise the story might not get any further.
What he told me was shocking at first, but I’m a professional. We agreed to meet at a certain location and at a certain time. This was my chance to get a case on my hands and have a little bit of fun. Not to say that pretty ladies aren’t fun, but the thrill of the search is so much more rewarding than the bosom of some girl from Queens.
I arrived at the location and waited for the employer. He came into the room about seven minutes after I had entered the building, blaming the lag for his delay. Cretins like him always blame the lag, especially in their PK appeals after a S2K event. This guy wasn’t all that trustworthy, but I had to take my chances. After all, he was giving me a chance to work again.
He looked at me through his metallic faceplate with those red eyes glowing. When I examined him further, I noticed something in his physical description… Interesting, he’s a donator. The man walks over to me and performs a rather plain and simple “/me”. This guy isn’t the smartest of all people, that’s for sure. Soon after a lame handshake, he goes on to speak…
“lol, I kinda need your help, Detective Minge.” He hastily blurted the words. It didn’t surprise me, most of these guys never have a good enough keyboard or enough brains to be able to say anything that sounds like a proper sentence.
I gave him a rather sluggish nod but it got the point across. He went on to explain that some minges had gotten hold of an admin spawned salesman. Pretty easy to track but he suspects a super admin was helping these minges.
“so like, if you could find them that would be great knthxbye”
A red light pops up and I see those familiar words that have plagued so many detectives before me. The LOOC. No-one likes it, but everyone uses it. It’s an unfortunate tale that I have witnessed far too many times. From obscene memes to morons correcting their grammar; it’s a cesspool of degenerates just waiting to be cleansed. But, if I am to catch the perp, I’m going to have to delve into this pool. One last time.
I cleared my throat, “Hey, guys, how to be rebel?”
Suddenly, an influx of messages overwhelmed me. I’m no stranger to insults and curse words, but the things some people say about your mother makes you wonder if they’re okay in the head. Yet, after the endless flood of bizarre jokes about my ever-decreasing phallus, something stood out…
“The Pimp” pricked me like a sharp thorn on an incredibly ugly rose. Heard about this character, some hotshot rebel who’s friends with the owner; he’s constantly ERPing with about ten different femboys. Men like that make me sick, but he’s a lead, so I’ll take it.
Two knocks at the door and no answer. It seems I’m going to have to glitch through to the rebel base, which shouldn’t be hard at all. We are in rp_c69, where all the doors have small crevices that you can get through. What I saw inside is almost indescribable. Almost.
A huge coalescence of rogue CPs, throwaway characters, unkillable rebels, scantily clad whores, Galunga Vorts and the Pimp... all participating in E-R-P.
“Um excuse me, but you weren’t invited to the ERP festival. I’m calling an admin” said the Pimp, while wearing a “scavenged OTA vest, mark III elite helmet w/ red light”. This wise guy is on the last straw, thinking some twelve year old admin is going to stop me. Evidently, this guy has no clue who he is dealing with.
I rubbed my stubble, examining the dirty couches and the disgusting layout of HL2 props. “Name’s Detective Minge,” I coughed, tugging at my trenchcoat, “I’m investigating the theft of a salesman.”
The Pimp recoils at the sound of ‘salesman’, and says “Heard of you, Detective Minge. Heard that you stopped six minges from raiding the Nexus… only because you were raiding it first.”
The past is a dirty thing. You try to wipe it clean, but like all dirt, it comes back. The dust and grime has stained me and no amount of booze will fix that.
“This isn’t about me, Pimp. This is about the stolen salesman, and I know you have information regarding the theft.”
The ERP suddenly stops, which is a godsend for an old PI like myself. ERP should always be a fade-to-black sequence, else it just gets messy. The Pimp stared at me for an uncomfortably long time. I couldn’t tell if he was AFK or typing a very long /me. Point is, I don’t like the guy.
“I might know something about a stolen salesman,” he says, “but it’s going to cost you, Detective Minge.”
“I know your type doesn’t accept tokens, especially after selling all those CP items. How about this; you give me the information and I’ll create an ERP character… just for you”
These rebel types are always the same, they only ever want one thing- ERP. He jumped with joy, blaring porno music into TeamSpeak while cracking jokes about lesbian CWU workers. Pathetic, but necessary. His information seemed to be good, though. All I had to do was follow the lead.
Problem was, the lead was in the Nexus. Would I have the courage to glitch again? After my thirty minute ban, I wonder if it’s worth it…
It always is. It’s always worth it, if it’s done for the thrill of the chase.
And there it was. The lowest form of roleplayers had gathered together in the bowels of the Combine tower. I couldn’t believe the level of corruption that I had seen. The superadmin was no superadmin; it was the owner. I stepped out of the shadows and equipped my .357 revolver.
“What the fuckkk, Detective Minge?????” exclaimed the Owner, who must’ve set this server up with his mother’s credit card.
I knew I wasn’t getting out of this unbanned. A corrupt superadmin is one thing, but a corrupt owner is the highest form of abuse. He had been using his owner status, giving all of his friends free scripts, which turned them into the most powerful rebels on the server. They gained all of that without shedding a single line of /me. This was a battle that I could not win. There was only one thing I could do… screenshot it all and complain on Cloud Sixteen.
Bullets flew and I felt my grip on the server become weak. This was the end and as a final send-off, I typed out in OOC “Owner’s a fkn dumb cunt, bans ppl for no reason lol peace”
The end.
Noir Short Story
The cheap tequila and whiskey didn’t help calm the mind. Not one bit. I had to fill my stomach with something other than the shitty rations I had been eating on a daily basis. I just hope I won’t have to shove my head into my toilet and puke.
Not a whole lot of people know who I am and to be honest, it’s better that way. My room is always exceptionally clean, as if an angel was using some sort of magic fairy dust to keep it all tidy. My bed was always pristine and perfect; I made sure to keep the floors absolutely smooth. And that was the problem. I hadn’t been able to get my hands on a case for so long, I actually might go mad. Sure, the apartment was clean as it could possibly be, but my mind and body had seen better days. The rugged look might charm some broad in the Grizzly Grotto, but to others I look like a caveman’s version of James Dean. Luckily for me, my looks aren’t that important. What’s important are my skills. Once a minge, always a minge. No-one else knows ‘em like I do, so I’m the best at catching ‘em. Name’s... Detective Minge.
“Yeah, it’s me…” I picked up the phone without much care, knocking over a few of my illegally obtained pills. I hadn’t had the time to explain my addiction to some guy with a college degree, telling me that I had to stop drinking so much. But, enough about me. I have to pay attention to what this guy is calling me about or otherwise the story might not get any further.
What he told me was shocking at first, but I’m a professional. We agreed to meet at a certain location and at a certain time. This was my chance to get a case on my hands and have a little bit of fun. Not to say that pretty ladies aren’t fun, but the thrill of the search is so much more rewarding than the bosom of some girl from Queens.
I arrived at the location and waited for the employer. He came into the room about seven minutes after I had entered the building, blaming the lag for his delay. Cretins like him always blame the lag, especially in their PK appeals after a S2K event. This guy wasn’t all that trustworthy, but I had to take my chances. After all, he was giving me a chance to work again.
He looked at me through his metallic faceplate with those red eyes glowing. When I examined him further, I noticed something in his physical description… Interesting, he’s a donator. The man walks over to me and performs a rather plain and simple “/me”. This guy isn’t the smartest of all people, that’s for sure. Soon after a lame handshake, he goes on to speak…
“lol, I kinda need your help, Detective Minge.” He hastily blurted the words. It didn’t surprise me, most of these guys never have a good enough keyboard or enough brains to be able to say anything that sounds like a proper sentence.
I gave him a rather sluggish nod but it got the point across. He went on to explain that some minges had gotten hold of an admin spawned salesman. Pretty easy to track but he suspects a super admin was helping these minges.
“so like, if you could find them that would be great knthxbye”
A red light pops up and I see those familiar words that have plagued so many detectives before me. The LOOC. No-one likes it, but everyone uses it. It’s an unfortunate tale that I have witnessed far too many times. From obscene memes to morons correcting their grammar; it’s a cesspool of degenerates just waiting to be cleansed. But, if I am to catch the perp, I’m going to have to delve into this pool. One last time.
I cleared my throat, “Hey, guys, how to be rebel?”
Suddenly, an influx of messages overwhelmed me. I’m no stranger to insults and curse words, but the things some people say about your mother makes you wonder if they’re okay in the head. Yet, after the endless flood of bizarre jokes about my ever-decreasing phallus, something stood out…
“The Pimp” pricked me like a sharp thorn on an incredibly ugly rose. Heard about this character, some hotshot rebel who’s friends with the owner; he’s constantly ERPing with about ten different femboys. Men like that make me sick, but he’s a lead, so I’ll take it.
Two knocks at the door and no answer. It seems I’m going to have to glitch through to the rebel base, which shouldn’t be hard at all. We are in rp_c69, where all the doors have small crevices that you can get through. What I saw inside is almost indescribable. Almost.
A huge coalescence of rogue CPs, throwaway characters, unkillable rebels, scantily clad whores, Galunga Vorts and the Pimp... all participating in E-R-P.
“Um excuse me, but you weren’t invited to the ERP festival. I’m calling an admin” said the Pimp, while wearing a “scavenged OTA vest, mark III elite helmet w/ red light”. This wise guy is on the last straw, thinking some twelve year old admin is going to stop me. Evidently, this guy has no clue who he is dealing with.
I rubbed my stubble, examining the dirty couches and the disgusting layout of HL2 props. “Name’s Detective Minge,” I coughed, tugging at my trenchcoat, “I’m investigating the theft of a salesman.”
The Pimp recoils at the sound of ‘salesman’, and says “Heard of you, Detective Minge. Heard that you stopped six minges from raiding the Nexus… only because you were raiding it first.”
The past is a dirty thing. You try to wipe it clean, but like all dirt, it comes back. The dust and grime has stained me and no amount of booze will fix that.
“This isn’t about me, Pimp. This is about the stolen salesman, and I know you have information regarding the theft.”
The ERP suddenly stops, which is a godsend for an old PI like myself. ERP should always be a fade-to-black sequence, else it just gets messy. The Pimp stared at me for an uncomfortably long time. I couldn’t tell if he was AFK or typing a very long /me. Point is, I don’t like the guy.
“I might know something about a stolen salesman,” he says, “but it’s going to cost you, Detective Minge.”
“I know your type doesn’t accept tokens, especially after selling all those CP items. How about this; you give me the information and I’ll create an ERP character… just for you”
These rebel types are always the same, they only ever want one thing- ERP. He jumped with joy, blaring porno music into TeamSpeak while cracking jokes about lesbian CWU workers. Pathetic, but necessary. His information seemed to be good, though. All I had to do was follow the lead.
Problem was, the lead was in the Nexus. Would I have the courage to glitch again? After my thirty minute ban, I wonder if it’s worth it…
It always is. It’s always worth it, if it’s done for the thrill of the chase.
And there it was. The lowest form of roleplayers had gathered together in the bowels of the Combine tower. I couldn’t believe the level of corruption that I had seen. The superadmin was no superadmin; it was the owner. I stepped out of the shadows and equipped my .357 revolver.
“What the fuckkk, Detective Minge?????” exclaimed the Owner, who must’ve set this server up with his mother’s credit card.
I knew I wasn’t getting out of this unbanned. A corrupt superadmin is one thing, but a corrupt owner is the highest form of abuse. He had been using his owner status, giving all of his friends free scripts, which turned them into the most powerful rebels on the server. They gained all of that without shedding a single line of /me. This was a battle that I could not win. There was only one thing I could do… screenshot it all and complain on Cloud Sixteen.
Bullets flew and I felt my grip on the server become weak. This was the end and as a final send-off, I typed out in OOC “Owner’s a fkn dumb cunt, bans ppl for no reason lol peace”
The end.
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