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  1. #1
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    Writing Sample *GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, LANGUAGE, DISTURBING IMAGERY*

    Ean and Bassett quickly moved along the left edge of the poorly maintained street occupying the middle positions of the their team. Borrero was point, ready to fire with either his M16A4 rifle or the M26 breaching shotgun secured to the bottom rail of his rifle's handguard. The rear was covered by Team One's SAW gunner Private Watts.The sporadic crackling sounds of small arms fire kept the uneasy quiet of the night from fraying the nerves of the soldiers, professionals unsure of what to conclude from the current official intel of the complications imposing into their mission. It wasn't just the absence of onsite intel, it was the hesitation echoed through their SL about what they were facing and how to proceed.They had walked, ready to be engaged at any second, nearly a full kilometer before the screams started up. They were haunting, anguished and difficult to conceive how human beings had produced them. The participants of the sinister choir steadily increased, as did the tormented nature of the shrieks. Fight or Flight responses slammed into them all, the conundrum undeniably splashed across the men's faces, with the exception of Borrero in the lead, his impregnable façade maintained simply by traveling order."This **** stopped being fun the second we landed into the god damned twilight zone. I'd rather be taking mortar fire," Bassett dejectedly whispered offhand to Ean on his right."Yeah, bud, I hear you." Ean responded lifelessly, the strain of the abnormal environment demanded more than usual metabolism output, wearing the soldiers out prematurely.He followed with an inspired jab, "I'd rather be sweating on your morbidly obese mom."Before Bassett could take the bait, Watts piped up from the back in stage whisper that probably could've been heard for a block or two in every direction, causing the rest of the team to winch."Sergeant, I've got three contacts tailing us."Borrero sighed. After a pause he addressed the lower enlisted without looking back, "They armed?""Negative, but they definitely want something, Sergeant," Watts answered in nervously, traces of his Midwest accent audible."If you think they're dangerous, private, just double tap the bastards and get it over with. Stop wasting my time, ****-for-brains." Sergeant Borrero deadpanned."Sergeant… well, uh… I think there's something wrong with them, they don't look right." The skittishness of the teenager was threatening to shove him into a full blown panic.Specialist Bassett looked back at Private Watts, the apprehension on the young man's face drove home the fact that he was a farm boy completely unequipped to cope with the stressors of active duty hot zone deployments. Watts looked to Bassett like an overgrown child scared of a boogeyman roaming his parents cornfields, oblivious to his training, experience and the light machine gun held in his white knuckled grip. He had to give the young man credit though, for as closely as he resembled a jackrabbit a split second from bolting into the distance, Watts kept himself together enough to remain aware of his surroundings.Knowing that if he didn't properly handle the situation, not only could it escalate, but the youth wouldn't get the proper experience necessary to act independently when circumstances required it of him. Besides, this could very well be one of the bare fisted packs royally ****ing their mission timeline.'If the commie civvies think they've got what it take to go toe to toe with this squad, their day is about to get a massive ****ing up,' Sergeant Borrero thought to himself as he halted the columns.'Alright you ignorant, dim-witted, back woods dumbasses you want to dance? Well then, let me see how tough you filthy bumpkins think you are.' he declared to himself, pumping himself for some hard close quarters scrapping.As he turned to stomp to where Private Watts stood, something crashed in the dark recesses of the abodes to his left. Borrero raised his rifle into the shadows, scanning back and forth into the gloom aided by his NVGs.The sniper team turned to face the dwellings, reacting to their NCO as they slowly backed away from their side of the street to take advantage of their specialized weapons. The pair's NVGs pierced the murky innards of the crumbling establishments, revealing nothing more than a green tinted panorama of refined materials returning to their natural state as nature reclaimed them into the fold through the unrelenting entropy of decay.
    Borrero swept his image enhancing device into every nook and cranny he could find, finally stopping when he was confident nothing awaited within the crumbling structures poised to strike. Lowering his rifle, he began to walk towards the terrified enlisted adolescent, still several years shy of becoming a man, his SAW drifting between the hazy, unnatural movements struggling through the shadows towards them.The Sergeant's step towards the gunner was celebrated with a chaotic and disoriented surge of figures from the recesses he personally had been satisfactory in visually sweeping clear. His confusion triggered an extremely rare pause in his reaction. The delay lasted a mere second but had been sufficient for two of the pale indigenous members of the mob to grab the NCO in powerful grips about his arms, preventing him from raising his rifle. Borrero gritted his teeth in a solidified determination to remove some of the local ignorance with an unforgettably traumatic beat down of his own.Private Watts looked back towards the rest of his team trying to glimpse the nature of the minor eruption. The youth's underdeveloped discipline to resist the natural instinct and react to unfamiliar stimuli had taken his attention away from his responsibility to securing the group's rear. He realized his error a fraction of a moment beyond when he should've keep his focus on cranking out suppressive fire against the unarmed hostiles. One of the gaunt ghostlike apparitions debunked his naïve prayers that the figures would lack solid forms, rendering them harmless.The wretch that had unknowingly obliterated his tower of hopes and prayers locked its grotesquely long figures into the straps of his vest and yanked him towards the gloom, wishing to return with its catch. The boy's panicked and puberty affected screams oddly shifted volume and pitch as another attacker leapt from a hidden alcove to grab him from behind by his assault pack, causing the two assailants to pull the young soldier in opposite directions while his inability held sway from either his sheer panic or from his lack of maneuvering room to bear his SAW against the aggressive figures.The Specialists attempted to approach and assist the senior and junior ends of their team, but trying to track the animated natives unnaturally obsessed with getting securing their own grips on the struggling soldiers made physically aiding them impossible without risking been taken hold of themselves.
    Ean watched with a moment of curious dread at the futile efforts the Sergeant continued to remove the hands he could reach. Ean knew that Borrero was an avid weightlifter and had arms thicker than most men's thighs. The sniper didn't want to contemplate why one of the strongest men in the entire division couldn't wrench the thin fingers free that impossibly refused to release their hold.The Sergeant's strained grunts and the desperate screams of the private were overshadowed as Corporal Drake from team two opened up with his SAW from the rear of the team's column. The concentrated river of supersonic heated metallic projectiles, representing centuries of refinement to become as lethal as humanity would allow, streaked through the crisp, damp night air at nine hundred rounds a minute, instantly concluding their destinies to shred the torsos of the swelling ranks advancing towards the squad.When the blood spewing figures declined to acknowledge the terminal traumas the Corporal had judiciously and skillfully applied, the gruff junior officer cursed loudly and repeated his endeavor to rapidly decimate the numerical advantage of the encroaching mass of aberrantly appearing and behaving citizens.
    Ean didn't need to watch the additional application to know what the effects would be."You want to something to chew on, ass****er?!" Borrero bellowed, the rage and hostility in his voice was as bizarre to the sniper team as everything else surrounding them."Chew on this, bitch!" Sergeant Borrero shouted as he finally managed to free his side arm with enough room to pull it up and cram it into the mouth of one of the aberrations attempting to breach his heavy vest and thick uniform. The pop of the nine millimeter pistol was nearly unnoticed against the backdrop of mounting automatic weapons tearing into the tidal wave of gathered natives, eager to participate in some twisted communal beatings of outsiders until they ceased struggling.But Ean could see what the Italian designed pistol produced out the corner of his eyes; flawless facilitation of introducing these defiant savages to the finality of Death they previously refused to adhere with.



  2. #2
    Senior Member Gilfindel's Avatar
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    I should have mentioned that you should put an extra line break between each paragraph. The dreaded "wall of text" will discourage most people, including myself, from actually reading this. Also, post your excerpts (perhaps a bit shorter sample to get things started) in the writing critique section; this section is for discussions about the genre, not examples of it.
    Last edited by Gilfindel; 03-17-2014 at 05:29 AM.

  3. #3
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    i could've sworn i replied thanking you for the proper directions before requesting information on how to have the thread removed...

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