Real Name: Randall Jones
Stage Name: Doc J
Group Name and Members(optional): N/A
Hometown: Straight outta Compton.
Background: Randall was a solid student back in high school days, but high school in Compton has this way of not really leading anywhere. You graduate, then what? You shelf stack, or surf a drive through window. Or you work the streets, selling yourself or selling crack. Randall spent a year or two drifting, and as an intelligent young man found himself getting frustrated. He is angry. So is his music. Think Nirvana, but rap. Society has abandoned him and those like him, so Randall is thier voice. Or, at least, he wants to be.
Real Name: Randall Jones
Stage Name: Doc J
Group Name and Members(optional): N/A
Hometown: Straight outta Compton.
Background: Randall was a solid student back in high school days, but high school in Compton has this way of not really leading anywhere. You graduate, then what? You shelf stack, or surf a drive through window. Or you work the streets, selling yourself or selling crack. Randall spent a year or two drifting, and as an intelligent young man found himself getting frustrated. He is angry. So is his music. Think Nirvana, but rap. Society has abandoned him and those like him, so Randall is thier voice. Or, at least, he wants to be.
You arive in San Fransisco, California with [3] $300 on your person and the itch to spit bars. This place is going to experience some real change.
I'll bite.
Real Name: Jackson Jones.
Stage Name: Kelly
Group Name and Members(optional, up to 6): Pass the Swordfish, Featuring Randall, Murray, and Mac.
Hometown: Boston, the one on the east coast.
Background: After a generic white life in the Boston Suburbia, Jackson was fed up. He wanted to be cool, and he wanted to get out of his generic mold. So he took off across the country with his buddies, going on a drunken drug filled adventure. They now arrive in San Fran, with a crazy dream. Re-invent hip hop.
Sniff around to find some kind of open mic night, where I could make a splash of some kind.
Real Name: Charles Greenbersteinowitz
Stage Name: Bad Juju
Hometown: Philadelphia, born and raised.
Group Name and Members(optional): Blak Puppetz with Jim, Jerry, Johnny, Jake and Jinx.
Background: Born in the most stereotypical black jewish family, Charlie managed to run away before they cut off most of his valued body parts and was later educated by his aunt. His aunt was an even more stereotypical voodoo lady and our hero had learned some tricks of dark magics from her, while avoiding becoming yet another nameless mook, and to make thing s right and change his life, he stated rapping. He knew he could kick ass, and he soon got all of his money and left. He is currently 24 years old, and is about six foot ten.
Look for audio equipment in the garbage, buy some other remaining stuff useful for making music. Keep a look out for rich guys walking around.[4] You, Jim, and John rush into the back alley behind an electronics store and go dumpster diving for equipment and fine a beat-up amp and a dented microphone covered in brown sludge. [5] Jinx manages to find a pawn store that's selling a portable DJ set and cords for your other devices for a mere $100! [2] Jerry is unable to find folk that look terrible wealthy in comparison to you all.
Look for instruments that we can get for cheap![5] You, Randall, Murray, and Mac manage to find a pawn shop in the middle of downtown San Fran. A person walks out with what you find out to be the last DJ set they have, but the store owner, a frail looking old man in his late 60s, tells you that he has microphones and a synthesizer as well as an amp for $150.
((Shitty lyrics, I choose you!))[4] Your lyrics catch the ears of passersby and a small crowd forms. You congest traffic with your small performance in the middle of the street. They're feeling your heavy beats and swole rhythms. A couple of dudes strip butt-naked start krumping and break-dancing on the pavement. Ouch. Noticing the total SwagFest 2015, a couple of suspicious-looking cars circle the area slowly.
Buy it, and start performing in the middle of the street.Spoiler (click to show/hide)
Furiously Negotiate! If that fails, knock him out and loot the store![2] Despite your loud rants and threats, the old man refuses to lower the price on his goods, claiming that he has kids to feed too. [6] Angry, you leap over the counter and punch the old man in the head, knocking him unconscious. He would then fall over, cracking his skull on the glass case that served as a counter and bleeding profusely on the floor until death. You gaze at the corpse that lies in a heap of broken glass and blood before you. Street as fuuuuuuuuuck. This'll definitely add to your street cred. Anyway, Randall informs you that there isn't anyone else in the store and that it's completely at your mercy, for the time being.
How coincidental, this is the first RtD game I ever ran! :D I hope the experience I offer is a pleasant one.
My first Bay12 game.John arrives in downtown San Francisco with [1] $100 dollars in his pocket and millions on his mind. Time to rock the boat.
Character:Spoiler (click to show/hide)
Start freestyling and make sure Jerry is not useless.[2] You and the crew start freestyling and the crowd just ain't feeling it and begin booing. One of the krumpers puts his clothes back on and leaves. A couple of really disgruntled looking gentlemen step out of those suspiciously circling cars and make their way through the crowd brandishing handguns. [5] Despite your falling popularity, Jerry does what he does best and ensures that he is not the weak link among you all, bringing some of the crowd back.
Rifle through pockets, and see if there is keys to a car or van or something. If there is, loot everything, put it into the car, and drive off. If not, grab the most expensive stuff in the store, and walk nonchalantly away.[3]You find a band of what looks like 100 keys on a loop, but you are unable to discern which one might be for a car. Your group begins to steal things such as [4] a set of hoop earrings, a solid gold grill, a full suit of plated knight's armor, 4 microphones, a synthesizer, an amp, and a machete. [2] You're not entirely sure, but you think you saw someone just outside of the store calling 911.
FREESTYLE HARDER. OR EVEN HARDERER! And make sure that Jinx is not doing anything with the crowd. Order him to annoy the guys with guns.[6] Your bars go so solid, that people in the audience start thrashing and krumping all over the damn place, slowing down the armed men making their way to your "stage." [2] Jinx manages to get some of the crowd to start crowd-surfing those dudes with guns away from the stage. They begin firing upon the crowd with their handguns. Some attendees fist-fight these bad dudes, but many are shot and killed. Screams, blood, and teeth begin to fill the street.
Visit a nearest casino and spend 80$ in gamble.[4] You happen to find a casino about three blocks from what appears to be a rap concerto occurring in the middle of the street. You enter, find the nearest table, and throw down $80 on the king of spades. [4] Fortunately, it happened to be the right game and you managed to cash out with $150.
RUN! RUN WHILE I STILL CAN![5] You manage to rush out of the store and begin running down the street with all your loot. You soon hear heavy trap music and gunfire in the direction in which you are running.
Tell Jinx to take the bullet for me, and GTFO. While freestyling.[6] Jinx runs right into the crossfire and manages to take two bullets for you, one in each butt cheek. He is, however, unable to walk and bleeding heavily. [1] You try to leave the street, but the rioters keep thrashing up before you. Johnny gets hit in the head with a beer bottle and is knocked right out and bleeding. One of the crazed krumping rioters grab Jake and beat him bad. Like, "New York City cop" bad. The bad dudes manage to corner Jerry and he gets shot 17 times in the chest. Needless to say, he died. Jake manages to pick up Johnny, but with Jinx prone on the ground and deep within the crowd, it looks like he's a goner too. All the while, however, the your freestyling is raw and the bars you spit are hot fire despite the death and mayhem occurring around you.
((Also fixed some spelling mistakes in my char sheet.))
Use all of my money to buy some rap equipment.... Like a microphone... reproductors, and everything that will help me become the best rapper under the sun.[6] You happen to find a pawn shop which you promptly enter, the only sign of an owner you find is a bloody corpse of an old man lying amid broken glass and a pile of keys. The shop looks as though it had been raided by some people before you came, but there, you manage to find a microphone, an amp, an apple laptop, a portable synth board, and a duffle bag to carry it all, all at zero cost to you! As you seize your new-found possessions, a police squad car rolls up to the pawn shop.
GTFO of the shop and try to be not seen doing so.[3] You manage to run away down the street past some dude in knightly armor and his buddies, but the cops get out of the squad car and begin to run after you. They yell "Stop, fiend!" as they brandish their billy clubs.
Insult the attackers in any way I can, dump Jinx, I don't like him anyway, but he never seems to die. Unfortunately.[1] On your way out, you give everybody the middle finger. One of the gunmen shoots at you and a bullet catches your ear, making a hole in it. A couple of the gunmen/haters stomp on Jinx's head and neck, killing him in a rather painful manner. Two police squad cars roll up to the scene and the cops start firing upon the ravenous crowd, killing many and grievously wounding the unconscious Johnny as Jake struggles to hold him up. Another group of different bad dudes dressed in wife beaters, gold chains, and green bandannas start shooting at everyone with their automatic firearms.
Locate a place to sell our solid gold grill, don the knight armor and equip machete.[4] Upon donning the armor and brandishing the machete, find another pawn shop down the street. Unfortunately, it is a few blocks past what appears to be a firefight. A young man runs past you and your crew and is promptly followed by a couple of cops.
Real Name: Doris WilsonDespite what you hear on the bus radio about a "local disturbance", you have high hopes of finally making it here in San Francisco. Due to the congested traffic, you decide to step out of the bus before you reach the stop. You take stock of your funds, realizing that you have [2] $200 to start with and a heart that burns with a passion to rap. Or maybe it was a passion to eat donuts? Perhaps both?
Stage Name: Doris the Donut Queen
Group Name and Members(optional, up to 6): N/A
Hometown: Portland
Background: Doris was born to two aspiring politicians, and while they were constantly feuding about their differing ideologies, Doris found solace in the two things she loved most: donuts, and hip-hop. She started creating food-based rap songs when she was 16, and by the time of her 26th birthday, she left home after trying to pursue a career as a chef, and to (hopefully) become a rap star.
Aw hell nah, I ain't taking this! Rap the shit out of those assholes! Beat them up with my microphone![5] Your crew manages to escape the riots with your hip hop equipment. You lay on some dope rhymes on your way out and hit one of the suspicious dudes in the head with your mic, knocking him unconscious. It would later be found out that he had entered a coma that day and never recovered. You've got a "kill" under your belt, two group members dead, and a bleeding ear. The street cred is just rolling in, homie. A bright shining light and a blast of electricity happens just yards in front of you, blowing limbs and corpse chunks everywhere. A large chrome cylinder stands where the light came from. You're not sure if your mind is playing tricks on you, but you think you see a knight out of the corner of your eye.
Skirt the firefight, if anyone tries to fuck with us, wave the machete at em a little.[1] You approach the mob with your loot and begin to make your way through. Mac gets surrounded by some cops who mistake him for a krumper and beat him until he is bloody and unconscious. Your armor does almost nothing to protect you as a stray bullet hits you in your non-machete-holding arm (that is, you are still holding your machete). Randall manages to get both of his knees shot out and desperately crawls after you all, trying to keep up. Murray is able to get the loot off of Mac after he got surrounded, but he is losing hope quickly. Suddenly, a blinding light shines from somewhere within the crowd, followed by a wave of energy that causes some people to explode. All the confusion, mayhem and death are unable to draw your attention as some guy who was in the crowd runs directly at you with what looks like rabies.
Real Name: Giorgio Tymundus[3] Your time machine is a success and you manage to return to a time that the history books refer to as the "Twilight Age of the Rap Game." You step out to glory in your accomplishment when a hail of bullets hits your time machine and it catches fire. You jump out and it explodes and releases EMP-like waves that shatter the bodies and skulls of "bystanders." You orient yourself and it appears as though you have landed in the middle of "The Great Gangbang of 1st and 5th Street," as the books say.
Stage Name: The Profit
Hometown: New New Compton
Background: Giorgio comes from a hella heavy future in which hip hop has died. Lost and forgotten, it lay only as a sidenote in history books. Giorgio as a young man discovered the lost art when he was cornered by a pack of street rats. Thin and weak, he could do nothing but cower, until he was saved, by someone using not their fists, but their voice. Master Jamma, the last rapper in the tristate area had burned the young hooligans so hard that they had burned to ashes. Giorgio trained under Jamma, until he had to learn from experience, not a master. In order to do so, he went back in time, to when he could not only teach himself, but save hip hop as a whole.
He really was disappointed upon discovering rapping wasn't magic in the past
Start rapping, and trying to convince other people to join me.[5] You immediately start rapping on the corner where the bus dropped you off. A couple of business men waiting at the stop start throwing change and dancing. They feel ya. A large group of muscle-bound gentlemen in green shirts approach you. One of them speaks. "Yo, gurl, them rhymes is super tight, and so is yo bod. Me and my crew are hella turnt from them dope rhymes, na'meen? It would be mad ill if we could join yo posse, G." As he speaks, trap music air horns go off from somewhere.
Lyrics:
I love donuts,
They' re so round,
I'd buy them by the pound!
Real Name: Jenkins MartersonYou and the "Nerd Herd" get off of the bus and arrive in the Bay Area with [6] $600 in total funds and few gold teeth that are bound to be worth something! You're ready to claim the mantle of "Greatest Rap Group of All Time and also the Coolest Dudes/Dudettes that Ever Lived." It was a reeeeaaaally long plaque.
Stage Name: Ghetto Geek
Group Name and members: Nerd Herd: Lenndon Tyme (Ac3rarak), Jason Kimlly (m4riomari0)
Hometown: Marina CA
((Gizoogled?))It translates webpages into... well, you'll see. It contains some crude language, but it's pretty funny.
Now this iz a ting you shoulda remembah
coz if ya won' I'll kick ya back to Novembah
I'm da baus of dis small quiet town
and now you'll see your ass turn brown, busta!
Start rapping. Right there. On the street corner.[3] Your rhymes are slick, but the people standing around on the corner aren't feeling ya. Some people in the streets give you dirty looks as you spit them bars. A bearded guy dressed in a sweat-stained wife-beater in a second-story apartment above you opens his window and yells out at you. "HEY! My son is trying to get some sleep here because my son has a football game tomorrow and I'm gonna have to be there! It means a lot to me to be there for my son, so chill out, guys!" Despite his gruff appearance, he seemed like a solid dude and a good dad.
Mario:
In a ol' western town, I swear every word is true.
As tumbleweed rolled across the ground - videogames free-for-alled both the old and he new.
Acer: Suddenly strolled in Donkey Kong,
He threw a barrel at 8-bit Pong.
But the barrel bounced back,
And slammed into Acerarak!
The angry demilich turned around,
And sucked out DK's soul without a sound.
He fell down like a giant doll,
But then was crushed by something tall.
All: IT WAS SKELETON BOWSER, BACK FROM THE DEAD!
TURNED AROUND, RIPPED OFF ZELDA'S HEAD!
KILLED THE ANIMATOR'S ANIMATION,
BUT WAS SUCKED UP BY THE ORB OF ANNIHILATION!!!
Consider their offer, and then challenge them to a rap-off[5] You muse over the offer and challenge all those dudes to a rap-off.The whole groups goes "OOOOOOOHHHH" like the bully posses in the old sitcoms. One of them raises his hand and the group is silenced. He steps forward and reveals himself as Marcus Raulson, a six-foot, 13-inches tall musclebound bad-ass motherfucker who had the most toned buttcheeks you ever did see. Like, whoa. He wore a gold chain with a pendant that was a image of him wearing that same gold chain and pendant. He was also missing several fingers. As he spoke, you could hardly keep yourself from laughing as his voice was really tiny and he spoke with a lisp, like Mike Tyson. "Tho, you think you can thing and wap and all that crap and get away with that thtuff heah? You thtepped into the wong hood, lemme tell ya." He accepted your challenge and has allowed you to go first.
Rap at dem copperz and bustaz![6] Those bars hit the surrounding area so hard that thousands of people file out of the stores and start rioting right there in downtown San Fransisco. And yeah, they're going harder than those krumpers did before. Like, 10x harder. Like, the difference between Jello and concrete. Seriously. Like, really, some kindergarteners just tipped a cop car over and lit it on fire. When the cop told them not to do that, they just straight up ate that dude alive, from the toes up. It was a very painful and very sad death. One pregnant lady dressed in a samurai outfit started slicing up gangbangers and shit. A priest, a rabbi, and a monk who all happened to be walking into a bar the moment your bars dropped just ran into the crowd and started twerking their old-ass man-booties all over the damn place. A joke would be written about it later. One dude ran into a tattoo parlor and got a tattoo of your living group members on his chest with the words "R.I.P. Jerry, also fuck Jinx" underneath. A guy who was just sitting down on a bench drinking coffee ran out into the crowd, poured gasoline all over himself, and lit himself on fire because fuck it. When rhymes THAT sick get spit, ain't no rules, bitch. They were all going BEYOND THUNDERDOME! You bars are so damn fucking shit-ass hard, it revives the unconscious Johnny and stops his bleeding. Suddenly, there is the sound of another rapper coming from the direction of that chrome cylinder and people start to calm down for some reason.QuoteNow this iz a ting you shoulda remembah
coz if ya won' I'll kick ya back to Novembah
I'm da baus of dis small quiet town
and now you'll see your ass turn brown, busta!
Clear throat. Garner attention.[5] You rhymes are mad slick. So slick that a bumpin' bass beat come right the hell out of no where and only further compliments your rhymes. Despite the maddening chaos that is happening around you, people start gettin' DOWN to those deep rhymes. One gangbanger breaks down and cries uncontrollably because he was touched by the pure beauty of your bars. Everyone stopped killing each other and down-leveled to just serious maiming. A mosh pit begins to form a few feet in front of you as another group of what appear to be rappers catches your eye.
This was it. This was the time. Review time period. Check. Review slang. Check. Review audience. Check.
"Alright alright. Now, I know y'all beefin. But listen up. I got something to tell all of you.
I come from a future where rap is dead,
but I come here to drop sick beats on ya head.
Now, you got a lotta homies being false ass saviors,
but they be blind, lookin' Charles Xaviers.
All you gotta do is look over to me,
give you the one two from the year 3003.
Prove to you how to save the hip hop game,
show to you that they beats is tame,
my rhymes so good, call it instant fame.
Instant fame, lyrics insane, cash flow gain, fireworks come out ya brain, homie.
And I got this money, enough dolla here, take yo honey, it's sort of funny.
How inferior you are, you a horse drawn buggy while I'm a sports car.
Man, you rap like a neandrethal, I rap like I'm the damn king of it all,
standin' tall, spitting acid, call it lyrical gall, makin you look so small,
white girls gatchu in they purse at the mall. You may be king of the hill,
but all kings fall.
Moranz, you prolly don' get it,Do some offensive movement towards other playas.
your decisions don't mean shit,
'cause I'm da baus 'round here,
if ya don' do what I tell ya,
I'll fuck ya up like a deer,
and burn down yah house with a fiyah.
Did I allow ya to die?
Nah, yar busta head rolled a die,
to guess what to do,
but you don't know shit, FOO!
Ya come from the future 'cause ya couldn't live in da good timez!
No bitch-ass busta could made it through ma fightz,
especially a dumb cat like a brick with no lore of me,
yer balls may be of copper, but mine are of steel,
an' ya'll feel metal on ya ugly face,
from my bootz, kicking ya while you race
to da exit, while I go to yah timez,
to bust some really good rhymes,.
Now, how about ya go back to your mommy,
before ya start pissing off me,
the playa of all the worlds and times,
come down to kick your skinny ass,
ya is a car with no gas,
I'm a tank going full speed at your mass,
loading some high explosive,
start aimin at you, diva,
and then I start firin,
and you start diving,
out of yah car, seein yah dough don' mean shit,
when your ass is being hit.
You may know the future, but I am the future,
your life is noting, I am everything,
you forgot that bling,
don't make ya the king.
Fire back!QuoteDid I allow ya to die?
Nah, yar busta head rolled a die,
to guess what to do,
but you don't know shit, FOO!
Ya come from the future 'cause ya couldn't live in da good timez!
No bitch-ass busta could made it through ma fightz,
especially a dumb cat like a brick with no lore of me,
yer balls may be of copper, but mine are of steel,
an' ya'll feel metal on ya ugly face,
from my bootz, kicking ya while you race
to da exit, while I go to yah timez,
to bust some really good rhymes,.
Now, how about ya go back to your mommy,
before ya start pissing off me,
the playa of all the worlds and times,
come down to kick your skinny ass,
ya is a car with no gas,
I'm a tank going full speed at your mass,
loading some high explosive,
start aimin at you, diva,
and then I start firin,
and you start diving,
out of yah car, seein yah dough don' mean shit,
when your ass is being hit.
You may know the future, but I am the future,
your life is noting, I am everything,
you forgot that bling,
don't make ya the king.
You may be right, you could be the future, that's why I'm here to change it,
Shatter the future, take the shards, rearrange it,
Pull the gat, point at you, the 12 gauge hits.
You wanna know why?
No flow in your rhymes got me feelin' rage, shit!
If your a tank, I'm a terran battlecruiser,
Bring the yamato cannon down on you,
ya gattamn loser!
I notice, you got a hole in your ear,
That's cuz my rhymes cut like blades
But pointed like a spear.
Spear is right, my words are a weapon,
They hit hard, my verbs be reppin.
Each of my rhymes is a masterpiece,
Sound so beautiful, hit hard cuz they unleashed.
Yours though, nothin but a mish mash,
Words clatter your mouth, goin crish crash,
Bull in a china shop, stupid, but tame.
But even worse, they all sound the same.
You're spouting cliches like it's TV Tropes,
clinging to your last few hopes,
Cuz you're finished, like a playing card in bike spokes
Speaking of cards, you remind me of one,
The joker, yeah, because you take it out of the deck,
No disrespect, but you're a joker, I'm an ace,
Newest hip hop legend to come out of this place.
But you try to insult me, coming from the past,
forcing out rhymes, trying to lambast,
but you mess with rap Terminator,
you gon' get wrecked fast.
And the things is, I don't need a pool of molten steel,
because my words hit like bricks,
hurt like they're real.
Your words spread lime disease, like they're ticks,
My words bring the cure,
all cred, no tricks.
So I stand before you, the new rap fuhrer,
And after I finish you, I'll be one pest fewer.
Rap like I'm on fire.[2] Marcus and his crew laugh at your flimsy bars. They and everyone else on the street corner were in tears. One person laughed so hard that she died of asphyxiation. Her family would never know what the heck was so darn funny. After the laughter subsided, Marcus began to spew flames from his fiery maw:Spoiler (click to show/hide)
Look for the rest of my crew and apply rapz to their asses.[3] You apply raps to your crew and they all assemble at your side, but Johnny falls unconscious again due to anemia. The Rap Gods gaze down at what appears to be the battle from the Prophecy. As you approach, a large circle about 30 feet across is raised from the ground on a small plateau above the throngs of people. Weird magic raises you and your crew to the top of this plateau. You can tell that things are about to get real. [2] You face this playa from a different era and begin to spit your rhymes with your squad at your back. However, they seem to fall flat before you as the ravenous crowd around you begins to throw tomatoes and 40oz's at your crew. Fortunately, no one is hurt except for the unconscious Johnny, who was hit in the head by a 40oz. That gentleman on the other side of the circle raps som cutting rhymes that hurt you deeply. The crowd cheers and starts dancing. Suddenly, a loud, tremulous voice shouts from the heavens: "ROUND ONE TO "THE PROFIT!" The entire city of San Fransisco shakes like a magnitude 5 earthquake.QuoteMoranz, you prolly don' get it,Do some offensive movement towards other playas.
your decisions don't mean shit,
'cause I'm da baus 'round here,
if ya don' do what I tell ya,
I'll fuck ya up like a deer,
and burn down yah house with a fiyah.QuoteDid I allow ya to die?
Nah, yar busta head rolled a die,
to guess what to do,
but you don't know shit, FOO!
Ya come from the future 'cause ya couldn't live in da good timez!
No bitch-ass busta could made it through ma fightz,
especially a dumb cat like a brick with no lore of me,
yer balls may be of copper, but mine are of steel,
an' ya'll feel metal on ya ugly face,
from my bootz, kicking ya while you race
to da exit, while I go to yah timez,
to bust some really good rhymes,.
Now, how about ya go back to your mommy,
before ya start pissing off me,
the playa of all the worlds and times,
come down to kick your skinny ass,
ya is a car with no gas,
I'm a tank going full speed at your mass,
loading some high explosive,
start aimin at you, diva,
and then I start firin,
and you start diving,
out of yah car, seein yah dough don' mean shit,
when your ass is being hit.
You may know the future, but I am the future,
your life is noting, I am everything,
you forgot that bling,
don't make ya the king.
Fire back!As that strange group of rappers you saw approaches you, a large 30ft cricle of pavement that you are standing on is raised up into the air above the crowd of would-be rioters below, just like the Prophecy foretold. One of the peculiar gentlemen steps forth and issue unto you some rather insulting bars. In response, the "audience" below throw tomatoes and malt liquor at them in what seems to be outrage. [4] After receiving those fierce insults, you counter with bars of your own. They slice and dice your opponents(' feelings) as the audience cheers and begins to boogie down. Out of no where, a voice that seemed to pass through everyone there shouted: "ROUND ONE TO "THE PROFIT!" The whole of San Fransisco shakes as the voice speaks.Quote from: Part Two: A Retort and Refutation Towards the Accusations of my PeerYou may be right, you could be the future, that's why I'm here to change it,
Shatter the future, take the shards, rearrange it,
Pull the gat, point at you, the 12 gauge hits.
You wanna know why?
No flow in your rhymes got me feelin' rage, shit!
If your a tank, I'm a terran battlecruiser,
Bring the yamato cannon down on you,
ya gattamn loser!
I notice, you got a hole in your ear,
That's cuz my rhymes cut like blades
But pointed like a spear.
Spear is right, my words are a weapon,
They hit hard, my verbs be reppin.
Each of my rhymes is a masterpiece,
Sound so beautiful, hit hard cuz they unleashed.
Yours though, nothin but a mish mash,
Words clatter your mouth, goin crish crash,
Bull in a china shop, stupid, but tame.
But even worse, they all sound the same.
You're spouting cliches like it's TV Tropes,
clinging to your last few hopes,
Cuz you're finished, like a playing card in bike spokes
Speaking of cards, you remind me of one,
The joker, yeah, because you take it out of the deck,
No disrespect, but you're a joker, I'm an ace,
Newest hip hop legend to come out of this place.
But you try to insult me, coming from the past,
forcing out rhymes, trying to lambast,
but you mess with rap Terminator,
you gon' get wrecked fast.
And the things is, I don't need a pool of molten steel,
because my words hit like bricks,
hurt like they're real.
Your words spread lime disease, like they're ticks,
My words bring the cure,
all cred, no tricks.
So I stand before you, the new rap fuhrer,
And after I finish you, I'll be one pest fewer.
Oh, I see, ya called fo' ya daddy,
you prolly also ride a pink caddie,
how about we play on same terms,
then you will feel the sharpness of my thorns.
I'll give, and say yer not shit,
you may give some words, and maybe even beat,
but if ya be an upstart, ya'll be hit,
and fuck up, like a total git.
I can do all I want, don't believe?
Here, your mother has HIV,
yer pops be a dog,
and your sister cann only get laid in a fog.
Dude, this is my hood,
and I find you rude,
trying to snatch my food,
but in the end, in crap you stood.
You think I give a fuck about you, lil' boy?
You nothing, but a little weak goy,
but here, how about a candy,
now, things will be just fine and dandy.
"Alright, alright now. You may have gotten me with calling me a little boy, but
Gattamn, at least I ain't a little girl,
Your rhymes ain't sick, but they make wanna hurl,
My words unfurl,
Big name like a banner,
Rhymes are medical,
Fix up the timeline like a spanner,
Your rhymes are the poor house,
Mine are rich like a manor, and I got a matching manner,
Go back to scribbling rhymes in your middle school planner,
You're the nail, I'm the hammer, my lines enamour,
But they hurt you so hard, I should be put in the slammer,
Leave you desperate, panicking in a clamor,
You can't change, but my words shapeshift like a glamour,
Bite so deep, leave you with a stammer.
Counter that.[6] You're swift counter caused half of the gang members to faint. The other half completely lost their shit and just screamed "OOOOOOOOOOOOHHH!!!" for several minutes as they ran around the street corner doing cool karate moves. One of the onlookers, Grandma Nelson, died of a heart attack, was revived instantly, and then died again after being karate kicked in the head by on of those gangsters. The whole audience was wylin' out and Marcus was pissed as shit. He scoffed "Alright, bitch, final round."Spoiler (click to show/hide)
How did I not find this before[6] Your spaceship touches down in the middle of a street in San Fransisco, flattening several cars and possible a few people. You hop on out and find what appears to be [3] $300 in this planet's currency on one of the bodies. After looting the body, a hobo hops on out of an alley and shouts "I knew it! I knew the aliens would come eventually to save hip-hop!" The hobo then began doing cartwheels down the street. Yeah, this planet's definitely in need of your help. As you muse over how you're going to hide your spaceship from these peculiar beings, a ground beneath your feet shakes violently.Spoiler: IN (click to show/hide)
"Okay." Find a place to stay the night.[3] You begin to search around for hotels. Unfortunately, the only place where you can rest your head is some dingy-looking motel just outside of town. This place looks like those places out in the middle of nowhere where travelers mysteriously vanish overnight. Anyway, you enter this place and the man behind the counter says in a stereotypically southern accent "Hey boy, you lickin' for a nice warm place to rest your soft, smooth head? It's $10 a night at our little slice of heav'n." It seems pretty shady, but as far as resting places go, this is all that's here. As you contemplate what to do, a small earthquake hits the area and you cling to the walls to maintain your balance.
Have me useless mooks provide some beat for my rapz![4] With Jake and Jim being the only ones conscious, they apply vicious bass beats for you as you freestyle. The lyrical prowess you exhibit makes everyone shoot their firearms in the air in acknowledgement of your skill. The priest, the rabbi, and the monk went from twerkin' to straight up bumpin' and grindin' on each other like it was an R. Kelly concert. People stopped maiming each other and started getting down. Everybody was dancing freak-nasty style and getting all up in there. It was so hot, Johnny somehow managed to get a boner even though he was completely unconscious laying in a pool of malt liquor. The man from across you spews fire of his own, but where your was like napalm fire, his was but a dim, wet match match. The audience scoffs him off as though he doesn't exist and continue to dance real sexy-like. It then begins to rain Alizé and Cristal. Probably from all the freak-nasty dancing going on in the throngs of people surrounding the plateau. Suddenly, the same voice yells from the heavens "ROUND TWO TO THE (REMAINING) BLAK PUPPETZ!" A tremor of even greater strength hits the area. As far as you know, it's currently tied up, one to one.QuoteOh, I see, ya called fo' ya daddy,
you prolly also ride a pink caddie,
how about we play on same terms,
then you will feel the sharpness of my thorns.
I'll give, and say yer not shit,
you may give some words, and maybe even beat,
but if ya be an upstart, ya'll be hit,
and fuck up, like a total git.
I can do all I want, don't believe?
Here, your mother has HIV,
yer pops be a dog,
and your sister cann only get laid in a fog.
Dude, this is my hood,
and I find you rude,
trying to snatch my food,
but in the end, in crap you stood.
You think I give a fuck about you, lil' boy?
You nothing, but a little weak goy,
but here, how about a candy,
now, things will be just fine and dandy.
[2] The gentlemen from across the circle spit rhymes that make you question your abilities and your manhood. You respond with hot licks of your own, but in spite of the dope-ass quality of them rhymes, the audience just isn't feeling it. Maybe its a cultural difference, what with you being from the future and all. Anyway, the whole crowd seemed to ignore you and your bars as the hot-ass booty dancing and grinding began to make it rain Alizé and Cristal from the sky. Damn, that's some sensual-ass dancing. You think you may have seen the uncoscious body of that guy from across the circle that got hit with the 40oz get an erection from the hot-ass, fiery-ass booty dropping. Soaked in ghetto alcohol, you sulk heavily as a voice from the sky shouted "ROUND TWO TO THE (REMAINING) BLAK PUPPETZ!" The loudness of the voice sent reverbs that could be felt for miles. According to the voice, its one to one. Game point.Quote"Alright, alright now. You may have gotten me with calling me a little boy, but
Gattamn, at least I ain't a little girl,
Your rhymes ain't sick, but they make wanna hurl,
My words unfurl,
Big name like a banner,
Rhymes are medical,
Fix up the timeline like a spanner,
Your rhymes are the poor house,
Mine are rich like a manor, and I got a matching manner,
Go back to scribbling rhymes in your middle school planner,
You're the nail, I'm the hammer, my lines enamour,
But they hurt you so hard, I should be put in the slammer,
Leave you desperate, panicking in a clamor,
You can't change, but my words shapeshift like a glamour,
Bite so deep, leave you with a stammer.
Can I join as an antagonist?You and your troop of elderly men have rode on your scooters all the way to San Fran from D.C. It was an arduous journey filled with all sorts of crazy, but you all made it in one piece. You park outside of a club and figure that you and your crew have [6] $600 between you all. Ample currency for your mission. Suddenly, you spot a hobo cartwheeling down the street. He jumps, spins in the air, and lands perfectly in front of you all as you count money. He then pulls out a rusty knife. "Arrgh! I'm Cap'n Drake! Give me all your gold and valuables and maybe I won't fillet you like I did the Kraken!" Before you can respond, an earthquake hits you all, sending one of your crew members to the ground.
Real Name:Old Man Jenkins
Stage Name:"The Patriot"
Group Name And Members
6 elderly men that agree with him
Hometown:Washington D.C
Background:He's 97 years old and has seen the music industry go to rubbish, It's time to restore the good old days, Of Classical Music,At All Costs!
If not PTW
Now, now kiddo, better go back to school,
'coz you only squeak and drool,
listening to the man,
as his kick ass lines ran,
you ain't event the future, but some non existant sissy,
who's pants are about to get real pissy.
You see? rhymes, everywhere, hurting your feelings,
'coz that's the only thing you have, no dealings
with the masters like me,
who will never reach his peak,
as he is infinitely good,
so being better is impossible,
so, my little fella dude,
the only thing you can be good, is a crucible.
Savior of the rap game? The rap game is livin',
not 'cause some bitch ass thinks he's killin',
but 'coz true playas like me? Oh, they be chillin',
the rap game was never better, still n'
guess what? better begin stealin'
wallets, 'coz your rhymes are poor, yeah.
LZ finds the source of the shakin'[3] Try as you might, your alien technology cannot locate the source of the geological disturbances. You run all over the city as people marvel at your otherworldly clothes and strange countenance. You do happen to run past what appears to be a hobo mugging some old people, though. Suddenly, another tremor hits you that is so powerful, it sends you to the ground.
"As your new queen, I tell you: RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!!"[5] You and the gang run for your lives away from the tremors to a place in the city that isn't feeling it as much. You recall that one seismology class you had in high school and are able to pinpoint that the earthquake is coming from a place way downtown, where you heard that the riots were happening. As you are running, another tremor makes you fall flat on your face.
Run away from the sounds of the tremor, and also try to locate where it is.
For a split second, he looks as if he were to leave. But then, he steels his will. Masta Jamma had always said the rap game was tougher than a natural disaster. But he was tougher than the rap game, so he was most certainly tougher than an earthquake. And even if he wasn't, the power of rap would protect him.
"A tremor's comin' in, but I can't run, I've still got rhymes to spin.
Burn bitches, rap hard, wake up; do all this shit again.
But that's how it be in the life of a gangster, earthquakes, shit dude,I seen stranger...
I be stronger, lines hit so hard fakers check the sky, looking for a bomber.
But now, they get to realize, the force is coming from before their eyes. Savior of the Rap Game, money and wealth are my prize. Any try and match me, better bring a disguise,
So the people can't see the face, to match to the disgrace, when I kick them so hard they fall from grace!"
[Spinal's [2] vs. Saber's [1]]QuoteNow, now kiddo, better go back to school,
'coz you only squeak and drool,
listening to the man,
as his kick ass lines ran,
you ain't event the future, but some non existant sissy,
who's pants are about to get real pissy.
You see? rhymes, everywhere, hurting your feelings,
'coz that's the only thing you have, no dealings
with the masters like me,
who will never reach his peak,
as he is infinitely good,
so being better is impossible,
so, my little fella dude,
the only thing you can be good, is a crucible.
Savior of the rap game? The rap game is livin',
not 'cause some bitch ass thinks he's killin',
but 'coz true playas like me? Oh, they be chillin',
the rap game was never better, still n'
guess what? better begin stealin'
wallets, 'coz your rhymes are poor, yeah.
Get further away from the tremors.[5] You and the crew run for your lives to the outskirts of the city center, where the tremors are not felt. You look back and you see that a large portion of the town appears to be on fire.
"Coward!"[6] You, Jim, Johnny, and Jake high-tail it the hell out of what can only be described as "Rapnarok" (get it?). You run down the street, past a group of elderly gentlemen getting mugged by a seemingly homeless man, past some kind of plane that you've never seen before, and beyond the city limits, all without alerting any police authority.
Run away.
Oh yeah forgot about that,[4] The hobo, stunned by your OLD old school rap, runs away crying like a baby. After fending that undesirable off, [1] you try to find a music store and get lost, ending up in a dark alley way. Suddenly, you hear the footsteps of a group of people following you up the alley. You are cornered in the dark alley. One of these young people attempts to dropkick you, but he falls about 10 feet short of your crew.
Break into an Old School Rap,
Hey Youngster, Yeah I'm Talkin' To you.
Things were better in my generation,
So stop all of your foolish condemnation.
So my good old friend Captain Drake,
I'll advise ya to cut it out, Lest we cut you,
And fool you don't stop an' you'll be on the concrete
cryin' boo-hoo-hoo.
Then attempt to locate a Musical Store that sells Bagpipes, Flutes, and Electric Guitars.
Real Name: Frank Horrigan[6] You leave Enclave Central Command at [LOCATION WITHHELD] and land your vertibird just outside of San Francisco. The landing is perfect and your crew exit the vertibird, ready to rap the shit out of anyone you come across. It would appear as though you landed at a bus station. You ponder the indignity of government soldiers having to ride the bus into the heart of San Francisco when on of your [5] 10 soldiers reports that the vertibird is out of fuel.
Stage Name: What, you think a proud member of the United States would keep anything secret?
Group Name and Members(optional, up to 6): ENCLAVE HEAVY PARANORMAL ATIVITES SCOUT SQUAD
6 highly trained and experienced enclave soldiers equipped with MKII advanced power armor and some of the best weapons in the Enclave's arsenal.
Hometown: Control Station ENCLAVE
Background: Frank Horrigan has been through a lot lately. After going through a strange portal with a squad of enclave troopers, they arrived in a very crazy alternate earth. Where there were gods and goddesses, and one liked to mutate humans into having tails. After quite the crazy high jinks involving fighting the narrator and many other things, he got into battle with a bunch of baytwelvers. After the Universe froze, he decided to go after my Character from slowpoke's Electric Nazi game, which's universe also froze. He finally tracked down him at the end of the first We are our avatar's bay12 RTD, but after the battle, got sent back to home. Now, a few days after that, the oil rig somehow gotten teleported to this current universe. After command detecting some strange things in sansfransisco, he and his "crew" got sent their to conduct scouting of the strange new non-post-apocoliptic-nuclear-wasteland earth. They are in a vertibird, of course. Command also advised him to start rapping, since that seems to cause all the chaotic and weird stuff happening. Now it is time to find out what crazy shit is happening now!!!
Dropkick one of the old guys.[2] You see the old people wander town for a bit and stalk them until they enter a dark alley. You and your crew follow them in and trap them. You then immediately try to drop kick them, but you are a poor judge of distance and landed just short of your target.
Yo pops, you in my territory,
how about we end the story,
and you bust out with your old, fat ass,
before I apply some heavy bass,
in the form of my boot,
your pals there gonna insta-root.
Start helping those who are injured.
Take count of how many people I have with me.
Start helping those who are injured.[6] You take count of the people with you and realize that you have all 20 original "Green" gangsters AND about 50 other people from that street corner following you. [1] You see some people off in the distance being burned by one of the fire demons that left from the fissure and order your crew to help, but more people get burned to death instead.
[5] You rap at the poor old fools and one of them suffers a massive heart attack and dies from the epic nature of your crew's bars. Suddenly, the old men begin playing polka music so fearsome and terrifying that you all run for your lives back out of the alleyway. You run so fast that you end up dropping all of your money. As you run, you happen to see another fire demon attacking some innocents.QuoteYo pops, you in my territory,
how about we end the story,
and you bust out with your old, fat ass,
before I apply some heavy bass,
in the form of my boot,
your pals there gonna insta-root.
"OH REALLY, Says the sad little wannabe[6] One of your elderly mates dies of a heart attack due to the impressive lyrics of the youngsters before you. Your vicious bars, which are accompanied by well played polka, tear into your opponents' confidence and they run screaming like babies. They ran so fast, that about $500 in cash fell out of their pockets!
and his mystical band of Meth Addicts,
You wanna hit?
If so I'd be much obligated,
To show you how it's properly done."
If the Rap fails play Polka Music to scare them off, If that fails use elderly Vietnam warfare methods to slaughter those newbs.
K. just try to not mess up the enclave. They have only recently been ISOT'd to here. And only the oil rig((I haven't played, but I have a good idea of the nature of its content.))
And have you played fallout 2?
Send 2 soldiers to investigate gas stations to see if they somehow have fuel good enough for vertibirds.
Leave in triumph. Find an apartment and check whether I brought back that sports almanac.s[2] You try to leave, but you are knocked down by one of the Green Gangsters. He waves his gun, threatening you with death until a prison escapee bites him in the leg and wrestles with him. They both land on top of you and you are pinned on the ground.