Time zones

Bored... reading... lead to this... [spoiler] Soldiers from the last seven nations on the planet had gathered in a final attempt to halt a devastating force of nature. The men and women lined up in the barren wasteland, the arid desert's wind whipping at their tattered uniforms. They saw a black object slowly striding across the sand ridden land, the torn scraps of its cape streaming off of its form. One soldier stumbled back and raised his rifle with shaking hands, another steadied his arms and leveled her own rifle. The figure paid no attention to the lines drawn in the sand before it as it continued. A warning shot from a soldier near the center of the formation drew its attention, looking up the figure showed the army its face. The broken skull grinning at them finally set the soldiers over the edge, they opened fire; bullets tore through the air intent on being buried in the figure’s hide. Spent casings fell to the ground as the projectiles sent blinding sand into the air, they stopped and waited for the dust to clear; however when it did their hearts plummeted as the figure stood still, unharmed. Two massive gatling guns feel from behind its shoulders and into its hands, twelve spinning barrels were leveled at the army. Some broke file and sprinted from the rest, but the others reloaded. A lead torrent burst forth from the deathly figure into the army stripping flesh from bone, their blood staining the sand and indeed the very sky crimson. Some turned to flee for their lives only to be shot in the back for their cowardice, few charged for the monster and were gunned down before a second thought could occupy their feeble minds. The slaughter continued until only a bloody scar in the sand remained of the desperate army; the figure waded through the grisly remains of its opponents until one reached out and grabbed its ankle. Half of a soldier looked into the eyes of death itself and begged for mercy, the figure waited for the shattered eye to close before granting the soldier a dying wish and continued on through the faint red mist that still hung over the gruesome display as the sun neared the horizon, trying desperately to put the failed attack behind it. [i]Oh lord why do I still read this thing?[/i] Rather than reading on into the section titled [i]Famine[/i] I opted to close the book and returned it to the crate on my right. The brown leather binding was something I had picked up before shipping out at the thought of it providing some interest to counter the dullness of “recon” work. [i]Ah well time to see how she’s doing.[/i] I approached the boarded up entrance to the mine I had set up shop in and looked down into the valley. Gazing at the expanse below I tapped a command into my gauntlet’s screen and began to record the day as I saw it, “Journal entry, Recon oh-three-zero-two, day four: begin recording.” [i]As if this would be prove important to anyone anywhere.[/i] A low beep and notification in my helmet relayed the command’s activation. “The white-haired woman I had witnessed upon my arrival has still failed to make any attempt at leaving the valley, though I believe I have determined why. During a normal bout of sleeplessness I traveled down the slope,” [i]against orders to quote, sit friggin' still and watch[/i] “while she appeared to be asleep and found her ankle chained to a spike in the ground,” [i]probably could’ve just pulled it free but that would’ve woken her and then I’d be in a different mess[/i] “additionally there were no signs as to her identity nor that of her captors, desp-” Movement on the valley floor drew my attention; five figures approached the woman, four clad in dull metal armor, traveled in a group while the fifth, covered by a dark cape, shadowed them. “Uh, update, there are now five additional bipeds in the valley, four appear to be Alken judging by their armor and the tails swinging behind them; however, the fifth is separate from the group and doing a halfhearted job at remaining concealed, first glance says human.” [i]Second would too if he would just sit still.[/i] The group continued to walk towards the chained woman as did their shadow, they reached her and circled to inspect her. [i]I wish I could hear what they’re saying.[/i] One seemed to bark orders to the other three and they lifted to woman to her feet, the leader stepped closer and lifted her head so they could look each other in the eye; then it stepped back and delivered a slap to her face. I reached for my rifles but stopped, [i]I don’t know what happened nor who they are the last thing I want is to be burned for an impulse,[/i] instead I turned back to the shadow, it sat maybe five or six meters behind the group, concealed by foliage. I bit my lip and reached again for my snipers; [i]I can’t just sit here, I need to do something.[/i] The shadow jumped from its hiding spot and drew a thick sword before slashing at the nearest of the four; the first one turned in time to reveal the gap in its armor plating, I smiled when its head tumbled from its shoulders. [i]Yeah now the other three![/i] The shadow lunged for the one holding the woman’s other arm and was knocked to the side when its blade struck armor instead of flesh, the leader stepped on its torso and began to beat the shadow. [i]I can’t just sit here and watch this, I-I-I just can’t;[/i] I grabbed my rifles and kicked the boards down, using a scope for each eye I kneeled in the now open entrance to the mine and lined up the twin crosshairs over the leader’s chest. I pulled the triggers, saw the energy bolts of violet and cyan leave the barrels, felt the tremendous recoil generated by two snipers, and watched as two holes blew through the light armor of the Alken leader. [i]I did it, I did it, ha ha I did it![/i] True celebration would have to be put on hold for a moment as the two remaining creatures dropped the woman and looked around for me. [i]This is where things get hard;[/i] the pair moved apart and swept the visible area, [i]surely one of them realized that their leader was hit twice.[/i] My head ached as I tried to line up a shot for both, biting the inside of my mouth did little to alleviate the pain as it had done before. [i]Would you two just stand still already!?[/i] They continued to walk until the shadow stood up and drew their attention, in the time they took to turn I fired and grinned despite the pain when my shots bored through their throats. [i]Ugh, I think I might have just screwed this up more than I ever could have imagined.[/i] [/spoiler]

Cause reasons.

Turtles

Because it's 10 am....

Cause it's noon

Ladies and gentlemen, I feel that this award was not made to me as a man, but to my work - a life's work in the agony and sweat of the human spirit, not for glory and least of all for profit, but to create out of the materials of the human spirit something which did not exist before. So this award is only mine in trust. It will not be difficult to find a dedication for the money part of it commensurate with the purpose and significance of its origin. But I would like to do the same with the acclaim too, by using this moment as a pinnacle from which I might be listened to by the young men and women already dedicated to the same anguish and travail, among whom is already that one who will some day stand here where I am standing. Our tragedy today is a general and universal physical fear so long sustained by now that we can even bear it. There are no longer problems of the spirit. There is only the question: When will I be blown up? Because of this, the young man or woman writing today has forgotten the problems of the human heart in conflict with itself which alone can make good writing because only that is worth writing about, worth the agony and the sweat. He must learn them again. He must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid; and, teaching himself that, forget it forever, leaving no room in his workshop for anything but the old verities and truths of the heart, the old universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed - love and honor and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice. Until he does so, he labors under a curse. He writes not of love but of lust, of defeats in which nobody loses anything of value, of victories without hope and, worst of all, without pity or compassion. His griefs grieve on no universal bones, leaving no scars. He writes not of the heart but of the glands. Until he relearns these things, he will write as though he stood among and watched the end of man. I decline to accept the end of man. It is easy enough to say that man is immortal simply because he will endure: that when the last dingdong of doom has clanged and faded from the last worthless rock hanging tidelessin the last red and dying evening, that even then there will still be one more sound: that of his puny inexhaustible voice, still talking. I refuse to accept this. I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance. The poet's, the writer's, duty is to write about these things. It is his privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honor and hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which have been the glory of his past. The poet's voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail.

Let's just say I'm working out my hand capabilities...

Because I'm busy playing warframe :D

Because I sleep during the day lol

Its 8 in the morning that's why