Search Results: 91 messages were found

Thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat's right folkeroonies, Dragonram here because he can't post on his own account, and can't re-subscribe because he's from the future where it is actually June 1st; just quickly, thanks to my wonderful wonderful boyfriend you are all also now reminded of The Game.

So this is it huh? The big button is gonna be pressed, alas I cannot be there when that jaunty windows shutting down tune plays, but at least I can write (not 'wrote' like I just typo'd) a somewhat lengthy parting message. Most of you probably won't remember me and I'm willing to bet that very few of you noticed I left!

First things third I guess, being as everyone else has done it, I may as well make it official (because I'm pretty certain most of you figured it out) that I was the liaison *drum roll* Osterfail; Or Osterlind, or Osterpup to my former-fellow-LESIG-mates. I just wanna say ('just wanna', original right?) that you guys on Recursion, were pretty awesome to RP with throughout that albeit brief period of time that I was with you, I thoroughly enjoyed it, almost as much as I hated having to deal with NightTrace! But seriously, you guys rock (but not as much as Syntax, fo' life yo' ). LESIG, you guys were awesome too, I read a Yasamuuuuuuuu post earlier that says until you've done it you don't have a clue (paraphrasing duh, I'm not Rainman) and it is so so true. You guys, did/do/have done/still do/will-do-if-this-game-ever re-opens an awesome job, much love; Oh yeah and don't break the Matrix.

The rest of you suck.

- Ð

LOLOOLOLOLOLOL THAT WAS HILARIUS WAS IT NOT?!

Except no, no it wasn't, nor was it true and for my incredibly deceptive lie and unfunnininninneness I can only apologise.

The community, made this game. Without a doubt, you guys are some of the most fun people I've ever met and I only hope to meet you all at some point in the future, 'cause seriously you guys kiss arse, I mean kick arse... Whichever, you do, you do it to arse. If I could, I'd play with you on that last day (though initially I wasn't bothered); But I can't and it's no use crying over spilt mik, after all whenever you spill something you usually manage to save at least an inch of it when you scramble to save it in the first place.

So I'm no good at writing lengthy messages, I'm not particularly witty or funny but I am apparently "Overtly homosexual, and way too dungeons and dragons." Thanks neolivesftw . Basically, I thought being as I can't play I'd leave you all a little message really to thank you for making my time with this amazing[ly underappreciated] game. Special love out to The Glitch Society, you guys are incredible, as I've said before you were like a second family to me, I loved every minute I played with you guys (kinky) and you kept me jacking-in over and over again just to see what hilarity would ensue that particular day; long live TGS.

Others know who they are so I won't list names, those who weren't listed but know they should've been would feel left out and I just couldn't put people through that. But you'll know who you are and my awesome hugs go out to you all.

And so, with a warm feeling of indifference snagged on a tiny hook of departing sadness I guess? I leave this community again, if you need me you'll find some way of contacting me, but I wish you all the very best in your lives and hope you get all you want; I actually mean that as well, live each day to the very best you can because they're far too short and you're far too awesome.

Goodbye, Star Wars Galaxies.

- Ð

I was talking to Traxada... just now, in fact. And he was trying to sub back to MxO for the next couple months, for the end of it all and everything.

It was my belief, and his too, that subbing would and could continue until the first of June. But ... well apparantly not. He says he can't subscribe, and I can't check because I am subscribed.

So, what's the deal?

Yeah. This is narciccistic of me. But I lost every single non-uploaded screenshot I have when I got a new harddrive a few months ago (my old HD died). I have my enhanced screenshots, but every... good time I've had in MxO is now in the minds and harddrives of other people.

Now, I know not many people are left may have played with me, or even knew me. But if you have any, I'd appreciate it if people might send them over. In this thread or PMs, it's up to you.

So that's any screenshots of PBlade, Terracus or Neurosia. Your call.

Call it a last request.

PBlade took a sip of his coffee, stealing a glance out of the window at the ignorant day-to-day activity of those around him; Businessmen, housewives, the waitress refilling his coffee cup. He vaguely acknowledged her deed, then returned his attention to his companion across the table.

“How can you allow it, Ex? These people are living a lie”

“But they’re happy” the stoic man replied. Exsuscito was a human, but he threw his lot in with the Machines, like so many others. But unlike so many others, his words struck a cord with PBlade. “You could not say that you are ‘happy’ knowing the truth.”

“No. But I’m enlightened to the truth”

“For better or for worse?” PBlade avoided his gaze as Ex continued, “People do not want to be enlightened”

“We did” the other man hastily replied.

“Our morbid curiosity was our undoing then. We are the exception, not the rule” he paused and sighed a small sigh, “most of us do not wish to be enlightened. We want to be happy, whatever ‘prison’ this may be, they are at least content in it” Their gazes finally met, “Save awakenings for those who have nothing to lose. Those like us”

PBlade sighed, becoming a breathless laugh as he exhaled, “Damnit, Ex. You know just how to shut a zealot up” His red eyes bore at the other man, a mixture of respect and frustration, “You’re just too stubborn to see my point of view”

”Spoken like a true Zealot” he smiled.

Smirking, PBlade sniffed at what remained of his coffee and, realising it was beginning to get cold, he gulped down the last of the luke-warm liquid with a grimace. His associate across from him had polished off his drink too, and they rose to leave.

Leaving the cash at the table, they head for the exit. The waitress offers a weak smile and a murmured ‘thank you’ as they step out into the bright but overcast afternoon.

“This is where we part ways, my friend” the oddly-faced PBlade declares, breathing in the afternoon air. A mixture of burning rubber and disease-ridden back alleys greet him, but he breathes it deeply anyway. Exsuscito smiles.

“Same time next week?”

“Perhaps” PBlade retorts, “You never know” He looks across to the other man, “Today could be the day the world ends”

TBC

To many of you, this thread title will be misleading, but bare with me.

Seriously, though. Anyone else think it looks to be awesome? If you haven't seen the trailer, check it out here.

Really, though, the trailer had me at "Underground Illegal Table-Tennis" and then Christopher Walken showed up to sweeten the deal tenfold.

It looks like it's gonna be genius.

So, I have decided that, even should I return, I am never going to be able to finish Antithesis--my Graphic Novel, and so I am releasing what I did have--not a whole lot of pages--for general consumption.

I'm not, however, going to reveal the plot wholly, because I have other plans for it. But I digress, enjoy:

There were 3 front covers I made throughout the creation process, finally settling on a scene with 3 characters that were integral to the plot.
- The first cover was simple

- The second cover was perhaps too complicated:

- The third one was my favourite, and was going to be the final cover.

As for the novel itself; it underwent many radical and annoyingly intrusive storyline changes during the creation process, and kept making my final page estimate longer and longer. Primarily, though, it kept altering the prologue to the GN. The original prologue was as follows (there are a few pages missing, as I never transferred them from the older, smaller resolution novel) They don't make much sense on their own, but who gives a toss...

Then there was the beginning of the new prologue, of which I only finished one page, and I don't want to post any of the half pages I did. I was rather proud of the prologue I created here, and it probably would have, somehow, merged in with the one above. Please also note in this shot Terracus' perfect arse. =P

All that remains are random pages that I didn't get a chance to reshoot or finish off the scenes properly. In these shots you will see such characters as; PBlade, obviously, Neurosia, who was my Syntax alt, Terracus, again obviously, and the late Traxada. The pages with him in were the scenes I needed to reshoot, as I couldn't finish the novel with his somewhat integral role gone, so I had to change the characters. Traxada's successors were going to be, therefore, Garutachi and Yasamuu, with a sprinkling of other famous Machinists at the beginning.

To my great regret, I never refinished any of the pages that were most important to me--the scenes with Terracus and his mystery lover--so I might post my older, crapper pages in another post. If I can be arsed uploading them all some other time.

But for now, that was the story of 'Antithesis'; the Graphic Novel that never was. Thank you.

- PBlade

... and bowing out of the show.

Being the hypocritical liar that I am, I'm taking the door that leads out of here. I always said I'd be here until the bitter end. Well...

I lied.

I loved MxO, I still love MxO. I will probably always love MxO. But with one appearance ingame per month--at best, I'm forced to reveiw the reason I'm paying the ten quid a month I am paying for MxO. Therefore, in a few weeks, I won't be paying said amount.

That, and I'm a sucker for a good write-out. This entire thread, then, can be seen as ostensible, but bear with me. :P

To sum up my experience of MxO, objectively, only takes one word: Amazing. From my first tiptoes into BETA, to my last obnoxious trampings today, the Matrix Online has been nothing short of brilliant. Buggy, sure, but a fun, involving and, at times, downright exhiliarating ride.

Subjectively, however, things are obviously different. I've seen Drama, I've been in the thick of it. I've seen friends come and go, people change and a lot of nasty things. But after we've taken a machete to the beefy thicket, there's only the good. And that, my fellow community members, is what it's all about. The MxO community is an objective, creative and thoroughly well-meaning bunch, in the majority, and it's that espirit du corps that will see this game through to God knows when.

I'm not saying I'll never be back. I'm busy right now, as well as feeling a severe lack of motivation to play, which contributes to my leaving. I wouldn't expect me to back anytime soon. Just... don't expect me to be gone forever. ;)

I won't do the hall of fame in my thread, it's tiresome and I wanted an impacting, pretentious thread to go out on, and a long list of names tends to detract from that a bit, so simply:

To my friends, you know who you are, and you know you'll be missed. My contact info is in my profile. Keep in touch.

To my enemies, you might not know who you are. And I think I prefer it that way ;)

So, in closing; here's to you, MxO and, more importantly, MxO community. I'll leave you only with a quote, that should be familiar to many of you, which I think sums up the ebbing and flowing of this game so perfectly;

"The skies went clear in Midian Park. It could be a good sign actually!"

You all know what happened next. ;P

Take care, MxO.
- PBlade

My arm wasn't twisted into this whatsoever >_>. But it serves an worthwhile purpose.

As it stands, our resident aesthetic God looms on the precipice of cancel or retention. The one clear choice is obvious to everyone but him--he should remain. But how best to procure this remainder? Hm, I did ponder, and through my several attempts of:

Bribery
Blackmail
Emotive pleas
Bribery again
Blackmail again

I stumbled upon the option of asking the Community at large--or at small, whatever--about the issue. So here I am.

Seriously, should Pyraci stay? Yae, or nae?

Aaaand go.

Caption entries end Tuesday 31st July.Congratulations to last weeks winners, and good luck this week!

This week's:

Last week's winners:

1st place: "The goggles! They do nothing!" ~ Othinn

2nd place: "Operative: So my full-man condom has finally arrived...

Commando: Wh-- Wait I'm not like that!"" ~ Ballak

3rd place: "Men really shouldn't have been allowed to give birth" ~ AltDimension

-----------------------------------------
And this weeks Editors Choice award

"Skip-it... Skip-it..." - EndlessVoid

------------------------------------------------------

Editor's note: Advice: Never tap yellow code.

War brings out the best and the worst in people. It develops minds and strengthens both physical and mental prowess. That's the best in people brought out.

Those minds are then used to think of new ways to destroy, to annihilate completely those who stand in their way. Those bodies are then used to fight, to break bones and terminate lives. That's the worst in people brought out.

Quicksilver is such a development.

In a scramble after war was declared, a lack of inhibition about what we could and could not do in the Matrix took control once again. Great stock was put into discovering new secrets and methods of tapping the vast resources of the Matrix and the floating feast. Data Mining had always been about searching for basic information and learning more. But now all sides were scraping and digging further, exposing and taking the rawest and most precious form of code.

But not without cost: programs and backups from a long gone instance are in place, and if you dig deep enough, the gatekeepers emerge. They guard and hold the information of past eras, and they are the key to the latest development; to quicksilver.

Resonating the air around them, Quicksilver gloves offer a power to the wearers. The raw, red code that seeps from the gauntlets is proof of their age and and indication of the power they contain.

A new development: Thought up by our minds, put to practice by our bodies. To crush, to annihilate.

To win.

Operatives of all Organisations,

As the Machines (read: Programs) have made abundantly clear, on Thursday 12th July, the Truce between human and machine civilisations, which has stood for three years, came to an abrupt and questionable end.

In the wake of the reignition of machine hostilities, we as the Children of Zion, as well as the Zion Organisation as a whole, faces an unprecedented and unwished threat. Be that as it may, our main priority is that of defense. The protection of Zion has always been the most important factor in the Children of Zion's operations, and as war blossoms across both worlds, this will not change.

Circumstances have changed since the previous war, as is obvious. No longer is it as clean cut as human against program. Organisations, born of the truce itself, scatter humanity to juxtopposing alleigances, and it is unsure how the Machines will deal with non-Zion elements. As a personal note, I don't feel your safety is truly gauranteed, although you may gain more time than others.

However, I urge the bulk of all Organisations to realise that, at the core of it all, you are still humans, and that brings us together, whilst simultaneously putting you at risk from the Machines. We have seen that the programs veiw us in a stereotypical light and make no distinction. To them, if one sector of humanity is a threat, then so must all be a threat.

Nevertheless, I have no doubt that the Organisations will remain. Which is why I will make this statement on behalf of the Children of Zion.

Make no mistake, the Children of Zion will defend themselves and Zion from any invader or attacker with every ounce of our strength, and if you feel that an offensive against us is the only option, then expect no quarter from us, for it will not be given.

If you seek more diplomatic relations, then we are willing to negotiate. Humanity has already been turned inwards on itself by the Cold War of the past three years, we see no reason for us to totally collapse inwardly as we are rocked by war. Those in other Organisations who see fighting against humanity as barbaric as we do will find armistice and understanding in us.

Furthermore, we now see that E Pluribus Neo has little difference in agenda to that of Zion. We are all threatened by this new war, and to that end we shall be putting aside past grievances and differences in the pursuit of security and solidarity in our Organisation. Any Pluribites that wish to open communication lines with the Children of Zion can do so, you will be welcomed.

Finally, as we combat the Machine aggression towards us, we state that we will be continuing awakenings and recruiting to the cause of Zion and of humanity. Once again, those that try to hinder our efforts will be dealt with accordingly, on an individual basis.

Times have changed, and humanity now hangs in the balance. We will do what we must to secure the present and the future as the dawn of war rises.

>PBlade
>Commander; The Children of Zion

*Dusts off Photoshop* It's been a while since I photomanipulated an MxO screenshot. And I could think of nothing better to regain my footing than the sublime shot of Niobe and Ghost. I know the background is a little hit or miss, but It's really hard finding a decent Downtown/Cityscape render.

But anyway. Without further Ado, I present to you: Image Retrieval.

Comment or constructive criticisms are, as always, welcome and encouraged.

#PBlade

Ladies and Gentlemen of the forums,

I have run out of interesting screenshots to enhance. With neither the time or, increasingly, the energy to jack in and take my own screenshots, I turn to you; the constantly inspired Community of the Matrix Online, and make a simple, yet unorthadox request.

I want you to post base screenshots for me to enhance. For my own pleasure. I can, of course, take any requests you would like. It has simply been far too long since I did a decent peice of Photoshop work. So if you have a shot you think I'd like, or you think you'd like me to enhance and image/create a sig for you, post a shot here, either for my own work, or with your parameters.

An odd request, I know, but hell, I need to keep my groove.

Cheers in advance,

- PBlade

Yes, Ex, I did steal the title somewhat from you. SMILEY

But yeah, I'm in love with the red sky, it's so ominous, and the base shot that was posted for the Image Retrieval was so amazing, and perfect. It was just screaming 'Make a wallpaper from me!!!"

So I did. Enjoy. Comments are, naturally, welcome. SMILEY

Ingame Cityscape, and no blowy hair:

External cityscape, with blowy hair:

So yeah. I finally decided to get off my arse and do something productive in Photoshop. I thought as a fitting end to the 'Smith business', I'd create a wallpaper. Now I'm not saying it's good or bad, but I enjoyed making it, so have at it SMILEY

Click for larger version.

I thought it'd be good to have a repository of sorts to present and share our screenshots of the second Anniversary Event, just as we did the other events. So without further ado, I'll post some of mine. There's quite a few, and I've only been ingame an hour. Hehe.

By 'then some' I mean 1...

Yeah, I wasted my ten thousandth by accident, but yeah. I don't expect a gigantic uber party with pictures and sigs and avatars... but I do expect lots and lots and lots of spam in this thread. Pointless, debauching, fantastic spam that won't get locked.

So yeah, yay me!

...You may begin.

The last contact with Warblade was not, as many would expect from my ilk and I, a vicious encounter. We were, for that brief time, businessmen. Negotiating our price with one another, striking bargains, arranging deals. He was understandably paranoid. Around us Zionites swathed, but none found this, our secret rondezvous point. His fear subsided, and our business continued.

The Agenda? A certain Mr. Carroll, as Warblade continued to call him. I prefer Insertion. It's shorter, it flows.

I won't dicuss the developments of our proposition here. Such destroys the mystery. But rest assured, with the dawning of a new day, the proposition will move into action. The onus now falls to me and Warblade's associates, as he ... recovers from a long and weary existance with ... a small nap. Not something I'd do, personally, but if your job calls you to take naps in the middle of the day, then so be it. There's always a team to pick up the slack, I am that team.

Yes, a new day... An uncertain one. But I make sure to keep all my cards in my hand, ordered. Confusion flows around us, but I remain steadfast.

If you were affiliated with Warblade and his actions, be it friend or foe, then expect contact soon, be it from lead in a pencil, or lead from a bullet. Contact indeed. With this new day comes changes, but people's opinions and beliefs remain the same. Those beliefs are soon to be revealed, and all the affected parties will feel this revelation. Some more than others.

-PBlade

Well people,

I am proposing a Valentine's party across the servers this evening, somewhere splendiferous and red. Overdone too.

Shall we say Club Hel?

Now, this is very imprompt, and may either need player PBox 4 mission Assistance, or Dev help *Wink wink* - I will need people from across the servers to give me a hand with getting in an inviting others into the club itself. This may be a futile effort, but my God if I'm not going to try.

So, does anyone wanna give it a try?

Yeah... I thought Cloudwolf would have picked up on this sooner than me (Much love, CW), or maybe nobody was willing to accept it, or just maybe I ignored people who said it before me , but I was running a Stat Hack mission earlier, and...

Yeah....

You guessed it....

I guess now you get the thread title, right? Well, if not...

Just thought I'd whine in a comical fashion. You may now continue what you were doing.

Timeframe. Post Morpheus' death. Pre-Unlimit

"You do not take things from the Merovingian and get away with it, whelp!"

A swift knee marched mechanically into Peter's chest, like an unfurling piston. His eyes bulged as he bent inwards onto it, his mouth wide, waiting for the scream that never came. He slumped forwards but found the knee gone, dropping instead into a highly polished boot. His head snapped back, his body followed. Lifted off his knees, he flipped backwards in midair before crashing into the desk, reeling pencils and stationary equipment across the clutterred office.

He was at the brink. At the point where one is not dead, but certainly wishes they were. His gut was on fire, and his jaw was devastated. He had a bullet wound in each of his lower thighs, and each one of his fingers had been broken. He was hoping the next move would either be a shot to the head, or something equally fatal. 'Just make it quick' he begged internally.

His attacker stepped forward to where he was sprawled across the table. He was dressed gothically, with high leather boots covering half of his leather pants, and a multi belted shirt hidden underneath a long trenchcoat. His face was chalk white, with blue veins pushing against the paper thin skin, reaching up past his dead lips and bloodshot eyes before tunnelling again around his hairline. His hair was slicked back and tied neatly into a small ponytail at the back, giving him a gentleman's flair, despite the rest of his attire.

He grabbed Peter by the back of the neck and hoisted him up like a bed owner holds a puppy, staring into the dome of his head. The gaze was not returned, the 'pet' too exhausted and resigned to death to care.

"This is the end, child." His voice was clipped, with the hint of slight impedement, caused by a set of teeth being too big for the mouth. His fangs. "The Frenchman does not forget child, and he always exacts his revenge"

His mouth opened into a garish half smile, preparing to bite. He leaned in on the broken man and his mouth gaped wider as he approached the neck. He was never able to begin the feast. His grip on the man slacked, letting him fall back to the table. A slight wheeze indicated he was not dead.

The attacker, on the other hand, certainly was. A small hole in the back of his head indicated the assault, and the eyeball sized hole on his forehead indicated the success. The wound smoked slightly as the man turned a dead grey from head to foot, before falling and breaking to pieces as he fell against the desk.

PBlade flicked open the case of his revolver, checking the ammunition. 5 more silver bullets were nestled against thier casings. He nudged it back in and holstered the gun with a spin. He nodded to either side of him, and his teammates spread out across the room, sweeping for any tracking devices or more opposition. PBlade moved straight forward, however, to where the body of Peter lay on his side, the slight rise and fall of his chest continuing proof that he was still hanging on. His head wobbled slightly and his eyes opened an incriment, a slit of dilated pupil peeing through. He mumbled a breath of nonsense, puncutated with a question mark, before giving up on speech.

"Peter Stewart, I presume?" PBlade said with a grin, leaning forward to scoop him up, "The name's PBlade, and I have to say, I think your parents made an excellent choice when naming you..."

TBC..

Timeframe. Post Morpheus' death. Pre-Unlimit

"You do not take things from the Merovingian and get away with it, whelp!"

A swift knee marched mechanically into Peter's chest, like an unfurling piston. His eyes bulged as he bent inwards onto it, his mouth wide, waiting for the scream that never came. He slumped forwards but found the knee gone, dropping instead into a highly polished boot. His head snapped back, his body followed. Lifted off his knees, he flipped backwards in midair before crashing into the desk, reeling pencils and stationary equipment across the clutterred office.

He was at the brink. At the point where one is not dead, but certainly wishes they were. His gut was on fire, and his jaw was devastated. He had a bullet wound in each of his lower thighs, and each one of his fingers had been broken. He was hoping the next move would either be a shot to the head, or something equally fatal. 'Just make it quick' he begged internally.

His attacker stepped forward to where he was sprawled across the table. He was dressed gothically, with high leather boots covering half of his leather pants, and a multi belted shirt hidden underneath a long trenchcoat. His face was chalk white, with blue veins pushing against the paper thin skin, reaching up past his dead lips and bloodshot eyes before tunnelling again around his hairline. His hair was slicked back and tied neatly into a small ponytail at the back, giving him a gentleman's flair, despite the rest of his attire.

He grabbed Peter by the back of the neck and hoisted him up like a bed owner holds a puppy, staring into the dome of his head. The gaze was not returned, the 'pet' too exhausted and resigned to death to care.

"This is the end, child." His voice was clipped, with the hint of slight impedement, caused by a set of teeth being too big for the mouth. His fangs. "The Frenchman does not forget child, and he always exacts his revenge"

His mouth opened into a garish half smile, preparing to bite. He leaned in on the broken man and his mouth gaped wider as he approached the neck. He was never able to begin the feast. His grip on the man slacked, letting him fall back to the table. A slight wheeze indicated he was not dead.

The attacker, on the other hand, certainly was. A small hole in the back of his head indicated the assault, and the eyeball sized hole on his forehead indicated the success. The wound smoked slightly as the man turned a dead grey from head to foot, before falling and breaking to pieces as he fell against the desk.

PBlade flicked open the case of his revolver, checking the ammunition. 5 more silver bullets were nestled against thier casings. He nudged it back in and holstered the gun with a spin. He nodded to either side of him, and his teammates spread out across the room, sweeping for any tracking devices or more opposition. PBlade moved straight forward, however, to where the body of Peter lay on his side, the slight rise and fall of his chest continuing proof that he was still hanging on. His head wobbled slightly and his eyes opened an incriment, a slit of dilated pupil peeing through. He mumbled a breath of nonsense, puncutated with a question mark, before giving up on speech.

"Peter Stewart, I presume?" PBlade said with a grin, leaning forward to scoop him up, "The name's PBlade, and I have to say, I think your parents made an excellent choice when naming you..."

TBC...

Greetings, this is Senior Member PBl--Ahem, excuse me...

Salutations, Ladies and Gentlmen, 'tis I, PBlade, here before you today to offer a tutorial, or perhaps an exchanging of methods, if you will, regarding those cool looking enhancements some of us have for our spectacle devices. Some, I know, already know how to do 'em, and some don't. This little guide is for both, to show how I do it, to teach some how to do it, and to exchange with others how they do it. Although this tutorial is one way of creating reflection, I know there will be others, so don't feel limited by it.

However, I will pay every person who uses this tutorial.*

So, without further rambling, I shall begin.

For this guide, I'll be using good old Terracus as my model, and his trusty System Shades as my base glasses. The image has been slightly enhanced already, but that has no bearing on any of this tutorial, I'm just picky. Feel free to use this image as a tryout image if you want to give it a go yourself.

What's that? Oh... He says Hello.

Well, to begin with, we'll start by duplicating the background layer, as it's always good to have something to fall back on. After that, we'll crack on by making sure the Shades themselves aren't too aliased. If they do have a bit of jagged egdge around them, just see to them with a delicate bit of smudging, at a small size, say about 5, on about 30-35% strength and 0% hardness. This process can take a while, as the bottom edge of the shades can look "wobbly" after smuding, but keep at it, and it'll be fine. And if it isn't working just go back to the old layer, and ignore the jaggies. They're probably not that bad anyway.

Once you're happy with how the glasses look, and all the aliasing has gone (Or whatever!) we can start to work on the shadows that the shades would cast on the face. So you'll need a new layer. So make one. Make one now. Then name it, if you wish.

Original, I know. And oh snap I didn't dupe the background layer...

Next, you have to make sure that you know where the light is coming from in the image, as it will dictate where the shadow falls. It's something you need to remember the entire way through, so don't forget, dammit!

I love diagrams. So much.

The next stage is to create the shadows that is cast. The two places that will always be shaded are the areas underneath the arms of the glasses, as they ... well they just do, alright? What you'll need to do is select that appropriately named new layer from before, take your polygonal lasso tool, and draw a clone of it it underneath, then fill it with black, like so:

Once you've done that, cook at Gas Mark 9 until golden brow.... Oh, sorry, wrong tutorial.

Once you've done that, you'll need deselect and get rid of your lasso constraints, and then hit it with a Gaussian blur at around 1.4 and watch the milk and honey roll in:

Then, using that as your starting point, continue to put shadows in all the places needed, I.E - The other arm, and where the afore mentioned light source casts a shadow. In my pic, the result is:

Viola. You've created the shadow! Now, we move onto the reflection itself!

I would advise against using a brush to create the base for the reflection, because it can be quite hard to work with and can create something of a bad looking effect. If you want a simple streak of light, I'd advise just brushing across the target area a few times with a very high strength dodge tool, to create a blast of white, and then
leave it at that.

I, on the other hand, will be using a stock screenshot I have of a cityscape downtown. Now I realise that, given the image I'm working with, it's completely out of context, but hey, I don't care.

First of all, find your stock image, resize it first, then copy and paste it into your current working image. Resize it appropriately and lower the Opacity so that you can see what you're doing. Then arrange it into a position that puts the area you want to reflect in the glasses, like so:

Then Duplicate the layer and hide one layer. That will be used for the other eye, but we're focusing on one at a time. Now you have everything you want in place, erase around the pane of the Shade so that you're left with the image on the interior, ready to be worked with.

Remember where the light is coming from at all times, remember, as it'll form the basis of the reflection. For the light and image I was working with, I chose these bevel and Emboss effects (below) to give the most realistic feel.

Once you're happy with the settings, you can play about with the Opacity of the layer, and smudge it into the corners a tad to make it look as real and effective as you can.

Once you're totally happy with one eye, you can reveal the hidden copy of your reflection image, and do the same for the other eye. One thing I've noticed, at least for me, is when dealing with bevel and emboss on multiple layers, the "Angle and Altitude" settings are universal across all layers, so adapting them in one layer will change the face of them all, therefore I would advise against meddling with them, especially with only one source of concentrated light in the image.

Once you're done with them both, you may sit back and bask in the glory you have created:

Collaborating Chaos. A sight as beautiful as it is horrendous.

But it raises the question; What do we really see?

For a while, my senses were too inept, too erratic to see the Matrix for what it was. So many years around the surface, exploring, visiting sites of human history, had their effect on me. I jacked into the Matrix, and saw only broken shells of buildings, destroyed signs, scarred landscapes. The Matrix was the victorious enemy and it appeared to me, at the time, as the defeated foe. It was bittersweet. On one hand I beleived we had won, that we had been victorious time and time again over the system. But conversely I was constantly reminded that we had nowhere to go, that the only existance we had was a broken husk of a world, ravaged by both man and Machine, cast into oblivion by those with the power to save and destroy.

It is an irony in itself that I show such disdain for my own kind. Regardless, I find it disgusting that some Operatives who I have fought alongside still see only through the sights of a rifle. Those who saw the Matrix for what it was before I was able to, they had the power to save from this prison, and yet they chose instead to bicker with one another, and fight. Always bringing death and misery, but never offerring hope.

And all this from the mind of an Operative they call mad. I sometimes believe the prognosis was wrong. Perhaps I'm saner than the average Operative. Perhaps I see the path forward, but cannot attain it. Or perhaps I do not want to, I'm as human as the next, driven by the quest for self glory and to build to destroy.

Collaborating Chaos. As beautiful as it is Horrendous.
-PBlade

Get your copy now!

...Albeit it with hideous facial tatoos.

So, who else got their full gear, be it white or black?

Log 1:

Was it madness? Who can truly say...

It can be said with a high degree of certainty that I wasn't in my right mind during my awakening process. In leui of the standard awakening and fairy tale "something's-not-right-with-the-world" backstory, I was given choice of freedom by that...or those--I suppose--which enslaved me my entire life, after I was witness to that which I should not have seen.

That which no human should have seen.

After the comparatively smooth extraction, the Machines saw that I was too erratic for their efficient, spotless method of operation, and so they bargained with Zion to have me handed over to them, so that they could do thier tests, and their rehabilitation, so that I could become "a noble and fierce warrior of Zion"

I sound jaded, I know. I suppose in a sense I am, in the sense that, throughout my years here i've seen enough to make the best of us keel, but in the face of it, i've done my duty.

And yet I know so little about my real past. I know of how it happened, I have myself to thank for that, but nothing of before. Nothing.

I know that my life after normality became the source of todays problems and my ... imperfections. My awakening, no matter how smooth, only exacerbated the problems caused by my final months as a bluepill. The mental scarring was permanent and irreversable, they said.

I thought nothing of it. The deluded opinion of a medical officer who valued himself more than everyone else did. But no, he was right. I was unprepared for what happened. I beleived myself so ferverently, above anyone elses opinions: The Doctor's, LostProphet's, The Council's. I began active Matrix duty, regardless of their prescriptions.

And here I am today, the culmination of my own ignorance. Insane, they say, and stubborn. But that's not a vision I remember of myself. I still beleive that the key of my past unlocks my future, unlocks my sanity... my normality. It's a beleif I relish, I cling to. It gets me from day to day, hour to hour, minute to minute. It's the reason I operate and why, despite the voice yelling in my head, I work against my fears, my enemies and my mind.

This beleif is the reason I am. The reason I struggle every day to try and peice together a Broken Memory. My Broken Memory.

-End Log.

Swamp an area no bigger than 50x50 meters with zombies unimaginable in number.

Ask Rarebit. SMILEY

I had a blast. Excellent climax to the halloween event.

Just something I whipped together in an hour after last night's fun.

You know the score: Opinions? Post 'em.

The life of the free, returned to bondage as martyrs, isn't all fine suits, bliss and ignorance. Not so at all...

External link.
I've been looking at some of the heavier enhancements people have been doing, and I thought it high time I had a go. Now it's been a long time since I did something heavy in PS, having been pretty inactive of late, leaving PS to mediocre sig jobs, so I don't know how i've done from the eyes of the observer. Thus, I implore you to look, think, and comment on whether you like it or not, and what you feel I can do to improve it.

Splash effects are something i'm not good at, at all, and I need to talk to either Sykin, Pyraci or anyone who knows, really, about creating that perfect effect. In the meantime, though, enjoy.

Cheers,
-PBlade.

Link.

"UK, September 6, 2006 - Sony Computer Entertainment Europe has announced the launch of PlayStation 3 in PAL territories will be delayed until March 2007. In an official statement Sony blamed the slippage on a lack of key components needed to manufacturer the consoles, adding, "the revision of the launch date in the SCEE territories is caused by the delay in the mass production schedule of the blue laser diode within the Sony Group, this affecting the timely procurement of key components to be utilised in PlayStation 3."

The delay will affect gamers in Europe, Russia, the Middle East, Africa and Australasia, who won't be able to officially get their hands on a PS3 until March next year. However, the Japanese and US launches of the PS3 remain unaffected, released on November 11 and November 17 respectively. Sony's plan to ship six million consoles globally by the end of the 2007 fiscal year also remains unchanged.

The blue laser diode is a key component of the PS3's Blu-Ray drive and the shortage is expected to affect other Blu-Ray products in Sony's line-up, not just PlayStation 3. However, with Microsoft claiming there'll be enough Xbox 360s to meet demand this Christmas and Nintendo's Wii expected to launch globally in the next couple of months, could the delay spell disaster for Sony? We'll bring you more news on the delay plus industry reaction throughout the day." - IGN.com

So, whaddaya make o' that?

Firstly! The Hallways themselves!

Then we ventured forth into the Org area itself. It's bloody massive! There are:

Dojos.

More dojos.

A shooting gallery.

THE STAR TREK ROOM!

Another Dojo.... for good measure.

A funky classroom thing!

A CUDDLY TOY!

Guns... lots of guns. (It had to be said)

After that, Dire and I decided to test out the dojo.....'s

We then tried to defeat the Agent that was sent to get us out.

We failed.

Fin.

This is the first attempt i've had at Poetry, so any feedback would be really, really appreciated:

The Operative's Existance.

The job we do requires volition,
So this, it seems, is stark admission,
That in the struggle, in the strife,
We lose the things that give us life,
Our compassion, and our greif,
Are usless weapons we must sheath,
So we may march, emotions null,
To do our duty to the full.

To meet, perchance, to fight,
- One sole moment, all one's might,
To take a blade within my grasp,
- I'd do as well with Knife or Asp,
A sport so dark in its endeavour,
Requires, surely, something clever,
Something cunning in its dealings,
Creating darker, hollow feelings,
So when, at last, the crimson flows,
The victor no emotion shows.

This is the very art of darkness,
A skillfull act, for all its starkness,
Taking life without remorse,
With such a simple show of force.

This is the path that we have chosen,
Now nothing's warm, yet nothing's frozen,
And when we're done, we get to mend,
Before the rythym starts again.

But next time luck may not us choose,
Still, one will win and one will lose.

Right. This is my one qualm with the patch notes, and although I should probably put this in the discussion thread, I though an open, civil, discussion about why it should not be done is appropriate as anything.

I know a great deal of the Community do not advocate the removal of money from past missions, which I take to be any crits we've done and the archive missions, right? The main qualm I have is that I do not see the purpose, not in any way, shape or form.

The main, or rather, only ways of earning cash in any quantity at the moment are:

Missioning.
Farming
Data Mining
Selling stuff... I guess.

Now, as we know, Data Mining, while a good getaway from Farming and Missioning, doesn't reap the same amount as Missioning extensively or farming. Also, farming and standard missions are, and have been for roughly 2 years, ridiculously, and I mean stupidly, boring. The only reprise, the only releif from the boredom, is to run archive, critical and contact missions, so we can get cash and learn some of the story to the game that we're playing.

The story is important and fun, yes, but the incentive for me to run the missions is equally about the money. Now don't get me wrong, if someone runs all of the archive missions, all 180-odd of them, then they're going to be insanely rich, but we as players don't just want insanely rich, they want an entertaining way of making money, and at present, removing money from past missions is removing the entertainment factor from money making.

So, in that verbage somewhere is a meaning, i'm asking, as a single play, to the devs, not to do this, and allow to make money from past missions as many times as we want. I know /sign petition threads are frowned upon, but if the people posting in this thread keep it constructive and meaningful, a message to the devs at how much this is a bad idea will hopefully be created.

Overly optimistic? Yup, Probably the most optimistic thing i've ever done with this game, but goddammit, I have to try.

-PBlade.

Zionbeleiver said:

"That's alright, I have had enough of you guys for way too long. Next time we find out information, don't even bother. We won't post it, we won't mention about and, and we will defenitly not tell any of you people about it. Have a nice day jerkfacewholewaggonmars!"

Really, it's no skin of our nose...

PBlade opened his eyes and found himself staring into the vast black expanse that surrounded him. There was no light, not even at his feet. If it wasn't for the solid feeling beneath him, he would have beleived himself floating in this... 'void'. He daren't move incase he was standing on the only surface.

He looked around himself, but the lack of anything whatsoever to focus on, his glances only served to disorientate him, causing "travel" sickness. He closed his eyes again, the orange of his upper eyelid finally giving him something to focus. A medium for his senses, at last.

'Where the hell am I' The thought had been flailing around his mind since he had 'awoken' to his place, accompanied by 'How did I get here?'. Both questions, as of yet, had been given no answer.

One last try. He opened his eyes once again, immediately closing them again, nearly blinded by the surpise of the stark, bright light that stung at his retinas. He slowly prised them back open, curiosity driving him, wanting to know where he had suddenly arrived, bolstering his pain threshold.

He squinted and looked around. He was outside, a familiar location, even at breif first glance. He remembered it well from his life as both a red and blue pill. The music from the nearby club; Messiah, crept from the open door - the fact is was so widely ajar raised questions to PBlade - the dull thud of the bass creating an almost noticable vibration in the walls around.

He was in Cheslea, he realised, if only from the club. Chelsea North Central, to be exact, he thought smugly. He could tell that by the hardli -

'What?! Where the hell is the Hardline??' His concern was well founded; Where the Hardline should have been - tucked into the indented corner of the Downtown Public Library - was a veiw of the dull gray, Edwardian wall, the bright green that had come to be the single greatest sight for many operatives, was gone, as was the box to which it belonged.

"A bit perplexing. Eh, PBlade?"

He was inclined to agree, but still curious to see the face of the vaguely familiar voice. Coming about, the knowledge came flooding back. Long flowing yosamaki trenchcoat, dazzling white button line matching his hair, spiked up and back perfectly. Thin, rectangular glasses perched just below the bridge of his nose so that he peered at PBlade half through them, and half over them. Some slight, tasteful stubble surrounded a trademark cheery half smile, half smirk. Stood there, a commanding presence as always, it could only be one man.

LostProphet.

PBlade opened his eyes and found himself staring into the vast black expanse that surrounded him. There was no light, not even at his feet. If it wasn't for the solid feeling beneath him, he would have beleived himself floating in this... 'void'. He daren't move incase he was standing on the only surface.

He looked around himself, but the lack of anything whatsoever to focus on, his glances only served to disorientate him, causing "travel" sickness. He closed his eyes again, the orange of his upper eyelid finally giving him something to focus. A medium for his senses, at last.

'Where the hell am I' The thought had been flailing around his mind since he had 'awoken' to his place, accompanied by 'How did I get here?'. Both questions, as of yet, had been given no answer.

One last try. He opened his eyes once again, immediately closing them again, nearly blinded by the surpise of the stark, bright light that stung at his retinas. He slowly prised them back open, curiosity driving him, wanting to know where he had suddenly arrived, bolstering his pain threshold.

He squinted and looked around. He was outside, a familiar location, even at breif first glance. He remembered it well from his life as both a red and blue pill. The music from the nearby club; Messiah, crept from the open door - the fact is was so widely ajar raised questions to PBlade - the dull thud of the bass creating an almost noticable vibration in the walls around.

He was in Cheslea, he realised, if only from the club. Chelsea North Central, to be exact, he thought smugly. He could tell that by the hardli -

'What?! Where the hell is the Hardline??' His concern was well founded; Where the Hardline should have been - tucked into the indented corner of the Downtown Public Library - was a veiw of the dull gray, Edwardian wall, the bright green that had come to be the single greatest sight for many operatives, was gone, as was the box to which it belonged.

"A bit perplexing. Eh, PBlade?"

He was inclined to agree, but still curious to see the face of the vaguely familiar voice. Coming about, the knowledge came flooding back. Long flowing yosamaki trenchcoat, dazzling white button line matching his hair, spiked up and back perfectly. Thin, rectangular glasses perched just below the bridge of his nose so that he peered at PBlade half through them, and half over them. Some slight, tasteful stubble surrounded a trademark cheery half smile, half smirk. Stood there, a commanding presence as always, it could only be one man.

LostProphet.

"Mr. Stewart, the details of your bluepill life are... curious." Agent Burns was delicate as always, "it is not information easily removed"

"I'm not asking for much, all I want is my old RSI back, the RSI I would have had if I hadn't been awakened in such as..." his voice became a strangled impersonation of the Agents, "...curious manner"

Burns' lip twitched into the most miniscule of movements that PBlade took as a snarl, "It is more of a task than you beleive it to be, Mr. Stewart: Our reports indicate you underwent severe mental trauma prior to your awakening, with some post traumatic mental problems arising after your awakening, the scarring to your cortex may be permanent." He paused, hesistant to admit "...Even we do not posess the technology to recreate the human brain - Primitive as it is" he added.

There was a moment of silence; contemplation time for PBlade, idle process time for the Agent. Finally, PBlade spoke with a quite confidence;

"I can take it"

The Agent made no gesture in respose, "You are sure? The process may be slightly... uncomfortable"

He nodded his confirmation. Burns rose a hand to his ear, mutterring "Subject is positive, initiate image alteration program." he glanced back at PBlade, "As I said, this may be slightly uncomfortable, Mr. Stewart" he looked away again "Initiate"

Searing pain burst through PBlade's body with no build up. He wretched in pain and dropped to his hands and knees, coughing and splutterring nothing but air. A pressure began building in the bridge of his nose, so great that he flung his hands to his face, grasping in a futile attempt to quell the source. He fell forward to the ground, writhing the floor in pain.

The Agent simply touched his ear again "Subject is undergoing severe sensations of pain, is the process working correctly?"

PBlade let out a scream and slumped. The pain left his body and the pressure in his forehead evaporated immediately. Silence.

Burns took a step forward, his hand no leaving his ear, "Life signs are.... present but unstable. Physical appearance remains the same, program failure. The scarring is indeed permanent." He took another step forward.

"That's far enough, we'll be taking our captain from here" the voice rang out from the other side of the warehouse that PBlade had selected for the operation.

Aleixandre, a crewmember, stepped from the shadow of a container, flanked by Direwolf, another crewmember. Behind them emerged another; Psudo - Not a crewmate, but a faction member non the less. He echo'd Aleixandre, "Yeah, I think you'll find that he's the property of the Children of Zion"

Agent Burns stepped back with a shrug, "He came of his own accord, humans. We have done nothing without his express permission" he turned towards the door, "He is your concern now. Goodbye."

----

"He's comatosed, i'm afraid." The medical operative delivered the news grimly, "He has sufferred severe mental trauma from the experience, and we beleive he may have relapsed into the same mental state as after his awakening, a state we thought previously eradicated"

PBlade lay, hovering in midair in the center of the medical construct, surrounded by the 3 operatives and the medical operative, the bright white of the medical construct a direct contradiction to the mood among the operatives.

"We'll keep him jacked in here so that we can monitor him as closely as possible, but there's not much more we can, other than keep him safe. Whatever battle he's fighting in his mind, he has to fight it alone"

The operatives nodded, and were gone from the construct in an instant, leaving PBlade, floating in midair, to do whatever it was he had to do.

Alone.

- Fin.

"Mr. Stewart, the details of your bluepill life are... curious." Agent Burns was delicate as always, "it is not information easily removed"

"I'm not asking for much, all I want is my old RSI back, the RSI I would have had if I hadn't been awakened in such as..." his voice became a strangled impersonation of the Agents, "...curious manner"

Burns' lip twitched into the most miniscule of movements that PBlade took as a snarl, "It is more of a task than you beleive it to be, Mr. Stewart: Our reports indicate you underwent severe mental trauma prior to your awakening, with some post traumatic mental problems arising after your awakening, the scarring to your cortex may be permanent." He paused, hesistant to admit "...Even we do not posess the technology to recreate the human brain - Primitive as it is" he added.

There was a moment of silence; contemplation time for PBlade, idle process time for the Agent. Finally, PBlade spoke with a quite confidence;

"I can take it"

The Agent made no gesture in respose, "You are sure? The process may be slightly... uncomfortable"

He nodded his confirmation. Burns rose a hand to his ear, mutterring "Subject is positive, initiate image alteration program." he glanced back at PBlade, "As I said, this may be slightly uncomfortable, Mr. Stewart" he looked away again "Initiate"

Searing pain burst through PBlade's body with no build up. He wretched in pain and dropped to his hands and knees, coughing and splutterring nothing but air. A pressure began building in the bridge of his nose, so great that he flung his hands to his face, grasping in a futile attempt to quell the source. He fell forward to the ground, writhing the floor in pain.

The Agent simply touched his ear again "Subject is undergoing severe sensations of pain, is the process working correctly?"

PBlade let out a scream and slumped. The pain left his body and the pressure in his forehead evaporated immediately. Silence.

Burns took a step forward, his hand no leaving his ear, "Life signs are.... present but unstable. Physical appearance remains the same, program failure. The scarring is indeed permanent." He took another step forward.

"That's far enough, we'll be taking our captain from here" the voice rang out from the other side of the warehouse that PBlade had selected for the operation.

Aleixandre, a crewmember, stepped from the shadow of a container, flanked by Direwolf, another crewmember. Behind them emerged another; Psudo - Not a crewmate, but a faction member non the less. He echo'd Aleixandre, "Yeah, I think you'll find that he's the property of the Children of Zion"

Agent Burns stepped back with a shrug, "He came of his own accord, humans. We have done nothing without his express permission" he turned towards the door, "He is your concern now. Goodbye."

----

"He's comatosed, i'm afraid." The medical operative delivered the news grimly, "He has sufferred severe mental trauma from the experience, and we beleive he may have relapsed into the same mental state as after his awakening, a state we thought previously eradicated"

PBlade lay, hovering in midair in the center of the medical construct, surrounded by the 3 operatives and the medical operative, the bright white of the medical construct a direct contradiction to the mood among the operatives.

"We'll keep him jacked in here so that we can monitor him as closely as possible, but there's not much more we can, other than keep him safe. Whatever battle he's fighting in his mind, he has to fight it alone"

The operatives nodded, and were gone from the construct in an instant, leaving PBlade, floating in midair, to do whatever it was he had to do.

Alone.

- Fin.

The written story - Part One soon.