NewYorkGiantsFans.com

Trophy Scars - Assasin. Assasins.

Uploaded by: GuitarHero
Video Description:
Trophy Scars live at YFC.
They played this by request.
(rofl sorry, i need to put some english stuff up here
The character James' homelessness due to his drug choice, then ultimate triumph over the addiction, is a good example of the current issue with drug related homelessness and how it is more or less a choice rather than a disease.
- 88 percent of homeless men & 84 percent of homeless women had an alcohol use disorder within a year before becoming homeless
-homeless who use cocaine almost unanimously use crack cocaine
-doctor carol s. north says drug & alcohol abuse is a major contributor to homelessness
(above from http://alcoholism.about.com/b/2004/12/13/substance-abuse-growing-in-homeless-population.htm)
"Chief? Chief!" An urgent woman's voice flowed through the speakers inside the battle-scarred helmet of the Chief.
He made a few grunting noises as he came to, & a sudden rush of cold mercury slammed into his brain stem, slowing on impact and sliding up through his mind. John 117, AKA Master Chief, one of the last remaining Spartan II's, laid face up in the rubble of an old forerunner construct.
"Chief! Are you with me?!" The same urgent voice came through the speakers, the intensity rising with each call of his rank.
"Huh... er, yeah. I'm here Cortana." His voice sounded groggy. No matter how many drugs and enhancements he received as a child, or how high-tech your armour is, when you're clipped by a covenant dropship's wing, you're going to feel it when you finally get back up. That is, if you get back up.
"Cortana."
"Yes Chief?"
"Where are we?"
"Well... I'm not quite sure. After the dropship hit you, it jostled me out of the back of your helmet slightly. I lost all contact for a while."
"Hmm." Master Chief looked at his radar for the immediate area for the first time. It actually showed some yellow dots which designated the locations of allies according to the FOF(Friend or Foe) colour system.
The chief looked around for any weaponry, but found none. His equipment had flown off from the impact of the ship.
"Well, looks like we have some friends nearby. Let's hope they aren't just active FOF tags on dead bodies," the chief said in his mostly monotonous voice.
As the chief got up and began to make his way towards the nearest ally dot, he noticed a large splash of purple Jackal blood on the ground. This gave the chief hope. This means that the allies can at least put up a fight.
Without thinking about certain possibilities, the chief began a light sprint towards the dot. Now, keep in mind, he didn't think of all the possibilities.
His stride was quickly cut short as he ducked down and instantly slid to the shadow of a large tree. He noticed that there was no ally, but instead a brute.
The yellow friendly tag indicated a brute, which means every other friendly in the immediate area was also a covenant member.
This was a bad situation. An impossibly situation.
That is, if you aren't Master Chief.
The chief knew if he was going to find out where he was, and if there were any allies left on this planet, he was going to have to get some weaponry. Thankfully, the brute he had first run to was mostly isolated in a miniature clearing of the foliage and fully equipped, save that he had discarded his uncomfortable armor.
It was decided; the chief would take out the brute, relieve him of his spiker pistol and brute shot, and make his way out to a safer area.
Unfortunately, still being slightly dazed from the impact of a ship, his sense weren't completely with him. He had failed to keep watch on his radar, which let a methane-breathing grunt to stumble on his location.
"Duh-duh... duh-duh... DEMOOOON!" the grunt screamed in absolute horror. Demon was a name most Spartans had received from the covenant troops for their ability to take on entire battalions of soldiers and come out mostly unscathed.
The grunt ran in the opposite direction, going on about how he and his "brethren" will all die at the hands of the demon, and that they don't stand a chance.
Normally the chief would have been able to silence the grunt, but he had no firearms yet, so he had to move. He turned to his left and took off; trying his best to tear as little foliage as possible which would leave behind tracks, but that is somewhat difficult when you weigh over 700 lbs of just armour, not factoring in his normal human weight.

Related Videos

Troph Scars-Assistant. Assistants Music Video	Alligator. Alligators. - Trophy Scars	Trophy scars Jerry's my name...
trophy scars - apparition. apparitions.	Trophy Scars - Alchemists	Vena Amori and Trophy Scars Interview

Comments for this video: Show || Hide


Tell a friend:

1. Your name:
2. Your friend's name:
3. Your friend's e-mail:
4. Your message:

URL
Embed Code