Offline Battle

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« Reply #30 on: May 30, 2020, 04:14:48 am »
>>> Supreme

In one of your first posts, I believe I know what's causing strikethrough in your text.

When you try to modify (or edit), look for stray brackets embedded into your text that look like this ----->  [ s ]

This is why spacing between your paragraphs is practical; when the composition of your text so cluttered , the HTML code may be detecting unwanted commands.
« Last Edit: May 30, 2020, 06:40:31 am by Battle »

Offline supreme illuminati

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« Reply #31 on: June 26, 2020, 08:44:33 pm »



In a gesture which happened only once every 5 years? Half of the richest, most cruel and most exclusive married duo of flesh dealers in all of Libya...the incomparably cruel Fatimah, wife of the soullesly greedy Amil...personally opened the forty foot tall, richly ornamented double doors to the personal palace she shared with Amil. At a gesture from Fatimah, hundreds of Afrikan slaves poured in to the massive welcoming hall from every corner. These Afrikans carried very beautiful Old Arabic palanquins upon their muscular shoulders and bade the glittering crowd that Fatimah entertained at this auction of Afrikan flesh...the richest, most elite, most depraved, most powerful slave buyers and slave owners in this entire portion of the consent to be lifted by powerfully thewed Afrikan men and women into the sumptuous palanquins and be carried like Sultans to the interior secret compound where the auction proper would be held. Within this compound, they would be carried to their richly appointed, ornamented suites from which they would lounge and have their every need and wish attended to by utterly compliant, docile Afrikans as these pampered, privileged, malicious Arabs purchased hundreds of their bloodkin.

Soullessly greedy Amil never failed to clear less than half a billion euros at each of these auctions, and felt certain he would clear 2 billion euros ere the culmination of this night's auction came.

"...this girl will satiate all your desires, clean your home, raise your children! She is the perfect helper and companion! Let us start the bidding at $19."


It was understood that all purchases were in units of "ten thousand euros", so $19 was really $190,000.00 Euros. All purchases here were of premium price. Infinitely greedy Amil would not have otherwise, neither would he survive the wrath of incomparably cruel Fatimah if he in any way varied from this formula which Fatimah approved.


"...he is strong as any beast of the field, likes to work...and won't eat the profit margin of your crops, like your beasts will do! Do I see 12? Yes. Do I see 14? Yes, we have FourTEEN!..."


"This group of West Africans were just wasting away living free in their own countries. Now they are here to work for YOU. A whole group of 30 strong, healthy workers who'll labor for you for the rest of their lives...doing all the work you require to be done... FOR FREE! Do I see 45?"


Welcome to Tripoli, a place that all of Afrikan blood should avoid...because these Libyans literally enslave the Afrikans in their country.







A whip cracked...a literal. Old time. Colonial whip cracked. Opening up the flesh on the back of one Afrikan man, and ripping a nasty bloody crevasse across the face of another Afrikan man.

"I am not one of them! I am not one of them! I am one of YOU! Do not strike me! I cannot bear the pain!!" Richard Manetho screamed pitifully. " I will have your INTESTINES for this!" Bobo's passionate fury drowned out the simpering, totally abjectly terrified howls of Richard Manetho. " I will pull out the entrails of all of your loved ones one by one, and make you watch me boil them! I'll force feed them their own intestines, make you watch...then make you partake of their entrails, too! I will crush your bones and their bones to powder, then piss and sh*t on them as I piss and sh*t on YOU! Then I will capture, enslave and spend years carving to bone splinters everyone in the villages where you two were born, for you daring to affront me so!" These West Afrikans sobbed and screamed and pleaded.

The Arab slavers had seen this sorry scene many times, and it caused them to hate the Afrikans even more. These two men were almost certainly like dozens of their ilk who found it more lucrative to betray their own race and curry favor with the Arab ruling class by facilitating the enslavement of their own people. Inevitably, these West Afrikan traitors would grow overdaring and transgress in some way; perhaps inadvertently insulting their Arab masters. Perhaps deliberately shorting one Arab master as they attempted to switch their loyalties and goods to another Arab master; only to be caught and punished by their former Arab master. Perhaps failing...for whatever fulfill their daily quota of Afrikans to be enslaved, and thus are themselves made into slaves. Whatever the reason? They failed and found themselves sold into the same groaning horrible slavery that they so willing betrayed their own people for and heartlessly consigned their own people to suffer.

Arab enslavers took particular delight in whipping these turncoat Afrikan lackeys to death, as the ultimate lesson teaching what befalls those who don't instantly and completely submit to the every whim of their Arab master, superior and better.

No matter how they screamed, threatened, pleaded, howled in agony; no matter how they sought to flee, roll on the ground, beg for mercy, vomit blood...these Arabs whipped them and redoubled the whipping when these inept lackeys wept and bellowed in the most pitiful ways for mercy. These Arabs absolutely hated all traitors. Especially monkey Afrikan traitors.

Once they had been whipped into horrible deaths, these Arabs laughingly urinated and defecated upon their bodies...then kicked their bodies into The Auction Pit.

The Auction Pit is a large square pit dug into the ground wherein a few hundred Africans packed like sardines had been so sandblasted with cruelty that they barely seemed alive. They didn't stir or move or make a sound unless a whip cracked or gun fired. They didn't move or stir as half a dozen Arab men fell upon, battered and raped a boy and a girl barely in their teens, and even worse...neither did the boy and girl victim stir or make a sound as they were victimized. Again. For more than the hundredth time in a month. They...who fought so fiercely for a month straight of capture...had been so thoroughly brutalized by the chattel slavery regime of literally nonstop psychological and physical torture, that they had almost every spark of life within them extinguished.

The whip cracked again. "أربعة وعشرون أخرى....Another twenty four!" came the order from the Chief of the Staging Crew.

Arab slavers roughly seized 24 Africans and forced them into a column packed with despair and chains. A month ago? If any of these Arabs or anyone else...Skrulls, Inhumans, Celestials, whatever...had dared to crack anything more offensive than a joke at any one of these Afrikans? Any one of these Afrikans would have crushed them like a trash compactor. Despite all signs to the contrary, these Arabs knew from bitter experience that any of these Afrikans could have a flashback centering them yet again on who and what they are, causing them to erupt and kill any nearby Arabs. This Afrikan soul and pride would spontaneously ignite in all Afrikans within sight or earshot, and these Afrikans...utterly docile slaves a microsecond ago...would become unstoppable rampaging vengeance wreaking flesh and blood typhoons a microsecond later. Many times these Afrikans drowned entire towns in flash floods of freedom. That's why The Auction Pit was surrounded by batteries of heavy artillery in 3 directions. Rather slaughter them all at any hint of resistance and start over again, than let them be free.



Just as the column of 24 cleared The Auction PIt, another order came from The Chief of the Staging Crew: "انتظر...Wait!"

The slavers and West Afrikans stopped on command. The slavers were impatient, irked. This was one of the perpetual annoyances in this otherwise very dangerous but very lucrative chattel slavery business. They were oftentimes forced to wait, because some potential buyer for these West Afrikan pieces of trash suddenly tried to renegotiate at the last second a better deal than that which they agreed to. Such tactics almost never worked, but instead resulted in an INCREASE upon the agreed upon price. But in the interim? There was nothing for them to do until The Chief of the Staging Crew gave the command to deliver the Afrikans to their new owners and masters.

Two Arabs decided to distract themselves during this wait. They seized the young but voluptuous West Afrikan girl, and brutally raped her again. Subjecting her to every indignity their depraved minds could imagine. They were laughing and spat on her as they arose from her defiled body...

...they stopped laughing when both of their heads literally vaporized into small clouds spraying mist, blood, brains, tissue and bone everywhere.

The bodies of the two Arab men fell to the ground, dark red heart's blood pouring copiously from the stumps that was their necks.

There was no clap of gunfire. No warning CRACK! of a single sniper shot. No explanation for what happened was at hand. The only reason that the Afrikans in the immediate vicinity knew something was wrong is because several of them were bathed in the blood and gore of the murdered Arabs...and the heavy thud of the two Arabs' falling bodies turned heads.

Consternation struck the Afrikans immediately at the sight of the felled Arabs. Not because the Afrikans gave any part of a damn about these evil men; all of these Afrikans combined were still too decent as human beings to be able to conceive of even half of the kind of Hell they actually deserved. That fact speaks volumes of good things about the deep goodness rooted into their very souls' construction. However, these Afrikans did very fervently wish death upon their captors. Therefore? The consternation of these Afrikans came not, as said before, about any kind of genuine concern for the well being of those evil beings, but rather from the sure knowledge that the high powered dreaded weapons being trained on them from three directions would unleash terrible death upon them because the two Arabs fell murdered in their vicinity. The Afrikans scurried and crouched and ducked, heart beats pounding, icy terror bubbling in their veins, as they dashed to and fro seeking to avoid the horrific rain of gunfire that would cut them down and fling their entrails far and wide...

..silence for 30 seconds. No gunfire. No death.

...the Afrikans slowed and stared about. Looked questioningly at each other...What is going on?

Suddenly. From the north lip of The Slave Pit. Two strong young voices. "Mutanena. Muna da 'yanci! ...My People! We are Free!"

Dressed in gleaming silver high tech battle armor. Carrying an Afrikan body shield wrought of extraordinary metal, a truly terrible spear crafted of some light weight but fearsome high tech material gripped by her left hand, and formidable looking disruptor pistol at her budding left hip. Her beautiful face wreathed with the battle fury of her women warrior ancestors. It was the young girl whom the collective Afrikans saw get raped mere minutes ago by the evil Arabs. Except...she was somehow completely and totally not raped. Unharmed.

"Yanzu muna ɗaukar fansa ga mugayen maƙiyanmu!...Now we are taking revenge on our evil enemies!" The young boy. Who had been raped. But like the young girl...was somehow not raped at all. He too was dressed in identical high tech armor, and weaponry.

The assembled Afrikans were struck dumb by a combination of hope, gladness that these youths were both not dead and not raped... and swamped by utter confusion. They cast their glance upon the thoroughly raped bodies of the young boy and young girl in The Slave Pit with them...who somehow were now NOT raped and sheathed in gleaming war gear.

The bodies of the young boy and girl still lay upon the ground, defiled and raped to death...and before the very eyes of the assembled Afrikans, the bodies of the young boy and woman transmuted into the fully adult Arab bodies of The Staging Chief and his assistant, the only two people slightly less evil and greedy than Fatimah and Adil themselves. It was they whom had been defiled and raped to death by their very own flunkies, who followed their own orders to inadvertently inflict horrible murder upon themselves.

That transformation of flesh and bone before their very eyes sent each and every one of the Afrikans flying from The Slave Pit...heedless of their conditioned fear of the high caliber weapons menacing them for over a month...where they not only came face to face with the astonishing sight of their youngest members...the boy and the girl...garbed in high tech garments and weapons of war, exuding the unconquerable spirit of Afrikan warriors, but they were greeted by yet another astonishing sight:





 "I bet you're wondering what the Hell's going on," D'Ciggs said flashing that easy roguish smile of his. D'Ciggs deliberately used the primarily  the language of the Imazighen miscalled Berber, the non-Arabic local language of the Black Afrikans of this area. Even his choice of language was pure defiance of all things Arab-Libyan. "Fear not. This conversation and every single sound we make has been shielded from the ears of enemies due to the localized Vibranium field I erected on us here. Outside this Vibranium field I erected, we are invisible to the human and technological eye.

So let me explain what's going on, here.

We rescued this boy and girl a month ago; the day they and you were captured by these Arabs. We trained these youths in warfare after we forced flesh transmuters and speech halting vocal chips on The Staging Chief and his compatriot there. The Skrulls looked even more shocked then you did just now when they discovered that we tricked them with this same technology some 13 years ago when they invaded Earth.

I'm D'Ciggs, leader of the Kifalme Mashujaa Heshima of Wakanda.

Recognize these fools?" D'Ciggs gestured to the two men...race traitors who helped the Arabs enslave other Afrikans...who'd been whipped to death in full view of the Afrikans in The Slave PIt. The assembled Afrikans rumbled their assent. "Look again," D'Ciggs encouraged.

Before their very eyes, the two race traitors transformed into other people, just as the boy and girl transformed into The Staging Chief and his sadistic assistant. One man...the Afrikan...they recognized right away. He was the Mayor of the city that most of these West Afrikans either formerly lived in or passed through on their way to handling other business Every one of the present Afrikans had been waylaid in the Afrikan Mayor's city. The Afrikans to a man had no idea who the Arabic person was.

"This guy that you don't recognize?" D'Ciggs supplied helpfully. "Was the Minister of the Interior for one of several factions claiming to be the legit government of Libya. This Minister specifically made plans with your Mayor to supply him with Afrikan bodies for the thriving and hungering slave trade in Libya. Traditionally, we Afrikans have never tolerated such sedition against our race. Therefore? Both of these abominable traitors have been punished according to Traditional Law. So have the men arming the heavy artillery brought here to murder all of you, should you show one spark of resistance to their will.

Hey, you don't have to jump and scurry from those floating, zooming about hi tech fist sized spheres crafted from black hypertech metal. They're IDANUN WARAKA..."Eyes of Healing". They're a little startling when you're not used to them, but they're harmless. Right now? They're scanning your vitals and are about to apply PsiKaTech healing fields tailored down to the DNA of each of you. Despite a month of literally life threatening and mind traumatizing maltreatment, you'll be in the best shape of your lives in just a few minutes. So...when you're done getting patched up? What say we show these Arabs all about the way Afrikans avenge themselves on evil beings who've affronted us, like the unstoppable vengeance wreaking flesh and blood typhoons we are so justly known and feared worldwide for being?"

Adil. Infinitely greedy Adil. Was having the time of his life. The dazzlingly appointed palace filled with the depraved, voracious, soulless, glitterati of flesh barterers and buyers collectively made him 2.1 billion euros that night, before midnight...fulfilling his most profitable projections. Fatimah. Cruel Fatimah. Smiled evilly at Adil. She was never glad...being an extremely bloodthirsty sociopath and psychopath, such emotions like "gladness" and "love" were impossible for her... but she was tonight as close to being very glad that she could be. She was even faintly close to being able to pretend tha she was glad that he was very glad. He deserved to be happy this night as he slurped the million dollar cocktails he loved, and which she carefully poisoned so that he would be dead and she would inherit all of their worldly goods in six months.

She could see the rows of palanquins below her on the beautifully appointed floors below, with langorous and lecherous activities and other goings on. Carefully attended to by totally attentive, wholly submissive Afrikan slaves. She would never leave the slave business; not only because it provided her the profits to live the kind of extravagant lifestyle she deserved, but also because her bloodthirst required at least three score brutal murders of randomly chosen slaves per month. If not for her connections made from her slave trading business, her skyrocketing bodycount may attract the minor annoyance of international law enforcement.

Her first clue that this night would not be what she hoped was when the grand east doors to her personal palace were knocked off the hinges by an incredible surging throng of Afrikans sheathed in spectacular hi tech armor, mowing down her soldiers with hi tech weapons the likes of which she never saw even on the sci fi shows she religiously watched [ which is the only thing besides deliciously agonizing tortures unto death that she ensured was religiously observed about her ].

« Last Edit: June 26, 2020, 09:31:59 pm by supreme illuminati »
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Offline supreme illuminati

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« Reply #32 on: June 26, 2020, 08:50:45 pm »
At this signal, her docile Afrikan slaves...the very slaves whom had whisked the glitterati below her into this sumptous suite of multilevel rooms of fantasy and pleasure fulfilled...began ruthlessly murdering the Arabs in their palanquins.

These tortures and vengeances. This bloodlust and bloodletting. This was the infamous wrath of aggrieved Afrikans. That which legend said Afrikans would unleash when outraged and defamed and victimized beyond all that had gone before would awaken in the soul of the Afrikan a wrathful transformation which legend described as them becoming: "unstoppable vengeance wreaking flesh and blood typhoons..."

Fatimah felt it to be BEAUTIFUL!! And she was pissed that she didn't think of it first.

She would keep this night's gorgeous rivers of red in her memory as she rebuilt elsewhere, in order to improve upon it. Make even more gorgeous nights of flowing crimson for her own pleasure.

After she got the hell out of Libya.

All of this took fractions of a second for her to see and assess. As she read what was going on around her, she was already moving and unsheathing her weapons. Her bodyguards were already swarming to her.

Adil's decapitated head was already in her lap before she could arise from her seat.

She brushed Adil's head off her lap the way she would brush off a crumb, or smooth a wrinkle from her dress.

The entrance to her personal suite of rooms was filled by three figures. All Afrikans. An extraordinary looking man sporting some kind of hypertech sleeve on his muscular right arm brandished with spectacular swashbuckling skill a red energy sheathed, insanely sharp blade. His left fist fired with deadly ambidextrous skill a gleaming high tech energy pistol; and none of the foregoing was nearly as beautifully lethal as the fearsomely roguish, intensely charismatic smile he wore on his handsome dark chocolate face. He made shots that seemed humanly impossible as if they were as easy as falling off a log. Unbeknownst to her, D'Ciggs...the man she was being astonished by...was by far the greatest non-Heart Shape Herb imbibing shot and weapons master on the continent of Afrika. He is the first and only person to beat BOTH Hawkeyes in archery contests using their favored bows [ even though Shuri...his twin and his favorite person on Earth...ruthlessly teased him that the only reason he beat Kate Bishop the girl Hawkeye is because she was too distracted and bebothered by his hot bod to go all out to defeat him on the archery range. When he loudly and energetically protested this conclusion of hers, she said: "Tell me, twin brother, that Kate didn't bed you on her first shot at you. That she didn't hit the target perfectly, as Hawkeyes are known to do!" D'Ciggs immediately switched the topic, to gales of laughter from Shuri and the KMH. ]


 Flanking him were two Afrikan boy, one girl...teenagers with attitudes as deadly and keen as the spears they spun and danced with until the spear points caught fire from the ambient light and rained down death upon her soldiers like sharpened streaking meteor swarms.

Well. Her soldiers may be falling to them, but Fatimah WOULD NOT fall to the Afrikan Pink and Red Power Rangers.






Surrounded by her last coterie of bodyguards and brandishing her heavily modified personal bullpup SMG of choice




Fatimah swiftly evacuated to a shaft of a stairwell case known only to herself. Her bodyguards thought that she'd led them to an obscure library room to hole up and perhaps wait out their enemies, or make their last stand when Fatimah made a series of occult gestures at a lit candle in their room, and a section of the east wall of their room opened up. Some of her bodyguards led the way through...

...and were blown back amid a shower of sunlight colored energy.

Fatimah didn't know what a plasma erg weapon was,but she knew that the woman who stepped through her supposedly secret passageway [ and began mowing down her bodyguards with such offhanded ease that she switched from the scarifying rifle, to her decapitating sword, to empty hand attacks just to fail in her attempts to make slaughtering her soldiers not be boring ] was an expert with whatever hypertech rifle thing she bore...and was even more deadly proficient with her sword and empty hands.

Fatimah knew immediately that this Afrikan was the finest warrior she'd ever laid eyes on. And this Afrikan? Would be the last human being she saw before she died. But Fatimah raised her bullpup and fired off half a clip at this Afrikan warrior, anyway. Fatimah wasn't dying at the hands of The Power Rangers, and she wasn't falling even to this fine warrior without a hard fight.




The finest warrior she'd ever seen offhandedly parried literally every bullet Fatimah fired at her with her sword...a feat defying everything she knew of physics and rational thought. This fine warrior? Disarmed Fatimah of her bullpup SMG. Kicked Fatimah so hard to her stomach that Fatimah felt that her larger intestines had been booted clean out of her anal aperture. Fatimah dropped to her knees, her forehead knocking hard on the marble floor, both of her arms subconsciously wrapping around the pain of her stomach, as she wretched for air.

With all the strength she had left, Fatimah was barely able to gurgle: "Who..?" before projectile vomit spewed from her lips to smear the nearest corpse of one of her bodyguards.

"I'm Zari, daugher of Zuni. Battle Expert. Of the Kifalme Mashujaa Heshima of Wakanda."

Of course. Wakanda. That makes sense of all that has happened...and would have excited fear in Fatimah's heart, if she was capable of fear. Or had a heart.

Fatimah couldn't speak...she had not the strength. But the glare she put on Zari perfectly communicated what she thought.

"You want me to kill you and be done with it. Guess what, you evil troll? I'm not doing what you want... Fatimah" This Zari smiled at Fatimah's endlessly offended facial expression, deeply enjoying--and arrogantly letting Fatimah see that--this Zari had invaded her personal privacy to such an extent that this Zari somehow knew close hold information showing that Fatimah found any Afrikan addressing her at all without Fatimah's invitation she has literally never extended at any point in her life... to be boundlessly offensive. Furthermore,somehow this Zari clearly knew that Fatimah--to the depths of that rotten empty hole that was the closest she had to a soul--found an Afrikan addressing her with such disdain and familiarly using her first name to be beyond her mind's ability to conjure into any fevered night terror, and physically beyond her body's capacity to bear. She almost swooned outright from hatred.

"But I do have a gift for you...Fatimah  ..."  This Zari was liking this too much. "Here's your gift..." and Zari lifted her chin in a gesture that said:" Look behind you."

Warily and slowly, painfully changing her position so that she could see both this Zari and the space behind her, Fatimah complied.

The two teenagers...the Power Rangers... and the man stood in the door leading to this room that she sealed and thought untraceable before she opened the shaft staircase which should have provided her a clean getaway to the helicopter, personal submarine and personal underground bullet train car she had stashed for just such emergencies. The shaft staircase which instead spewed upon her this Zari.

She glared at the man. She hated him ferociously. Had he been her slave? She would have forced him to pleasure her, then subjected him to endless intricate torments after she had taken all the pleasure she wanted from him. And these monkey children? This baboon boy and gorilla girl? These...despicable...Power Rangers..?

The boy and the girl twirled their weapons menacingly. The girl. She stepped forward to glare deeply into Fatimah's eyes.

"No," Fatimah thought. "Not like this. Not with this intolerable disrespect..!!"

And the the way of girls and women exactly what Fatimah as a woman was thinking. And she said: "Ah oh, ku mugayen kare na mata! Yana da lokacin Morphin! Oh YES, you evil BITCH! It's Morphin Time!"

Fatimah somehow found her voice and screamed in rage as they fell upon her.



"And now what?" Gaddo, the young boy, Hausa high school child and fighter from Nigeria, asked D'Ciggs and Zari. "Where do we go now? What do we do, now?"

"First," D'Ciggs replied. "We destroy every vestige of slavery, every kernel of corruption, avenge every last wrongdoing...and construct a strong, stable government focused on Berber people and Berber representation. Berber control of Libya's massive resources."

"How do we do that?" the girl Anaishe of Zimbabwe wanted to know. "We have not the resources or organization for such things."

"You have more than you know, children." Zari informed Anaishe and Gaddo. "You will not be the current leaders of the current events, because you are too young. But you will be the vanguard of the next leaders. It will be for you to further the work as adults that you have embarked upon as children and worked side by side with the other adults...the hundreds and soon millions of adults...who rose with you to overthrow the chaos and self immolating rage that is consuming Libya now. As for the resources and organization..?" Zari trailed off.

And D'Ciggs picked up the narrative seamlessly. "...we Wakandans will help your able, noncorrupt adults...those who are with us now in the revolution...erect institutions and fair governance according to your local lights. We will supply technology, weapons, soldiers, doctors, teachers, healers, hospitals, water, food, shelter, clothing, and all that you might need. Further, we will teach you how to operate and create these things on your own. We will help you acquire your unquestioned, unthreatened freedom. Then we will leave you to your own devices."

"You will LEAVE us?" Gaddo stared incredulously at Zari, momentarily too stunned to gaze raptly at her beauty as he usually did. "Demand nothing of us in return, after such great expenditure of resource and lifeblood on our soil?"

"Hard to believe," Anaishe said, looking directly into D'Ciggs' eyes.

"You know what else is hard to believe?" D'Ciggs queried. "The Pink and Red Ranger slew Fatimah, The Wicked Witch of Libya."

All burst into laughter.

"We will definitely take our leave of you once you have achieved your goals. We have our very lives invested in each other, so it's to our ADVANTAGE AND BEST INTEREST to strengthen the new Black Libya...a proud and fitting return to continuing the legacy of the Original Black Land sometimes called Phoenicia that existed for thousands of years and was a magnificent civilization before the word "Libya" was ever coined. Furthermore...worry not about lives and resources lost. Our resources are practically inexhaustible. As for lives lost? We haven't lost a single warrior to Outworlders in their primitive "gun wars" literally EVER. In fact, the last warriors we lost in battle were a handful...battling The Skrulls a dozen years ago. Whereas we destroyed their ENTIRE invading force."

"What of Doom?" Queried Gaddo. "That was ten years ago or so..."

"Yes," Anaishe seconded Gaddo. "We saw many Wakandans fall to Doom's Doombots as these horrible rampaging inventions held the majority of the world hostage."

"Doombots are limited adversaries," Zari sniffed. "Us? Falling to them? The very idea is beneath contempt."

"We merely took our flesh transmuters and affixed their tech variants to whatever Doombots entered our vicinity..." D'Ciggs began.

" the Doombots were battling themselves, while being fooled into thinking they were battling Wakandans!..." Gaddo finished.

"While we laughed and laughed at them," Zari confirmed.

"So this is what you must do," D'Ciggs continued. "You and the hundreds who were so brilliant and brave in battle against Fatimah and Adil are to hop in the transport waiting for you below...piloted by my friend Battle Star...whereupon you will be taken to the East section of this city. To this specific address. Show them this emblem. There all of you will find several thousand of your countrymen and countrywomen already geared for war, well stocked with supplies and all necessities for war and governance, and ready to take over this city, this state, this country."

"Wait," Anaishe said. "The EAST side of this city?"

"Yes," D'Ciggs acknowledged.

"That part of the city is OVERRUN with Libyan enslaving gangs! There's NO WAY that I'm going there!" Gaddo emphatically declared.

"Not anymore," Zari corrected. "Same day we rescued you, Gaddo, and Anaishe? D'Ciggs had our friend Battle Star visit each and every one of these enslaving gangs in all ten square miles of the Eastern section of the city. Result? No more enslaving gangs. Ask him about it. He's driving your transport. "

"Wait! ONE. MAN! Took on some EIGHT THOUSAND ARMED SOLDIERS? Is that what you're telling me? What kind of bomb did he hit them with?" Anaishe asked increduously.

"Building," D'Ciggs supplied.

"He's building a bomb?" Gaddo was confused.

"No," D'Ciggs clarified. "Battle Star dropped a building on some of the gangs there. After that? Not too many people were in a hurry to gainsay him."

Gaddo and Anaishe were thunderstruck.

"Go. Ask him about it. He's driving your transport." Zari repeated.




D'Ciggs quietly noted: "Yes, children. Go talk to Battle Star. After that? Go and assert your freedom. Now. UHURU SASA [ "FREEDOM NOW" ]."







"You know that we in the KMH are with you D'Ciggs...but what you did back there? Was definitely more than was called for under the UHURU SASA mission parameters," Zari said in her straightforward way. "It's one thing to do this kind of thing once or twice. But every single time? Add to do this our very dangerous private mission that we've taken on for FOUR YEARS despite it not only not being authorized but being EXPRESSLY FORBIDDEN? You're gonna piss somebody at The Palace off, man."

"Then they're REALLY gonna get pissed when we finish repeating this same feat in every hot spot across Afrika," D'Ciggs replied in that uniquely D'Ciggs way of his. "We're probably causing all kinds of mess right now." D'Ciggs commented. His tone plainly said he gave not a single flying moose turd. "To keep his legendary cool? T'Challa will probably start chomping on know, that marijuana catnip?" [ Meowijuana is a real thing. Click on these words to follow the link.]

Zari swatted at D'Ciggs' head. D'Ciggs laughingly moved his head, evading the swat. "That's why kaint nobody STAND yo ass, Cousin D'Ciggs!" She growled as she moved toward her Battle Station aboard The Ujanja

"You looooooove meeeeee, Cousin Zari!" D'Ciggs sang back.

"Boy, shut your ass and pass me some of those sliwa you made."

Knowing that Zari is particularly dangerous when not munching on the sliwa snacks he was legendary for, D'Ciggs complied.

Battle Star...smiling at this banter between Zari and D'Ciggs which he'd been told started literally the first time they met as toddlers...found himself agreeing with Zari.

"She's right, D'Ciggs," Battle Star's bass voice rumbled his accord with Zari. Having been out on the field sooner and longer than the other KMH members for this mission, Battle Star had the happy coincidence of keeping his three plates of sliwa relatively untouched. He started munching on them. "Someone in The Palace will definitely find out. We all knew that ahead of time, but thought and still think that the mission is of such importance that Wakanda may not survive the ramifications of being ignorant in this area. But The Palace..? And they're infamous sticklers for proper procedural protocol..."

"Don't sweat it, brutha Battle Star," D'Ciggs said with real confidence. "The Palace won't know about what we've done until we've long completed our mission."

But D'Ciggs was very wrong.
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Offline supreme illuminati

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« Reply #33 on: June 26, 2020, 09:10:43 pm »
Obedience disk, isn't that a bit "Clockwork Orange"?

I think you made Tchalla a holocaust denier too?

The Obedience Disks were first used in WORLD WAR HULK by HULK and company to compel the heroes to fight each other for Hulk's amusement. T'Challa...seeing that the tech behind those Obedience Disks were at best "antiquated" by Wakandan standards...simply had some of his junior staffers modify it into a much superior and much more humane form of operation; the particulars of which T'Challa explained to Njadaka.

Believe it or not, I never watched or read "Clockwork Orange", either in movie or book format lol.

 And no, T'Challa is most definitely NOT a holocaust denier. What made you think he was?

I've experienced some difficulties...unexpected putting the pieces of this chapter up in correct order, along with the pictures that attend each slice of conversation and action. Please forgive me, brethren, as I rectify this stuff for the rest of this night. I hope, CW, you're able to enjoy what I've been able to put up thus far.

If I'm reading it write, the way you have it work is it regulates Killmongers behavior? He has the illusion of freedom, but there is something controlling him. In Clockwork the protagonist is a rapist and murderer, who eventually goes to jail. He volunteers for an experiment that hypothesizes him so when he thinks of violence or sex, he becomes physically sick. He saw it as a better option than prison.

You are reading it correctly, but the differences between Wakandan tech and this amazing Clockwork Orange thing...the particulars of which I am reading just now for the first time...are several. Killmonger has no illusions. Apparently unlike the Clockwork Orange rapist-murderer, Killmonger is fully aware of and in control of his thoughts. He could halt his feelings of hatred toward T'Challa at will. He chooses not to do so. Terrifyingly...and very wrongly? Killmonger simply and truly to the depths of his heart thoroughly believes that he is RIGHT TO DO WHAT HE HAS DONE, and RIGHT to hate T'Challa as he does.

When they're talking about Magneto, Tchalla questions whether his parents are alive simply because Mangeto is the one who says they're dead. I believe the latest canon is that they died in a mass grave in or near a concentration camp. I think that's one of those "take his word for it" situations.

Taking almost any one like Magneto at their word is imo not really the kind of person that T'Challa is. Perhaps we have different perspectives of some of the defining aspects of T'Challa's character? But imo T'Challa has shown that he has as a permanent and prominent aspect of his personality the unblinkingly observant, intensely in depth study and analysis in every regard covering every possible facet of whatever he is able to unearth about friend foe and anything between, above and below. I think the foregoing most especially includes anyone like Magneto, who deliberately vociferously unambiguously and for decades established himself as a world threatening megalomaniac and warmongering super being who's repeatedly called for the genocidal erasure of humans. Plus the establishment of himself as the overlord of all mutants.
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Offline supreme illuminati

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« Reply #34 on: July 06, 2020, 05:17:46 pm »
>>> Supreme

In one of your first posts, I believe I know what's causing strikethrough in your text.

When you try to modify (or edit), look for stray brackets embedded into your text that look like this ----->  [ s ]

This is why spacing between your paragraphs is practical; when the composition of your text so cluttered , the HTML code may be detecting unwanted commands.

Idk if I told you THANK YOU for the wisdom you dropped up there? But I saw it when you first wrote it, and I appreciate your advice, ndugu.
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