Hello, I'm Hyo. I'm bored so I'm doing this.
I do not have any commitment to doing this, and I am a very lazy person. It is expected to suddenly drop this at any time. And expecting consistent, regular and high-quality updates and posting is not recommended.
Having that taken care of, I'm starting an AAR of LCS, and maybe a LP since I might take people's suggestions here and there. My posts will mostly be written in first person like a story, and I am currently playing with a single house rule.
*Minimal amount of violence - Murder, Assault, and Armed Assault will be mostly be forbidden unless in desperate circumstances or I can find a good excuse with the plot for it.
It's Liberal Crime Squad, I know, but murder's kind of part of every single game there is, and it's not really satisfying to me. Besides, TRUE liberals wouldn't simply go out there, punching a random conservative they see, and start off and end their career with blood and steel. No that's not liberalism, that's just pure anarchy. Then again, I might change my mind about this. Nothing is set in stone once again.
So... let's begin.
Oh, and by the way, game scenario is <{B}:We didn't start the fire>, <{C}:Nightmare Mode>, and <{A}:Classic>. Which incidentally means that with my no-violence policy, I'm going to have to deal with the CCS from the start to the very end. And this will be text-only, sadly, since I'm too lazy to use proper screenshots.
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My name is Yuri Nakagawa. I was born on September 4th, 1984. This is the tale of my life.
I must lament my childhood, filled with despair and sorrow. It began from the very day I was born, for I was born as nothing other than a girl. Some of the younger ones might wonder if I have anything that could even be called a childhood, but this was yet 24 years ago. The feminist movement was slowly but surely dying, but they were still strong, they were still alive. A girl during these troubled times may have had limited and pitiful lives, yet they were nothing to what we have today. Today, women are nothing but livestock and slaves. They exist only to feed upon the scraps of pigs, lie and wither away on the dirt, to slave, to fill the endless desires of men, and to only be thrown away and die.
I wonder even now, whether I have been cursed or blessed. Had I been born any later, I shall have suffered, living a meaningless and hollow life only to serve, yet I would not have fallen into such despair. Shadow cannot exist without light, and despair without hope. Without the freedom of my youth, I shall not be so bitter towards the state of the world. Even now, I shudder during the night, afraid to die, afraid to hope, yet at the same time, afraid to give up. I can only contradict myself as I live to survive day by day.
... It seems that I have strayed too much from the story. And so, I shall continue. As much as I lament my birth, my childhood horrid but not unbearable. I had grown a cute child, charismatic and surrounded myself with many friends. Others praised me for my intellect and I grew proud, though well-deserving of it. However, that pride was not-accepted and punished as inappropriate behavior. Day, by day, my father started to drink, and with alcohol he started berated and beating. He shouted at me for being born a girl, lamenting my wasted abilities, while at times, he grew furious of the same skills of mine, yelling, punching and kicking me for acting unlike the "quiet, obedient bitch you should be", according to his words. However as time grew, he did naught but be emotional and talked to me for hours and hours about his misery, a mere child and infant, damning the world for his life. I could only spend my days watching, unable to understand, unable to comfort him.
My father was not an educated man, having come from the lower class and he had not led a very successful life. However, he had met and married my mother, a lawyer, one of the leaders of the feminist movement who was of a much higher level than him. Normally, such a union cannot be possible, but perhaps by the whim of fate, they fell in love together. They enjoyed many happy years, braving through many obstacles. However, by the time I was born, that happy relationship of theirs was already falling apart. Father was constantly unemployed, and drank. Mother while having had supported him wholeheartedly in the past, grew weary of such a relationship as the fires began to die down, and started to berate him for his incapability. At first, my father did his very best to motivate himself and tried to turn a new leaf in his life. However, life never goes that well. His attempts all failed, and through persevering and enduring, began to slump and slowly lose hope as his failures began to pile up, months after months. My mother continued with her attacks, being more and more frustrated each time her husband proved how incapable he was, my father slowly began to break down. He developed an inferiority complex and with the re-rising of the male supremacist movement back then, began to turn his anger towards his wife and women. Their relationship grew worse and worse, both of them being pulled down into the pits of hell- my mother began to lose her position, criticized and labeled as incompetent and laughed at day by day and her feminist movement being stomped out by the male supremacists who had risen again while my father... began to lose his mind more and more and the only string that tied them together was me.
As my family problems began to grow larger and larger, I sought to escape from my life. And that haven I sought was school. I sought to nurture a relationship with other people, desperate for the warmth of human contact. However, the more I tried, the more I learned with horror that such a thing would not be possible. The other children, living happily could never understand me, and I would never be able to understand them. The more I tried to learn about them, the more their happy words pierced through my heart further and further. I became afraid, and hid in my shell. I tried to cover my ugliness with mischief and words, and whether for the better or not, it worked. I was often the most popular in my class, the class clown and at the same time, the most *cool* person in the school. I always had my mask on, that beautiful smile, being constantly afraid someone will see through the illusion and tear it off. Through out my entire life there, I don't think I've ever had a single friend.
Such a hollow life continued until the age of 10, where my life took a turning point- for the worse. During these years, the situation between my parents had not gotten any better; in a way, it was much worse than before. My mother, previously successful and respected, had degenerated into a bitter, desperate and angry housewife. Her relationship with my father had began to break her down as well, slowly but surely, her stress, her frustration, these began to turn her life downwards. It was expected, no person could keep such things boiled up within themselves, they had to release it somewhere- that which my mother learned painfully. She tried to bottle it all up, a smiling face towards me and her workplace. But it didn't hold, it began to leak and it burst. With that, her career began to crumble down, and at the same time, the feminist movement began dying out, being choked and on its knees. Of course, there hadn't been any laws passed oppressing women yet, but people's views and their mocking laughter showed it was only a matter of time. Having faced losses and defeats in her life from all sides, she was ruined. And she stayed ruined; she never managed to rise back up again, her former glory being nothing but of the past.
And at the same time, my father fared no better. He didn't fall down or face the ruin my mother did of course- there's no down to go, when you're already at rock bottom, but he began smoking, not just tobacco but also fell into drugs. Not much more lies to be said about the subject, unless I am to write more details about how much a degenerate my father became; something which would serve no purpose, and truly, too horrid to describe in words.
In any case, both of them, facing their own set of defeats and failures, turned around to face each other to release their anger at. They both blamed each other for their misery, and violence at my household was a common sight. My mother eventually moved out, leaving me to fend with my father. Of course, my father never actually did take care of me; I ate, I slept, I went to school... all by myself. However, such a life did not last long. Within two months of her leaving, she returned only to throw divorce papers at my father's face. It seemed that she had spent the months prior preparing for their divorce, and prepared she was. Her present wasn't simply a divorce paper, it was a package filled with dozens of pages. Using all her fury to move her on, she used all she had with her expertise of law to strip my father of everything he had. Everything.
Except me.
Of course, things didn't proceed smoothly. Shouts and screaming could be heard every day and both sides hired lawyers, took loans they couldn't ever pay back and did everything in their power to defeat and crush the other. I remember that on some days, the paperwork had filled the floor so much that I had almost tripped on it. It eventually became clear that the whole case was less about the divorce and more about the victory itself, to prove better than the other. Eventually, when the case come to court- which took days as the lawyers argued about point after point, my mother won, and my father was left with nothing but debts, and fines he could not repay. I do not know about what happened to him after, but I have heard that he was eventually shot by a loan shark and died. My mother also died as well, due to overdose of drugs few years later. As for me, I was abandoned by both and thrown into an orphanage.
My life of the orphanage was a quiet one, and in a way, one that I believe was much better than the earlier days of my childhood. Of course, the orphanage was not a fun nor happy place. The staff working there were grumpy men, prone to violence and always looking for more ways to stuff their pocket. Truly, since the day I had entered the place, almost a third of the ones there initially had died. Many others were traumatized or injured. And there wasn't a single adoption.
However, to me, it was much more peaceful compared to my home with my parents. Although the staff were violent, they seemed to have never given a thought to me. Perhaps it was because of my personality as a child at that time. After my traumatic childhood, I had grown introverted and into a recluse who did not interact with anyone. I spent my days alone, often reading many books I could not understand, without anyone to feel warmth from. Without anyone to hurt me. I ignored the world, and the world ignored me.
As pitiful as that sounds, it was actually not a bad life. As long as I could live within my books and ignore the world, I could live within my dreams and fantasy. I read tales of romance and bravery and imagined myself as the heroes, to save the world and find my one true love. I read large textbooks holding hoards of information, and I filled my minds with the wonders of nature and the world. I read history books and was awed at the glory of previous leaders. I was in a world, free from reality, free from the clutches of the monsters called humans, free from people scarring me, and free from whose happiness struck holes within my heart. I had finally found peace.
This compounded with the fact that I had moved schools due to my parental abandonment. In this new place, there were no longer anyone that I had to wear a mask for, no expectations, no standards. Just a transfer student who had decided to drop in. Other students tried to interact with me for a time, but I filled my life with books and ignored them and they simply began to go away, ignoring me as I had ignored them. Or so I thought.
A beautiful memory that I will never forget was when everyone else had left me. He remained by my side. I ignored him, but he kept coming to me. I then began to escape him, I was afraid, that he would crack my shell. That he would break down the walls I had created for myself and see how ugly I was. I didn't want that; who was he to enter my world, to come into my fantasy, my illusions? To break my... happiness? I didn't like him. I was afraid. I was afraid because the more he chased me, the more I wanted to grab hold of that hand. The more he did that, the more I felt that I could hope.
And in the end, I gave in, and I grabbed the hand he had given to me. And it was delightful. To be able to laugh, and play games, run around cheerfully - all of which an elementary student would do, would have a right to, all of these things that I had never experienced before... To be able to do them, each and every step of the way brought colour into this world, and I slowly began to accept reality as not something to escape from, or just as a base to use as part of my imagination, but that it truly was a world that I was living in.
During the rest of my days within the school, I slowly but surely managed to come out of my shell, guided by that small but firm and reliable hand. My bliss days of happiness passed on in the blink of an eye and I had finally graduated with honors- though that would matter little at that early an age, and into junior high.
In Junior High, I continues to flourish academically, my love of books having continued all this time, though not merely as a tool to pave way for my fantasies. Out of all my studies, I loved chemistry and physics the most, as being a curious child, I had an unsatisfiable desire to know the truth behind the world, to know what made it "tick", per say; I, being young, had not developed as strong as an interest in politics and the corruption of society as I do, today. Day, by day, I asked numerous questions- What are atoms? What are quarks? What are charges? What is energy? What, what, what, what, what? My unending curiosity led to me read more, study more, and I devoured textbooks that would've frightened the most studious of students- within half the semester, my teacher could no longer even comprehend the questions I had asked, which is most amusing thinking back now.
And as always, the boy and I remained close. We laughed together, studying for the tests, him groaning that I was too smart, I groaning that he ran too fast. We laughed and spent out days happily... and just as cruelly it broke apart.
One might have forgotten, but although my days within school were indeed full of happiness, outside of it, my home had still been the orphanage, where kids underwent violence, harsh words and mistreatment daily. By a stroke of luck, I had been spared of their cruelty
... And you know what, this is getting to be ridiculously long. Finishing the introduction after this commercial break.
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Topic: Liberal Crime Squad - AARs / LP (Read 1635 times)