JANUARY ART COMP - THE RACE (SHORT STORY COMP CROSSOVER)

[CrazyFoxMachine]

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Your challenge this January is to put art to words - the entries for "The Race" short story competition! A single image or sequence of images, whatever leaps out at you - !

Here are the stories - - (the emboldened partitions are not the titles of the stories but their authors)

EAMONN CLARKE

Hotdog

As soon as he saw the blip on his radar he knew it was going to be touch and go. Swan was far left of a wide formation as Judge Giant led the cadets on a sweep. After clearing a nest of Dune Sharks they were hunting for survivors. They had passed a mutant convoy heading for the Coney Island township two kilometres back, and now there was an ominous green dot on the extreme edge of the bike screen that only he could see.

He turned the Lawmaster and accelerated hard.

"Swan here, sir. Fast moving signal at edge of scanner, probable Shark on the convoy's tail. Moving to intercept."

Giant's response was brief, "Roger that, Swan. Cadets, left wheel."

He stepped the bike up a gear and concentrated on the green dot. A faint ping at top of his screen indicated the rear of the mutant convoy. Thirty seconds to visual range, he transferred the radar to his visor and scanned the horizon. It was going to be damned close.

The green dot resolved into an image which his visor magnified and threw up to the top left of his HUD. Shark alright, big one, 200 kilos of flying muscle and teeth, kept aloft by a huge gas filled stomach chamber. Skin like plasteel, hi-ex could penetrate it but only if you hit soft spots. The bike had spitfire missiles to pick them off at range, he thumbed another switch and targeting confirmed what he already suspected, the shark was too close to the convoy. Any collateral damage and Giant would bust him back to the admin corps.

"Have to be the hard way. Bike, auto steer, same course."

He pulled his knife and cut through the palm of his glove. Blood flowed freely as he popped a grenade from his belt. He shook his head to clear the HUD, he could see the Shark and the convoy now, the wagons were making their way through a narrow gully with high sandy walls. No time for computers, this was going to be gut, and gut alone.

He gunned the bike to higher ground on full turbo and hit the edge at max speed. A brief glimpse of surprised faces in the last wagon and he was airborne. The grenade was slick with blood as he tossed it into the air.

"Hey, Fido. Catch!"

The shark's response was instinctive, attuned to the smallest trace of blood, it swooped away from the convoy and snatched the device from the air.

Swan's landing was rough but he held it together and the bike slewed to a halt on the far side of the gulley. Behind him there was a satisfying, muffled thump and the crash of the shark hitting the ground, its wings flapping uselessly against the sand.

Giant rode up close.

"Unconventional approach, Swan...."

"Sir"

"...but effective, now field dress that hand. Cadet Ajax, execute the creature. Snow, you've got point. Fun's over, get ready to move out, people."

THE LEGENDARY SHARK

"Pure bred, pure bred, pure bred!" The vicious chant rang in Johnny Alpha's ears as a hard fist crashed into his kidney. His knees buckled. The rabid mob around the shallow pit howled gleefully, then booed as Johnny pivoted, schyting out one leg. One of his three norm assailants squealed as Johnny's foot slammed into the side of his knee. The norm's leg bent inwards and he collapsed. Before the others could react, Johnny drove an elbow into his throat.

A hand grabbed Johnny's hair, dragging him off the corpse. The mob cheered as Johnny took blows to his battered face. Ignoring the pain, he gripped the arm above his head with both hands. More punches thundered into his head and chest but Johnny concentrated on the norm holding his hair. He planted his feet and threw this man into the other. The action unbalanced them both and Alpha lashed out. His first blow crushed one norm's solar plexus, rupturing his heart. The second smashed the other's nose and Johnny followed up with half a dozen rapid, savage punches.

The three norms lay dead or dying in the bloodstained, stinking earth of the rough pit. Johnny sucked in deep breaths. How many was that? Eight? Ten? His fuzzy mind, more concerned with broken ribs, cracked teeth and trembling muscles, couldn't remember. It was hard to focus through the exhaustion and pain. Not much longer. Be over soon.

Idris Jones, skin glistening under the lanterns illuminating the interior of this remote barn, raised his arms until the mob quietened. He laughed. "Quite the savage, aren't you?"

Johnny spat blood into the dirt, striking as defiant a pose as his abused body would allow.

"Kept us here longer than usual. Stupid mutie, why not just die like the rest of your inferior litter?" He waved his own question away and nodded to the far side of the arena, where a huge man stirred in the shadows. "Still, die you will. A freak can't survive against pure humans." Jones pointed to The Race's bloodsatined flag. "The Race will prevail."

The mob cheered as the big man dropped into the arena like a boulder.

Wulf, stripped to the waist, muscles bulging, stepped forward and placed a massive hand around Johnny's throat. Wulf moved his face close to Johnny's, his words inaudible to the baying mob. "Ach, Johnny," he said. "Dese plans off yours, alvays so risky."

"Everyone in place?"

Wulf nodded. "Ja, you bought us der time. Middenface and der rest are ready to roll."

Johnny nodded. Wulf let go of his throat and scowled at the mob, which was beginning to sense danger.

"What is this?" Jones said. "Kill it!"

Explosions tore into the barn and a dozen Search/Destroy agents poured in, guns blazing.

Idris Jones ran but Wulf drove him to the ground. "Not so fast," Wulf said. "For you, Old Cucumber, der Race is finished."

THE LEGENDARY SHARK

TEK DIVISION INCIDENT REPORT # 167/J10/Err?/2138-09-29.

@11:47hrs Justice Department Unmanned Cursed Earth Monitoring Station 221b detected fast moving object proceeding towards MC1 Sector 39W. Initial reports indicate object land vehicle traveling ~416kph (+/- 23kph). Recognition attempts failed due Cat 7 Rad Storm.

@11:52hrs aerial unit MNTA-3091 dispatched. MNTA-3091 unable to locate object.

@~12:06hrs object penetrated city perimeter Sect 39W, exact co-ordinates unknown due to extensive CD damage/weather conditions.

@12:10hrs, object re-acquired, Miles Jupp Sked, Tom Clancy Intersection, traveling 520kph. Object violated 23 traffic regulations, causing multiple accidents (see TRAFFIC DIVISION INCIDENT REPORT # 2017/SK13/UV3/2138-09-29). Assessment indicated two-wheeled motorcycle of unknown configuration with one rider.

@12:12hrs, Senior Street Judge Dredd, J., dispatched (see STREET DIVISION INCIDENT REPORT # 11099/S01/TP17/2138-09-29).

@12:16hrs, Dredd sights vehicle, reports Second Gen MKI Lawmaster (obsolete), extensively damaged and in generally poor condition, ridden by a robot in equally poor condition. Assessment was semi-derelict war robot hijacked Lawmaster for use in attack on MC1. Despite Traff-Div roadblocks/diversions, pursuit failed. Rogue Lawmaster fired upon Dredd, disabling his Lawmaster, and escaped to City Bottom ruins. (NB-Lawmaster Refresher Course? Hershey.)

@12:20hrs, Dredd commandeered citizen-owned LandSkySpeeder (Reg MC1-S207-286-G - listed destroyed) to continue pursuit. (Citizen Carat Moss, 2271b Dale Winton Underhang, sentenced to five years: resisting commandeer, attempted assault, lip - see previous STREET-DIV I.R.)

@12:22hrs, Dredd re-acquired target, continued pursuit. Pursuit difficult due to CD damage and extreme aptitude of rider. TAC-COMP calcs indicated 87% (+/- 12%) probability vehicle destination Sector House 291 (listed destroyed, CD). To minimise citizen danger, Dredd executed collision with Rogue Lawmaster. Rogue Lawmaster survived collision but was badly damaged. Dredd continued pursuit on foot.

@12:26hrs, Dredd destroyed robot rider with high-explosive blanket spread, however, Rogue Lawmaster continued course for SH 291, wounded Dredd with four non-standard 9mm old-style carbon jacketed rounds. Dredd continued pursuit.

@12:29hrs, Rogue Lawmaster, failing due to heavy damage, arrived site of SH 291 ruins and shut down. Dredd rendered vehicle safe, requested Tek-Div support.

@13:02hrs, Tek-Div report Rogue Lawmaster assigned Judge Tooly Aite (listed MIA presumed dead, 2101). Recorded message from Judge Aite recovered. Relevant section transcript: "Bike - get this message... (unclear)... back to Sector House 291. Stop...  stop for nothing. The... (unclear)... fate of the... city may... (unclear) depend on it." Coded urgent sub-message warning re "Father Earth" threat to MC1. Rogue Lawmaster log indicates vehicle lost in Cursed Earth ~37yrs due to nav-comp damage. Robot slaved to system to perform maintenance/act as decoy rider. (NB - exemplary AI conduct. Investigate?)

Closing Comment (Dredd, J.): "Grud damn hunk of junk. I don't know whether to melt it down or fix it up."

Rogue Lawmaster under Tek-Div investigation prior installation, Black Museum.

Judge Tooly Aite, put on posthumous report for issuing dangerous orders.

+++REPORT ENDS+++

LOBO BAGGINS

She landed on her knees as the cop shoved her thoughtlessly into the cell, the barred door slamming loudly behind her.  The sound echoed, reverberating around and around for an inordinately long time... no, that was just in her head, she decided.  She carefully picked herself up and sat heavily on the hard bunk that occupied the corner of the tiny room.  It was pretty much the same as every other cell she'd been in, they rarely had much variation.  She'd seen quite a lot of them in her life.  This particular one was a drunk tank, so it had a bucket as well as a bunk.  She sighed.  She'd had so many dreams, once upon a time.  How had it come to this?

She looked up, taking a vague disinterest as a group of cops made their way along the corridor outside.  One, a tall woman, paused outside.  She found herself frowning, the profile looked familiar... her breath caught in her throat as she gasped as recognition finally filtered through her alchohol addled synapses.  She was a lot older, naturally, and had much less hair and rather more clothes than the last time she'd seen her, but it was her, it was!  She glanced down at her identifying badge and all doubt fled – it read 'Olsun'.

'Rodice!' Halo Jones screamed, leaping to her feet, a long forgotten smile breaking out, 'Oh, Rodice!  I thought you were dead!' she said, stumbling forwards to grasp at the bars of the cell door.

Rodice turned towards her.  No smile, no sign of recognition... there was only half a face.  A crude, jagged scar surrounded a too large cybernetic eye that glowed balefully at her.  There was a light on, but Rodice wasn't home any more.  She'd been leucotomized, the ultimate fate of someone from the Hoop who wouldn't conform and behave themselves.  'Move away from the bars', she intoned in an emotionless parody of her oldest friend's voice.

Halo stifled a sob as she backed away, once again slumping back onto the bunk as what was left of her friend turned and began to walk away.  Halo watched her go.  There was nothing of her left, nothing.  She'd thought they'd get away, they'd once agreed to race to the other side of the galaxy.  Halo had thought she'd won, but Rodice never left the starting block, never left the Hoop.  She thought she'd been killed in a terrible massacre, but this was actually worse.  Much worse.

A tear rolled down Halo Jones' cheek as she lay back on the bunk.  She had a lot to think about.

MODERN PANTHER

*** partially recovered audio transcript *** presidential archives *** reference CO521738 ***

[applause]

"[inaudible] ...back to the third debate in this, the 2068 presidential campaign race.  I'm your host, Brish Shapely, and this debate is sponsored by BleachPear...for sparkly teeth and home."

"In this section of the debate, well be taking questions from voters.  Our first question is from Boris Numan of Baton Rouge Bay.  Boris asks "what is the greatest threat facing America today?"  Senator James Velazquez, that question is for you."

[applause]

"Thank you, Brish.  And thank you Boris for your question. We're clearly a nation which has, and continues to have, great upheaval.  Recent riots in Gore City have demonstrated that the president has failed to...."

"Jeez, Velly, just give the guy an answer!"

[laughter]

"Vice President Booth, you clearly disagree..."

"Damn right I disagree, Brish.  Your looking hot today, by the way.  The problem that America faces is our enemies abroad.  We've go the Sovs taking power over in Russia, we've got the Chinese, the Brits.  They're against us, Brish.  They send their people over here, they ruin our economy, they're criminals,  they threaten our way of life.  Our great way of life..."

"With respect, Vice President Booth, the issue is a little more complicated..."

"Shut up, Velazquez.  I've a plan for America.  I will build a shield!  A patriotic shield, which will defend us from our enemies.  [applause] We will no longer allow weaklings,  like the senator here, sell America to our enemies.  You're weak, Velazquez! You don't have the stamina to run this country!  When I'm president, I'll have people like you [inaudible]"

[gasps and applause]

"Gentlemen...please.  Our next question comes from Moira Peffeffer from Mega City Two.  Moira asks " watcha gonna do bout smog man?".  Senator  Velazquez, would like like to respond?"

"I'll certainly try, Brish.  [laughter]  Our transition away from fossil fuels has been largely successful, but we continue to rely outdated nuclear options and foreign investment in our fusion industry.  I have a four year plan..."

"You've handed those oil reserves over, Senator.."

[applause]

"You well, know, mister Vice President, that US oil long since..."

[Boos]

"I'm talking out the mid-east, I'm talking about the Brits.  That's our oil. [cheers] America build the oil industry!.  And now, you and your cabal of...[inaudible]  politicians...want to restrict the hardworking people of our nuclear industry who...

"The negative effects of strontium-80 are already being seen across the dustbowl states who..."

"Don't interrupt me, dammit!  It's rude!  The brave men and women who are working to put nuclear power in the homes of ordinary Americans, hard working Americans, are being let down by people like Senator, here.  They're shutting down business across our country.

[applause]

"This great country was founded on capitalism!   it's right there in the declaration of independence!"

"Vote Booth!  I will crush those who would take our freedoms!  I will make America great again!

[applause intensifies]

**** end **** classification chief judge only *** recommend permanent deletion ****

There will be a GN straight from the nerve centre for the winner of course, and one for Tharg's Choice - and there will also be a bonafide 2000 AD droid choosing their favourites - all entries will be viewable here, on our dedicated FB page, and also on the official 2000 AD Tumblr and Twitter!

Rules for the art comp are these:

- It must fit the theme.

- You can enter as many times as you like but bear in mind it will split your vote so it may not be worth it.

- All entries have to be constructed specifically for this competition - so nothing you've done for anything else.

- You can enter either here or by directly putting it on our FB wall here: https://www.facebook.com/2000adartcomp/


YOU HAVE UNTIL THE 29th OF JANUARY WHEN WE'LL FIRE THE VOTING GUN

[Albion]

From Eamonn Clarke's Hotdog story.....

[Jacqusie]

Sorry to be the one to point it out Crazy Fox, but you missed the other 4 entries (including mine) - there's more for folks to go at!

[CrazyFoxMachine]

Balls.

Mods - could you edit this into the above bit please?

MikeD

You're the owner of the premier space trucking company, you sport the stabbiest, jabbiest point that ever graced a Garp's gurney and you're so famous there's a pair of Splitto boots named after you. And yet... and yet... you've never won a medal at The Tucker Trucker's Games.

GBH regularly won gold in the boxing biffos. Feek the Freek had proved a natural at the lug-jump. Ace, on the other hand, had never won a thing.

This year would be different. He'd been practising, tearing around the lower decks in his eponymous Ace Sport Splittos. Mort's Sports had assured him that these boots were rugged, reliable and fast. So, thought Ace, winning should be spammy. All he needed to do was tone up his hustle muscles, keep off the MacMac, and turn up on time.

'Slow down, Ace.' warned Feek as Ace sprinted past during a lap of the powerhouse. 'Feek just polish deck!'

'Come again, boney buddy?' called Ace, but it was too late. The speeding  lugger was unable to brake. He hurtled across a gantry and through a bulk head door before hitting a sudden wall and falling into a crumpled heap on the floor.

'I've bent my gurney!', howled Ace, 'Boil over here, you boney bugjock, I'm gonna...!'

'On the other hand, you shaved another three seconds off your personal best.' harrumphed GBH, who was stood by the bulkhead door with a stop-watch.

'I did?', exclaimed Ace, 'Whoop! Then the lugger's chase is as good as won!'

'But how, Ace? You can't rely on a slippery surface on the day, and this polish is Feek's own recipe.'

'Sloop juice, skrim oil and avocado. Plus secret heh-heh ingredient.'

'Well, start stirrin', boney buddy,' grinned Ace, 'The Big A has a plan so slippy we're gonna need a whole drum!'

-

One week later, Ace returned to Speedo Ghost with his first gold medal in The Tucker Trucker's Games. Feek had reluctantly greased the track the night before and Ace's totally friction-less, cheapo splittos had ensured he'd rocketed to victory. Winning by a pointy head over his closest  rival Jago Cain.

Jago had protested, 'That was more skatin' than sprintin'!' he'd howled. But the bar was opening and no-one had the stomach for a re-run, so Ace Garp was crowned that year's zippiest lugger and Jago won the MacMac slap for sorest loser.

Sat in the jock box with his feet up on the console, Ace grinned from ear to ear. It had all been worth it. The exercise, the diet, all of it. 'If you ask me, it was a team effort', buzzed Ghost, interrupting Ace's reverie. 'Feek and GBH helped you win that medal.'

'Ten-four to that, digital buddy, I was just thunkin' the same. Get my lugbuddies on the 'choker and I'll divide the prize!'

And with those words, Ace unwrapped the gold foil and snapped the mock-choc medallion into three equal pieces.

ECHIDNA

The finish line was in sight. Cassius lashed the horses with renewed vigour and recalled the sacrifices he had made - mostly other men's blood, he had to admit - to make this victory possible. For a centurion to become a charioteer was almost unheard of; to be crowned with the champion's laurel wreath in the presence of the Emperor himself was unprecedented. The crowd roared in anticipation as Cassius raised a triumphant fist into the air.

Without warning, a dark, cloaked figure leapt from the crowd and collided with Cassius, knocking him from his chariot and thrusting him to the dirt track. The man, a massive Nubian with terrifying, pure white eyes and an imperial eagle carved grotesquely into his chest, lifted him effortlessly off the ground and placed his sword beneath Cassius' chin. His low, measured voice was audible even over the din of the horses and chariots thundering around them. "I am Aquila, Butcher of Rome, and I have it on good authority that you know where a man can find his soul."

Before Cassius could speak, Aquila was distracted by a strangely familiar cry. He looked up and saw, circling overhead, a great, dark bird, much like those he remembered from his homeland.

"Hold! This man's life is mine to take."

The call came from behind him. Aquila spun on the spot, causing a gurgle of fear to escape Cassius' throat as the blade pressed more firmly against his neck. Striding towards them across the track was a centurion. Like Aquila, he was a Nubian, not quite as tall nor as broad, but no less imposing a figure. And, like Aquila, he had the blank, featureless eyes of a man without a soul.

"Do you mean to fight me for this coward?" asked Aquila.

"Only if I must. His true name is Crassus. I have traveled far to find him. Many years ago, he captured me and made me a slave of the Roman Empire. And when I won my freedom, he sold me into the service of an altogether different empire. I have discovered that he is in league with... creatures; demons who took my soul from me." At this, a look of recognition passed between the centurion and the charioteer, who let out another terrified croak as his last shred of hope abandoned him.

While the two were talking, a squadron of guards had gathered around them, their weapons drawn but each reluctant to be the first to challenge the intruders. One coughed awkwardly, as though embarrassed to interrupt.

"It seems we have the same goal," said Aquila, "but there is still a battle to be fought. I suggest we turn these men into corpses and find somewhere more private to continue our discussion."

The man known as Black Hawk nodded and drew his sword. Cautiously, the circle of guards moved in closer. Aquila flung his helpless prisoner over his shoulder and stood back-to-back with his new ally.

"You know, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship..."

JACQUSIE

The pitchstone and chisel ring as one, as I work the grooves and lines into the hard onyx black gritstone. Each furrow made, a pattern of loops and whirls, circles and tracks cut by the chalcedony method, exposing the acid greens of the inner crust.

The glorystones provide us with rough work, a Gennyans skin does not harden and develop callous over time and the heavy hand tools bite into my forgiving palms. My race does not share many traits of the humans that come to Gennyo-Leil, one of them being the toughening of the labourer in his knees, shoulders and my bones feel the effort of each blow of the journeyman's mallet.

The sudden rush of the tree tops cause us to look up from our work, sprayseed falls from the branches and I feel the swirl of wind that one experiences when the Kesheen approach. Two huge bulks appear with wingspans that fill the sky, these are the flanks of the blue/purple species that rise above us, their flinty yellow eyes searching for signs of smoke out towards the tierways in the underwoods. I raise a weary hand in acknowledgement and the pilot signals back to me as he takes the Kesheen on their scouting mission. A live glorystone slowly follows silently, just above their trajectory and we become engulfed in its tourmaline black shadow, as it journeys on its quest.

I can still feel the ozone as I turn back to our slabstone, which will spark with the same energy when the glyphs are finished. They form but one part of our telepathic link to one another and getting the cyphers correct takes time, until the last skew-chisel mark is made and the form slowly lifts to join its travellers.

My shadow-self looks at me and raises a half smile. We Gennyans only live a ridiculously short lifespan and as our time runs out, we get a foretaste of our future spirit selves, they come to guarantee us of our time in the next life. An assurance, a hand held toward the knowledge that our race will go on and endure no matter what the universe throws at us.

The Firekind have been burnt, persecuted and butchered in our time and we remain stoic no matter what, safe in the knowledge that our otherself is there to take us to the next domain. I'm already 28, I won't be here much longer, the all spirit, Asha-Khadrarine will take me when it's my time to go into the animist collective of the rain, animal, sun, wind and the sea.

The water's edge that kisses the white sand of the beach is my favourite place, watching the Hatchet birds dart and spin, catching wheelfish in the granite rock pools. Yet I know nothing more than this moment, my shadow-self, the dark stones that will vibrate and call out and so we must finish the sets of deep cut hieroglyphs before the grey woodsmoke rises idly across the pink sundown.

BAD CITY BLUE


"Hey there, citizens, and welcome to the Mega City 1 parkour championships. As you join us Stefan Dillon is in the lead - he's jumping like a bionic frog out there, although remember that rules stipulate no actual bionics are allowed. Parkour is one of the few remaining sports where it's all natural, folks, so sit back and enjoy the fun.

So here's Dillon, a stunning scramble up a fifteen foot vertical, and surely nothing can stop him now.. Wait! What's this? It seem Dillon has a competitor, only it's not a competitor at all - it's Judge Dredd! For some reason Mega City's finest lawman is chasing it's finest free runner!

Hold on, folks, I'm getting some ear-formation here... it seems Stefan Dillon is in fact the notorious Cat Burglar, and has been stealing citizen's cats in a crime wave that no one really cared that much about. Old Dredd cares, though, and he's actually gaining on Dillon as the athlete springs over the unsuspecting Citi Def unit on manoeuvres out of Frank Castle block. Ha he... old Frank Castle won't be forgetting Dillon in a hurry! Oh My! Dredd took the more direct route there, scattering the weekend warriors like RatFat candles, who incidentally are our sponsors today.

This is really turning into quite a race, folks, with Dredd almost in touching distance of Dillon as they approach the Tyranny Rex memorial fountain, dedicated to a poor girl who got merged with a dino in a bizarre teleporter accident. Nasty business, but at least it wasn't a fly - I hear that can really mess up your day!

Just look at Dillon, leaping like a robo salmon, and what a jump this will be if he can clear the fountain in a single bound. Holy synthi cow, I think he's going to make it! But wait! Dredd stretches out the long arm of the law and manages to catch Dillon by the foot, bringing in crashing, or should I say splashing, down into the water. Oh it's all over for the parkour loving perp now as Dredd drags him dripping top a holding post. I guess we're having a new champion this year, but let's go to Hap Hazzard, who has managed to get a few words with the man himself - Hap?"

"Thank you, Zack. Judge Dredd, you just ran down a man we thought was the finest free runner in all Mega City. You must do a lot of training."

"I'm over seventy years old, I'm wearing boots  and shoulder pads and I still caught this creep. Training? Try over half a century on the streets, and if after that you can't catch some gimp who steals cats it's time to hand up the boots. This interview is over. Stefan Dillon, for feline burglary I'm sentencing you to fifty four years in the cubes."

"Fifty four years? Ah come on Dredd that's way too long!"

"No... it's not nearly enough."

[Andy Lambert]

Nice work, Albion..! Exactly the image I would've gone for if I was entering this month.

[CrazyFoxMachine]

There's now a Tumblr post with ALLLL the stories in one place here

[CrazyFoxMachine]

*BUMP*

Any takers for this? You win graphics novels you know   

[SuperSurfer]

Defo. Doodled but not worked up.

[Andy Lambert]

Very busy this month, but if I have time I'll try and squeeze something out.

[IAMTHESYSTEM]

Making Plans. Quote from the scary story by Modern Panther. The ghastly up and coming Presidential inauguration influenced this piece. Senator Booth has plans for America -but he wasn't the only one.

[Modern Panther]

That is America-esque awesome

[Andy Lambert]

Just a quick one from me as I haven't had much time to do anything this month.
Here's Rodice from Lobo Baggins' story...

[Lobo Baggins]

Just a quick one from me as I haven't had much time to do anything this month.
Here's Rodice from Lobo Baggins' story...

Cor!  Nice one, Andy!

Y'know, everyone always says that artwork never looks like it does in the writer's head, but it's actually extremely disconcerting when it does 

[allied72]

From Bad City Blue parkour story

[amines2058]

Lovely work all so far, wish there was more entries as there are some great stories there. I am hoping to get an entry of my own knocked up over the weekend to bolster the numbers.