The Unofficial I Love Karen Daniels Thread

[MrAssClap]

I feel bad that a mod has to read through every chapter to make sure it's not erotica

[CaptSpalding]

 

Edit: @Saintsrow, im not sure if anyone actually reads your story.

 

As president of the Hairy Palm club I can assure you we read with panting breath every word written about her , give it a try all you have to do is walk backwards towards the light...

[Bare]

Tracey > Karen

 

No. Karen isn't even that nice and I don't tend to judge video game characters on looks but no. Tracey just looks like the average young white girl to me. Sure she's not bad, but meh.

Molly and Karen are much more attractive. Especially Molly.

 

brb gonna kill myself for arguing about the attractiveness of fictional women in a video game

[LordRaijin]

If we are gonna get thirsty for a f*cking character than why not Tracey?

 

Tracey > Karen

 

Edit: @Saintsrow, im not sure if anyone actually reads your story, but edit your post and post it again on the new page so people can see it.

Tracy has an annoying voice and has the mentality of a child. She's also not very attractive.

[WATTSNATIONALIST]

Hey, saints

Sounds like you may have "flashlight" envy.

 

 

#paythebenz

[EssDotTee]

Wtf

[MCMXCII]

Totally forgot that this thread existed. I have mixed feelings about this thread...

[LordRaijin]

Hey, saints

Sounds like you may have "flashlight" envy.

 

 

#paythebenz

 

Who wouldn't?

 

Edited May 5, 2016 by LordRaijin

[Datguy8925]

 

Why not Poppy Mitchell? Sure she may have an STD but she won't attempt to put a flashlight up your blackhole.

Ironically, I think Poppy Mitchell would like to be on the receiving end of the flashlight

 

I like the way you think.

[LordRaijin]

Why not Poppy Mitchell? Sure she may have an STD but she won't attempt to put a flashlight up your blackhole.

She can't because shes in prison for drunk driving. I guess this takes a whole new meaning of conjugal visits.

 

Time to go to pornhub. BBL.

[saintsrow]

What I meant at the end of Chapter 17 was, I hate to end a chapter on a cheap cliffhanger, but the rest of the scene required a new chapter. And, it took a bit of time to write. Here it is. Remember, read this in Karen voice

This chapter follows immediately, less than 100 milliseconds, from Chapter 17.

CHAPTER 18: Pain from the Past (Part 8): Bullet Time

O. P. Lovelorn here. My mind was almost blown. My heart was pounding in my ears, drowning out the sound of the surf and the seagulls. I was empathizing with Karen, as she described to me what seemed to be the moment of her death. I loved Karen so much, it was unbearable. I had almost forgotten where I was, who I was. Karen’s plight was making tears well in my eyes. I wanted to hug her, hold her, but she just continued her story:

“Then something happened.”

“I heard two really loud shots, like a double-tap, from a powerful handgun, and then third and fourth shots, just as fast. In the pre-attentive interval before I could process what had happened, my brain started to catch up, and it was dawning on me that the thugs must have shot me, and I just hadn’t registered the impacts yet. But I was back to real time.”

“My reflex was, it’s now or never – I haven’t got time to think, just pull the pin, before I black out, if I want to take those criminal bastards out, and reach the peace of total oblivion that I was ready for. I had the grenade in my hand, just one twitch away from pulling the pin."

"But the gunshots didn’t sound like the SMGs, or the pistol that the driver had. Tactically, I wondered who had shot me, or shot at me. I hadn’t seen any muzzle flash. I instinctively felt like I had to understand the tactical situation.”

“What I saw, wasn’t making sense. No guns were actually pointed at me, quite yet. On the passenger side of the car, I saw the two SMGs still rising upward, as the arms holding them swung an arc toward me. The arms belonged to the two thugs who had just gotten out of the car.”

“At the same time, both of the thugs’ brains were spraying out the side of their heads, all over the windshield and the hood of the car. Their arms kept rising, just from the momentum they already had, past the point where a conscious mind would have corrected, to aim at me. I knew then, that there were no conscious minds controlling those arms, anymore.”

“By this time, the driver was standing on the other side of the car, having just slammed his door, with his pistol also moving to point at me, less than a second from firing. But he had suddenly frozen, arrested with surprise and confusion, like I was."

"Hearing the shots, he had turned his gaze to his right, where he was seeing his two thug buddies in a whole new way, as dual waves of blood, and fragments of their brains and skulls, were flying toward him in

. He had the dumbest, wide-eyed, open-mouthed look on his face, that you can imagine.”

“The only dumber look, at that moment, was on my face, watching this three-ring circus, as I held a grenade in my left hand, with my right middle finger looped through the ring, a fateful millisecond away from turning myself into a bloody mandala of body parts in the sand. What a scene, a farce, a total, fatal farce. Words don’t begin to describe it.”

“As everything seemed completely surreal, another second ticked by, and another. I was starting to process. I followed the gaze of the driver, and I saw some big guy standing there, near the wooden fence, holding a DE .50 aimed at the two thugs, or what was left of them, as their lifeless bodies slowly began to slump to the sand.”

“The big guy was wearing cargo shorts and flip flops, a baseball cap and aviator shades, and carrying a heavy duffel bag on a shoulder strap. He looked Caucasian, maybe American, with a beard. Poised for action, in an alert crouch, he still had his massive semiauto handgun pointed in the direction of the driver, in line with where the other two thugs had been.”

“Now that my brain had clicked back to real time, working again, my training kicked in. All I knew is that a gun was now pointing at me – the driver’s – and it didn’t matter if he was looking at me or not, it was a deadly threat. I drew my finger out of the grenade pin ring, carefully, so I didn’t accidentally yank it out, and I reached over with my right hand to pat my waist, feeling my holster and gun still on my waistband, under the hoodie. With my left hand, I kept a tight grip on the grenade and its clip, just as a safety reflex in the midst of the action, even though it was still pinned.”

“As fast as I could, I unsnapped my gun, got it firmly in my hand, and brought it up toward the driver, who by now was tentatively turning his gaze back toward me, as he was just starting to realize the depth of sh*t that he was in. Now he was in a vacuum of indecision, staring down two barrels, threats from two angles."

"His gun had been pointing toward me, but he had already started to swing it back toward the big guy, where the obviously loud and deadly threat had come from, while trying to decide which way he should look.”

“Without hesitating, I fired, going for an easy one-handed headshot, up through his chin, at that close range. Simultaneously, I heard a much louder retort than the sound of my own combat pistol. Both the big guy and I had fired at the same time. Both headshots. You can imagine what happened to the driver’s head. What a mess ...”

“When I revealed and fired my gun, it changed the situational assessment that the big guy had made, of the crazy scene that had just unfolded before him. I supposed that he had not expected that a Sanchez-riding, hoodied teenager, scrambling to escape from a carload of thugs, was going to be a crack shot assassin.”

“Of course, he might have already been re-assessing, if he had seen me come within a bug’s breath of pulling the pin on a grenade, 15 feet away from him. I hadn’t noticed – or had time to think about – anyone else being near, when I was about to play the suicide grenade card.”

“Now, all the threats having been neutralized, the driver a collapsing, bloody mess, and my gun still aimed where the driver’s head used to be, the situational dynamics changed. In the blink of an eye, the big guy had trained his cannon on me, as I was still sitting on the sand, starting to look toward him, about 15 feet between us. I already knew how well he could shoot.”

“’Whoa, whoa, whoa, WHOA, I’M A FRIENDLY!!’ I shouted, looking straight at the guy and trying to read him, while raising my hands quickly, high and wide, still tightly holding the grenade in my left hand and my pistol, now pointed upward, in my right hand. Then I added, tentatively, ‘... to ..... *whoever* it is you’re working for.’”

“Then I shouted, ‘I’m not a threat!’ Right. That was a pretty empty statement, considering that I was holding lethal weapons in both hands, and the obvious skill I displayed in the one-shot kill that I would have made, had he not made it also. I momentarily wondered who should get the credit for the kill. Maybe we can split it...”

“Nonetheless, I tried to look nonthreatening. If I could get his gun out of my face, and stow my weapons, maybe I could clear things up. But at this moment, it was still a delicate situation. My face and hair were still hidden by the hoodie and the sunglasses, but I was hoping that he would not have expected a woman’s voice. It must have seemed like an incongruous scene.”

“It was enough, apparently, that I didn’t immediately get a double-tap headshot. But the big guy’s big gun was still on me. Deadpan, he said, ‘Tell me those weren’t the good guys.’”

“’They’re sure as hell not!’ I yelled, ‘They killed my best friend!’ I paused, trying to think of what to say to make me sound more like a good guy, myself. More professionally, I added, “I’m IAA. American. I’m on a covert op.’ Well, that last part was a little white lie – I *was* on an op, and it *was* covert, but that was pretty much shot to sh*t, now.”

“The guy smiled a tiny bit – I could see that he had a chuckle at my reply. ‘This is your idea of covert?’ he asked. ‘I’d hate to see you, when you really want to f*ck things up.’”

Then he continued, “Why don’t you put those things down? For some reason, they’re making me nervous.’ He paused, and then added, wryly, ‘You won’t like me when I’m nervous.’”

“I looked at the weapon in my left hand, and the weapon in my right hand, and thought, yeah, that’d be a good idea. I slowly lowered both hands, way out wide, and laid my gun in the sand, as carefully as I could, trying to keep sand out of the slide, and I triple-checked that the grenade’s pin was properly in place, and its clip not trying to spring loose, before laying it down gently, as well.

“Then, as I released the grenade, knowing that it was properly safed, and with the last few thugs of the hour now turned into bloody lumps, I started to feel the first moment of relief and release that I had known, since I decided to go rogue, at noon. I felt like I could take a normal breath, for the first time today, even with the specter of large caliber, hollow point, imminent death aiming right at my face.”

“I didn’t know who this guy was, but he had just saved me from a death that I richly deserved, and he could just as easily give it back to me again, in a loud and bloody split second. I sensed, though, that there was something fundamentally good about this guy, something that made me feel like I would be able to get along with him, if he didn’t splatter my brains all over the sand in the next 10 seconds.”

“He had only said a few words, but they were subtle and dark with cynical humor, especially for a situation where he just killed two and a half scumbags. It’s almost like he was running an internal monologue, consisting of wry, cynical thoughts, and when he had to speak, one of those thoughts would get voiced. Weird guy, but cool. Introspective, maybe in a good way, but maybe not. I wanted to know.”

“And without any other choices anyway, I was in a trusting mood, and I was getting curious about who he really was, out here on a deserted beach with the kind of firepower, and the skill to use it, that would be cause for concern, in normal circumstances. But these circumstances weren’t normal.

“I said, ‘Everything’s safe. Everything’s cool. I’m going to back up, away from the ordnance, and stand up, keeping my hands up, OK?’”

“’That sounds like a good idea,’ he said. Then he paused, had a thought, and asked, ‘You got any more friends like this, coming to your little beach party?’ as he made a quick nod toward the dead, bloody gangsters and their car.”

“I replied, ‘Not immediately, but there will be, maybe soon, and we need to be clean out of here, before they come driving down this road.’”

“Then, thinking back to the past hour or two, where I had just blown up a carport and killed several people in an upscale condo enclave, then gone on to make a violent scene in a dense working class neighborhood with a streetful of witnesses, bullying the heck out of some kids, and stealing their bike, I added, ‘Not to mention the police – the legitimate police, I mean, as opposed to the ones owned by these assholes.’ After coming this close to death, and having survived, I was starting to think tactically again.”

“Before I tried to move from my sitting position, my hands now empty, and still extended far out to both sides, I continued, ‘Listen to me. We’ve got to move. I’m sorry you got caught up in this little operation. But it’s done, now, and the best outcome is that these assholes’ sh*tbag associates never even know that you exist. You don’t want to tangle with them. They’re mindless, sadistic killers, and there’s always another wave of them coming after you.’”

“With a smirk, the big guy replied, ‘Yeah, I know the type.’”

“I said, ‘OK, now, cut me a little slack here. I’m going to try to stand up, but I don’t know what I might have sprained, broken or dislocated. So I’d appreciate it if you don’t shoot me if I lose my balance and have to make a sudden move to recover.’”

“He replied, ‘I’ll try, but sudden moves make me nervous.’ Another witty remark – I think. He smiled a subtle, sly smile. I hoped that he didn’t really mean it.”

“I began pushing myself away from the weapons, my hands far removed from them, my shoes jamming into the sand as I scooted backward on my butt. Then I started cautiously bending forward, to clumsily begin getting to my feet, while guarding against unknown injuries. As I did so, I asked, ‘Who the hell *are* you?’”

"He didn’t say anything for just a second, considering how to respond, and then answered, ‘I’m the dumb gringo who’s always in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with a dumb look on his face.’ And then he added, ’... though, you had me beat for dumb looks, on this one,’ and he smiled.”

“I liked the way he talked. He seemed to be in a surprisingly light, cynical mood, considering all the killing in the last minute, the lingering smell of gunpowder still wafting in the air. This situation didn’t seem out-of-place for him. And another self-depreciating one-liner. Even if you’re going around killing people with headshots, it seemed to me that you still have to be pretty well balanced – ironically – to have that kind of a sense of humor. I was starting to read this guy, and I was liking the story, as it unfolded.”

“I got fully to my feet and nothing hurt – exceptionally – yet. Amazing. Maybe I got lucky, and I wouldn’t feel the real aches until tomorrow. I figured that, after landing in sand like I had, I’d be aching all over, and stiff as a wicker basket, by tomorrow morning, if I lived that long. For sure, I knew I would feel it in my neck and my shoulders.”

“Recovering my general composure, I took off my dictator sunglasses and pulled down my hood, shaking out my hair, which probably looked pretty bad. No woman wants to be seen with hoodie hair. I hooked the stem of my sunglasses over the top of the hoodie zipper.”

“Then I said, ‘My name’s Daniels. Agent Daniels. Karen. But it doesn’t matter, it’s just a name. What I meant was, what are you doing out here, working for whom? But let’s hold onto that, for later. Right now, what do I call you? You got a name?’”

“Again, he didn’t say anything for a second. No witty reply came to mind, I guess. It seemed like he couldn’t say anything, unless it was witty or cynical or self-depreciating.

“Then he said, ’Daniels, Karen? But it doesn’t matter? Hmmm, OK, sure.’ He smiled slightly, and continued, ‘Yeah, maybe I got a name, around here, somewhere. Now where did I put it? Oh, yeah, here it is – Payne, Max Payne.’ Then he imitated me, ‘But it doesn’t matter, it’s just a name.’ After skipping just a tiny beat, he added, “Are we even now?’”

“’Huh,’ I smiled. ‘Yeah, we’re even. Max Payne? OK. That’s some kind of name, Max. I’m not even gonna ask how you got it. Not now, anyway.’”

"In the process, as I was getting on my feet and speaking, I had almost forgotten about his DE .50, which, I now noticed thankfully, he had dropped down a bit, pointing at the sand rather than at my head. I just naturally shook some of the sand off my clothes, and without thinking, I reached back behind to brush the sand off my butt.”

“’Whoa, whoa, whoa!’ he suddenly said, ‘What’ve you got, going on back there?’ He quickly raised his gun up toward me. ‘I’ve heard of places where a guy can almost seem to pull a Combat Machine Gun out of his ass. Talk about concealed weapons. I don’t take any chances with that.”

“I replied, quickly, “Hey, I’m just brushing off the sand.’ I turned around, so he could see that I didn’t have another holster on my waistband in the small of my back, and continued brushing the sand off my butt. In retrospect, it probably looked like I was spanking myself in front of him, and I momentarily felt embarrassed.”

“Then I turned back to him, and I got fully back into tactical thinking and started to automatically plan my next steps to escape, even before I knew if he was going to lower his gun again. It was like, I don’t even have time for this.”

“I said, ‘Hey, Max can you put that cannon away? Now you’re making *me* nervous. We’ve got to get out of here. Unless you’re just planning to stand around and have a nice chat with more of these asshole’s buddies, or the legit or illegitimate police. I’m thinking that conversation might not be such a good thing.’”

“At that moment, an old, weathered, local guy, gray hair and gray mustache, came slowly walking around from the front of the steel shed behind Max. I looked at the guy, and then at the front of the shed, and I realized now that the place was a little cantina, out here by itself on the bay, and he must be the owner. I quickly looked past him, on down the beach, and I didn’t see anybody else, just a few run-down plastic beach chairs, and tatty umbrellas staked in the sand. A forlorn place.”

“The old guy didn’t say anything at first, but just walked up beside Max, stopped, and looked down at Max’s DE .50, then at the bloody car, the dead thugs, and then at me, standing there in my hoodie and cargo pants, a confused American woman on the wrong beach, in the wrong hemisphere, with the wrong kind of fan club following her around.”

“He just shook his head, and I heard him sigh quietly. After a couple of seconds, he said, in English, just as a casual observation to nobody in particular, ‘I’ve seen worse.’”

“I replied to him directly, “You don’t want to be around here when more of these assholes show up asking questions. You got a place to go, now? ... like, *right* now?’”

“He said, with a kind of a resigned inflection in his voice, ‘No more customers, today. Think I close up.’”

“It sounded to me like the old guy knew how the local game is played, and he could avoid any future interaction with the criminal gang who would surely come by, or their paid-off cops. I was thinking of pressing the issue, to make sure that he would understand that he had to lay low. But as a junior nobody, a naïve foreigner, I reconsidered and decided it wasn’t my place to try to give advice to a grizzled old local, who seemed like he knew the score around here, a lot better than I did.”

“Almost like the guy had read my mind, he continued, ‘I got a place to stay, down the coast, for a couple days.’ Then he added, with a sparkle in his kind old eyes and a subtle, wry smile, ‘Been here, done this.’ That reassured me.”

“Max had lowered his gun again, having apparently decided either that I was OK, or that he could still shoot me before I pulled any tricks. I was only thinking about how I could move the topic of conversation quickly again to getting our asses out of there.”

“It occurred to me naturally that I would take the thugs’ car to drive out of there, get back to the coast road, and then take some random turns inland, a little further up the coast, until I could lose this car and find a new and anonymous means of transportation, to shake my scent, from both the thugs’ and insurgents’ organizations, as well as the police that they buy.”

“The corrupt police may honestly be the harder problem. I was already evaluating the risk of making a beeline up the coast to the next Brazilian state, Sergipe or Alagoas, where the insurgents might not have the influence with the local law, but it would increase the chance of getting the license plate checked by Bahia police before I got there. I thought, if I move quick, I might be able to get 100 kilometers, before the license plate got sent out to the cops. But I had already gotten screwed today, bad, by not assuming the worst, so I thought, I better learn my lesson and go inland on the obscure roads.”

“As I was thinking this, the cell phone in one of the dead thug’s pockets rang, startling me, and reminding me of the urgency of getting out of here. If none of the six dead thugs are answering their phones, I could expect worse scum to be dispatched even more quickly, to hunt me down. So now, I just wanted to get moving, fast. The clock was still ticking. No time for breathing easy, not yet.”

“I planned to take Max along with me, until I felt like we both had gotten away clean. I didn’t see that he had a ride here, and I didn’t want him to end up getting caught up in this f*cked up situation that I had created – although ... I had the feeling that if some more thugs came along and tangled with Max, it would be a one-sided fight, and afterward, a world with a few less thugs in it. But it wasn’t his fight. It appeared, once again, that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, when I dropped in. I felt responsible.”

"So it was time to go, past time. But first, we had to clean the blood and brains off the windshield , the hood, and the side of the car. Otherwise, it was going to look a little suspicious, driving around like that. Tends to stand out. I saw a hose connected to a faucet at the side of the cantina. The faucet was connected to a narrow steel pipe that ran up to the top of the cantina, where there was a big blue fresh water tank mounted on the roof. All the restaurants and cantinas here along the coast had the same setup.”

"By his time, the old guy who owned the place had gone back and was lowering a rusty metal roll-down cover mounted up behind the old wooden awning, down to the bar. I basically ignored any further threat that Max’s gun might mean to me, and I walked past Max, over close enough to the old guy, to ask, “Senhor, we need to use some of your fresh water to wash off the car. Then we’re getting out of here. Do you want to come with us?’”

“As he continued securing the cover, he answered, noncommittally, ‘Fresh água costs more than cerveja. I don’t know...’”

“I knew where he was coming from – wisely negotiating the cost of the water, getting the tank refilled, out here in the styx. I lifted the hem of my hoodie a little and reached down inside the waistband of my cargo pants, to a back pocket of my jeans underneath, to get my wallet, where I kept about R$2000 in local currency. All the agents in the field had that kind of cash on hand, or more, for anonymous transactions when needed. It had come in handy, when I bought my revenge supplies at the secondhand store.”

“I pulled out maybe 15 bills, in a mix of R$20 and R$50 notes, probably equivalent to about US$250. I spread it out in my hand so he could see about how much I was offering, and I said, “How’s this? Maybe covers a couple of days to stay away from here, too?’”

“The old local had finished securing the roll-down cover and snapped a padlock in place. He smiled, and waved his hand to push the money back toward me. ‘Too much!’ he replied.”

“’Take it, really,’ I insisted. ‘If it means you can keep your place closed and take a vacation for a couple more days, that’s even better.’ Pointing over my shoulder toward the dead thugs, I continued, ‘These bastards are bad stock. I don’t want them bringing trouble to you. But we need to wash the car, right now. And, are you coming with us? We can drop you off.’”

“’Não!’ he said with a laugh. ‘You guys, problemas! I walk down the coast, a couple quilômetros. To the bus stop. You go the *other* way!’

“I pushed the spread of bills at him again and he waved both palms up, in a ‘whatever’ gesture, and he accepted them. Then he said, ‘You need rags. Um minute...’ He went around the other side of the cantina and came back with a handful of old tattered bar towels, that looked like they were used for dirtier tasks than wiping the bar – at least, I hoped they were.”

“He handed the stack of folded rags to me and said, with an upward nod toward the road, ‘Vá com Deus. [ Go with God. ]’ Then he added, with a sly smile, ‘E não voltar. [ And don't come back. ] Por favor.’”

“I got his joke (if it *was* a joke), laughed lightly, and replied, ‘Obrigado! [ Thank you! ] Stay safe ... please,’ and I quickly turned around to run back and clean off the car, as the old guy also turned and headed up the beach, toward the lonely umbrellas, blowing lightly in the breeze.”

"As I started to run, I looked toward Max, to make sure he wasn’t still pointing his semiautomatic firestick at me. He had just reloaded his clip with bullets from an ammo box in his duffel bag, and he was stuffing the gun and the box back in the bag, still on his shoulder. I guess he decided that I didn’t seem like the type who would shoot him in the back when he turned away, or else it was because he knew that my weapons were still lying in the sand. Anyway, now I could get on with my escape plans...”

“I slowed my pace to a fast stride as I walked past Max, holding out half of the stack of rags as I passed, for him to take. ‘Here,’ I said. ‘We need to get the gangster sauce off the car.’ He reluctantly took them, looking at me with a quizzical ‘What am I supposed to do with these?’ kind of expression, but he knew what to do. Without breaking stride, I continued to the faucet, and started uncoiling the old hose attached to it.”

“Holding the end of the hose in my hand, I turned on the spigot. The water flow was weak, but it was enough. Stepping over the two dead thugs, who looked like they had fully bled out into the sand by now, I brought the hose to the passenger side of the car. Luckily, the hose reached, just barely, to the windshield and the hood, where the bloody splatter was concentrated. I noticed that the engine was still idling, and the keys still in the ignition, so I was grateful that we wouldn’t have to search the dead, bloody driver to find them.

“I started dribbling water all over the mess, and as Max came up to the car, I motioned him around to the other side and I told him, ‘Use the rags to push the water toward me, so it doesn’t spread over the hood. I don’t want to make this any worse.’”

“As Max walked on around to the driver’s side of the car, opposite me, to start using the rags on the hood, he smiled and said, ‘What *is* this? I’m already taking orders from a woman I just got introduced to, five minutes ago? And I don’t think it was even a proper introduction ...’”

“I replied, ‘Sorry, Max, I don’t mean it like that, really. We’ve got to get moving. I’ve had my fill of tangling with these assholes today, and I don’t wanna meet any more.’ To elaborate, I added, ‘I blew up four of these f*cks in their condo a couple of hours ago, and killed three more in the woods just now. Maybe this little surprise party was fun for you, but it’s getting old for me, at this point.’”

“’Holy sh*t,’ Max replied flatly, as he arched one of his eyebrows, making a nodding gesture of approval, while pushing the bloody water on the hood toward me, with the rags I had forced on him. ‘OK, I get the idea. Then he asked me, mock-seriously, ‘Are you some kind of professional badass? Or just a serial killer?’”

“I was concentrating on cleaning the thug sludge off my side of the hood. I had taken the wet, bloody rags Max had pushed my way across the hood, and I was putting more water into them so I could do a second coat of clean over the residue of bloody brain matter remaining on the windshield, and dripping down my side of the car.”

"After a couple of seconds, I replied to him, ‘I think the Agency has a merit badge for Badass, but I’m surely not gonna get it now. I’ll tell you about it later. This isn’t the time.’ Then I added, ‘Is there any more blood on your side of the car?’ I tossed a couple of well-soaked rags over to max’s side of the hood.”

“‘Here,’ I continued, ‘if there is, wipe it down with these. Then wring them out well, and wipe the rest of the water off.’ I knew that men are generally slobs, who don’t have a clue about clean, so they have to be micromanaged if you want the job done right.”

“I wrung out the rags that I had been using, draining the bloody water into the sand, and I wetted them again for a final pass over the car. It cleaned up pretty well, but took a little scrubbing where the blood had already started to dry, around the small blood spatter drops and the outer edges of the bloody lumps. I wiped off all the excess water with a couple of wrung-out rags, and dropped them on the sand between the dead thugs.”

“It was a half-assed cleanup job, obviously appearing as a big clean area, surrounded by the dust on the hood, from the little backroad chase I had just led. But at least it didn’t look like a couple of heads had just exploded. Finally, I was ready to go. With the hose still in my hand, I ran over and turned off the water, dropping the hose without taking the time to coil it up.”

“As I ran back toward the car, I yelled to Max, ‘Let’s go!!’ Since Max was on the driver’s side of the car, I naturally assumed that he would get my meaning, that he should get in the car to drive. I was headed for the passenger side of the car, about to step over the dead thugs again, to open the passenger door, when I remembered my weapons on the sand in front of the thugs’ car, and I detoured around to pick them up.”

“As I retrieved them and I was rising up in front of the car, stuffing the grenade back into my hoodie pocket, and starting to blow the sand off of my pistol, I looked over and saw that Max hadn’t yet opened his car door.”

“Instead, he replied, ‘Hey, I’m not going anywhere. At least, not with some crazy woman in the middle of a man-killing spree, with hand grenades in her pockets.’ He smiled, but he wasn’t entirely joking, as he was taking a closer look at my hoodie, to try to guess if I had yet more unknown weapons under it.”

“I sighed. Why can’t men and women get along? I just met this guy five minutes ago, and he’s already disagreeing with me. Doesn’t he see that we need to go? I thought, OK, f*ck it, I’ll drive; it’s my neck if any more of these thugs catch us, and it’s my responsibility to get us out of this. I’ll tell Max, all he has to do is ride, but we have to go.”

“I quickly continued on around to the driver’s side of the car, thinking about how I would step over the dead driver and jump in, behind the wheel. I hoped there wasn’t blood splatter inside, on the driver’s seat. But as I got close, Max didn’t move out of the way.”

“He had slipped off his aviator shades, and I realized he was still looking at me intently, looking at my eyes, my expression, my body language, trying to read me, weighing the risks versus benefits of leaving with me, or ignoring me, or shooting me in self-defense.”

“I had to rapidly come to a stop, only about a foot away from Max at this point, having expected him to yield my right-of-way in my rapid trajectory to the car door, but he still hadn’t moved. I couldn’t go any further. With his height, plus the upward slope of the sand away from the waters’ edge, he was a head taller than me.”

“Looking up, I locked eyes with him. I could see his questioning look, probably thinking something like, ’What the hell is going on in this woman’s mind? Should I deck her right now, before she slides a shiv under my rib cage?’ I wanted to look serious and sincere, so Max would listen to me, so we could just get out of there, but I didn’t think I was succeeding at that.”

“This whole scenario was rapidly turning into a bad dream, a living nightmare – the lines keep repeating in my mind: ‘We’ve got to get out of here! We have to move! I have to get going! Let’s go!’ But it just wasn’t happening. I almost couldn’t believe it. Things were getting more unreal by the second.”

“After all the violent physical events of the day, I didn’t expect to be stonewalled by a psychological barrier like this. I suddenly had no leverage. I just wanted to get going. At this point, I honestly didn’t know what kind of impression I was projecting, except maybe a crazy woman on the verge of hysteria. Maybe Max was right.”

“Standing in front of Max, looking up at him, at his inquiring expression, I was suddenly blindsided by a long-overdue wave of uncertainty, doubt, and retrospection. Reality had finally hit me. I had been overclocking my mental autopilot for the past 60-plus hours, on a blind course for stone cold vengeance, but now that the action was over, my autopilot had shut down, and here I was, on my own.”

“Now I had to think and feel like an actual human being, again. I realized that I had no idea how to do that, at this moment, in this context. I didn’t even know what I was really thinking, or feeling, or why.”

“In an instant, the whole weight of the last few days just crashed down on me, mentally and emotionally, everything rushing at once, though my mind and my heart – my horror at David’s misery and death, my inevitable, irreversible, all-consuming vow of revenge, my operational planning and execution, my literal execution, of David’s killers – the moral distortion, the uncivilized brutality of it all, outside of any rational process.”

“In my undercover work and internship with the Agency, I had seen violence, and I had been part of both legal and illegal ops where bad people had gotten hurt – deservedly – so I had an Agency-sanctioned model in my mind, of the protocols and the consequences of violence. But before today, I had never killed anyone, not even close. All my life and death decisions were simulated, hypothetical. All my targets in training were cardboard or metal.”

“Now, I had just killed seven or more people, and messed up a couple of unarmed kids. At the time, I wanted to hurt them all, bad, for what they did to David. But what further, lasting distress had I caused to their innocent family members, like the motorcyclist’s young sister? I hadn’t properly considered the collateral damage, in my blind, careening rush for revenge.”

“What the f*ck had I done today, really??? My past sins, which caused me so much regret after I had bungled my first life, waking me night after night, in the lonely, dark hours before dawn, suddenly seemed trivial in comparison. My god!!!”

“My emotions were racing. My Agency discipline, which I had thought was so real and so powerful, started to unspool, along with the foundation, the moral fabric, of my life. What was real? What was right? What was wrong? What mattered? Goddammit!!!”

“In my confused emotional state, I suddenly also realized that, here and now, I had no long-term plan, nowhere to go; I was just running away, blindly, into ... what? The underground, flophouse lifestyle of a fugitive in a foreign land?"

"I realized then, how far away I was from home, from my ruined career, from any kind of normalcy or peace. All I knew is that, once again, I had thrown away everything that mattered in my life, and again, I had put myself in some kind of desperate limbo, with no way out.”

“From the depths of my mind, I was overcome by a rush of supercharged déjà vu, taking me back to my hopeless life in the federal prison cell, before U. L. Paperman ‘rescued’ me. Max must have been seeing the emotions playing out on my face, as I descended into sudden despair."

"I had really lost it all, today. My emotional state was regressing to the innocent young girl I used to be, overwhelmed by events, and by emotional trauma completely out of her range of experience.”

“Falling through my emotional past was like free-falling physically. I was losing it, millisecond by millisecond. I didn’t know how far down into despair I could go. I felt like I would collapse, right there, on the bloodstained sand."

"I reflexively reached out to Max, the only other living human near me, my arm looping through the strap of his duffel bag, my hands thrust behind his back, then my fingers digging into his shoulder blades, as I pulled myself close, my face hard against his chest.”

“I felt hopeless. The innocent Karen was in way over her head, now. I cried, ‘I don’t want to be alone, now. Please, stay with me!! My best friend and lover is dead, and I just threw away my career, to rain retribution and death on the scum who killed him. I’ve got no future, no past, and nowhere to go!’”

“Max replied, quietly and without irony, ‘I know how that is,’ and he hugged me tight. I could sense that he had lifted his gaze, to take in the scene in front of him – the beach, the shining water, and the sun, low in the sky across the bay – rather than look down at my misery.”

“With my face buried in the fabric of his shirt, I sobbed, crying pitiably, letting out a tiny fraction of the flood of grief and loss and helpless rage in me, that I had barely yet begun to confront, since David’s death. Momentarily, I was human again. And it wasn’t pretty.”

“After about 30 seconds into my unexpected, involuntary emotional meltdown, I snapped back to my senses, back to the present, back to discipline. I lifted my head from Max’s shirt, released my tight embrace, and moved to back away, blinking the tears out of my eyes.”

“I looked up at him again, to try to read what he was thinking, now, after my unintended display of female hysterics. Max released his grip on me, and looked down at my salty tears, wet on my cheeks, and staining his shirt. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, as he put his aviator shades back on. ‘You drive.’”

---

Wow. That’s it for now. Karen told O. P. that her story was going to be heavy. Apparently, you don’t become an Agency terminator just by spending your adolescence reading comic books or playing mindless video game twitch shooters. It looks like there’s a bit more life experience involved.

And finally, Karen has met Max, so it’s starting to make sense, now, how she knew him at the Arcadius Business Center in Chapter 11.

Next chapter? I don’t know when. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. But the Pain from the Past story arc has to close. Karen will probably come through. She always does

So hopefully, stay tuned for CHAPTER 19: Pain from the Past (Part 9): Brazilian Getaway Special

Edited September 20, 2017 by saintsrow

[Pete4000uk]

That's a lot of work there!

[saintsrow]

The next chapter of Karen is proceeding very slowly

 

The story up until now is on the GTAF at the I Love Karen Daniels Fanfic

 

Meanwhile, I made a cover for the paperback version

 

[Eugene H. Krabs]

I wonder how the official thread is going to turn out like...

 

 

Edited June 6, 2016 by WhyDoINeedAName

[Skeve613]

Glad to see this thread is still going, always brings a smile to my face

[TCA]

If we are gonna get thirsty for a f*cking character than why not Tracey?

 

Tracey > Karen

 

Edit: @Saintsrow, im not sure if anyone actually reads your story, but edit your post and post it again on the new page so people can see it.

Bc Tracey looks like a foot

[saintsrow]

I wonder how the official thread is going to turn out like...

 

Oh, very exclusive, invitation only, I'm afraid. Only for the true pervs. ooops, I mean true friends of Karen.

 

 

 

 

If we are gonna get thirsty for a f*cking character than why not Tracey?

 

Tracey > Karen

 

Edit: @Saintsrow, im not sure if anyone actually reads your story, but edit your post and post it again on the new page so people can see it.

Bc Tracey looks like a foot

 

Indeed, I'm wondering if Rockstar purposely designed Tracey to be unattractive, because that's what they seem to have accomplished.

Edited June 7, 2016 by saintsrow

[GR Choke]

This is still open?

 

.....bet she has fake melons.

you don't like fake melons???

[CaptSpalding]

[saintsrow]

 

 

 

 

Over the years, I've occasionally been curious about how game developers do casting / auditioning / selection / direction for voice actors. In a lot of cases, the voice pacing, intonation, emphasis did not seem to match the action or the essence of the dialog too well. And the ambience (which is post-production, not voice acting) does not even seem right.

In fact, it seemed to me that in a lot of cases, the actors just walk into a recording booth and read lines, with no direction, and I suspected that’s true. Then, when I was going to write this reply, I did a Google on video game voice acting and this story popped right up, confirming my suspicion:

 

 

For actors, video games present a unique challenge. The pace of production is much faster than work on animated TV series. Scripts are long and preparation time is short. “Voice actors have to master the art of cold reading,” said Cristina Vee, who cast and directed the popular fighting game “Skullgirls.”

In the video game world, actors work fast from long scripts that they don’t usually see before the session. For bigger roles, an actor might have 4,000–5,000 lines. “You’ll get one line in two takes and then you move on,” said McSwain.

 

 

So, in GTA IV, Michelle / Karen had a relatively large number of lines compared to GTAV (see the post in this topic with the video of all GTA IV Michelle cutscenes in this topic). Frankly, in GTA IV, the voice delivery seemed too clipped, too discontinuous and too precise for the character and the story.

I don’t think it was the voice acting per se, but Rockstar’s typical recording process (similar to that mentioned in the article above), and a blatant lack of direction and story context for the voice actor, Rebecca. Just come in and read the lines. That’s how it felt. I’m afraid I have to say, it didn’t work so well in GTA IV, in my opinion.

BUT – in GTAV, where Karen / Rebecca has fewer lines, and perhaps / apparently much better direction and preparation, or she got a good sense of the story, everything worked 1000% better. And in GTAV, the character was more mature, with her real personality on display, unlike GTA IV.

The voice acting by Rebecca (and the dialog content) makes the Karen character in GTAV/GTA Online come alive, setting a definite tone, and providing a depth and richness to the character that inspires us. Seriously, just the few lines in the Humane Labs heist, and (to a lesser extent) the short GTAV scene in the IAA building, gave me a fully fleshed out character that inspired the Karen fanfic I have been slowly writing here in this topic.

I should add, just for completeness, however, that the long pieces of dialog by the UL Paper contact in GTA IV provided an excellent sense of that character. I tried to emulate that character depth in his long monologue in Chapter 8 and Chapter 9 of the Karen saga.

What do you guys think?

 

 

Just waxing nostalgic, I remembered the fantastic voice acting by Cynthia Farrell, who was the voice of Catalina in GTA San Andreas. Now this is how it's supposed to be done! Check out the Catalina video (skip 0:44 to 1:44, which is just CJ whining, and maybe even skip to 2:47):

 

 

 

Cynthia Farrell has moved on to a serious singing career, but in our eyes (and ears) she gave Catalina legendary status in the GTA HD universe. A review of her singing includes the little side tidbit, 'Her successful professional career, which includes dubbing a voice for an immensely popular foul-mouthed video game character,....'

 

 

Another note about voice acting:

 

We GTA fans need to stand up for the rights of our voice actors!!! Don't let sleazy, opportunistic, exploitative video game companies ruin our actors' voices. It's an OSHA violation! Fight back!!

 

 

Videogames danger to actors’ voices? Union demands state probe

 

SAG-AFTRA is asking the state of California to investigate the videogame industry for allegedly allowing unsafe practices that damage performers’ vocal chords.

The union has asked the California Occupational Health and Safety Administration in a letter to investigate industry practices and create voice safety standards.

“Increasing numbers of voiceover actors are reporting that they are experiencing both short-term and/or long-term damage to their vocal cords, due to the intensity of the vocal demands put on to them by the employers,” said the letter from SAG-AFTRA National Executive Director David White to Cal/OSHA.

He wrote that for up to four hours, actors are asked to perform voices, noises, death screams, creature voices, combat yelling and other sounds with so much force that they are causing internal damage to their vocal cords. He added that medical specialists have documented that the vocal stress from video games is causing medical problems that include vocal nodules, cysts, polyps and, in some cases, cord hemorrhaging.

[MCMXCII]

Damn I didn't know about all of that.

[GR Choke]

it's been too long....

[TKDSnovelist]

 

 

 

 

Over the years, I've occasionally been curious about how game developers do casting / auditioning / selection / direction for voice actors. In a lot of cases, the voice pacing, intonation, emphasis did not seem to match the action or the essence of the dialog too well. And the ambience (which is post-production, not voice acting) does not even seem right.

In fact, it seemed to me that in a lot of cases, the actors just walk into a recording booth and read lines, with no direction, and I suspected that’s true. Then, when I was going to write this reply, I did a Google on video game voice acting and this story popped right up, confirming my suspicion:

 

 

For actors, video games present a unique challenge. The pace of production is much faster than work on animated TV series. Scripts are long and preparation time is short. “Voice actors have to master the art of cold reading,” said Cristina Vee, who cast and directed the popular fighting game “Skullgirls.”

In the video game world, actors work fast from long scripts that they don’t usually see before the session. For bigger roles, an actor might have 4,000–5,000 lines. “You’ll get one line in two takes and then you move on,” said McSwain.

 

 

So, in GTA IV, Michelle / Karen had a relatively large number of lines compared to GTAV (see the post in this topic with the video of all GTA IV Michelle cutscenes in this topic). Frankly, in GTA IV, the voice delivery seemed too clipped, too discontinuous and too precise for the character and the story.

I don’t think it was the voice acting per se, but Rockstar’s typical recording process (similar to that mentioned in the article above), and a blatant lack of direction and story context for the voice actor, Rebecca. Just come in and read the lines. That’s how it felt. I’m afraid I have to say, it didn’t work so well in GTA IV, in my opinion.

BUT – in GTAV, where Karen / Rebecca has fewer lines, and perhaps / apparently much better direction and preparation, or she got a good sense of the story, everything worked 1000% better. And in GTAV, the character was more mature, with her real personality on display, unlike GTA IV.

The voice acting by Rebecca (and the dialog content) makes the Karen character in GTAV/GTA Online come alive, setting a definite tone, and providing a depth and richness to the character that inspires us. Seriously, just the few lines in the Humane Labs heist, and (to a lesser extent) the short GTAV scene in the IAA building, gave me a fully fleshed out character that inspired the Karen fanfic I have been slowly writing here in this topic.

I should add, just for completeness, however, that the long pieces of dialog by the UL Paper contact in GTA IV provided an excellent sense of that character. I tried to emulate that character depth in his long monologue in Chapter 8 and Chapter 9 of the Karen saga.

What do you guys think?

 

 

Just waxing nostalgic, I remembered the fantastic voice acting by Cynthia Farrell, who was the voice of Catalina in GTA San Andreas. Now this is how it's supposed to be done! Check out the Catalina video (skip 0:44 to 1:44, which is just CJ whining, and maybe even skip to 2:47):

 

 

 

Cynthia Farrell has moved on to a serious singing career, but in our eyes (and ears) she gave Catalina legendary status in the GTA HD universe. A review of her singing includes the little side tidbit, 'Her successful professional career, which includes dubbing a voice for an immensely popular foul-mouthed video game character,....'

 

 

Just imagine, if Trevor & Catalina were a thing... horrible! Bonnie & Clyde 2.0

 

Their child would terrorize San Andreas.

 

RIP Sandy Shores

[GR Choke]

just realized saintsrow is not the OP

[Skycam]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Over the years, I've occasionally been curious about how game developers do casting / auditioning / selection / direction for voice actors. In a lot of cases, the voice pacing, intonation, emphasis did not seem to match the action or the essence of the dialog too well. And the ambience (which is post-production, not voice acting) does not even seem right.

 

In fact, it seemed to me that in a lot of cases, the actors just walk into a recording booth and read lines, with no direction, and I suspected thats true. Then, when I was going to write this reply, I did a Google on video game voice acting and this story popped right up, confirming my suspicion:

 

 

 

For actors, video games present a unique challenge. The pace of production is much faster than work on animated TV series. Scripts are long and preparation time is short. Voice actors have to master the art of cold reading, said Cristina Vee, who cast and directed the popular fighting game Skullgirls.

 

In the video game world, actors work fast from long scripts that they dont usually see before the session. For bigger roles, an actor might have 4,0005,000 lines. Youll get one line in two takes and then you move on, said McSwain.

 

 

 

So, in GTA IV, Michelle / Karen had a relatively large number of lines compared to GTAV (see the post in this topic with the video of all GTA IV Michelle cutscenes in this topic). Frankly, in GTA IV, the voice delivery seemed too clipped, too discontinuous and too precise for the character and the story.

 

I dont think it was the voice acting per se, but Rockstars typical recording process (similar to that mentioned in the article above), and a blatant lack of direction and story context for the voice actor, Rebecca. Just come in and read the lines. Thats how it felt. Im afraid I have to say, it didnt work so well in GTA IV, in my opinion.

 

BUT in GTAV, where Karen / Rebecca has fewer lines, and perhaps / apparently much better direction and preparation, or she got a good sense of the story, everything worked 1000% better. And in GTAV, the character was more mature, with her real personality on display, unlike GTA IV.

 

The voice acting by Rebecca (and the dialog content) makes the Karen character in GTAV/GTA Online come alive, setting a definite tone, and providing a depth and richness to the character that inspires us. Seriously, just the few lines in the Humane Labs heist, and (to a lesser extent) the short GTAV scene in the IAA building, gave me a fully fleshed out character that inspired the Karen fanfic I have been slowly writing here in this topic.

 

I should add, just for completeness, however, that the long pieces of dialog by the UL Paper contact in GTA IV provided an excellent sense of that character. I tried to emulate that character depth in his long monologue in Chapter 8 and Chapter 9 of the Karen saga.

 

What do you guys think?

 

Just waxing nostalgic, I remembered the fantastic voice acting by Cynthia Farrell, who was the voice of Catalina in GTA San Andreas. Now this is how it's supposed to be done! Check out the Catalina video (skip 0:44 to 1:44, which is just CJ whining, and maybe even skip to 2:47):

 

 

 

Cynthia Farrell has moved on to a serious singing career, but in our eyes (and ears) she gave Catalina legendary status in the GTA HD universe. A review of her singing includes the little side tidbit, 'Her successful professional career, which includes dubbing a voice for an immensely popular foul-mouthed video game character,....'

 

 

 

Just imagine, if Trevor & Catalina were a thing... horrible! Bonnie & Clyde 2.0

 

Their child would terrorize San Andreas.

 

RIP Sandy Shores

 

^Thanks for that. I've never imagined that and never would have if you didn't share the thought.

Edited August 28, 2016 by Skycam

[Dimsonic]

 

Hey, saints

Sounds like you may have "flashlight" envy.

 

 

#paythebenz

 

Who wouldn't?

 

His tonsils will be playing THE LAST shadow puppets, i hope.

[saintsrow]

it's been too long....

Hey, GR, thanks for saying this. I got stalled for a few months, bringing up a new GTA0 character on PC and some other distractions. But our muse, dear Karen, is now back, inciting the creative urge. I hope to have a chapter continuing Karen's travails in Bahia, in about another week.

 

I really appreciate your interest. Nothing makes an artiste (or a two-bit hack like me) happier than an expression of interest by their readers.

[Nick1020]

I'm surprised this forum hasn't produced a sfm vid yet.

[Valetos]

 

Not going to lie, she is a 7.7/10 EASY. Anyone know her actor? She's a great character. I'd love to invite her over, and do some good things.

 

 

 

(But what she did to niko was wroooonngggg on all sorts of levels)

Edited September 28, 2016 by Valetos

[PhillBellic]

Not going to lie, she is a 7.7/10 EASY. Anyone know her actor? She's a great character. I'd love to invite her over, and do some good things.

 

Rebbecca Henderson says Hi.

 

 

(But what she did to niko was wroooonngggg on all sorts of levels)

 

She didn't have a choice there. She was as much a Victim of the UL Paper Contact as Niko was.