John - Look bio

[SFX: WHUP-WHUP-WHUP—Apache rotor blades pounding low. A thunderclap above—F-22 streaking past in a sonic tear.] [Radio chatter cuts in and out. Then: two distant whistles. A second later, the sky rips open.] [BOOM. BOOM.] Narration – Yellow (voice low, haunted): The drop was for GamerSupps RAW MEAT. Brown got there first. Too fast, too loud. He never saw it coming. [Cut to: Apache cannon burst—THUDTHUDTHUD—ripping through metal and feathers. Then the GBU-24s fall like judgment.] [Explosion swallows the hillside. Debris rains.] Blue Bird (screaming): “BROWN!” Yellow (grabbing him, holding him back with bloodied wings): “NO! He’s gone! You fire that Javelin now or we ALL die!” [SFX: WHOOSH—Javelin lock-on. A click. Then a shriek through the clouds—impact. The Apache vanishes in fire.] [Silence. The wreckage crackles. Smell of burnt down feathers and scorched energy drink powder.] Blue Bird (collapsing, voice shaking): “He… he was mouthing the flavor. Even at the end…” Yellow (dead quiet): “Raw Meat.” [Camera tight on Yellow’s eyes—rage flooding in like nightfall.] Yellow Bird (cold as winter steel): “We take the shaker next. And we drown them in their own flavor.

[SFX: Wind howling through cracked fans, distant electrical hum. Then—clack-clack-clack—gunfire echoes like keys being mashed in rage.] [Scene: Night. Rain slicks the plastic terrain. The Great RGB Keyboard glows in the dark like a fallen god’s altar. Each key pulses—red, blue, green. Hypnotic. Sacred.] Yellow Bird (whispering, crouched behind a rusted hobo barrel): “Four hostiles. Tight spread. They’re not here to take it—they’re here to erase it.” Blue Bird (bleeding, feathers torn, eyes focused): “This thing… this keyboard… it’s the last Type-R relic. We lose it, we lose the signal.” Yellow (gritting beak, peering over barrel rim): “Then we don’t lose it.” [SFX: A round slams into the barrel—sparks fly. Another explodes a monitor beside you.] Yellow (to Blue): “On three. I draw left. You pull right. We hit the F-row together.” Blue (nods, chambering the last round): “Copy. Let’s CTRL-ALT-DELETE these bastards.” [Cue: The countdown in your head. 3… 2… 1—] [Yellow breaks left—wings slicing air, talons flashing. Blue rolls right, barrel smoking. Bullets rip the desk apart.] [SFX: BOOM—one enemy down. Then another. Sparks fly off the RGB keyboard as a stray round hits “G”. The glow flickers. You charge.] [Close combat. Screams. A blade. A claw. The barrel finally tips over—burning—casting both of you in silhouette.] [Last hostile drops. Silence. Rain mixes with the steam off your feathers.] Blue Bird (breathing hard, voice trembling): “We lived.” Yellow Bird (barely audible): “No. We typed our way out.” [They both look at the keyboard—still glowing. The F-keys blink one by one, then lock into a pulsing red.] Yellow Bird (voice like a vow): “This ridge is ours. They can take our airspace… but they will never take our macros

🟡 Journal Entry – Waifu Ridge, Day 3 We got word the shaker touched down overnight. Pink. Glossy. Laced with waifu-grade stimulant. I didn’t believe it—thought it was just another bait drop to thin our numbers. But when I saw the glow myself… I knew it was real. Blue got there before me. Took overwatch on the lid. He looked peaceful up there. Focused. Like he believed in something again. I kept low. Spear in wing, claws scraping concrete. The scent of Blowhole Blast was thick. Sweet. Dangerous. We were seconds from extraction when the sky split open. Rotor blades. Steel feathers. A drone the size of a crow dropped in screaming. Blue shouted something—then everything blurred. A finch, painted in enemy sigils, dove past and detonated on the cap. He was ready to die for it. So was I. I’ve got no illusions left. This war ain’t about sides anymore. It’s about survival… …and who controls the flavor. – Yellow, still holding the line

[SFX: Thunder crashes. Distant explosions shake the ground. A high-pitched static screech pierces the air.] Yellow Bird (breath ragged, voice shaking but fierce, gripping the RPG-7 like a lifeline): “They’re here—two shadows creeping to tear down our voice… our legacy.” Blue Bird (juggernaut armor rattling, minigun screaming like a beast unleashed): “I’m a wall of steel. Let them come. Every bullet will be their last breath.” [SFX: Beeping from a live timer—clock ticking down faster, heartbeat pounding in ears.] Yellow (eyes wild, voice breaking): “Three seconds. We can’t lose this. If the QuadCast falls… so do we.” Blue (roaring through gritted beak): “Hold the line. I’m feeding lead. You blast them to hell.” [SFX: Minigun spitting fury, shells hitting metal, screams of chaos.] [Yellow fires RPG-7—rocket screams through smoke and fire, crashing into the explosives with a thunderous explosion.] [SFX: Shrapnel flies. Sparks rain down. The QuadCast monument flickers but stands—fighting.] Blue Bird (voice trembling with raw relief and rage): “We live. We fucking live.” Yellow Bird (breath hitching, eyes burning with fierce promise): “No one—no damn force—silences our broadcast. Not today. Not ever.

[SFX: distant gunfire echoing, a thunderous roar splits the sky—the F-22 screams overhead] Yellow Bird (panting, pressed low behind twisted metal): “Blue, don’t you dare close those eyes. Stay with me—fight it.” Blue Bird (voice barely more than a whisper, trembling): “Did we… get the drop?” Yellow Bird (jaw tight, eyes blazing): “Not yet. Raptor’s slicing the sky. We’ve got cover—hold on.” [A brutal explosion rips the earth nearby—dust and shattered feathers scatter like lost souls] Blue Bird (a weak, proud smile bleeding through pain): “Tell the flock… I flew proud. Till the end.” Yellow Bird (shakes head fiercely, claws digging into the dirt): “No. You’re not done flying—not while I’m breathing.” [Silence falls, save the fading roar of the jet retreating. Yellow rises—blood stains feathers, fury burning bright.] Yellow Bird (voice low, sharp as broken glass): “They’ll pay. In frames and feathers.”