The Last Warrior Full Movie Online

[Kanisha Dezarn]

Thanksmuch. I'm going to release this one at the same time as the second one, which brings me to this. I only plan on making one more Warrior CAW and then I'm going to start work on surfer Sting. I'm going to let these people each choose one Warrior attire if they would like.....

Thanks. I'm going to make surfer Sting after I make one more Warrior CAW. I'm going to make 2 Sting CAWs. 4 attires by me, and I'm going to let 4 other CAW makers choose the surfer Sting attires. Would you like to choose 1 of the 4?

face looks great as always...just curious if you've taken it in-game against the DLC Warrior to match the body up/see if your morph there is off in any places that this year you could nail in to in-game specs.

This Warrior looks great. Now that he is getting inducted to hof and had a wwe2k14 commercial with his current attire he wore during his return match in barcelon, spain is there a chance for a current warrior attire? I really want a current warrior. That way in all of our universes he can make the Ultimate Return.

I did actually go back and forth using the DLC Warrior to compare body morph size. I made some adjustments to try and match it. The only area I think I can't replicate is the back width. If I make it wider than it is, the lats start to look like a turtle shell. I used the DLC Warrior to compare and contrast facial features. I ended up make quite a few adjustments. I think you'll be able to see the adjustments when it's available for download. I compared it with my Warrior CAW from last year, and was surprised at the improvements. It really helps to be able to compare against an in game CAW for reference.

I appreciate the positive feedback. I plan on letting the 4 attires be chosen by people I've had the most help with making CAWs since I first joined this forum in 2008. In the past I've made as many as 4 or 5 different versions (16 to 20 attires), but that is extremely time consuming. If one of those guys chooses it I'll make it. I actually think the attire he had in the promo commercial for 2k14 was cool.

Glad to see you making this again. I've always grabbed this. I'm anxiously awaiting someone to release a top-notch Sting from the 80's/early 90's. That version of him was so much more fun and exciting to watch than the "Crow" version. I have a couple of CC, but if I remember correctly, Tomcat's is the best typically.

Thanks for the postive feedback. Once I finish with the Warrior, this thread will become "The Ultimate Warrior and Sting" thread, so that's when you'll see the first preview pics for Sting. I'm putzing around with the Save Editor right now, and one thing I'm hoping to have done that I've never had before. A textured version of Surfer Sting.

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from

Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1962.

Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that

the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

Jord awoke to the purr of the ventilators billowing the heavy curtainsat the doorway. Through them, from the corridor, seeped the cold,realistic, shadowless light that seemed to sap the color from man andmatter and leave only drabness and emptiness.

His eyes were sandy with sleep. He blinked. The optic nerves readiedfor sight, pupils focused, retina recorded. The primordial fear ofunfamiliar things disappeared as he recognized the objects in the room,identified waking as a natural phenomenon and remembered the day'sobjectives.

He lay quietly on the pallet; dimly conscious of identity, clingingphysically to the temporal death vanishing behind his opened eyes. Palelight, swollen bladder, sticky throat, quiescent body, unimportanthunger, dim fear of incipient living.

He felt for the cigarettes on the floor beside his bed. His careful,sleepy fingers passed lightly over the ashy ashtray and fell onwrinkled cellophane. Dry tubes from a synthetic Virginia. He shook acigarette from the pack and lay with it jutting from his lips. Thesteady, filtered, odorless breeze centered on his senseless frontallobes and whispered down his silver cheeks.

A light. His hand crawled, finger walking across the crimson carpetto the grouping, found the metal tube and flew back to his chest. Hefumbled with the trigger. His muscles were lethargic and he pressed ithard with a childish impatience.

Now the metal tip glowed orange as the radioactive motes in the tubedestroyed themselves with rigid self-control. Careful suction, then,and a cubic foot of tobacco smoke howled down his esophagus into hislungs, examined each feathery cranny and left by muscular contraction.

The woman uncoiled herself and lay flat. Through the tangle of bronzedhair, one ear shone whitely. She brushed the hair from her eyes andher scarlet mouth opened in a feline yawn. The woman was pink andwhite; she quivered in voluptuous ecstasy and slithered on the satinwith her own satiny, round and naked flesh.

He shared the cigarette, thinking of the distance between the bed andthe bathroom. The clock told him he had eight minutes to wait formaximum emission. His physiological chart showed a tolerance of nineand one-third hours.

Eight minutes to wait. Then he would have twenty minutes in which toshower, and fifteen to clothe himself in the shimmering, clingingopaque that, like the casing on a sausage, would cover him, leavingonly his eyes, ears and mouth. These the neurologist would take care ofbefore the mechanics fitted him into his machine for his next tour ofduty.

"Can I tell the dispatcher that I pleased you?" The voice distorter hadshifted and made her sound as though she had a cold. It was, of course,impossible. That scourge hadn't attacked the fortress in thirty years.In all probability it would never attack it again.

He was already on his way to the bathroom. If he should see her again,her voice would be different, her hair would be different. She had noscars or physical aberrance that he could recognize her by. She washealthy, intelligent and normal, and therefore selected for breeding.So was he. Ask the geneticists. He had.

In the bathroom, the clock told him to wash his face. Carefully herubbed desensitizer on his mask, on the ten thousand artificial nerveendings that transcribed every motion of the living tissue it encasedand magnified that motion a thousand times to the mightier motions ofthe machine.

He looked into the mirror with the interest of a man who sees his faceon rare occasions. The nerves stood out like splintered cracks inglass. He fingered his face lovingly, unmindful of the agony caused byhis touch, remembering the woman. He wondered in what manner her facewould differ from his.

The pain made him stop thinking about it and he closed his eyes tospray a weak solution of desensitizer on the burning flesh. Almostimmediately the pain was gone; but it left him with a marble mask thatwouldn't come to life again until the effects of the desensitizer woreoff.

He had shaved and desensitized his body the night before, so it wasonly a matter of washing and disinfecting before he climbed into theoverall casing and stepped clumsily into the sensitizing shower. Thehuge bag began to shrink and cloud, adhering to his body as though itwere another layer of his skin.

Since the casing acted as a magnifying extension of his nervous andmuscular systems, his body, within the casing, felt nothing. Therewas no sense of contact as he walked across the floor and opened thebathroom door. As far as feeling went, he was without a body.

He said "hello" experimentally, to see if the distorter was still on.It wasn't. The hard flatness of his voice surprised him. The rosy lightwas gone also. Something peculiar to women caused the filter to slideover the coldly glowing silver. No man could cause it. No warrior wassupposed to want to.

He went through the curtains into the tube-like corridor and joined theother silver warriors on their way to the mess hall. He knew no one ofthem, yet knew them all. In battle, no friend of his would die, yet noone would die that he did not know. Two hundred years of war in thisforgotten bit of the universe had shown the value of this. Some day,if he lived to be old, he would become a civilian. Until then the onlyfaces he would see would be his own and those of the subnormal serversin the mess hall. He had no loyalties except to the fortress. Thefortress was his past, present and future.

The moron stared at him blankly, not understanding what was spoken, notcaring. It was mentally impossible for him to care about anyone andpsychologically impossible for anyone to care about him. That was whyhe was allowed to serve in the mess.

Jord wished the idiot was able to talk, but decided against holding aone-sided conversation with him. He used to do it quite often, takingpleasure in the shifting planes of his face, until he'd become sickwith longing for a complete human being. He knew no one and only hispsychiatrist knew him. The fortress was to him one complete body.

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