Guys, we still playing? I'm in, PSN: Jefecito_20.

I'll play as Roma.

Recent one of me.

I was playing earlier (PS3 version) and the 'square' button (used to customise weapons) was a blue x (from xbox 360), no joke. Does this prove anything?

I guess it isn't proof as you can't see it, you'll just have to take my word for it.

Just been invitied into the Union, which I am grateful for, thanks. Everyone welcome me!

Posted this in off topic a few days ago but thought I could share with you guys. It's my story I submitted for my AS level (I'm 17) English coursework.

They came in their thousands, horde after horde, wave after wave. Unstoppable. Invincible. We had to stay focused. We had to fight for our country, our people, ourselves, knowing we didn't have a chance. My squadron was down to its bare minimum, we started a month ago with eight soldiers, and three were living. The war had been raging for twenty seven days.

Disgusting, 'transparent' brown they were, either emerging as small, scattering minions, in their thousands, or as colossal statures, in their thousands. Panic, desperation and fear were the predominant feelings when the ground around us began to rumble. We had all seen it in briefing, every morning. It had happened nineteen years ago, exactly the same. We knew what was to come. We readied our guns. Strapped our armour. Wiped our brows. We waited.

Then the ground began to widen, like a mouth, gradually opening, until the earth would spew up these vile creatures. They smelt vulgar, like decaying flesh. Locust like. Out they came. We took shots, suppressive fire. For minutes, until rounds were empty and arms were tired. Still they came. Men were dying before me, beside me, behind me. Everywhere around me there was blood. I ordered the squad to retreat. "BACK TO BASE! SITUATION: FUBAR!" I screamed at my fully-committed soldiers. They responded sharply, quickly turning foot as they shrugged off locust. But it was like trying to run in water. Physics denied us a getaway as locust grabbed clumps of our hair, our limbs, anything they could cling onto in grave hope of devouring us. They were freaks, mutants, and so powerful. Our energy levels were bare, virtually non-existent, but we eventually found some ground. Safe, at last. Safe for the time being. Finally.

I collapsed; my legs gave way as my face hit the hard, unforgiving ground. I should have been issuing rations to my soldiers, patching them up and giving orders, but my mind wasn't functioning as it should, I was having intense flashbacks. Nineteen years ago, I was a new recruit like them, pasty-faced, **** scared and crying. I could empathize with them because I had been in their position. My father was my leader, in my life and in the squad, the army's best; a fine soldier was Curtis Bager. I felt sick, all of a sudden, depression and sadness fleeted through my tired body, as I thought of my loving father. I snapped out of it, I had to, after all. I shook my head, sweat spat off my cheeks. I brushed myself down, forgetting the past and remembering what was happening to America.

After re-grouping, I ordered the squad to move out. Back into the hellish battlefield we went, like flies attracted to a shining light. I was addicted. I loved it, fighting. I had always loved it, from Street Fighter on my Sega to playground scraps with the school bully. But I was different, I didn't fight for personal satisfaction, or to make myself look like the 'big man', and give myself a reputation, I always fought for a real reason, something to save, and something to die for.

I looked to my right; Dogg was slugging it out with a seven foot creature. But I had to focus, as I turned, I was clouted. I was clouted hard. I looked up from the floor, like a dog, conceding defeat to whatever was in my wake. It was like nothing I had seen, and I had seen a lot in my time. Bigger. Stronger. Faster. This was it. This was General RAAW. Leader of the locust, it is their idol. He typified everything rancid about the enemy, claws sharper and bigger, teeth more menacing and hungry, face bigger, and uglier. He wore a ragged, black, bloody overcoat that concealed his diseased, torn shell. This was it, I was about to go one on one with the 'big daddy'.

Just wanted to share my short story I submitted for my school coursework.

All opinions welcome, as long as constructive.

They came in their thousands, horde after horde, wave after wave. Unstoppable. Invincible. We had to stay focused. We had to fight for our country, our people, ourselves, knowing we didn't have a chance. My squadron was down to its bare minimum, we started a month ago with eight soldiers, and three were living. The war had been raging for twenty seven days.

Disgusting, 'transparent' brown they were, either emerging as small, scattering minions, in their thousands, or as colossal statures, in their thousands. Panic, desperation and fear were the predominant feelings when the ground around us began to rumble. We had all seen it in briefing, every morning. It had happened nineteen years ago, exactly the same. We knew what was to come. We readied our guns. Strapped our armour. Wiped our brows. We waited.

Then the ground began to widen, like a mouth, gradually opening, until the earth would spew up these vile creatures. They smelt vulgar, like decaying flesh. Locust like. Out they came. We took shots, suppressive fire. For minutes, until rounds were empty and arms were tired. Still they came. Men were dying before me, beside me, behind me. Everywhere around me there was blood. I ordered the squad to retreat. "BACK TO BASE! SITUATION: FUBAR!" I screamed at my fully-committed soldiers. They responded sharply, quickly turning foot as they shrugged off locust. But it was like trying to run in water. Physics denied us a getaway as locust grabbed clumps of our hair, our limbs, anything they could cling onto in grave hope of devouring us. They were freaks, mutants, and so powerful. Our energy levels were bare, virtually non-existent, but we eventually found some ground. Safe, at last. Safe for the time being. Finally.

I collapsed; my legs gave way as my face hit the hard, unforgiving ground. I should have been issuing rations to my soldiers, patching them up and giving orders, but my mind wasn't functioning as it should, I was having intense flashbacks. Nineteen years ago, I was a new recruit like them, pasty-faced, **** scared and crying. I could empathize with them because I had been in their position. My father was my leader, in my life and in the squad, the army's best; a fine soldier was Curtis Bager. I felt sick, all of a sudden, depression and sadness fleeted through my tired body, as I thought of my loving father. I snapped out of it, I had to, after all. I shook my head, sweat spat off my cheeks. I brushed myself down, forgetting the past and remembering what was happening to America.

After re-grouping, I ordered the squad to move out. Back into the hellish battlefield we went, like flies attracted to a shining light. I was addicted. I loved it, fighting. I had always loved it, from Street Fighter on my Sega to playground scraps with the school bully. But I was different, I didn't fight for personal satisfaction, or to make myself look like the 'big man', and give myself a reputation, I always fought for a real reason, something to save, and something to die for.

I looked to my right; Dogg was slugging it out with a seven foot creature. But I had to focus, as I turned, I was clouted. I was clouted hard. I looked up from the floor, like a dog, conceding defeat to whatever was in my wake. It was like nothing I had seen, and I had seen a lot in my time. Bigger. Stronger. Faster. This was it. This was General RAAW. Leader of the locust, it is their idol. He typified everything rancid about the enemy, claws sharper and bigger, teeth more menacing and hungry, face bigger, and uglier. He wore a ragged, black, bloody overcoat that concealed his diseased, torn shell. This was it, I was about to go one on one with the 'big daddy'.