He could even feel his spine being stretched. Bond was being pulled down, inch by inch. The eyes were glaring up at him, redly, venomously, and the forest of feeding arms was at his feet and legs, tearing the cotton fabric away and flailing back. Now the head of the squid had broken the surface and the sea was being thrashed into foam by the great heaving mantle round it. He tore it out, got it between his two hands and wrenched the doubled wire almost straight.īond had not time to worry about them. If he missed, he would be torn to shreds on the fence.īond thrust his knife between his teeth and his hand dived for the crook of the wire spear. He would have to let go with one arm to stoop and get within range. Ten minutes later, Bond, his wet rags clinging to his scrubbed, stinging body and his hair slicked back out of his eyes, climbed over the top of the headland. All he needed was an ounce of hope, an ounce of reassurance that it was still worth while trying to stay alive. Only, with Bond, the two halves were not yet dead. Bond was like a cut worm, the two halves of which continue to jerk forward although life has gone and been replaced by the mock life of nervous impulses. It moved alongside his body, or floated above it, keeping enough contact to pull the strings that made the puppet work. The thinking, feeling apparatus of Bond was no longer part of his body. The stinking, bleeding, black scarecrow moved its arms and legs quite automatically. There were iron ship-noises and the sound of water splashing into the sea from a bilge pump. He could hear the changing beat of its engine. Then Bond sat down and meticulously went over the photograph that was in his brain.įrom close by came various sounds and echoes. Apart from aiming the canvas mouth of the conveyor, there was nothing else for anyone to do. On the other side of the mountain men would be working, feeding the guano to the conveyor-belt that rumbled away through the bowels of the rock, but on this side no one was allowed and no one was necessary. There was no other sound, no other movement, no other life apart from the watch at the ship's wheel, the trusty working at the crane, and Doctor No, seeing that all went well. The morning breeze feathered the deep-water anchorage, still half in shadow beneath the towering cliffs, the' conveyor-belt thudded quietly on its rollers, the crane's engine chuffed rhythmically. Many crewmates were also camouflaged into other artworks, including a large lemon toward the bottom of the canvas.That was all. At one point, war broke out over a giant crewmate toward the centre of the map, leading to its destruction. In terms of the art itself, there are a lot of noteworthy pieces and themes this year.Īmong Uscrewmates were prominent in many ways. The usual community rivalries played out here, with Destiny fans being particularly effective in protecting their territory while simultaneously ending any attempt of Hasan's to claim canvas space. Twitch personalities like Hasan Piker, XQC, Mizkif, Asmongold and the (recently banned) Destiny were all active in directing their communities to build their own art or to vandalise that of others. Streamers were another big factor this time around. They all made an appearance again this year but were kept mostly at bay by heavily coordinated factions whose experiences in 2017 had them mobilising quickly to carve out territory. 2017 r/Place was marked by a strong sense of chaos, as exemplified by the various cult-like factions that sprung up precisely to cause that chaos: the Rainbow Roaders, the Green Lattice, the Void Swarmers. However, the differences do not end there.

Mechanically, 2022's lasted longer by a day, expanded the colour palette on the second and third days, and grew the canvas twice to allow for more space to place pixels. There are a few things that distinguish this year's r/Place from 2017's.

Brave frontier memes