Koji96

https://youtu.be/C59d6SQpYKE

Coming soon

You bring up the roleplay feedback forum, I've given feedback on said forum. Thought the feedback I gave was constructive feedback. I pointed out several flaws that PD did during the hostage situation at city hall. The "negotiator" and I use that term very loosely, did an awful job. His "negotiation" was "there's more of us than you, good luck." He showed ZERO concern for the hostage's life, none. PD breeched the room while the hostage was still ALIVE and sprayed everyone in the room down and while doing so mind you, they also wounded the hostage that in the forum they proclaimed they showed so much concern for. I've never seen a more blatant example of a "W" mentality and to pretend like there isn't one within PD is disingenuous. Mind you, I doubt any change will come with that feedback. "PD has to deal with some real difficult people whether they're being vile/abusive, flat out argumentative and refuse to role-play or are just here to fuck about." I want to put extra emphasis on "being vile/abusive, flat out argumentative". They are roleplaying police officers. If they cannot handle a player saying mean things to them then they probably shouldn't be roleplaying a cop that works for a municipality nor are they entitled to any iccly respect just because they're roleplaying a police officer. The very last interaction I had with PD, I had a moderator use the /drag command for the entire arrest, zero effort to whatsoever to RP. None. I assure you this will be the last time I make a post regarding my concerns due to certain members of this community acting like adolescent children when someone says their favorite toy sucks. It's really disappointing but I think some of these comments encapsulates the toxicity among PD in this server. I expected better from some long-time server veterans.

"I’ve witnessed multiple instances where blatant rule breaks were simply met with a scene reset, while other factions would have faced disciplinary action." Perhaps because reports go nowhere.

I’ve been an active member of the ECRP community for the past six months, and during that time, I’ve had the privilege of participating in some of the most immersive and rewarding roleplay experiences of my entire journey. I share this feedback not out of frustration, but out of sincere care for the server and its future. My goal is to see ECRP grow into the best version of itself, for all players, regardless of faction. Throughout my time here, I’ve primarily played on the criminal side, though I’ve built meaningful connections across both legal and illegal spheres. This dual perspective has given me a broader understanding of the server’s ecosystem, and it has also made clear a growing concern: the significant and arguably unchecked power imbalance favoring law enforcement factions. Currently, law enforcement officers have access to elite weaponry, top-tier vehicles, and 150 armor points. These advantages can be replenished without any real consequence, even in the middle of ongoing conflicts. This creates an environment where LEOs can engage in high-risk shootouts with virtually no actual risk, effectively removing the stakes that make roleplay compelling. For criminal factions, it often feels less like storytelling and more like surviving a stacked deck. Regrettably, most of my interactions with PD have been negative. I’ve encountered instances of powergaming, breaks in immersion, and an apparent focus on winning rather than collaborative roleplay. Far too often, narrative takes a back seat to control. This mindset not only undermines the criminal RP experience but also erodes the potential for meaningful, story-driven tension between factions. That said, I want to recognize that my experiences with the Sheriff's Department and the Department of Corrections have largely been more positive. These interactions felt more balanced and grounded in realism. However, one issue still stands out: correctional officers regularly patrolling with heavy weapons inside the prison. Realistically, such loadouts should be limited to CERT teams and only deployed in response to verified, high-level threats. Their overuse detracts from immersion and further reinforces the perception of excessive force being normalized. What concerns me most, however, is the way certain rule violations, particularly those involving LEO factions, are handled. I’ve witnessed multiple instances where blatant rule breaks were simply met with a scene reset, while other factions would have faced disciplinary action. This inconsistency fosters a perception of favoritism and undermines the sense of fairness that is vital to any healthy RP community. Law enforcement is not, and should never be, placed above other factions. If ECRP aims to remain a respected, story-first server, we must apply consistent standards to all players, regardless of their role or affiliation. Roleplay thrives when it is rooted in balance, consequence, and mutual respect. This is not a complaint made in anger. It is an invitation to reflect, recalibrate, and recommit to the principles that make roleplay meaningful: collaboration, creativity, and consequence. Thank you for taking the time to read and consider these thoughts.

-Echoes of Gabe- The warehouse door creaked shut behind him. The night air hit Ollie’s face like a slap—cool, metallic, full of city static. But it didn’t cleanse anything. The smell of blood clung to him. His heart was steady, his breath calm. This wasn’t adrenaline. This was control. Purpose. And for the first time in a long time, Ollie felt... clear. He walked toward his truck, fingers still stained red, when he noticed something. The driver's side mirror was turned inward. He hadn't left it that way. He froze. A folded piece of paper had been slid under the wiper blade. No markings. No ink on the front. Just weight. Ollie opened it. Inside, a single line was typed—blocky, sterile, like an old terminal feed: "You understand silence. Come find us." Below that: A set of GPS coordinates. No name. No contact. Just coordinates. The GPS coordinates didn’t lead to some underground bunker. No fortified stronghold. No hidden compound. Just an alley. -Shortly before Ollie's arrival- The night was thick with tension, the kind that clings to the skin and seeps into the bones. In a dimly lit back alley of Vespucci, the leader of the Shadows, John Chapel stood alone, the weight of the city pressing down on his shoulders. The distant hum of traffic and the occasional shout from the boardwalk were the only sounds accompanying him. His phone buzzed—a private line, known to only a select few. He glanced at the screen, a single name displayed: Governor Lewis Langley. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly masked by stoic resolve. He answered, bringing the device to his ear without a word. Langley's voice was cold, measured. "It's done. Ehrmantraut has been executed. As per Executive Order 11." Johns's jaw tightened, though his voice remained calm. "No trial. No due process. Just a signature." A pause. Then Langley replied, "He was a threat to the stability we've built. You understand the necessity." The leader's eyes narrowed, his free hand clenching into a fist. "I understand that you've made a martyr of him." Then suddenly the line went dead. John lowered the phone, staring into the shadows that enveloped the alley. -Later that night- Ollie leaned against the cold brick wall, the events of the evening replaying in his mind. The blood on his hands had long since dried, but the memory remained fresh leaving a smirk on Ollie's face. The alley was still—coated in salt air and silence. John stepped from the dark, boots crunching gravel as he moved toward Ollie. Slowly, he reached up and pulled the Oni mask from his face, revealing the man beneath. His voice was low, solemn. “It’s Gabe.” Ollie stiffened. John didn’t flinch. “Executed. No trial. No press. The state carried out Order Eleven. Your cousin is gone.” For a moment, Ollie didn’t react. He just stared. Then his breathing hitched— and the scream came. It burst from his throat like an animal had clawed its way out. He fell to his knees, fists slamming into his own face, again and again, until his glass eye popped free and rolled into the gutter. “Ollie told him—he told him to stay quiet. Ollie told him not to push it!” He slammed his fist into the pavement, cracking his knuckles open. “But Gabe never listened! He never—GODDAMN IT, GABE!” His voice broke. He shouted curses at his cousin’s ghost until his throat turned raw. “Ollie tried to stay clean. He really did. Ollie was fixing bikes, minding his business…” His hands trembled. Blood smeared his cheek, mixing with the salt of tears. “But now? Now Ollie’s got nothin’ left to fix.” John stood in silence, letting it settle. Then he stepped closer and placed a folded piece of paper on the pavement beside him. “He left something behind,” John said. “A manifesto. Not for us—for someone who would carry it further than he could.” Ollie stared at the paper like it might catch fire. “He believed in something bigger than himself. So do we.” A pause. “We’ve been watching you, Ollie. We saw what you did tonight. What you were willing to become. Gabe wasn't just your blood—he was one of ours. And you? You’re not just a man. You’re what comes next.” Ollie looked up, one eye missing, the other burning. “Ollie ain’t a man anymore,” he whispered. “He’s a consequence.” John nodded once. “Then let them feel it.” He extended his hand. “Join us. The Shadows. Carry his legacy—not in memory, but in action.” Ollie stared at the hand. Then took it.

Retribution, Not Justice The air in Bayview was thick with the scent of oil and gasoline as Ollie leaned against the workbench, absentmindedly running his fingers over the edge of a wrench. The weight of his recent experience lingered in his mind, a constant, pulsing reminder of the world’s cruelty. His left eye gone. Stolen from him by the same system that had always viewed him as expendable. As he stared at the half-dismantled engine in front of him, a sharp sniffle cut through the stillness of the shop. Ollie turned his head and spotted her Amara, one of the few people at Bayview who had ever shown him kindness. Her hands were shaking as she wiped at her face, her eyes red-rimmed and unfocused. Something was wrong. Ollie straightened, setting the wrench down. "Amara?" She flinched at the sound of his voice, turning to face him fully. For a moment, she seemed to debate whether to say anything at all. Then, her breath hitched, and the words spilled out in a choked whisper. "It was a guy from the city… I don’t even know his name. He wouldn’t take no for an answer." Ollie’s fingers curled into fists. His pulse thrummed in his ears, drowning out the sounds of the shop. The weight of her words settled into his bones, igniting something deep within him a fire that demanded justice. No, not justice. Retribution. He forced his voice to stay level. "Where?" Amara hesitated, but then, seeing the look in his eye, she relented. "Last I saw, he was heading to the bank." Ollie nodded once. He didn’t say another word before turning on his heel, grabbing his leather jacket off the hook by the door. Night had fallen by the time he reached the area. It was the kind of place where no one asked questions, where screams would be swallowed by the walls, where people drifted through without leaving a trace. Ollie sat in his truck across the street, watching. He scanned the streets, his gaze following every silhouette that matched the description in his mind. Patience. He could wait. And when the time was right, he’d make his move. It wasn’t long before his target emerged. The man was lanky, moving with a cocky swagger, completely unaware of the fate that had been sealed the moment he touched Amara. Ollie followed, keeping his distance. The man walked confidently down the alley beside a rundown warehouse, oblivious to the shadow trailing him. A perfect place to strike. Silent as death, Ollie moved in. The struggle was brief. A rag soaked in chloroform muffled the man’s shouts before they ever reached the street. His knees buckled, and Ollie caught him, dragging him toward the waiting trunk of his truck. The next thing the man knew, he was bound to a chair in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. A single, dim bulb flickered above, casting long, jagged shadows against the concrete walls. The air was damp, suffocating. The metallic scent of tools laid neatly on the table beside him filled the space. Ollie sat across from him, rolling up his sleeves, his expression void of anything resembling mercy. "I don’t give second chances," Ollie muttered, picking up a pair of pliers. He grabbed the man’s trembling hand, fingers twitching in resistance. "But I do believe in consequences." The first snap of bone was drowned out by the man’s muffled scream as Ollie forced his finger backward, popping it out of its socket before reaching for the blade. One by one, the fingers fell. By the time Ollie reached the man’s mouth, his sobs had turned to incoherent blubbering, drool mixed with blood spilling down his chin. Ollie tilted his head, studying him, before leaning in. "You took her voice when you made her afraid to speak," Ollie whispered, gripping the man’s tongue with the pliers. "Let’s see how you do without yours." The man’s scream was cut short as Ollie yanked the muscle free, tossing it onto the bloodstained floor. He stood, wiping his hands against his jeans as he stared down at what remained of the man. "If you live, you remember this. You remember what happens when you touch someone who doesn’t want to be touched." Ollie turned, leaving the man writhing in agony, his sobs echoing against the warehouse walls. He didn’t care if he was found. Didn’t care if he survived. Amara would never have to fear him again. And that was enough. For now. Because the truth was this wouldn’t be the last time. It had been too easy. The way fear transformed a man. The way they broke so quickly. The way justice never came unless it was carved out of flesh and bone. Ollie had crossed the line tonight. He knew that. But as he stepped out into the night, wiping a smudge of blood from his wrist, he also knew something else. He had no intention of stepping back.

Date and time (provide timezone): 12-8-2024, 11:08 pm EST. Character name: Gabe Ehrmantraut Does this issue appear again after a full game restart?: Yes How many times did this issue appear for you?: Every time I lock pick a house for the first time. Issue/bug you are reporting: When attempting to lockpick a house it automatically fails after ring 23 or 22. On every house that I do. Expected behavior: I expect it to allow to lockpick without issue. Evidence (MUST provide either UNEDITED photo or video) , notes worth mentioning, steps to replicate: