Where it all started

When I first walked into Torn City, I had nothing but the clothes on my back and hunger gnawing at my stomach. The streets were loud, dirty, alive with hustlers and predators. I didn’t know where I was going to sleep that night, or how I would scrape enough together for my next meal.

For a while, I begged—hand out, eyes low, hoping for mercy. Some threw me coins, others curses, but survival had no pride.

Soon I realized mercy wasn’t a currency that lasted long in Torn. If I wanted to live, I’d have to carve my name into the city with my own hands. Petty theft turned into stick-ups. Stick-ups turned into hits. Blood became a language, and I learned it fluently. My kill count rose, and with it, so did my reputation. People stopped seeing me as a nobody. They started fearing my name.

I found myself running schemes, then companies—dirty businesses that washed cash in the shadows. I wasn’t just surviving anymore. I was building.

That’s when I met him—UndeadBelial. Another outlaw, cut from the same torn cloth. He wasn’t just a partner; he was a reflection. Two wolves circling the same prey, realizing they’d be stronger hunting together.

The city began to notice the storm the two of us  were brewing. And then came the man who could change everything—Keegzy123. A mafia boss with scars older than my career, he sized me up and didn’t see a beggar or a street thug. He saw potential. Respect. Fire. So he did what few would dare: he handed over his old territory.

But turf means nothing without soldiers. UndeadBelial and I needed muscle, loyal hands willing to spill blood for the cause. That’s when we reached out—calling in old debts, summoning old friends who owed us favors. Slowly, piece by piece, the family came together.

A new crime family was born in Torn City. And it didn’t take long for our names to start spreading. Every deal signed, every rival buried, every dollar laundered added to our legend. Our reputation rose. Our net worth soared.

From the dirt and hunger to running our own empire, we proved one thing above all:
In Torn City, only the ruthless rise.

• em dash detected
• bad formatting
• doing roleplay in general discussion
• noob in a noob faction talking like it matters

Overall I would give this thread a grading of F, please write it yourself next time.

Looking forward to reviewing your "faction vault got robbed" post in the future

When I first walked into Torn City, I had nothing but the clothes on my back and hunger gnawing at my stomach. The streets were loud, dirty, alive with hustlers and predators. I didn’t know where I was going to sleep that night, or how I would scrape enough together for my next meal.

For a while, I begged—hand out, eyes low, hoping for mercy. Some threw me coins, others curses, but survival had no pride.

Soon I realized mercy wasn’t a currency that lasted long in Torn. If I wanted to live, I’d have to carve my name into the city with my own hands. Petty theft turned into stick-ups. Stick-ups turned into hits. Blood became a language, and I learned it fluently. My kill count rose, and with it, so did my reputation. People stopped seeing me as a nobody. They started fearing my name.

I found myself running schemes, then companies—dirty businesses that washed cash in the shadows. I wasn’t just surviving anymore. I was building.

That’s when I met him—UndeadBelial. Another outlaw, cut from the same torn cloth. He wasn’t just a partner; he was a reflection. Two wolves circling the same prey, realizing they’d be stronger hunting together.

The city began to notice the storm the two of us  were brewing. And then came the man who could change everything—Keegzy123. A mafia boss with scars older than my career, he sized me up and didn’t see a beggar or a street thug. He saw potential. Respect. Fire. So he did what few would dare: he handed over his old territory.

But turf means nothing without soldiers. UndeadBelial and I needed muscle, loyal hands willing to spill blood for the cause. That’s when we reached out—calling in old debts, summoning old friends who owed us favors. Slowly, piece by piece, the family came together.

A new crime family was born in Torn City. And it didn’t take long for our names to start spreading. Every deal signed, every rival buried, every dollar laundered added to our legend. Our reputation rose. Our net worth soared.

From the dirt and hunger to running our own empire, we proved one thing above all:
In Torn City, only the ruthless rise.

lol dont worry will make sure to send you the 1st copy

My kill count rose, and with it, so did my reputation. People stopped seeing me as a nobody. They started fearing my name.

A new crime family was born in Torn City. And it didn’t take long for our names to start spreading.

[image: media1.tenor.com]

"In Tron shitty, only the roofless rise".

Brother you should look at all the pay pigs. Ain't no one in the top 100 who didn't pay to get there.

[image: i.imgur.com]

I put on my robe and wizard hat…

“In Torn City, only the ruthless rise.”

Pfft. Torn is like a septic tank — the bigger chunks float to the top.

I like stories, so I really wanted to like this thread. I'll go over my issues with it:

When I first walked into Torn City, I had nothing but the clothes on my back and hunger gnawing at my stomach. The streets were loud, dirty, alive with hustlers and predators. I didn’t know where I was going to sleep that night, (everyone starts with a free shack. You would sleep there.) or how I would scrape enough together for my next meal.

For a while, I begged—hand out, eyes low, hoping for mercy. (I have never liked the EM dash.) Some threw me coins, others curses, but survival had no pride. (Something about this sentence... Survival had no pride is past tense because the rest of the sentence is past tense, but I think present tense would work better for the feel of the sentence. Survival having no pride ties this section back to the previous sentence about begging, so I can live with it.)

Soon I realized mercy wasn’t a currency that lasted long in Torn. If I wanted to live, I’d have to carve my name into the city with my own hands. (Can you carve with your hands? Maybe you can carve mud or clay, but not hard items like cities. Are you a relative of Edward Scissorhands? Maybe Diffy1 Knifehands. I would change it to "on my own" or something like that.) Petty theft turned into stick-ups. Stick-ups turned into hits. Blood became a language, and I learned it fluently. My kill count rose, and with it, so did my reputation. People stopped seeing me as a nobody. They started fearing my name. (I liked the first part of this, but the last two left me wondering what your goal was and why was this in general chat when it might be RP.)

I found myself running schemes, then companies—dirty businesses that washed cash in the shadows. I wasn’t just surviving anymore. I was building. (I looked at your TNW. I don't think this is true at all.)

That’s when I met him—UndeadBelial. Another outlaw, cut from the same torn cloth. (You had a great opportunity to write Torn from the same cloth, but your AI program missed it.) He wasn’t just a partner; he was a reflection. Two wolves circling the same prey, realizing they’d be stronger hunting together.

The city began to notice the storm the two of us (extra space) were brewing. And ("And" is not needed here; start the sentence with "then.") then came the man who could change everything—Keegzy123. A mafia boss with scars older than my career, he sized me up and didn’t see a beggar or a street thug. He saw potential. Respect. Fire. (What do I hate more than EM dashes? One. Word. Sentences.) So he did what few would dare: he handed over his old territory.

But turf means nothing without soldiers. UndeadBelial and I needed muscle, loyal hands willing to spill blood for the cause. That’s when we reached out—calling in old debts, summoning old friends who owed us favors. Slowly, piece by piece, the family came together. (Here I began to think maybe you were advertising for a faction.)

A new crime family was born in Torn City. And it didn’t take long for our names to start spreading. Every deal signed, every rival buried, every dollar laundered added to our legend. Our reputation rose. Our net worth soared. (As mentioned earlier, I checked your TNW. It didn't soar.)

From the dirt and hunger to running our own empire, we proved one thing above all:
In Torn City, only the ruthless rise. (I'm not a fan of the hard return after a colon unless you are using bullet points. Use a period, two returns,  and then center and enlarge the last sentence.)

If this was meant for the RP section take my recommendations and thoughts with a grain of salt.

CHAT GPT WILL NEVER GET YOU KARMA