2011
Extream Uber Players (EUPRP)
2012
The Followers Of The Gun
401st Glider Infantry Regiment (DoD)
2013
Forward Recon Assault Group [F.R.A.G]
2015
87th Combat Force
Valhalla Vanguards (VHVG)
2016
Task Force Valkyrie (TFV)
2017
1st Ranger Infantry Co (1 R-Co)
6th Cavalry Regiment (2SQD)
2018
Iterum Roleplay (IRP)
2019
Specwar Group 7
21st Airborne Division (21st AD)
2020
2-87th Infantry Regiment
27th SFG
2021
77th Combined Arms Battalion
2022
HAM (HARMA)
Last Days PZ
2023
Ragnarok Paramilitary
2024
Knocker Squadron
The Annex

Woke to a buzz on the job-site line,
Floor went black — no warning sign.
Gear in hand, no time to prep,
The map is old and barely kept.

Wires fray like forgotten scars,
Labels gone, corroded bars.
The ballasts flicker, ready to burst,
The vents breathe slow, like something cursed.

Gloves are on, tester lit,
No place to rest, no time to sit.
No one asks and none explain—
Just follow the plan, endure the strain.

I don't ask why the halls won’t end,
Just hunt the shorts and splice, then mend.
The checklist sprawls like a preacher’s dread,
They say I’m done when I’m good and dead.

If the lights hold firm and breakers stay,
That’s one more ghost I’ve kept at bay.
Saw tracks wind off where warnings led—
But I keep my eyes down, like they said.

Don’t trace echoes, don’t tempt the sound,
Don’t count your steps, don’t look around.
Pulled a panel—wires a mess,
Work of hands that couldn’t care less.

Still, I labeled, grounded, made it right,
Wrote "COMPLETE" in bold, clear sight.
Not here to ask why the walls repeat—
Just fight the fault, don’t face defeat.

No hazard pay, no backup crew,
Just buzzing parts and wires askew.
If the hum stays low and the sparks don’t show—
That’s a win in a place that won’t let go.

I leave my notes, though I’m not sure who
Reads them next or sees them through.
The date’s long gone, just smudged-out text,
I fix, I move, I work what's next.

I’m not here to ask who built this maze,
Just fix the faults and dodge the blaze.
Through halls where silence softly yearns,
I tread with grit and endless turns.

A toolbox worn with burnt-out spark,
A fading job that grips the dark.
If power hums and silence stays—
That’s all the praise I'll earn these days.