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SHTAR WORZ - ReTour ov teh CHEDDAR

Discussion in 'Imperium OffTopicum' started by Thorvald of Lym, Nov 16, 2015.

  1. Thorvald of Lym

    Thorvald of Lym A Little Sketchy

    Joined:
    Nov 21, 2005
    Messages:
    8,400
    Location:
    A Palace north of Oslo
    oh.... i didint se u ther, adornig fans, iv bin sew bussy wit me septicular ritnig careir! seeking ov witch, wood yew lik sum moar............ SHATR WORZ?????



    In the black emptiness, two lines of blue text suddenly appear:

    A short while ago in a galaxy
    you're all familiar with . . . .


    They linger for a while, long enough that the average viewer can re-read them three, maybe four times.


    Then they vanish.






    —Aaaaaaand pause.

    No. Chances. This time.

    I'll beat this damn intro at its own game by fast-forwarding through it.

    I didn't want to do it before, because we were all new to this, but I think by now you know the routine and will permit me to bank a few extra years of life.

    So, skip... there we go, and... play. I said play! No, that's too far! Ugh, OK, now we go back—no stop, stop! Now forward!—NO, not again, we just went through this! ...OK, so this remote has a delayed response. Let's rewind, again, aaaaaand—


    DAAAA

    Dd-la-daaa

    Dd-la-Da da da DA da da Da da da DA da da
    Da da DA DAAAAA-

    Do Do Do


    -LAUGH WARS-

    Episode there are 10 kinds of binary:

    RESTORATION OF THE BRITCOMS


    christos200 has returned to
    his home planet of Greece in
    an attempt to rescue his friend
    Hermann Fegelein from the
    clutches of the vile fascist
    Dolfy the Führer.

    Little does Chris know that the
    GALACTIC EMPIRE has secretly
    begun construction on a new
    armoured space station even
    more Mary-Sue than the first
    dreaded Doom Sphere.

    When completed, this ultimate
    GMwank will spell certain perma-ban
    for the small band of rebels
    struggling to restore quality
    to the fandoms . . .

    -Da da da DA!
    Dd-la-da da da DA- da
    DD-LA-DA dd-la-da DD-LA-DA dd-la-da
    DD-LA-DA dd-la-da DD-LA-da-dladadla-da-dladadla-
    da-dladadla-da-dladadla-da-dladadla-da-dladadla
    DEE doo doo dee DEE doo doo dee
    DEE doo doo dee DEE doo doo dee

    Oh hey, you're back! ...Er, are you alright?

    "I have seen the future... in the past. Wooden acting, atrocious dialogue, horrific cultural stereotypes..."

    What do you mean?

    "They speak of a... special edition..."

    O...kayee, that cough didn't turn into a fever or something, did it?

    "The story! You must not finish it!"

    Not finish?—Hold on, you told me I had to see this through!

    "That was before I saw the whole picture! We've all been played for fools! It's all part of his plan, everything built is meant to be destroyed! We have to shut it down, before it's too late!"

    Wait, I thought we were spoofing Star Wars, not Gravity F—

    "HE IS COMING."




    They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and expecting a different result, in which case the Empire is clinically certifiable. Not having learned its lesson the first time, it somehow managed to accrue enough credit for a Doom Sphere II: Trolltastic Boogaloo. Not only was it engineered to be, like, three times the size of the old one, the contractors were even more clueless: it didn't resemble an egg so much as a tumorous squash, the ultrameme focus dish set at the end of a long tubular projection that connected to a pair of asymmetric ovular—

    ...wait.

    Waaaaaaait.

    ...

    ...No, nooo, they couldn't have been stupid enough to—

    ...

    Oh.

    God.

    DAMN.

    It.

    Let's just say, allegations that the Emporer was compensating are entirely well-founded. I guess we can thank our lucky stars that in its current state of construction it's not brazen enough for the kids to catch on.

    So yeah, the half-finished assault to galactic sensibilities hovered above a... well according to my script it says it's a moon, but if the first Doom Sphere was supposed to be the size of one either this is the largest moon in the universe or sci-fi writers have no sense of scale. Anyway, as a Star Destructor drew near a shuttle shaped like a paper airplane deployed from the hangar bay, unfolding its wings and making for the station accompanied by a pair of Kite Flyers.

    "Command station," the pilot called in, "This is SoM 3-21, code clearance Blue. We're starting our approach, deactivate the security field."

    Onboard the station, several technicians were seated along a control terminal. "Security ROM field will be deactivated when we have confirmation of your code transmission. Stand by." The technician brought up a 3-D wireframe of the ship on a nearby screen, accompanied by a set of textual information, as an officer observed from over his shoulder. "You are clear to proceed," he radioed.

    "We're starting our approach," advised the pilot.

    As the shuttle drew near the hangar bay, it refolded its wings and the escort veered off. Several sets of klaxons wailed overtop each other, either because this delivery was that important, or because automated security systems still had to be properly calibrated. "Inform the commander that Lord Lackarse's shuttle has arrived," the officer instructed.

    "Sir."

    Several station officers and a contingent of shock troopers lined a path to the shuttle's bow. A man resembling Mussolini strode down the ersatz corridor, coming to a halt at the front end. He licked his lips nervously as a gangplank descended and Darth Lackarse debarked. "Lord Lackarse," he began hastily, "This is an unexpected pleasure, we are honoured by your presence—"

    The Dork Lord waved his hand dismissively as he marched through the hangar, and the officer quickly made to follow. "YOU MAY DISPENSE WITH THE PLEASANTRIES, COMMANDER. I'M HERE TO PUT YOU BACK ON SCHEDULE."

    "I assure you, Lord Lackarse," he replied with anything but confidence, "My men are working as fast as they can!"

    "PERHAPS I CAN FIND NEW WAYS TO MOTIVATE THEM."

    The commander came to a halt, and Lackarse turned around. "I tell you, this station will be operational as planned."

    "THE EMPORER DOES NOT SHARE YOUR OPTIMISTIC APPRAISAL OF THE SITUATION," he retorted.

    Il duce twitched nervously. "But he asks the impossible!" he whispered, "I need more men!"

    "THEN PERHAPS YOU CAN TELL HIM WHEN HE ARRIVES."

    "The Emporer's coming here?!" he panted.

    "THAT IS CORRECT, COMMANDER. AND HE IS MOST DISPLEASED WITH YOUR APPARENT LACK OF PROGRESS."

    "...We shall double our efforts!" he declared.

    "I HOPE SO, COMMANDER, FOR YOUR SAKE. THE EMPORER IS NOT AS FORGIVING AS I AM." Meeting concluded, Lackarse turned about and strode off. The officer stood frozen for a moment, then spun around and walked off in the opposite direction.

    ------------------------------

    While we wait for a worthy sequel to the Dune series, let's take a look at the solid blue sky and dusty orange foothills of this other desert planet. Traversing a broken road were C. Aubrey Farnsworth, Esquire, a tall and well-mannered gentleman, and his inseparable, slide-whistle-playing companion Jenkins. The shorter man issued a short flurry of notes toward his colleague. "Of course I'm worried!" Farnsworth replied, "And you should be too!" Jenkins trilled in the negative. "hoplitejoe and poor Arkady never returned from this awful place!" Lilting chirp. "Don't be so sure," he murmured. Squawk. "If I told you half the things I've heard about this Mr. Hitler... you'd probably have a stroke." Jenkins blew a nervous tune.

    The duo arrived at a massive and menacing steel door to what looked like a bunker carved into the hillside. Jenkins made an excited whistle. "Jenkins, are you sure this is the right place?" The upbeat melody appeared to confirm so. Farnsworth examined the entryway for a moment, but couldn't locate a doorbell. "I'd better knock, I suppose." Gingerly he lightly rapped the metal wall. "There doesn't seem to be anyone here," he declared, "Let's go back and tell Master Christos!" Jenkins made a querying chirrup.

    There was a clang and a camera lens on a long stalk shot out from a small hatch in the door. «Wer stört die Wolfsschanze?» asked a digitized voice.

    "Goodness gracious me!" sputtered Farnsworth, spinning around to find the camera almost straight in his face.

    «Was?» it pressed, «Erläutern Sie ihr Angelegenheit!»

    After a moment's nervous hesitation, Farnsworth spoke up: "Jenkins Applebee, OBE," he began slowly, gesturing to his companion; the camera turned to examine him and he played a brief chirrup.

    «Keine Streiche.» A tiny gun dropped down from behind the camera and the man backed away with a stacatto alarm. «Und wer sind sie?» it turned back to Farnsworth.

    "Ich... C. Aubrey Farnsworth, Esquire," he said slowly.

    «Engländer?»

    "Und... können..."

    «Sprich lauter!»

    "—Wir sprechen... wie Herr Hitler?"

    «Zwei Dandys? Das wird gut!» The voice laughed as the camera retreated back into the door.

    "I don't think they're going to let us in, Jenkins!" Farnsworth said with thinly-veiled delight. The other man whistled sarcastically. "We'd better go." Jenkins played a melancholy note as Farnsworth started to leave, but the scream of shifting metal brought him to a halt as the giant gate began to retract. With a flourish, Jenkins shuffled inside. "Jenkins!" he cried, throwing up his arms, "Wait!" But his compatriot only proceeded further. "Oh dear!" he wailed, striding in after him.

    "Jenkins! Jenkins, I really don't think we should rush into all this!" Squawk. "Oh!" he cried as a spiderbot emerged from a dark corridor. "Jenkins!! Jenkins, wait for me!!" The shorter man blew a laughter-like trill as he delved deeper into the concrete tunnel, soon colliding with a figure.

    "Hrrrgh!" growled a burly man in a jet-black parade uniform with white trim. Jenkins scuttled back hurriedly with an apologetic tweet. "Hrrrrm," rumbled the guard as he appraised the intruder.

    "Just you deliver Master Christos's message and get us out of here—" Farnsworth called, coming to his side. "Oh, my!" he cried as another guard came up behind him. There was a clang, and he spun around to see the door shut, trapping them inside. "...Oh, no."

    «Hei!» shouted a voice. From deeper inside a man appeared; dressed in an SS uniform, he was somewhat portly with a flat face and thin, greying hair. «Was willst du?»

    "Oh, my!" muttered the gentleman. "Wir kommen in Frieden," he said, bowing.

    «Für was?»

    "We—" he summoned up his diplomatic elocution, "We bring a message to your master, Dolfy the Führer."

    «Eine Botschaft für den Führer?»

    Jenkins issued a little ditty. "And," Farnsworth added, "A gift!" His brow furrowed in confusion. "Gift?" he turned to his comrade, "What gift?" Twitter.

    «Der Führer ist besetzt,» the man replied with a polite smile; stepping forward he leaned down, putting his hand on Jenkins' shoulder. «Als persönlicher Sekretär, bin ich anvertraut, übernehmen die Kommunikation auf seinen Namen. Was ist Ihre Botschaft?»

    The gentleman whistled, short and sharp. "He says," Farnsworth translated, "That our instructions are to give it only to... Hitler himself."

    The officer straightened up at once, smile vanishing as Jenkins continued to blow staccato notes. He looked about the hall as if searching for hidden assassins. There was an unintelligible grunt from one of the guards.

    He fixed upon Farnsworth. "I'm terribly sorry," he said, "I'm afraid he's ever-so-stubborn about these sorts of things."

    «So sei es,» he quipped. Turning back down the hall, he beckoned them follow, escorted by the guards.

    "Jenkins," he muttered as they trod deeper into the catacombs, "I have a bad feeling about this..."

    Lounging on a Roman-style couch on a raised platform was a narrow-headed, withered man with stringy black hair and a toothbrush moustache. Overtop a tie and dishevelled white dress shirt, he sported a black leather overcoat. Behind him stood a gaunt-faced man with slick-backed hair, bony cheekbones and piercing eyes, clad in a mustard yellow suit with a swastika armband. Behind them both, waving a large palm leaf, was a blonde-haired woman in a showy, jet-black dress suit, matching side cap, and distressingly short skirt who, by her expression, had lost feeling in her arms ages ago. Another woman, black-haired in similar dress, knelt in front of the couch toward the man's feet, what looked a collar around her neck; at the other end was a dirty-blond man with an even more dishevelled uniform who'd propped himself up against the couch because he was too drunk to stand. Before them, what resembled a dining hall was filled with a hodge-podge of uniformed personnel, local riff-raff, and several individuals in costumes resembling cartoon animals in varying states of undress yet all bearing some moniker of the Nazi Party or its affiliate organizations. They mixed and mingled as Wagnerian music reverberated off the walls. The man on the couch idly sipped a glass of non-alcoholic wine, eyeing the crowd with contempt, this latter group especially so.

    The portly officer guided Farnsworth and Jenkins around a bend and into the chamber. The taller gentleman gave a start as a German shepherd barked excitedly at his arrival, sniffing at his trousers but otherwise staying in place. «Oh, was nun?» groaned the man on the couch in a deceptively high, almost buzzing tone, sitting up as the gentlemen presented themselves before him.

    The officer ascended the platform and leaned in toward the man's ear. «Englisch boten für sie, mein Führer.»

    "Good morning," said Farnsworth with a polite bow. Jenkins played a cautious dip-roll.

    «Sie sagen, Sie haben ein Geschenk für Sie,» he added. Now the man took interest.

    Farnsworth grinned nervously. "The message, Jenkins," he hissed, tapping his shoulder, "The message!" The shorter man buzzed a reply.

    «So? Lassen Sie uns hören!» said the man with growing impatience.

    Jenkins reached into his coat and a pin on his lapel lit up as a holographic image of a ten-foot-tall christos200 materialized before him. "Grettings exalted one," resonated the boy's digitized voice. "Allow me to introduce myself..."

    «Mist, es ist ein Geist!» he cried.

    «Mein Führer,» muttered the mustard-suited man, leaning in, «Es ist ein Hologramm Aufnahme.»

    «Natürlich ist es ein Hologramm!» he snapped, recomposing himself.

    "—i am christos200, Cheddar Monk and freind to Groupenfuror Fegelein." Hitler's nostrils flared, breath rapidly accelerating. "I know that you are powerful, mighty Hitler, and that your anger with Fegelein must be euqally powerful."

    «Kein Scherz!» he snorted.

    "I seek an audeince with your grateness to bargain for fegelein;s life." Hitler burst into laughter, followed quickly if at times only dutifully by the rest of the room. "with your wisdom, I;m usre we can work out an arrangemet that will be mutually benificial, and will ensable us to avoid any unplesant confrontation." Now the Führer's eyes narrowed. The black-haired woman looked around nervously. "As a token of my goodwill, I presnt to you a gift: these two gentelmen." The hologram spread its hand forward.

    "What did he say?!" Farnsworth choked. Chirrup.

    "Both are hardworking, ad will serve you well."

    "This can't be!" exclaimed the gentleman as the hologram faded; "Jenkins, you're playing the wrong message!" His head jerked up as the drunk laughed.

    «A teenager bargaining two diplomats?» the grey-haired officer muttered, «He's no Cheddai!»

    «Like hell there's a bargain!» Hitler boomed.

    "We're doomed!" Farnsworth declared.

    «I'm not giving up my favourite decoration, now that I just had it mounted!» He gestured to the far wall and the crowd cleared to reveal the dark grey slab encasing the profile of Hermann Fegelein. «It's so much easier to keep track of him now!»

    "Jenkins, look!" Farnsworth cried in relief, "Gruppenführer Fegelein! And he's still on hiatus!" Another round of mandatory laughter followed.

    Several minutes later, the gentlemen were marched down a dank (not memetic) and gloomy corridor even further beneath the complex. The shimmer of water reflected off a small arched window as a trio of rats clung to a metal grating. "What could possibly have come over Master Christos?" fretted Farnsworth. "Is it something I did? He never expressed any unhappiness with my work..."

    A shadowy figure emerged at a cell door to his right. «Jste nový mučitel?» wheezed a voice.

    "Oh!" the man cried, backing away in surprise, "Oh, how horrid!"

    A bony arm wrapped around his shoulder as he drew near a cell on the opposite side. «Proszę, potrzebuję jedzenie!» wailed the inmate.

    "Oooohhh!" he shrieked. The rearguard withdrew a baton and beat the arm until it retreated back inside before shoving him forward.

    Jenkins whistled anxiously as they were ushered down a side hall and into the reception room from Hell. Farnsworth turned to the right to see a sallow-faced man reminiscent of Boris Karloff pumping a lever to tip a man strapped to a platform upside-down. The captive's anguished sobs only ceased when his head dipped beneath the surface of a pool filled with Dewitos. "Torture Bob finds no joy in his job," the operator droned.

    The guards drove them forward to a reception desk manned by a cyberpunk salt shaker. Its lower half resembled an overturned rubbish bin dotted by columns of shiny half-spheres. The shallow dome of its head bore two cup-like lights and an optical lens on a long, thin stalk. Connecting it to the metal skirt was a multi-ringed column with a plunger-like apparatus and some sort of laser barrel in place of arms. "AH! GOOD!" it squawked electrically, the lights on its head flashing with each syllable, "NEW! AC-QUI-SI-TIONS! YOU! ARE! A! PRO-TO-COL! DAN-DY! ARE! YOU! NOT?!"

    "I am C. Aubrey Farnsworth, Esqu—"

    "YES! OR! NO! WILL! DO!" it cut in.

    "Oh. Well, yes."

    "HOW! MA-NY! LAN-GUA-GES! DO! YOU! SPEAK?!"

    Farnsworth's gaze kept drifting to the right as he spoke. "I am fluent in over six million programming languages and can readily—"

    "SPLEN-DID! WE! HAVE! BEEN! WITH-OUT! AN! IN-TER-PRE-TER! SINCE! THE! FÜH-RER! GOT! AN-GRY! WITH! OUR! LAST! GEN-TLE-MAN! AND! EX-TER-MIN-A-TED! HIM!"

    "Ex...terminated?!" he blubbered.

    A sudden shout pulled his attention to a well-dressed man strapped to a rickety chair, head virtually bolted in place and eyelids forced open as The Problem Solverz played on a screen before him. "STOPIT!! STOPIT!! PLEASE, I BEG YOUUU!!!" The gentleman shuddered in abject horror.

    "GUARD!" called the secretary, "THIS! GEN-TLE-MAN! MIGHT! BE! USE-FUL! FIT! HIM! WITH! A! RE-TAIN-ING! COL-LAR! AND! TAKE! HIM! BACK! UP! TO! HIS! EX-CEL-LEN-CY'S! MAIN! AU-DI-ENCE! CHAM-BER!"

    Grabbing Farnsworth by the shoulder, the guard dragged him into an adjoining room. "Jenkins!" he cried desperately, "Don't leave me—!" Bumping up against something stacked along the wall, he turned around to find a fire-singed and partially-disassembled fursuit dressed up in so much Nazi regalia it punched all the way through bad taste and back into almost-tolerable. "Ooohhhh!" he wailed, disappearing from view.

    Jenkins chirruped after him before practically spitting a dissonant staccato stream at the secretary. "YOU! ARE! A! FEI-STY! LIT-TLE! ONE!" it chimed sarcastically, "BUT! YOU! WILL! SOON! LEARN! SOME! RE-SPECT! I! HAVE! NEED! FOR! YOU! ON! THE! FÜH-RER'S! PAR-TY! PAN-ZER! AND! I! THINK! YOU! WILL! FILL! IN! NICE-LY!"

    The man whistled apprehensively. He turned about as the prisoner on the rack returned to the surface, coughing and sputtering. "It's like throwing up in my mooouuuth!"



    O NOSES!!! hoo wil SAEV tem frum teh FUROUR ov hte FURTHUR?!?!?11/1 (LOL c wat i didd ther??? LOL DO U GEDDIT????) remumber 2 FAV & SUBSKRUB if u wnat MOAR!!!!!! loves 2 u all!!!!! XOXOXOXO
     
    TheGryphonPrince likes this.
  2. christos200

    christos200 Never tell me the odds

    Joined:
    Jan 9, 2011
    Messages:
    12,060
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    Male
    Location:
    EU, Greece, Athens
    Awesome. Keep up the good work.
     
    Thorvald of Lym likes this.
  3. poketwo

    poketwo Warlord

    Joined:
    May 7, 2014
    Messages:
    157
    The scythers shall burn this pitiful imperialistic galixy down in the name of communism! A massive invasion armada is comming from out of the known universe! Lead by glorious leader poketwo!!!! can the rebels and the empire join together to stop the communist invasion!?
     
  4. Thorvald of Lym

    Thorvald of Lym A Little Sketchy

    Joined:
    Nov 21, 2005
    Messages:
    8,400
    Location:
    A Palace north of Oslo
    Originally I thought I could/would have to fit the rest of the Tatooine sequence in here, but it turns out the Sarlacc Pit fight actually can make a chapter all its own. On the one hand, doing this all in German is tedious; on the other, I had way too much fun. :p


    It was evening in the Führerbunker and everyone who was anyone had assembled in the main hall for a song-and-dance routine courtesy of a band that'll probably get stories of its own in some sort of expanded universe. The piece was a jazz-funk cover of a popular title, sung by a woman with braided blonde hair in a flowing ruby-red dress, standing on a raised platform in front of Fegelein; in addition to the genre's standard accompaniment, the musicians included an English oboist who instinct tells me has one awesome mccoolname, and a little blue elephant at a circular keyboard. Dancing on the floor were a large woman in a stereotypical operatic Valkyrie costume and the black-haired woman from earlier, still chained.

    AUTHOR'S NOSE: Teh blu guy iz calld Sam Rebar & he locks leik a elefant but hes tottaly not 1 & teh song is real its caled Nowhere To Run by Die Partei Damen & it;s frum Wolfenstorm Teh Neu Odour. IM NOT FASHIST!!1!

    The bounty hunter that turned in Fegelein, a thin-bearded man in thick combat armour and a red beret, watched from the shadows, thinking to himself how much better it'd be if the dancers were swole. Hitler, meanwhile, regarded the spectacle with bemusement, still trying to decide whether it qualified as degenerate art. He certainly didn't like the direction some of those costumed audience members were heading in—then again, everything was an excuse for them to—what did they call it?—"yiff".

    The longer he watched the lead dancer, the more he got the impression something was off. Her legs kicked too far out when her knees were bent. She kept holding her arms out in front of her at a perfect level. Plus it looked like something was bundled up behind her skirt. The Führer snapped the chain like a whip and the uniform burst apart, revealing a wolf-ear headband beneath the cap and a red bikini covered in garish yellow hammers and sickles with a fake tail tied at the back.

    The room went dead silent.

    «Wer ist dafür verantwortlich?!» Hitler thundered, leaping to his feet.

    «Bitte, mein Führer!» she cried in a heavy accent, «Reichsführer Himmler sagte, sie—»

    «Himmler...» he breathed, slowly reseating, «Unter allen ausgerechnet, HIMMLER!!» He rolled his head back and forth, left hand twitching over a control console at the couch's high end. «Nicht nur ein Furry, sondern eine sozialistische auch!» After a moment's consideration, he said: «Vielleicht sollte man mit ihm spielen statt!» He slammed a button and the floor dropped underneath her, followed by a terrified scream. The platform slid forward and the room burst into excited muttering as the attendees crowded around the grating in the middle of the floor. An elephant's trumpet echoed from below mixed with more shrieks. Farnsworth turned away in utter horror as the Führer retrieved his wine glass. «Dieser Tag ist schließlich die Verbesserung,» he muttered.

    No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a gunshot rang out down the hall. «Gott verdammt,» he groaned.

    The crowd swept toward the entryway. Sounds of punches echoed off the walls. A guest in a Nazi-themed retro spacesuit rushed to the staircase. «Hände hoch!» he cried, only to be seized by the throat and tossed backwards into the wall. The onlookers scuttled away as a figure in a WWII Japanese army uniform and a giant cartoon cat mask strode in, hunting rifle in one hand and a metal chain in the other towing a seven-plus-foot-tall werewolf in army pants and an ammunition belt worn like a sash. "Chyort," the latter muttered.

    «I have come for the bounty on this werewolf,» declared the figure.

    Farnsworth peeked his head around. "Oh! Arkady!" he exclaimed softly. A soldier in front of him glanced around; the gentleman shrugged, grinning apologetically.

    "Hi, Hitler," Arkady deadpanned.

    «At last I have the mighty Arkady Dmitraev,» Hitler grinned. Off to the side, the other bounty hunter took a break from chatting up a couple of pastel-haired buxom East Asian women pretending to be ninjas to gloat quietly. «Übersetzer, hier!» he snapped.

    "Yes!" cried Farnsworth, dashing up, a new collar fixed about his neck, "I am here, Your Worshipfulness! –Yes?"

    «Sagen die Katze Vergewaltiger, Ich bezahle fünfundzwanzig.»

    "Uh," he stuttered, desperately trying to rephrase it diplomatically, "The illustrious Hitler bids you welcome, and will gladly pay the reward of twenty-five thousand."

    «I want fifty thousand,» it replied, «No less.»

    "Fifty thousand. No less."

    Hitler roared, knocking Farnsworth into the food cart. «Sie wollen also ist ein Jude, sie kleine Punk?» Hearing an opportunity for a future commission, the merc tipped one of the girls' chins before breaking off toward the throne.

    Wiping cake and chocolate from his jacket, Farnsworth staggered back in. "What–What did I say?"

    «Sie fragen ihn, warum sollte ich nicht schießen seine Kopf ab jetzt!» he snapped.

    "Uhm—The mighty Hitler asks, why he must pay fifty thousand?"

    The figure swapped the rifle into its other hand. «Watashi wa, kandai na kanji na node.» As it spoke, it retrieved a spherical device from its pocket, clicking a button on top that lit it up and started a high-pitched pulse.

    "Because he's holding a dermal thetonator!" Farnsworth cried.

    Gasps and cries filled the room. The merc drew his pistol; the drunk man scrambled underneath the couch; the actual-really-is-an-animal German shepherd whined, lying down and throwing its forepaws over its face. "Just sayin'," muttered Arkady.

    Hitler, however, broke into laughter. «This bounty hunter is my kind of scum: fearless and inventive.» The merc warily relaxed his grip, eyes darting between the figure and the Führer. «Fünfunddreißig,» he told Farnsworth, «Oder kann er sterben mittellos.»

    "Hitler offers the sum of, thirty-five. And I do suggest you take it..!"

    Arkady glanced nervously to his captor, whose bomb's pulse was now dangerously quick. «Wakari mashi ta.» It disarmed the bomb.

    "He agrees!" the gentleman wailed in relief.

    Immediately two of the costumed partiers made for the new prisoner. "Get your stinking paws off me, you damned Nazi Furs!" Arkady barked, slamming them into opposite walls before turning himself over to the black-suited guards.

    Drama concluded, the band started a new number as the drunk peeked out from under the couch. «Sie sind so ein Feigling, Tornow,» sighed the Führer. Down on the floor, Farnsworth made small talk with the new arrival while the balding SS officer fetched it a drink. Casting its glance over it made eye contact with the merc, who gave a small, courteous nod.

    "The consequences will never be the saaaaaame!" Arkady hollered as the soldiers whisked him from the hall. He passed by a guard sporting a futuristic face mask; the man eyed the procession, fiddling with the respirator to expose the face of the social justice warrior hoplitejoe.

    The guards took the werewolf into a gloomy basement. "You know," he muttered, "If you're looking for a pay raise, I hear Donald Trump's campaign could use a few bouncers—aah chyert voz'mi!" he snapped as his head collided with low-hanging pipes. "When the revolution comes, you're first against the wall!"

    Night fell, and the bounty hunter crept into the now-deserted audience chamber. The mask brushed some wind chimes and it threw itself against the wall, steadying the ornament before descending the stairs. Scanning left and right, it paused a moment, then ascended the platform to where Fegelein hung on the far wall. Ducking into the shadows it pressed a button, wincing as the slab thudded onto the floor. When no sound followed it approached the monolith and reset the control panel before stepping back. A humming noise started and Fegelein's profile glowed red. The figure looked about. The hiatus began to dissolve, bright light shining through the ruptures alongside a sharp whistling noise. Encasing removed, the Obergruppenführer's limp body collapsed forward. Kneeling down, the figure grasped his upper torso and tried to hoist him up, jolting him into consciousness. His whole body shook as though pulled from an icy river. «Just rewax, fur a meowment," said the figure in a nasally squeak, «You're furee of da hi-nya!-tus.» Fegelein's brow quivered and he raised a hand to his face. «Shhh... You have hibernya!tion sickness.»

    "I can't see," he said matter-of-factly.

    «Your nya!yesight wiw return, in time,» it explained.

    "Where am I?"

    «Hitwer's Bunker.»

    Raising a hand, he felt the contours of the mask beside him. "And you are..?"

    Reaching up, the figure pulled off the mask, revealing the face of Princess Kaiser, hair for once devoid of breaded ornamentation. "Someone who loathes you, Hündin, now get up and rhyme," a far less kitschy voice replied.

    "Kaiser!" he sighed in relief. Guiding his jaw she drew in to share a kiss.

    "I gotta get you out of here," she began hurriedly, helping him to his feet.

    «Die Logik den Frauen!» an echo-y voice snorted. Kaiser froze in her tracks.

    "I know that laugh," muttered the officer.

    A curtain parted behind them, and Hitler's entourage erupted into laughter. «Wer den Pfennig nicht ehrt, ist des Talers nicht wert. Würden Sie nicht einverstanden, Fegelein?»

    "Look, Dolfy," he began with trademark nonchalance, "I was on my way to pay you off, but I got a little sidetracked. Aller Unfug ist schwer—"

    «Too late for that, Fegel-dork!» Hitler grinned in manic glee. «You had your chance and you blew it. I'm putting you out of commission for good.» More cued laughter followed.

    "Look—"

    «Take him away,» he spat, tossing his hand.

    "Last chance, Mein Fälure," he called as soldiers dragged him away, "Or you'll never pay off the damage!"

    «Wachmenn!» called Hitler, «Bring her to me.» hoplitejoe and another guard drove Kaiser to the foot of the couch.

    "We have powerful friends!" she declared, "You're gonna regret this!"

    «Leistungsfähiger als Fegelein?» he sneered, «I'm suuuure!» Eyeing her over, he ordered: «Kleiden sie in etwas mehr Komfort.»

    "Oh, I can't bear to watch!" Farnsworth moaned, turning away.

    «Katzen Kleidung!» slurred the drunk before cackling at his own joke.

    In the lower levels, Fegelein was tossed unceremoniously into a flooded cell. As he struggled to orient himself with no vision, an animal sneeze drew his attention to what he presumed was the opposite end. "Arkady?" he whispered.

    "Sir?"

    "Arkady, is that you?"

    "Bozhye moy, you're alive!" the werewolf laughed incredulously, striding over.

    "Arkady!" cried Fegelein as his first mate braced him by the shoulders.

    "How the hell did you get out? —No, don't answer that, that was the plan—but where's she, then?—"

    "I can't see, pal!" he cut in. "What's going on?"

    "Well you see Chris came up with this plan to rescue you—"

    "Chris?" he repeated, dumbfounded, "Chris is crazy! He can't even take care of himself, much less rescue anybody!"

    "He says he's a Cheddar Monk now—"

    "What—a Cheddar Monk??" he laughed, shaking his head as one does when literally lost for words. "I'm out of it for a little while, and everybody gets delusions of grandeur!"

    "Ah, it's so good to see you again, sir!" gushed Arkady, hugging his captain and smoothing out his hair.

    "Alright, pal," he grinned, patting the hugging-arm, "I'm alright."

    ------------------------------

    The entry to the Bunker groaned open and a hooded figure purposefully strode inside. Two guards marched up, crossing their rifles to block its path; wordlessly it flashed the symbol of Golden Dawn and they retreated to the side as though it were Dolfy himself. It was still early morning and most of the main hall's usual retinue was still asleep, save the blonde-haired man who was already getting ready to tank the day. Princess Kaiser had replaced the closet socialist, and was clad in the same clichéd uniform. ...The Nazi one. Not that... other thing.

    As the figure approached the hall, the balding Nazi rushed up. «Sie sind der junge Emporkömmling, Christos!» He brandished a finger. «Der Führer will nichts mit ihnen zu tun!»

    "i must speak with hilter," he stated with uncharacteristic command.

    Down in the chamber, Kaiser raised her head, woken by the chatter. «Sie verschwenden Ihre Zeit,» spat the officer, «Der Führer wird nicht ein Geschäft machen.»

    "you will take me to hitelr now," Chris said, waving a finger.

    The man's brow furrowed in confusion. «Ich werde sie an den Führer jetzt,» he muttered. Turning, he beckoned the boy follow.

    "You serve your master well," smirked Chris.

    «Ich mag nicht zu prahlen,» he chuckled.

    "and youl'l be rewarded!"

    «Ich mag die Art wie Sie denken!» As the officer peeled away, Chris strode into the spotlight as the attendees began to awaken, muttering excitedly at the intruder.

    "At last!" exclaimed Farnsworth, "Master Christos has come to rescue us!"

    The officer leaned in to Hitler's ear. «Mein Führer—»

    «Was zur Hölle?!» he snapped, jolting awake.

    «Ich vorhanden christos200, Cheddar Monk.»

    «I told you not to admit him, Dummkopf!»

    "I must be allowed to speak."

    «He must be allowed to speak—» the man reported.

    «I heard what he said! Bormann, you idiot, he's using a Cheddai mind trick!» Dolfy shoved his secretary into the food cart.

    Chris cast off the hood of his cloak. "You will bring groupenfurther Fegelein and ther wrewolf to me," he ordered.

    Hitler broke into a knee-slapping laugh, the sort J. Jonah Jameson would do in a live-action Spider-Man film. Chris frowned. «Your chicanery won't work on me, brat!»

    "Never the less," he ground his teeth, stepping forward, "Im taking groupenfurther Fegelein, and his freinds." Farnsworth's hand jerked up as he realized where the boy was standing. "You can either profit by this..... or be DESTOYED!!" he grinned mirthlessly. "Its your choice but i warn you not to underestimate my powers!"

    The Führer scowled, hissing through his teeth. "Master Christos!" called Farnsworth, "You're standing on—"

    «I choose a third option,» he sneered, «Greek wine.»

    Darting his right arm, Chris telekinetically stole a guard's pistol; he levelled it at Hitler as another soldier moved to subdue him. Hitler slammed the button and the trapdoor opened; Chris's arm jerked up and the shot hit the ceiling as he dropped down; the guard lost his balance and tumbled after him. A chute ejected them into a sand-floored chamber littered with bleached bones. Upstairs, hoplitejoe approached the Princess, sharing a nervous look.

    The Führer's dias slid forward as the crowd gathered around the grating. A steel door squealed open at the pit's far end. "Oh no!" cried Farnsworth, "The Heydrich!" As the gate vanished into the ceiling, a figure emerged from the shadows. Its head resembled that of a devilishly handsome man with high, narrow eyes and a tall nose, blond hair neatly parted. The body, however, was grotesque in its musculature and was so large it was forced to double over. Chris was glad he wore all-black that day so nobody would see the stains from his body's emergency evacuation response.

    «Einrücken der Endlösing,» it boomed, reaching forward with giant, well-manicured hands. The soldier, terrified beyond all doctrine, desperately clawed at the grating that had sealed behind the chute, screaming for the Führer to grant mercy. Chris retreated into the shadows as the Heydrich advanced on the man, effortlessly picking him up and—

    Oh dear God it's such a crime against humanity I can't even put it into words.

    After finishing off its fellow soldier, the beast turned to the boy. Chris hefted a massive leg bone from some ill-fated prior inhabitant, realizing too late that it really wasn't a replacement for a proper sword. The Heydrich seized him, squeezing the air out of his lungs as it drew him toward its face. Hoots and hollers sounded above; Kaiser winced as the creature opened its mouth for the chomp-de-grâce. In one last desperate manoeuvre, Chris thrust the bone into the roof of its mouth. Surprised, the Heydrich dropped him and he scurried underneath an outcropping.

    Undeterred, the monster snapped the bone between its jaws before stomping toward the alcove. He could just make out an exit beyond the gateway. As the Heydrich reached out, he grabbed a rock and beat the hand until it retreated. «Schniefen Üntermensch!» it roared as Chris made a dash between its legs. Reaching the other side he pounded the button to a smaller door and ran headlong into a metal grate; a guard and another SS officer with similarly-slicked hair, a toothbrush moustache and perfectly circular glasses grinned evilly.

    «Netter Versuch, Jesse Owens!» sneered the officer, swatting Chris's hands until he turned back.

    The cheering reached a fever pitch as the Heydrich bore down on the helpless prisoner. The boy's life flashed once more before his eyes, appended with his experiences since the adventure on MMMBop. Then he saw a control console beside the gate. He scrabbled for a rock and, just as the beast crossed the threshold, heaved a jaundiced skull at the switch with all his might. The control shorted out and the gate dropped full force on the behemoth's neck, flooring it instantly. The laughter upstairs cut off at once as Hitler jumped to his feet, sputtering obscenities. «Heil... Hitler...» the Heydrich wheezed, before falling still.

    Chris heaved for breath.

    Above, Kaiser's relieved sigh turned into a cry as Hitler yanked the chain in a fit. «INAKZEPTABEEEEEEEEL!!!» he screamed.

    The gate to the cave opened and the guard rushed to strangle Chris, but was pushed aside by the officer who rushed over to the Heydrich's corpse. His face contorted in horrified despair and he began to break down into tears.

    «Bring me Fegelein and the werewolf!» thundered the Führer; hefting his rifle, hoplitejoe snuck out of the hall; «They will all pay for this outrage!!»

    Downstairs, a guardsman lent his shoulder to the weeping officer. «Ich weiß, Herr Himmler,» he muttered, helping him stagger out of the room, «Er war mein Freund auch...»

    "Fegs!" cried Chris as hoplitejoe and another guard brought him upstairs.

    "Hey, Chris," said Fegelein, arriving from the opposite end.

    "Are you alright????"

    "Fine," he shrugged. "Together again, huh?"

    "Wouldnt miss it!"

    "What's the score?"

    "Same as always."

    "That bad, huh?"

    The guards brought them to a halt in front of the couch, soon joined by Arkady.

    "Where's Bernie?"

    "Don't worry, I'm here too," Kaiser sighed.

    «Sagen Sie ihnen, wie viel Spaß Ich werde heute,» Hitler instructed.

    "Oh dear," Farnsworth muttered, reading the briefing. "His High Exaltedness, the great Dolfy the Führer, has decreed that you are to be terminated... immediately."

    "With Göring in charge, that'll be... what, five years?" quipped the Obergruppenführer. The drunk started to laugh but a knee to the back of his head shut him up.

    "You will therefore be taken to the Dune Sea and cast into the Chat of Action, the nesting place of the all-powerful Lighthearter."

    "That's uncharacteristically generous of you, Mein Fälure."

    "In his belly you will find a new definition of pain and suffering, as you are subjected to BDSM over a... thousand years."

    "Sladkiy mat' Meri," Arkady trembled.

    "On second thought, I'll pass."

    "You should have bargained, Hitler!" called Chris.

    «Nehmen Sie weg!» Hitler flicked his wrist, and the guards shuffled them out.

    "Thats the last mistake you'll ever make!!" shouted the boy. Hitler, and the drunk, laughed.
     
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  5. Omega124

    Omega124 Challenging Fate

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    The chat of action dear lucina I'm dying :rotfl:
     
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  6. e350tb

    e350tb Stupendously Illogical Englishman

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    Did...did you just make Hitler do a Lemongrab impression? :lol:
     
  7. Thorvald of Lym

    Thorvald of Lym A Little Sketchy

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  8. Thorvald of Lym

    Thorvald of Lym A Little Sketchy

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    This is a Christmas present, so don't read it 'til the 25th! :snowcool:

    Fun fact: In the course of verifying dialogue with the screenplay, I discovered an unused scene following the fight at the Sarlacc pit. (It's mostly exposition, though, so it's not adapted here.)


    Dragging its way over the Hellenic dunes was literally the second-dumbest contraption Nazi science had ever devised. The P.1000 Landkreuzer was a tank the length of a city block and the height of a small office building, armed with dual naval guns, several autocannons, and enough anti-aircraft guns to guard a small base. Good thing the Great Austerity had pretty much eradicated roads, because the sextuple tracks would've ground up any asphalt from sheer weight. Jokingly, the monstrosity was nicknamed the "Ratte". Intimidating though it looked, though, saturation barrages and precision bombing would've made it scrap metal in short order; recognizing it would probably never see serious action, Hitler had it refitted into a giant mobile penthouse. It even had a canopy over the turret to protect the guards from sunstroke (probably Speer's idea). Dwarfed by the bloated behemoth were two hover-barges, one bearing the prisoners and one bearing some sight-seeing soldiers.

    Within the tank, Jenkins balanced a table on his shoulders, serving refreshments as the band played another ironic pop cover. «Die Liebhaber von Himmler ist tot, und ich werde bald loswerden Fegelein,» Hitler sighed. «Vielleicht ist dieser Tag nicht so schlecht.» Standing at a side window, Princess Kaiser scowled before peering out to the barge.

    "A good day to die, at least," muttered Arkady.

    "I think my eyes are getting better," Fegelein remarked. "Instead of a big dark blur I see a big light blur."

    "Theres nothing to see," Chris said, "I use to live here you know."

    "You're going to die here, you know. Convenient!"

    "Just stick close to arkady and hj," he retorted, "i've taken care of everytgin!"

    "Oh," he nodded, "Great."

    Back onboard, Hitler tugged the chain and Kaiser nearly fell into his arms. Bormann came up behind to hold her in place. «It's not so bad, once you get used to it,» he sniffed; «Beats the hell out of the fursuiters, at least.»

    Shuffling along, Farnsworth bumped into Jenkins, knocking the serving tray onto the floor. "I'm terribly sor—" he began as the shorter man squawked indignantly; "Jenkins! What are you doing here?!" Chirrup. "Well I can see you're serving drinks! But this place is dangerous! They're going to execute Master Christos! And if we're not careful, us, too!" Jenkins blew a lilting tune. "I wish I had your confidence!" he muttered.

    The party at last arrived at a craterous pit in the sand. A drawbridge extended from the barge and guards man-handled Chris onto it. Peering down he saw a gaping maw ringed with multiple sets of teeth, tentacles and leather whips flailing from within. It was the sort of creepy imagery with which Freudian analysis could have a field day. HJ pulled away in disgust. Arkady began hyperventilating, stricken with utter terror.

    «Bringen wirs hinter uns,» said Hitler, passing Farnsworth a microphone.

    "Victims of the almighty Lighthearter," he began, "His Excellency hopes you will die... kinkily... But should any of you wish to beg for mercy, the great Dolfy the Führer will now listen to your plea."

    "Maybe he will recant," the werewolf mumbled, "You've got some sort of leverage over him, right, sir?"

    As the entourage gathered around the windows, Jenkins slipped away. «Cheddarmönch tatsächlich!» snickered the Führer.

    "Farnsworth!" called the Obergruppenführer, "You tell that hot-headed twitchy-handed Fälure, he's not worth the spit!"

    "Sovyershyenno!" shouted Arkady. "...Right?"

    "Right," he replied.

    "Right."

    Jenkins had reached the tank's roof and peered over the edge toward the pit. "Hilter!" shouted Chris, "This is you're last chance! Free us, or..."

    ...

    ...

    «Oder was?» he asked boredly.

    One of the guards gave Chris a poke. "—DIE!!!!" he finished, snapping lucid.

    The audience laughed. «Move him into position,» he called.

    A guard prodded him out onto the plank. Chris looked down at the beast below him. He could hear... Taylor Swift songs? Glancing sideways, he nodded to HJ. HJ nodded to Arkady. Arkady nodded to Jenkins. Jenkins nodded to the other barge. A soldier nodded to Farnsworth. Farnsworth nodded to Kaiser. Kaiser nodded to Bormann. Bormann nodded to Rebar. Rebar nodded to Blondi. Blondi nodded to Hitler. Hitler nodded back to Bormann. Bormann nodded to HJ. HJ nodded to Fegelein. Fegelein nodded to Chris. Assorted onlookers muttered as the tension continued to build; Kaiser licked her lips nervously. Chris gave a lazy salute to Jenkins, who reached inside his coat, loading a shiny new plasma foil into a miniature potato gun.

    «Put him in!» ordered the Führer.

    Chris leaped off the plank, twirled around and caught the edge, springing back into the air. Jenkins fired the gun and the foil sailed through the air. Chris did a somersault, landing back on deck, then thew out his arm to catch the incoming weapon. "Oh," said Arkady, “That'll work."

    The guards stood and watched. Evidently they weren't getting paid enough.

    When the pommel hit his hand, the boy ignited the blade and started swinging at the soldiers while HJ turned and wrestled with a nearby guard in a patchy uniform. "Round One," called the werewolf, "Fight!" One of the guards lost his balance and tumbled into the Lighthearter's maw. The Ratte erupted in confusion as soldiers scrambled to action. «Nein, nein, nein!» screamed Hitler, «Er wird nicht spielen einen Streich mit diesem! Nicht jetzt!»

    Chris sliced a soldier who fell off the barge and straight into the pit with an "AaaAAIIaagh—!" As HJ struggled with the last guard, Chris turned about to free Arkady's hands. "I hate bondage," grumbled the werewolf.

    "Easy arkady!!" said Chris. Meanwhile, soldiers scrambled to prime the tank's flak cannons. Bearing down on the barge, a gun loosed a shot into the deck, sending HJ and the patchy soldier tumbling overboard. HJ caught himself on a dangling cable while the guard slid down the embankment before a tentacle dragged him down into the Lighthearter.

    Arkady began cackling like a man possessed. "YOU DOUBTED THE POWER OF HENTAI!!" he shouted after the victim, "A-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA—!!!"

    The mercenary burst out of the turret, igniting a jetpack and sailing for the barge. "H-♪e-e-e-e♪-lp!" HJ called from below. Chris spun about as the merc landed, gun drawn; the boy sliced off the barrel just as another round struck the deck, sending Fegelein and Arkady prone. "Sithspit!" spat the swashbuckler.

    "Fegs!" he cried.

    "Arkady!" called the officer, "You OK? Where is he?" Changing tack, the merc shot out a cable that wrapped around Chris, pinning his arms to his sides.

    "I'm fine; how're you?"

    "I'm OK, pal."

    As Chris struggled to free himself, another round fired off; twising his wrists the foil parried it into the deck beside the merc, snapping the cable and flooring the man. "What the CHRIST?!" he barked.

    "FE-E-EGS! ARKADY-Y-Y-Y!"

    "HJ?!" exclaimed Fegelein.

    "He fell off!" cried the werewolf.

    Chris spun about as bullets whizzed past him, the other barge closing in. He leaped across onto the intruders' bow to engage. The merc picked himself up, cursing, as Fegelein retrieved a pole from the deck. "Watch out, it's Mitch Valentine!" shouted Arkady.

    "Valentine?" Fegelein repeated as the merc levelled a wrist-dart at the unsuspecting boy.

    "He's aiming for Chris!"

    "Valentine? Where??"

    Spinning around, Fegelein knocked the far end of the pole into the merc's jetpack, throwing off the shot and igniting the rockets. "WHAT the?—AAAAAAAAGH!" he screamed, sailing back toward the tank. "BOB SAGET!!" he snapped as he body-checked the side armour, falling to the ground and quickly rolling down the slope. "FuuUUUUuuuuuu—" he roared, disappearing into the maw.

    The Lighthearter burped.

    «Das ist ein Skandal!!» hollered Hitler. Hefting the microphone, Kaiser smashed the controls by the couch; the viewports folded and the lights shut off, adding to the panic as she slipped behind.

    Chris, meanwhile, was starting to work his way across the barge, giving the Lighthearter more "AaaAAIIaagh—!"s and playtoys. Gripping a rail, Fegelein thrust the pole toward hoplitejoe. "HJ, grab it," he called.

    "Lower it!" he shouted back, "I'm trying—!"

    Hitler kept shouting as the erstwhile partiers flapped about. «Ich werde die Ordnung! Ich werde die Perfektion! Ich werde d—»

    *CLONK*

    Hitler collapsed forward, and Kaiser dropped the frying pan.

    More flak rounds struck the deck, and the barge listed toward the pit. HJ lost his grip and fell into the sand, while Fegelein was only spared the same fate by virtue of ropes tangling around his ankles. "Grab me, Arkady, I'm slipping!"

    Seeing how badly the barge was getting beaten, Chris leaped off his deck and scrabbled to grasp a viewport on the tank's side. A hatch popped open beside him; «Hände hoch!» cried a soldier before the boy yanked him out. «Gott in Himme-e-e-l-l-ll!» he screamed as a whip wrapped around him, dragging him into the maw.

    Scrambling onto the roof, Chris ignited his foil and took down the nearest flak gunner. Other soldiers tried to stop him, but he parried their shots back—sometimes a literal return-to-sender.

    "I died like the IOT player base," Arkady muttered as another flak round burst to his left, "Hugging the boots of Nazis."

    "Gently, now," called Fegelein. HJ reached toward the pole, only to scream as a tentacle wrapped around his leg, dragging him down. "Arkady!" the officer shouted.

    "Don't worry, you'll enjoy it!" called the Lighthearter. "Once you've had a taste, you'll never want large maps again!"

    "Arkady, give me the gun!" The first mate struggled to pass him a pistol. "Don't move, HJ!"

    "No wait!" he cried as Fegelein levelled the gun, "I thought you were blind!"

    "It's alright, I can see a lot better!"

    "A little higher! Just a little higher—!"

    Fegelein loosed a shot into the tentacle. It released HJ as it recoiled. "Oh, that DOES it!" screamed the Lighthearter, "You are banned from my game, my chat, EVERYTHING!"

    "Thank Sarkeesian," hoplitejoe muttered, scrambling up the slope.

    "Alright, pull us up!"

    Back in the Ratte, Jenkins took a pair of pliers to the chain binding the Princess. "C'mon, we gotta get out of here." Jenkins whistled inquisitively, peeling off to a side room.

    "Not my vest!" cried Farnsworth. A group of fursuiters—the kind whose costumes don't have clothes—had broken his retaining collar and were trying to disrobe him. "Jenkins! Help!" Whistling affirmative, the shorter gentleman withdrew an experimental electrogun, shooting the nearest accoster. Turns out fake fur is a strong electric conductor, and the bolt arced through the group who convulsed briefly before collapsing, smoke wisping from their necks.

    As HJ and Fegelein rolled back on deck, Kaiser emerged on the tank's roof. "GETTHEGUN!!!" Chris hollered. She looked over to an unmanned flak cannon on a raised platform at the turret's far end. "POINTITATTHEDECK!!!!!"

    "Putin ate a what?!"

    A pair of guards fled back down the hatch as Chris sliced off their rifles. "POINTITATTHEDECK!!!!!!" he shouted again, even as Kaiser pivoted the gun around. A man emerged behind the boy and shot at the plasma foil, singing Chris's robo-hand. "AAAAAHHH!!!!!!!!!" he shouted, spinning about to hack him.

    Further afield, the gentlemen had also surfaced. "Jenkins, where are we going?!" Farnsworth asked as he struggled to redress himself; "I can't possibly jump—aaaAAAAAaaaa—!" he cried as Jenkins nudged him over the edge. With a cavalier whistle, he leaped off after him.

    After dispatching the remaining soldiers, Chris bolted over to the gun, unfastening one of the ropes rigging the canopy. "Come on!!!!!" he beckoned Kaiser who, left with little other option, hooked her arms around him. He realized that there was something quite alluring about that jet-black uniform, covered in Nazi regalia... He'd have to remind her to hang on to it. Purely for latent infiltration use, of course. He kicked the trigger and the cannon loosed a round down the hatch that, guided by the power of the Farce, ricocheted through the interior and into the magazine. He swung across the void and onto the hoverbarge liberated in the name of the Resistance. "Lets go, and dont forget the gentelmen!!!!"

    "We're on our way!" exclaimed HJ. As the barge puttered off, the tank began to burst apart. On the far side, a periscope emerged from the sand, accompanied by a signalling whistle. Two rescue harnesses dropped down; the gentlemen grabbed hold and were lifted out of the sand.

    As Our Heroes sped off, the Ratte exploded in a fireball, Hitler's scream of «TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!!!!» reverberating across the dunes.

    Not long afterward, the Centurion Raptor and Chris's fighter broke Greece's atmosphere before veering off in separate directions. "i'll meet you back at hte fleet!" said the boy.

    "Hurry," Kaiser called, "The Alliance should be assembled by now."

    "I will!!!!"

    "Hey Chris, thanks," said Fegelein. "Thanks for coming after me. I owe you one."

    AUTHOR'S NOSE: bbut he didnt' reely becoz fegalin savd him twise so akturly ets liek hi hadd hose det cot im halv. ITS NOTE ABBOT TEH UEROCRISAS!!!

    The boy grinned to himself. Jenkins trilled inquisitively. "Thats right jenkins were going to the deewhyoh system!" He refastened his flight glove over the burnt circuitry of his robo-hand. More whistling. "I have a promise to keep........to an old friend."
     
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  9. e350tb

    e350tb Stupendously Illogical Englishman

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    Fantastic as usual. :D
     
  10. Robert Can't

    Robert Can't Éponine

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    Indeed
     
  11. Omega124

    Omega124 Challenging Fate

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    Everything involving the Sarlaac was 100% perfect.

    12/10 would let Thor take the piss out of me any day
     
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  12. Thorvald of Lym

    Thorvald of Lym A Little Sketchy

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    Steady, Megs, I might just hold you to that. ;)


    Squadrons upon squadrons of Kite Flyers buzzed about the Doom Sphere like a swarm of hornets. Inside the hangar bay, a veritable legion of soldiers flanked a path before one of those paper-plane-shuttles. Most were standing, but a sizable portion had collapsed; the Emporer of Teh Galaxy had ordered the station to be locked into arrival mode—sadly for the station, he'd barely hinted at his actual ETA and they'd been on standby for the past fourteen hours.

    Six genetically-twisted monstrosities looking so 'roided they might have once played for the Soviet Women's Olympic Team filed out of the ship and took up formation at the bottom of the gangplank. Though they were clad only in blood-red loincloths, their most disturbing feature was their heads, which were deformed into cartoonish exaggerations of a hedgehog, fox, lynx, wolf, bat, and literally the worst interpretation of an echidna I've ever seen. As they surrounded Darth Lackarse and the station commander, the Dork Lord dropped to one knee, quickly followed by the officer. The ship's pneumatics hissed ominously as the Emporer himself descended upon them, the thick black cloak doing little to conceal the bizarre facial mix of lynx, wolf, and hedgehog just as comical as his bodyguard, nor the Praetorian uniform even more garishly gilded than the late Grand Mopp George I of the first ill-fated Doom Sphere, which struggled to contain a voracious beer belly. "Hail to the chief, baby!" he boomed, strutting onto the hangar floor.

    "You suck, Tani!" came a shout from the audience.

    "Find him and take him to my room," he told the nearest henchfur, "I could use an after-flight snack." Turning his attention to the minions before him, he said: "On your feet, Lackey. I may be God Mobian, but it's not like I'm a megalomanic despot!" The round of stifled laughter silenced instantly as the escort spun about. The Emporer led Lackarse down the hall, completely ignoring the station commander.

    "THE DOOM SPHERE WILL BE COMPLETED ON SCHEDULE," began the Dork Lord.

    "'Course it will; I set the timetable!" He playfully elbowed his accomplice. "So I guess you want to get back to finding our young friend christos200?"

    "YES, MY MASTER," he replied after a moment's hesitation.

    "Life's too short to go running 'round the galaxy. You stay right here, and he'll come to you. And then you bring him to me. He's been with those rebels too long; all that talk of responsive GMing and design-by-consensus..." The Emporer shuddered. "We'll need to work together to convince him the Dork Side's the winning side."

    "AS YOU WISH."

    "The best part of running a game," he grinned, throwing his arm over Lackarse's shoulders, "Is I always know how it'll turn out!" Insidious laughter echoed through the hangar.

    ------------------------------

    It was a dark and stormy night in Deewhyoh. A lone macaw braved the downpour as Jenkins kept watch over the fighter, this time parked on solid ground. Inside the shelter, the Cheddar Master Thorvald shuffled over to the fire in the hearth, humming to himself. "That face you make," he called to Chris, sitting at the other end of the room; the boy lowered his gaze embarrassedly. "Look I so old, to young eyes?"

    "No!!" he cried, "Of course not!!!!"

    The sage smirked. "I do!" he said, turning about and coughing lightly. He cocked his head to the side. "Yes I do..." His grin faltered. "Sick have I become. Hmm. Old and weak."

    Chris simply stared, knowing neither what to say nor do.

    Thorvald smirked again. "When nine hundred threads you mod, look as good you will not, hm?" His gravelly chuckle broke down into more coughing as he dragged himself toward a well-worn cot. "Soon, will I rest. Yes... Forever sleep!" He sighed as he sat down on the edge of the bed; Chris gave a start as the several dozen foxes that inhabited the place swarmed around them. "Earned it, I have."

    "Master thorvald you can't die!!!" cried the boy.

    The elder let out a fatigued sigh. "Strong am I with the Farce. But not that strong." Setting his umbrella against the wall, he settled under a single quilted sheet. "Twilight is upon me, and soon... night must fall." Chris reached over to help him with the quilt. "That is the way of things. The way of the Farce." The boy ground his teeth; if that were so, he'd expect this to be a lot less sombre.

    "Bit I need your help!!!" he pleaded, "Ive come back to COMPLETE the training!!!!!"

    "No more training do you require," he declared, closing his eyes, "Already know you, that which you need."

    Chris sat for a moment, mouth agape. "Then I am a Cheddar monk!" he breathed.

    "Ohh!" Thorvald exclaimed, eyeing him jovially, chuckle breaking into faint coughs. "Not yet." Chris inhaled sharply, clenching his jaw so hard he risked cracking a tooth. "One thing remains..." With effort, he turned his head to face the boy. "Lackarse," he stated gravely, "You must confront Lackarse. Then, only then, a Cheddai you will be." Chris nodded faintly, guessing it would all come to this. Thorvald wriggled deeper into the quilt. "And confront him you will."

    "Master THorvald," he began after a moment, only to hesitate as he grappled with the implications. Summoning up his courage he asked: "IS Darth Lackarse George Lucas???"

    The man didn't reply. After a pause he said: "Rest, I need," rolling onto his side, "Yes... rest..." The foxes nearest the bed threw up their paws to peer over the edge as the back rows crowded forward, and Chris anxiously scooted closer lest he be shut out.

    "Thorvald i must know!!!!"

    Another pause. With a soft sigh he replied: "George Lucas he is." A low, melancholic brass motif began as the boy ever-so-slowly straightened back up. "Told you, did he?"

    "yes......."

    "Unexpected this is," he muttered, "And unfortunate."

    Chris spun about. "Unfortuante that i met my favorite director?!?!?!?!" he snapped.

    "No!" Thorvald grunted as he rolled over to face his pupil. "Unfortunate, that you rushed to face him! That incomplete was your training! That... not ready for the burden were you!"

    He ducked his head. "Im sorry," he murmured.

    "Remember: a Cheddai's strength, floooows from the Farce!" He settled back into the bed. "But beware: Blue jokes. Memes. Stereotype. The Dork Side are they. Once... you start down the Dork Path... forever... will it dominate your destiny!" His face contorted in pain as he struggled to continue; "Chris," he whispered, "Chri–i–is!" The boy leaned in as Thorvald's voice fell to a hoarse whisper. "Do not—" he paused to catch his breath; "Do not underestimate the powers of the Emporer, or suffer George Lucas's fate, you will." He grimaced, snuggling in tighter. "Chris!" The boy leaned in closer. "Just... checking," he grinned feebly. "Chris!" he called again as the boy started sitting back, "When gone am I... the last of the Cheddai, you will be." A giddy thrill ran through the boy, as well as a sudden flush in his armpits. "Chris..." Thorvald's voice was so faint he almost missed it; "The Farce runs strong in your family... Pass on what you have leeearned... Chris..." The elder's eyes wavered, each syllable a mountain climb, "There... is... a–no–ther..." Fighting with all his fading might, he pronounced: "St... Sta–a–ar... akch... lif...ter."

    The sky boomed outside as the Cheddar Master's head fell softly to his chest, body still. Chris stared, dumbstruck, a deafening silence descending upon the room as the foxes bowed, ears folding flat, the first line sitting back down. As the boy watched, Thorvald faded out of sight, the quilt settling flat, empty.

    Several minutes later Chris plodded across the muddy ground back to his ship. Jenkins turned from where he was conducting routine maintenance to whistle an inquisitive trill. The boy looked back across the empty street to the shelter, still glowing in the fading firelight. "I cant do it!!!" he exclaimed, slumping to the ground. Jenkins replied with a staccato flutter. "I cant go on alone!!!!"

    "Thorvald will always be with you," echoed the voice of a sage English actor.

    "Ali-G!!!!!!!"

    Stepping forth from a broken archway was the ghostly apparition of Chris's old mentor, Alec Guinness, clad in the same earthy robes as the day he died on the Doom Sphere. Stepping to the side he put his hands on his hips.

    Chris marched forward, confrontational. "Why didn't you tell me!!!!!" he shouted. "You told me Lackarse betrayed and murdered Star Wars!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

    "The director..." he began, sauntering up, "Was seduced by the Dork Side of the Farce. He ceased tempering his vision through peer review, substituting engaging dialogue and thematic cinematography with opaque moralizing and visual gimmicks. When that happened, the legacy of Star Wars was destroyed. So what I told you was true... from a certain point of view."

    "A certain point of view?!?!?!" he cried, getting none of it and finally admitting it.

    The spiritual projection of Alec Guinness sat down on a nearby rock. "Chris, you're going to find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view. ...Lucas was a good friend." Chris sat down beside him. "When I first knew him, he was already a promising director, but I was amazed by his imagination. I took it upon myself to train him as a Cheddar Monk." His face flickered in rueful embarrassment, and he looked away. "I thought I could instruct him just as well as Thorvald... I was wrong."

    "There is still good in him!!!!" Chris pressed.

    Alec Guinness glanced at him, bemused. "He's more machine now than man," he sniffed, "Bloated and clichéd."

    The boy shook his head. "I cant do it then!!!!"

    "You cannot escape your destiny." The elite actor stared at him, imperative. "You must face Darth Lackarse again."

    "I can't kill goerge lucas!!!!!!!"

    The elder shrugged, conceding defeat. "Then the Emporer has already won," he sighed. "You were our only hope."

    Chris was about to reply, when a thought struck him. "Thovrald spoke of another......" he began.

    Alec Guinness looked back, hesitant. "The other he spoke of is your twin sister."

    "But i have no sister!!!" he cried in confusion.

    The man 'hm'ed. "To protect you both from the Emporer, you were hidden from the Star Wars Fan Club when you were born. The Emporer knew—as I did—if George Lucas still inspired confidence in his fanbase, it would be a threat to him. That is the reason," he stated, facing away, "Why your sister remains safely anonymous." The next few minutes passed in silence as Chris pondered who in all the fandoms his sister could possibly be...

    Oh come on, isn't it obvious?

    I mean, how many major female characters are in this film, anyhow?

    C'mon, anybody??

    No..?

    Well, Chris couldn't figure it out either, shaking his head in surrender.

    "Bury you feelings deep down, Chris," Alec Guinness warned, "They do you credit, but they could be used to serve the Emporer." Biting his lip, the boy nodded.

    ------------------------------

    At an undisclosed locale somewhere in deep space, the Resistance fleet had assembled. Ships from every science-fiction franchise (and several blue-water vessels specially-fitted for the occasion) formed a screening formation—Klingon Birds of Prey, UNSC capital ships, the entire Chmmr armada, to name but a few—as a mix of starfighters and what-if aircraft practiced manoeuvres. At the heart of the swarm was the rebels' field command, the Space Battleship Yamato.

    The cameraman followed two staff officers down a narrow corridor and into the ampitheatre-like briefing room, where field commanders, foot soldiers and pilots mixed and mingled. The fleet admiral observed from the back of the main bridge; clad in a space suit decorated in Polish service medals, he was a tall, slim-built species with a narrow jaw, wide-set, ovular eyes, and long, flesh-covered horns extending from the back of the skull.

    "Well look at you!" called Fegelein, strolling up to hoplitejoe, whose blue administrator's cloak now covered a military suit, "A general, huh?"

    "Someone must have told them about my little manoeuvre in the Battle of Gamergate," he shrugged bashfully.

    "Well don't look at me, pal," the officer grinned, "I just said you were a fair pilot; I didn't know they were looking for somebody to lead this crazy attack!"

    "I'm surprised they didn't ask you."

    "Who says they didn't?" he smirked, taking a seat next to Arkady, "But I'm not crazy. You're the respectable one, remember?" HJ grinned.

    Princess Kaiser arrived and sat down beside Fegelein; she was now dressed in combat fatigues, muffin-like dinner rolls forming a crown around her head. Farnsworth stood two levels behind with his usual gentlemanly poise. To the right wing was a group of fighter pilots in a mix of orange and green uniforms, headed by the Resistance's ace-in-the-hole Omega124, who is at this very moment negotiating an entire literary series. Two pings sounded like an elevator arriving and the chatter died down as the supreme command approached a circular console in the middle of the room. Generals Stavros and von Esling provided rearguard to the Terran Empress, de facto political leader of the Alliance. Her gold-trimmed crimson attire was midway between regal robes and neo-Roman armour; blue-black bangs bounced about her forehead, the longer strands done up in a ponytail.

    "Good evening, everyone," she began.

    "Good evening, Terra," the room replied.

    "The Emporer has made a critical error and the time for our attack has come," she declared. The lights dimmed as a holo-projection materialized above the console, a translucent topographical relief of a gargantuan swampy planet—oh, I'm sorry, "MOON"—, the fractured red profile of the Doom Sphere II almost lost against it. "The data brought to us by our Bogan spies pinpoint the exact location of the Emporer's new battle station. We also know that the memetic mutations of this Doom Sphere are not yet operational." Fegelein nudge-nudged Arkady, wiggling his eyebrows as he nodded across the room to a nine-tailed vixen in a blood-red jacket standing amongst the officers; the first mate rolled his eyes, sighing impatiently. "With the Imperial fleet spread throughout the Internet in a vain effort to berate us, it is relatively unprotected. But most important of all," she paused for emphasis, "We've learned that the Emporer himself is personally overseeing the final stages of construction." The room sat in stunned silence; HJ and Fegelein exchanged a look. "Many Bogans died to bring us this information." The Terran Empress swept her gaze across the assembly. "Let's make that sacrifice worth something." Stepping away from the console, she extended her arm. "Admiral Red_Spy, please."

    The fleet commander approached the display. "See: Doom Sphere orbiting wetland moon of K-pop," he spoke rapidly and punctually, "Weapon systems currently offline; but, protected by strong defence mechanism. Energy shield generator located on moon: protects station while in geosynchronous orbit." A yellow funnel emerged from the moon's surface, encasing the Doom Sphere. "Deactivation imperative prior to attack. Once disabled, cruisers will form defense perimeter." The moon dissolved, the Doom Sphere zooming in to reveal a set of navigable passageways into the station core. "Superstructure permeable: fighters will enter station for direct strike on main reactor." A blue dot followed one of the routes to the centre; it sparked, a blue flash enveloped the station, and the projection terminated. "General hoplitejoe has volunteered to lead fighter attack," he gestured across the room.

    "Good luck," said Fegelein. HJ turned toward him with a forced grin. "You're gonna need it," he shrugged.

    "General tommy_baby," Red_Spy announced before stepping back.

    "I prefer TB," growled a brown-haired, bespectacled man in a British officer's uniform, a red tie in place of the standard issue. "We have stolen a small Imperial shuttle," he briefed in an Aussie drawl, "Disguised as a cargo ship and using a secret Imperial code, a strike team will infiltrate the shield, land on the moon, and disable the generator."

    A stream of muted muttering followed. "Sounds dangerous!" Farnsworth said to a nearby soldier.

    Kaiser leaned in to Fegelein. "I wonder who they found to pull that off," she remarked rhetorically. He made to reply, but the general spoke first.

    "Gruppenführer Fegelein, is your strike team assembled?"

    "My team's ready," he answered, "I don't have a command crew for the shuttle."

    "After everything we've been through?!" Arkady cried in mock indignation.

    "It's gonna be rough, pal," he muttered, "I didn't want to speak for you."

    "Someone's gotta watch your back," he smirked.

    Grinning, Fegelein turned back to the general. "That's one."

    "Gruppenführer," Kaiser announced, "Count me in."

    "I'm with you to!!!" Chris emerged from an entryway at the top of the stairs, trailed by Jenkins. He rushed down to the floor where Kaiser welcomed him with a hug.

    Her smile faltered as she detected an unreadable expression in his face. "What is it?"

    "Are you—" He hesitated, shook his head, then finished with "It's nothing. Ask me again sometime."

    "Chris," Fegelein interrupted.

    "Hi fegs!! arkady!!"

    Jenkins blew a short chirrup to Farnsworth. "Exciting is hardly the word I would choose!" he replied.

    "You sure you'd rather tag along with us than play fighter ace with Megs?"

    "Oh yeah megs where is he!!!"

    "Still haven't earned that privilege!" a voice teased as a figure sauntered over.

    The boy's face twisted in confusion. Standing in front of him wearing an orange flight suit was a woman with lustrous navy-blue hair, flowing locks tapered into a braid over her shoulder. "Who are—" he began, before his jaw dropped and eyes blew wide. "MEGS IS A GIRL?!?!?!?!?!"

    The chamber fell silent as everyone turned to stare at him. "You bring a whole new definition to 'slow on the uptake'," Arkady muttered.

    Minutes later, the ship's launching bay was awash in activity as the pilots prepared for departure. —Ooh, I haven't seen those ships before; I bet they'll make a fortune in toy sales even if we barely see them in action. "Look," Fegelein brought HJ to a halt, "I want you to take her. I mean it! Take her! You need all the help you can get; she's the fastest ship in the fleet."

    "Alright, old buddy!" the social justice warrior chuckled. "You know I know what she means to you! I'll take good care of her, she—she won't get a scratch! Alright?"

    "Right," he nodded, heading off for the shuttle. A moment later he turned about. "I got your promise now: not a scratch?"

    "Would you get going, you Nazi?" he laughed. Fegelein gave him a mock salute, and HJ tipped his Trilby. "Good luck," he called, serious.

    "You too." Fegelein ascended the gangplank. After a moment, HJ made for the Raptor.

    Inside the shuttle, Chris and Arkady were running the pre-flight... check... You know, I think this is the first time we've actually seen a take-off that wasn't fleeing some harrowing threat. I think this calls for a celebration; I'm going for a drink.

    ...

    ...

    The hell is all this crap? I never ordered these sodas! What is this, some stupid forced marketing campaign for... I've never even heard of this series. Sounds like a glitzy rip-off of what we're doing here, just... fake-er.

    *crrk—ffFFFFfffssssssssssss*

    ...

    AAH! *PFFFFTT* AUGH, tastes HORRIBLE!

    *pfeh*, *PFFFT* Yuck. Eugh! *p-too*

    Here we go, get a shot o'— no on second thought, I'm taking two.

    ...

    OK, where were we?

    "You got her warmed?" called Fegelein as he entered the cockpit.

    "Yeah she's coming up," replied Chris.

    He paused, glancing back to the squad in the cargo bay. "I meant the ship," he said.

    "Yeah it too."

    Fegelein took his seat at the controls. Arkady fidgeted with his chair angrily. "Can't they make a seat with decent lumbar support?!" he growled.

    "No, I don't think the Empire has ergonomics in mind when they design these, Arkady," the officer remarked.

    "Bloody torture tool..."

    As the engines revved, Fegelein looked across to the bizarre spectacle of viewing the Raptor from onboard a different ship. It was so mesmerizing that he didn't register Princess Kaiser until she clapped her hand to his shoulder. "Hey," she interjected, "You awake?"

    "Yeah, I just got a funny feeling," he muttered, "Like I'm not going to see her again." She followed his gaze.

    She gave him a reassuring pat. "C'mon, Commander. Let's move."

    "Right. Arkady!"

    "Sir."

    "Let's see what this piece of junk can do." Kaiser took her seat as the gentlemen strapped themselves in. "Ready everybody?"

    "All set!!!!" said Chris.

    Jenkins chirped excitedly. "Here we go again," Farnsworth sighed.

    The shuttle departed the deck, circling around and making for the fleet's perimeter. "Alright," called Fegelein, "Hang on!" He pulled down a lever on the dashboard. The stars stretched into long columns of light, and the shuttle disappeared from view.
     
    Omega124 likes this.
  13. Omega124

    Omega124 Challenging Fate

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    /flaunts hair majestically

    Finally that plot issue is resolved :3
     
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  14. Thorvald of Lym

    Thorvald of Lym A Little Sketchy

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    :queen:

    But yeah, one of these days I will have to read Rogue Squadron. :cool:
     
  15. Omega124

    Omega124 Challenging Fate

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    Rouge Squadon was the video games. The book series which you keep on mentioning (and why wedge is my favorite star wars character) is in fact called X Wing, which, to be fair, is about Rogue squadron so I can see the confusion.

    Edit: nvm forgot the first book is named Rogue Squadron ignore me I'm being a silly idiot
     
  16. e350tb

    e350tb Stupendously Illogical Englishman

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    The Britcave
    *snorts with amusement*

    Woo! I get to be a General!

    This is getting most exciting.
     
  17. christos200

    christos200 Never tell me the odds

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    Another great chapter. Keep up the good work. :D
     
  18. Thorvald of Lym

    Thorvald of Lym A Little Sketchy

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    As vanity projects go, the Emporer's penthouse apartment was a pretty impressive one. Perched on a tower rising several hundred metres from the Doom Sphere's surface, it held a commanding view of absolutely nothing while requiring special recalibration of the surrounding defensive turrets so automated tracking wouldn't catch it in the crossfire. The interior was equally astounding, the walls and floors painted garish pastel colours and decked out with SEGA platform game memorabilia as Sonic the Hedgehog tracks echoed throughout. Darth Lackarse knelt at the Emporer's feet, which were presently stretched out on a swivel leather recliner-rocker based before a giant spiderlike gallery window. "WHAT IS THY BIDDING, MY MASTER?"

    "Send the fleet to the far side of K-pop," he instructed, picking his teeth with what looked disturbingly like a shard of dental bone. "It'll hold there 'til the players start getting confident." He struggled to lift his prodigious girth out of the seat, and Lackarse dutifully made way.

    "WHAT OF THE REPORTS OF THE REBEL COSSACKS MASSING NEAR ARCANUM?"

    "Eh," he shrugged, "Can't be a battle if I don't update, right?" With a sinister grin he continued: "Soon the Resistance will be crushed and young Christos will be one of us! Your work here is done, Lackey. Go to the command ship and await my orders."

    "YES, MY MASTER." Lackarse bowed, failing to see the station commander's smirk at the Dork Lord being treated like a dog. Metaphorically, I mean. God knows what the Emporer would do to him if he was a real dog—but I digress; Lackarse and the commander returned to the two-minute elevator ride as the Emporer consulted with his board of investors.

    Not long afterward, the stolen shuttle arrived in the system. The Doom Sphere lay ahead, patrolled by a Star Destructor that looked like a drop of ice cream beside the confounding enormity of that ship.

    "Two scalene triangles and a restroom doodle," muttered Arkady, "It's primary school all over again."

    "If they don't go for this, we'll have to get out of here pretty quick, Arkady," Fegelein stated matter-of-factly.

    "How fast does this thing go in reverse?"

    "We have you on our screen now," the radio cut in, "Please identify."

    "Shuttle Tiberian," Fegelein replied, wiggling a USB stick into the ship's console, "Requesting deactivation of the deflector shield."

    The heroes sailed closer. Onboard the command ship, Tyo looked on as the communications officer responded. "Shuttle Tiberian, transmit the clearance code for shield passage."

    "Transmission commencing..."

    "Now we find out if that code is worth the price we paid," Kaiser muttered.

    "It'll work," he said. As the Obergruppenführer began the upload, he slipped a folder from the USB into the data package.

    "Lackarse's on that ship!!!!" Chris exclaimed. Jenkins whistled tentatively and the Princess glanced nervously to the boy.

    "Now don't get jittery, Chris," Fegelein replied, carefree, "I once trailed Dolfy for a full three hours and he never once suspected."

    "How'd you pull that off?" asked the werewolf.

    "You keep your distance—but you don't look like you're keeping your distance."

    "But we're in a ship—!"

    "I don't know!" he groaned, "Fly casual!"

    "Not while the Emporer's around," he murmured.

    Back on the bridge, Tyo gave a start as Darth Lackarse strode up to the terminal. "WHERE IS THAT SHUTTLE GOING?"

    The officer leaned in. "Shuttle Tiberian, what is your cargo and destination?"

    "Parts and technical crew for the jungle moon," buzzed Fegelein. A wireframe schematic of the ship appeared on screen accompanied by several data sets and... wait, was that the entire Season 4 of RWBY in 1080p?! And it hadn't even aired yet!

    "DO THEY HAVE A CODE CLEARANCE?"

    Tyo re-typed the text into the Imperial databank. The wireframe immediately started to flip out as a Japanese song blared through the speakers:

    GET DOWN
    YURERU MAWARU FURERU SETSUNAAAAAI KIMOCHIIIIIII
    FUTARI DE ISSHO NI NEMURU WINTER LAAAAAAAAND


    "It's an older meme, sir," he began quickly, backing away to keep Lackarse's attention off the screen, "But it checks out. I was about to clear them." After a moment's silence, Lackarse turned his head in the shuttle's general direction.

    Chris's jaw went slack. "Im endangering the mission i shouldn't have come!!!!!"

    "It's your imagination, kid," Fegelein huffed, "C'mon, let's keep a little optimism here!"

    The shuttle passed right in front of the flagship's bridge. "Shall I hold?" asked Tyo.

    "NO," Lackarse faced forward, "LEAVE THEM TO ME. I WILL DEAL WITH THEM MYSELF."

    "As you wish, milord," said the officer, eyeing the Dork Lord warily. "Carry on," he instructed the man.

    Fegelein sighed. "They're not going for it, Arkady."

    "Toldja 1080 was pushing it..."

    "Shuttle Tiberian," the radio cut in, "Deactivation of the shield will commence immediately. Follow your present course."

    From the back row, Farnsworth shook his head, incredulous. "Un-freaking-believable!" cried Arkady.

    "You see?" Fegelein glanced backwards, "I told you it was gonna work!" Chris, however, looked like a deer in the headlights. The shuttle pitched forward and made for the moon; onboard the battleship, Lackarse gazed out into space for a moment, then turned back inside.

    The commandos set down deep beneath a jungle canopy so thick, it was almost pitch-black. A squadron of soldiers in wetland camouflage snaked through the underbrush, Our Heroes at the head while Farnsworth and Jenkins brought up the rearguard. Cresting a hill, the officer motioned for the troops to go prone. "I told you it was dangerous here!" hissed the taller gentleman. The command team crept forward. "Chyort, muttered Arkady as they rounded the flayed trunk of a dead, yet still-towering redwood.

    Peering over a mossy log, they spied a shock trooper scouting party in the valley below. They were clad in a peculiar make of the usual armour, with top-heavy helmets that blinkered their vision directly forward and large gaps in the plating to expose Spandex-clad arms and legs. There were rumours that the Emporer had commissioned a special 'gimp squad', but heretofore no-one had actually believed them. "Should we try and go around?" asked Kaiser.

    "no itll take too long!" said Chris.

    Fegelein rolled his eyes. "This whole party will be for nothing if they see us."

    "Can't go around it, can't go under it," recited the werewolf.

    The Obergruppenführer grinned. "Arkady and I will take care of this." He got to his feet. "You stay here."

    "QUIETLY!!!" Chris barked; the Princess clapped a hand over his mouth as everyone frantically shushed him. Calmer, he continued: "Their might be more of the mout there!!"

    "Hey," he smirked, "It's me!" As officer and first made descended the slope, Chris and Kaiser shared a knowing look.

    At the base of the incline, one trooper leaned against a tree as he poured swamp water out of his boot while the other tinkered with the engine of one of two hoverbikes nearby. From behind the tree, Arkady nodded. Fegelein answered, pistol raised, emerging from a trunk to the right and creeping silently as the trooper shuffled back to his comrade.

    *B–HOON–HYK!*

    Of all the bloody places to lose a bicycle horn...

    The trooper spun around; his satchel struck Fegelein in the face and he fell backwards, discharging a shot. "CALL FOR HELP!! GO!!" screamed the scout; the other soldier ran for the speeders.

    "Great!!!!" Chris pounded the trunk, leaping to his feet. "Come on!!!!!" Picking himself up, Fegelein grabbed the trooper and swung him into the tree. The other leaped on a bike and gunned the engine, darting off. Arkady broke cover, levelling his machine gun at the rapidly-shrinking target. One burst—two—three and he struck the trooper in the back; the bike pitched forward and smashed into a fallen log, sending the rider head over heels.

    Chris and Kaiser rushed onto the scene. "Over there!" she pointed further afield, "Two more of them!" One of the impugned scouts put his thumb to his mask and wiggled his fingers before the pair took off. She immediately ran for the other bike.

    "I see them WAIT KAISER!!!!!!!" Chris hurried after her, leaping onto the back seat just as she gunned the engine. He gritted his teeth; a motorbike ride didn't feel so romantic if he wasn't driving...

    "Hey, wait!" Fegelein cried, but they were already out of earshot. The shock trooper staggered to his feet after another wallop. "Can't you take a hint?" he sighed, grabbing the trooper's arm and throwing him over his back. The plastic armour split with a satisfying squeak.

    The two scouts sped through the jungle, Chris and Kaiser in close pursuit. "Quick jam their commlinks!!! Center switch!!!!" Trees and bushes rushed past at such a blur, I don't know how they avoided collisions as they darted corners and weaved around trunks as big as your garage. Onlookers were lucky to catch a quick blur followed by an echo-y hoot. "Move closer!!!!!!" The Princess sucked in a breath as she fought to keep control of the speeder. "Get along side that one!!!!!!!" Pulling up alongside the closer bike they began knocking each other while trying to dodge oncoming trees. During a lull, Chris leaped onto the other bike, throwing off the driver who body-checked a passing redwood at should've-worn-a-seatbelt-per-hour. Now if he could just get Kaiser to ditch her bike...

    As the pursuit rounded a corner, two traffic officers spied the scene and leaped into action. "HALT! THIS IS THE POLICE! SLOW DOWN YOUR VEHICLES AND PULL TO THE SIDE!"

    "Damn its the pigs!!" shouted Chris.

    Seconds later blaster fire raked the back end of his bike. "REPEAT! PULL OVER AND EXIT YOUR VEHICLES!"

    "Keep on that one i'll take these two!!!!" he hollered to Kaiser.

    "Assaulting a peace officer is a criminal off—" she started, but he'd already cut away. "Men," she sighed. Falling behind the cops, Chris opened fire with the speeder's lazor cannon. The interceptor to the right peeled away, crashing headlong into a tree and bursting into a fiery explosion.

    Meanwhile, Princess Kaiser had entered an especially thick stretch of underbrush. Deciding to see how well hoverbikes actually worked, she pitched up and into the air. Looking behind him, the trooper found nobody following and gunned the engine as he made for a clearer vector. Just as he was getting comfortable, he came under fire as Kaiser swooped back down. "Oh!" he exclaimed in total astonishment. Drawing his pistol he tried to shoot her off the bike while they were still some distance apart. One shot struck the engine and she fell off as it lurched violently. Looking behind, the shock trooper saw the tell-tale fireworks of a bike colliding with a tree. He chuckled, facing forward.

    "AAAAAAAA—"

    The speeder flew straight into an overturned stump. Kaiser sighed, before collapsing unconscious.

    Meanwhile at God-knows-where, Chris had closed with the other officer to start up a game of punch-me-punch-you. After a little too much trying he was forced to eject before he smashed into a tree. As the interceptor circled around, the boy drew his plasma foil. The cop shot off several tear gas canisters but Chris hacked them before they could take effect, and as the speeder dashed by he sliced off the front end. The vehicle lost stabilization, entering a dizzying spin before exploding against another helpless redwood. Chris pulled off his combat helmet, panting for breath as he disengaged the foil and headed back to the LZ.

    ...At least, once he figured out where it was from here...

    ------------------------------

    Fegelein and Arkady lounged against a tree as the other soldiers played charades. A little way up the hill, Jenkins slowly waved a parabolic microphone back and forth across the marshland floor. Suddenly he broke into excited chirping. "Oh! Gruppenführer Fegelein!" called Farnsworth, "Somebody's coming!"

    The soldiers immediately dashed into the bushes, readying their weapons. "And I bet our pizza's still late," cracked the first mate.

    Chris jogged brazenly into a clear patch, oblivious as guardsmen congregated behind him. "Chris!" called Fegelein, emerging from cover.

    "Where's our booze?" asked Arkady.

    Fegelein frowned, looking around. "Where's Kaiser?"

    The boy blinked, then glanced behind. "What, she didn't come back?"

    "I thought she was with you," the officer muttered darkly.

    "We got separated!!" he whined. "Hey we'd better go look for her!!!!!"

    Fegelein summoned the lieutenant. "Take the squad ahead," he instructed, "We'll meet at the shield generator at 0300."

    "Come on jenkins!!!" called Chris, "We'll need your scanners!!"

    "Don't worry, Master Christos!" cried Farnsworth as the gentlemen hurried after them, "We know what to do!"

    "Why can't this ever be easy?" growled Arkady as he skirted a shallow pond.

    Farnsworth leaned over to his compatriot. "And you said it was pretty here!" he grumbled.

    Over at the crash site, a large, serpentine body oiled its way through the rainforest, coming to a stop at the motionless body of Princess Kaiser. Curving upright, the snakelike creature had a humanoid torso wrapped in a gilded shirt resembling aristocratic Indian fashion. It had two arms with five-fingered hands in which it carried a bo staff. Eyeing the strange creature inquisitively, it poked cautiously at its middle. No response. It poked again more forcefully, slithering back. Nothing. It poked a third time—

    Kaiser came to with a gasp, sitting up at once. "Cut it out!" she snapped. The snek recoiled, hissing softly as it brandished the staff defensively. Taking stock of the rather diminutive creature, the Princess sighed. It relaxed a bit but still kept on its guard, hissing unintelligibly as she got to her feet, rubbing her abused side. "I'm not gonna hurt you," she murmured, sitting down on a fallen log.

    "SSSsss," said the snek.

    Kaiser took stock of her surroundings. "Well, looks like I'm stuck here."

    "ssSSs."

    "Trouble is, I don't know where 'here' is. Maybe you can help me?" The snek cocked its head to the side. "C'mon," she patted the moss next to her, "Sit down."

    "Ssssss," it said, readying the bo staff.

    "I promise I won't hurt you," she grinned, "Now c'mere!"

    "ssSSSS!"

    "Alright," she reached into a belt satchel, "You want something to eat?" Pulling out a rice cake she held it forward.

    "SSSsss!" The snek perked up immediately, sliding up the log.

    "That's right!" She took a bite before offering again. It crept ever and ever slower, reaching out trepidatiously. "C'mon." It snatched the cake but didn't recoil. "Hmmm?"

    Flicking its tongue across the food, it reached a verdict and snapped off a piece to sample. "SSsSs," it declared, settling down beside her. Finishing off the rest, it said: "Sss, sss."

    Kaiser sighed wearily as she took off the combat helmet. The snek backed off at once with a sharp "SSSS!", staff at the ready. "Look, it's a hat!" she explained, holding it forward. "It's not gonna hurt you, look!"

    "Ssss," it said, slithering back to inspect.

    "You're a jittery little thing, aren't you?" she mused.

    Suddenly the snek jerked its head up as it heard a bird call, dropping the helmet to ready its weapon. Its head darted back and forth, tongue flicking nigh-constantly. "What is it?" Kaiser looked about.

    "ssss-sss-ss."

    She scanned the surroundings. The brush sat motionless, the canopy quiet but for a crooning echo from a distant tree frog. She glanced to the snek, still on alert. "sss-Ss-ss."

    A lazor blast struck the log and they both dove for cover. "SS-ss-Ssss," muttered the snek as it peered over the ledge. Kaiser retrieved a stick-mirror to scan above the trunk in search of the shooter. Another shot. "SSssSs-ss!" hissed her companion, disappearing into a crawlspace beneath the log. Drawing her pistol, the Princess raised the mirror again.

    "Freeze!"

    She gasped as she found a gun to her head, a shock trooper standing over her. "C'mon! Get up!" He knocked her gun aside. From down below, the snek hissed quietly.

    The shooter emerged from the bushes. "Go get your ride and take her back to base," called the accoster.

    "Aye-aye, cap'n!" he drawled, giving a sloppy salute.

    Still brandishing the pistol, the scout eyed over his captive, wondering if he'd have time for a qu—

    "ssSSSS!" hissed the snek, darting the staff between the soldier's legs.

    "AAAIIEEEEE!!!!" he screamed, head darting down, "SUNUVA—"

    Grabbing a sturdy branch, Kaiser seized upon the distraction to club him upside the head. She scrambled for a gun, readying just as the other trooper took off. She fired after him wildly, managing to strike a conspicuously-placed oil barrel that burst into flames just as the speeder crossed overtop.

    "SS-ss," said the snek, taking stock of the battle. "SSSssss!" It brandished the bo staff triumphantly.

    "C'mon," the Princess holstered the pistol, "Let's get out of here." She helped the snek off the ledge and, hand-in-hand, made for a faint path.

    "SS-ss-ssss," it halted, gesturing to a trail in the opposite direction. "ssSs-sss." It started off, and Kaiser decided to follow.
     
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  19. e350tb

    e350tb Stupendously Illogical Englishman

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  20. Robert Can't

    Robert Can't Éponine

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