The Giant Alien Robotic Plants Who Invaded California
Dawn. The forecast said today was going to be a good day. Sunny. Moderately warm. Low humidity and a low smog level. It was shaping up to look like a good day for the unsuspecting protagonist.
Chapter 1
Time: 0713.
“BRINNGGGGG!!” The alarm went off at exactly 7:13. Just like every morning. John rolls over, takes the alarm clock, rips it out of the wall and throws it across the room. Just like every morning. Three minutes later, John rolls over and falls out of bed. Just like every morning.
Time: 0726.
“twweeesshhhHHHHHHHHH!!!” Tea is ready. John lifts his face off the table for a moment, glares at the teapot, then his neck gives up and his face smashes back down into the dining room table. Right into his bowel of cereal. Gurgling and coughing, he lifts his head up. He looks a bit disoriented, lost, confused. He has what his coworkers call ‘Mad Scientist Hair.’ His dyed-silver hair is uncombed, unkempt, untamed – every strand doing its own thing.
John gets off of his chair and takes the tea off the pot. He sighs, and pours it down the drain. “I never liked tea anyway.” He mutters, as he storms off to dress.
Time: 0742.
Opening the door, he shrinks back at the sunlight as it hits his eyes. Grunting and squinting, he walks to his driveway to get the newspaper. “Strange Disturbance in the Skies over California” was the headline. “Soviet Union Claims No Responsibility” below that. Shrugging, John tosses the paper into the recycling bin, gets in his car and drives to work.
Time: 0833.
“Nice of you to join us, John. Only three minutes late this time! Maybe if I dock your pay you’ll learn how to show up on time.” My boss, Mr. Shtuhkohp., was on my case again. I can’t stand that. Three minutes. Come on. Walking over to my desk, I notice that everyone is kind of on edge today.
“What’s the deal, Jody?” I ask her, as I enter the kitchen. “Why’s everyone so uptight? Don’t tell me Mr. Stick docked EVERYONE’S pay!” I joke.
“It’s not funny, John. Something weird is going on, didn’t you see the news?”
“Eh… Not really. I saw something in the paper.” I grunt, as I shove two glazed doughnuts into my mouth. Realizing I’m not going to get anything out of Jody, I walk down to my office.
Time: 0958.
It’s been more than an hour since John got to work, and he’s accomplished more than usual. Three games of solitaire and a game of Tetris. Almost broke his 136 line record. Getting bored again, he decides to take an early lunch break.
Walking out to the car, he looks up and notices the sky seems an odd color. Shrugging, he drives up to the Doughnut Shed and orders some jelly filled doughnuts. Not nearly enough places have good, old fashioned, jelly filled doughnuts.
Walking back to his car, John gets in and finishes his doughnuts. After deciding to take a short, three hour nap, John wakes up and decides he should go back to work. Puts the key in the ignition, turns it, but nothing happens.
“Man, if I’m not back soon, the Boss’ll have my scalp.” I mutter, as I end up flood the engine.
Suddenly, it gets dark. John looks up. Something is blocking out the sun… can’t tell what it is. A whoosh of air, a thundering sound crashes over him and his car. The windows of his car shatter, a buzzing sound, and the world goes black.
Chapter 2.
Time: Unknown
Consciousness returns, slowly. Ever so slowly. First hearing. A low hum. A scratching sound. Smell… metal, cold. Feeling.. woah! Really cold. Sight. Eyes creeping open, John notices his surroundings. A square room with metal walls. A small square room with metal walls. And no door. Erm.. no lights either. This is odd. He could still see. Weird. Standing up, John runs his hands across the walls. All smooth. A swishing sound behind him! Whirling around, John sees two dark shapes outlined in bright white light.
“Jonathan… Take us to your leader.” A mechanized, yet soothing voice drawled.
John’s face was stunned. Then confused. Then a grin spread across his face. “What the hell is this, some sort of reality show? If it is, you sure did a number on my windshield, let me tell you!” John chuckled. “Is that you, Frank?”
The voice faltered. “Erm.. What are you talking about, human? We are from a planet-“
“In a galaxy far far away? Yeah, and let me guess. It’s a long time ago as well. Look, who is that under that suit? Frank, I swear. If that’s you, I’m going to knock your block off.” John interrupts as he walks over to the doorway.
Fwap! Fwack-fwack! Two vines shoot out from beyond the door, and slam John against the far wall. “Umph!” John grunts. “That uh, wasn’t expected. So I take it you’re not Frank…”
“Now human. As we were saying, we are from a planet that would require you to be able to swallow your own lower left appendage to pronounce. We are here to answer the distress call of our scouts. For millennia, Human kind has been destroying our brethren. There are some who even devote themselves to the senseless massacre of our kind; they call themselves vegetarians. We are here to stop this senseless massacre, and you will help us.” The creatures move into the light, and John finally sees what they are. Towering nine feet tall, two lush green and blue plants grew out of what must be an evolution of a pot. Lights blink on and off, and four green, spidery legs walk the pot and the aliens forward. The speaking alien looks similar to a fern (only with six or seven giant thrashing vines behind it), the other similar to a Venus Fly Trap (again, with several long thrashing vines behind it. These vines, however, are covered in sharp looking thorns.).
Pinned against the wall, John carefully evaluates all of his possible plans of action. Quickly choosing the best one, John enacts his plan.
“I WANT MY MOMMY!!!” John wails, as he starts kicking, screaming, crying, and wailing for all he’s worth. “I swear I never touched your sons and daughters! I always told my mommy that the vegetables were bad fo-”
“SILENCE.” The vines tighten their grasp. John squeaks, and then goes silent. “Good human. Now. Here is what you must do…”
As the aliens tell John what he is to do if he wishes his body to remain in one normally proportioned piece, John listens and unwillingly agrees.
“To ensure that you do not attempt to double cross us, we are going to send our sentry robot, P14-NT, to follow you.” A door slides open, and out comes a small, metal plant. It crawls over to John’s feet, and then climbs in his shoes.
“Ugh. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning.” John mutters, as the world goes black again.
Story number two:
The Assassin
Chapter 1.
Pain…
That’s the last thing I can remember. Always the last thing you remember. Not a bad thing though. Lets you know you’re still alive.
I was in a bar… Big Ben’s Bar. Bunch of bikers came in. Didn’t like the looks of them. Decided to have just a few more drinks. Big mistake.
I wasn’t quite sober, don’t remember exactly what happened. Got in a fight with one of them over a seat. Stupid damn seats. I remember seeing a fist, and then a dumpster. And here I am now, I assume still in the dumpster. I don’t really want to open my eyes..
Light…
Ugh. I hate the light, it always ruins a perfectly good, drunken night. Hurts the eyes. As I climbed out of the dumpster, I looked around to reorient myself. It’s about noon. There’s Big Bens, so at least they had the courtesy to dump me in a nearby dumpster. Maybe my ride is still around. Climbing out of the dumpster, I discover that is is- well, kind of.
My poor baby. Once a good, respectable car, now a piece of scrap metal. Oh well. Happened before, happen again. I just wish it would stop happening after I get a paint job.
Wandering into the bar, I ask the bartender if he knows where those hoodlums went. No dice. Oh well. They’ll get what’s coming to them one day, on way or another. In the mean time, I’ve gotta job to do.
I’m an assassin. A hired murderer. I do a little babysitting on the side too. Five bucks an hour for the first kid, an extra two dollars per extra kid. Free if I drop them. But mostly I kill people. It’s a good living, but I’m not proud of it. It’s just what I do.
I tried to justify it for a long time. I’m like the Boondock Saints, or maybe even a superhero, like Batman I’d tell myself. But I gave up on that long ago. In order to kill anyone, anywhere, ruthlessly, you can’t live lies. You have to accept what you are, and live with it.
Called a taxi. Goddamn taxis. It’ll take ‘em an hour to get here, hour to drive me back. Cost me a fortune. Well. Not me. My expenses are paid by my employers. Suckers. Assassinating someone really isn’t that hard or expensive. Buy some good, solid guns. A few knives. Find the guy. Track him for a day or two, then you move in and out. The movies are so great. Ninjas jumping around everywhere, elaborate ancient Japanese weaponry. They think I can nearly fly, and so I charge them a good five, six, sometimes seven hundred percent markup. Damn I love capitalism.
Chapter 2:
Robert Fineo. Italian, male, twenty five years old. So young. And yet, he still managed to piss off Finidelli, the Godfather around here in these parts. Messing with the mob. Not a good idea. Been tracking this guy for a few days. Not a very interesting guy. Cubicle day job, a wife, three kids, and so far, I’ve counted five mistresses. Goes to the club every night it seems. I decided to bag him tonight.
There, he’s walking out now. Two gals with him. Prostitutes- it figures. Low-life trash to keep the low-life scum company. This ought to be interesting. As I’m walking up, I slide my silenced Browning M-1900 into the inside pockets of my overcoat.
“Excuse me, Sir. Are you Robert Fineo?” I ask, disguising my voice in a deep Russian accent.
“Hoo ‘ants to noh?” he grunts, grinning at his two hired lovers, thinking he’s big ****. They giggle back.
Damnit, am I going to enjoy this. Damn kids butchering the stupid language. Probably dropped out of high school. “I’d like to see you alone for a moment, Sir. I have a business proposition for you.” He starts to follow me, ladies in tow. “Alone, sir. If you don’t mind. It may not be.. appropriate.. for their ears.” I murmur to him, as I motion towards the prostitutes.
“Riiight dude.” He gives the girls a ‘stay here’ signal. Following me into the ally, the *** pipes up again. “So wat’s da deal, bro? Yo got sometin’ foh me?”
Spinning around and dropping the accent I sneer, “I’m not your bro.” Pressing him against me, I stick my silenced Browning M-1900 into his stomach. Leaning in close as his knees begin to quiver, I whisper into his ear my version of the only bible verse I ever learned- my auditory trademark:
“Even though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death,
I will fear no evil: For Evil art with me;
Thy knife and thy sword, they comfort me.
Thou preparest a grave before me in the presence of mine enemies;
Thou adorns my head with fire; My cup runneth of thy blood.”
He whimpers. I pull the trigger. Twice. He slides to the ground, and I drag him to a dark corner. A quick search revealed a wallet, cell phone, and a pager. Taking a three hundred dollar tip from the wallet, I slink towards the other end of the alley and depart.
Death.
It follows me everywhere, yet I’m always a step ahead. The police can never find me, every kill is different. Out of one hundred and thirty six jobs, they’ve connected three of them together. My entire family were innocent bystanders and victims in a mob war. And now I’m working for the same family that killed my parents. It’s all just a job though.
No one can quite understand how I feel. I’ve never felt that teenage angst. Instead, I felt the urge to kill. I am the Shadowwalker. Unfound until I am sought, Unseen until I am found. I am the Angel of Death, walking amongst the living- until your time is up, that is.
And film pictures: http://www.zaccohn.com/Pics/film/2005-08-06/index.htm
fun!
Dawn. The forecast said today was going to be a good day. Sunny. Moderately warm. Low humidity and a low smog level. It was shaping up to look like a good day for the unsuspecting protagonist.
Chapter 1
Time: 0713.
“BRINNGGGGG!!” The alarm went off at exactly 7:13. Just like every morning. John rolls over, takes the alarm clock, rips it out of the wall and throws it across the room. Just like every morning. Three minutes later, John rolls over and falls out of bed. Just like every morning.
Time: 0726.
“twweeesshhhHHHHHHHHH!!!” Tea is ready. John lifts his face off the table for a moment, glares at the teapot, then his neck gives up and his face smashes back down into the dining room table. Right into his bowel of cereal. Gurgling and coughing, he lifts his head up. He looks a bit disoriented, lost, confused. He has what his coworkers call ‘Mad Scientist Hair.’ His dyed-silver hair is uncombed, unkempt, untamed – every strand doing its own thing.
John gets off of his chair and takes the tea off the pot. He sighs, and pours it down the drain. “I never liked tea anyway.” He mutters, as he storms off to dress.
Time: 0742.
Opening the door, he shrinks back at the sunlight as it hits his eyes. Grunting and squinting, he walks to his driveway to get the newspaper. “Strange Disturbance in the Skies over California” was the headline. “Soviet Union Claims No Responsibility” below that. Shrugging, John tosses the paper into the recycling bin, gets in his car and drives to work.
Time: 0833.
“Nice of you to join us, John. Only three minutes late this time! Maybe if I dock your pay you’ll learn how to show up on time.” My boss, Mr. Shtuhkohp., was on my case again. I can’t stand that. Three minutes. Come on. Walking over to my desk, I notice that everyone is kind of on edge today.
“What’s the deal, Jody?” I ask her, as I enter the kitchen. “Why’s everyone so uptight? Don’t tell me Mr. Stick docked EVERYONE’S pay!” I joke.
“It’s not funny, John. Something weird is going on, didn’t you see the news?”
“Eh… Not really. I saw something in the paper.” I grunt, as I shove two glazed doughnuts into my mouth. Realizing I’m not going to get anything out of Jody, I walk down to my office.
Time: 0958.
It’s been more than an hour since John got to work, and he’s accomplished more than usual. Three games of solitaire and a game of Tetris. Almost broke his 136 line record. Getting bored again, he decides to take an early lunch break.
Walking out to the car, he looks up and notices the sky seems an odd color. Shrugging, he drives up to the Doughnut Shed and orders some jelly filled doughnuts. Not nearly enough places have good, old fashioned, jelly filled doughnuts.
Walking back to his car, John gets in and finishes his doughnuts. After deciding to take a short, three hour nap, John wakes up and decides he should go back to work. Puts the key in the ignition, turns it, but nothing happens.
“Man, if I’m not back soon, the Boss’ll have my scalp.” I mutter, as I end up flood the engine.
Suddenly, it gets dark. John looks up. Something is blocking out the sun… can’t tell what it is. A whoosh of air, a thundering sound crashes over him and his car. The windows of his car shatter, a buzzing sound, and the world goes black.
Chapter 2.
Time: Unknown
Consciousness returns, slowly. Ever so slowly. First hearing. A low hum. A scratching sound. Smell… metal, cold. Feeling.. woah! Really cold. Sight. Eyes creeping open, John notices his surroundings. A square room with metal walls. A small square room with metal walls. And no door. Erm.. no lights either. This is odd. He could still see. Weird. Standing up, John runs his hands across the walls. All smooth. A swishing sound behind him! Whirling around, John sees two dark shapes outlined in bright white light.
“Jonathan… Take us to your leader.” A mechanized, yet soothing voice drawled.
John’s face was stunned. Then confused. Then a grin spread across his face. “What the hell is this, some sort of reality show? If it is, you sure did a number on my windshield, let me tell you!” John chuckled. “Is that you, Frank?”
The voice faltered. “Erm.. What are you talking about, human? We are from a planet-“
“In a galaxy far far away? Yeah, and let me guess. It’s a long time ago as well. Look, who is that under that suit? Frank, I swear. If that’s you, I’m going to knock your block off.” John interrupts as he walks over to the doorway.
Fwap! Fwack-fwack! Two vines shoot out from beyond the door, and slam John against the far wall. “Umph!” John grunts. “That uh, wasn’t expected. So I take it you’re not Frank…”
“Now human. As we were saying, we are from a planet that would require you to be able to swallow your own lower left appendage to pronounce. We are here to answer the distress call of our scouts. For millennia, Human kind has been destroying our brethren. There are some who even devote themselves to the senseless massacre of our kind; they call themselves vegetarians. We are here to stop this senseless massacre, and you will help us.” The creatures move into the light, and John finally sees what they are. Towering nine feet tall, two lush green and blue plants grew out of what must be an evolution of a pot. Lights blink on and off, and four green, spidery legs walk the pot and the aliens forward. The speaking alien looks similar to a fern (only with six or seven giant thrashing vines behind it), the other similar to a Venus Fly Trap (again, with several long thrashing vines behind it. These vines, however, are covered in sharp looking thorns.).
Pinned against the wall, John carefully evaluates all of his possible plans of action. Quickly choosing the best one, John enacts his plan.
“I WANT MY MOMMY!!!” John wails, as he starts kicking, screaming, crying, and wailing for all he’s worth. “I swear I never touched your sons and daughters! I always told my mommy that the vegetables were bad fo-”
“SILENCE.” The vines tighten their grasp. John squeaks, and then goes silent. “Good human. Now. Here is what you must do…”
As the aliens tell John what he is to do if he wishes his body to remain in one normally proportioned piece, John listens and unwillingly agrees.
“To ensure that you do not attempt to double cross us, we are going to send our sentry robot, P14-NT, to follow you.” A door slides open, and out comes a small, metal plant. It crawls over to John’s feet, and then climbs in his shoes.
“Ugh. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning.” John mutters, as the world goes black again.
Story number two:
The Assassin
Chapter 1.
Pain…
That’s the last thing I can remember. Always the last thing you remember. Not a bad thing though. Lets you know you’re still alive.
I was in a bar… Big Ben’s Bar. Bunch of bikers came in. Didn’t like the looks of them. Decided to have just a few more drinks. Big mistake.
I wasn’t quite sober, don’t remember exactly what happened. Got in a fight with one of them over a seat. Stupid damn seats. I remember seeing a fist, and then a dumpster. And here I am now, I assume still in the dumpster. I don’t really want to open my eyes..
Light…
Ugh. I hate the light, it always ruins a perfectly good, drunken night. Hurts the eyes. As I climbed out of the dumpster, I looked around to reorient myself. It’s about noon. There’s Big Bens, so at least they had the courtesy to dump me in a nearby dumpster. Maybe my ride is still around. Climbing out of the dumpster, I discover that is is- well, kind of.
My poor baby. Once a good, respectable car, now a piece of scrap metal. Oh well. Happened before, happen again. I just wish it would stop happening after I get a paint job.
Wandering into the bar, I ask the bartender if he knows where those hoodlums went. No dice. Oh well. They’ll get what’s coming to them one day, on way or another. In the mean time, I’ve gotta job to do.
I’m an assassin. A hired murderer. I do a little babysitting on the side too. Five bucks an hour for the first kid, an extra two dollars per extra kid. Free if I drop them. But mostly I kill people. It’s a good living, but I’m not proud of it. It’s just what I do.
I tried to justify it for a long time. I’m like the Boondock Saints, or maybe even a superhero, like Batman I’d tell myself. But I gave up on that long ago. In order to kill anyone, anywhere, ruthlessly, you can’t live lies. You have to accept what you are, and live with it.
Called a taxi. Goddamn taxis. It’ll take ‘em an hour to get here, hour to drive me back. Cost me a fortune. Well. Not me. My expenses are paid by my employers. Suckers. Assassinating someone really isn’t that hard or expensive. Buy some good, solid guns. A few knives. Find the guy. Track him for a day or two, then you move in and out. The movies are so great. Ninjas jumping around everywhere, elaborate ancient Japanese weaponry. They think I can nearly fly, and so I charge them a good five, six, sometimes seven hundred percent markup. Damn I love capitalism.
Chapter 2:
Robert Fineo. Italian, male, twenty five years old. So young. And yet, he still managed to piss off Finidelli, the Godfather around here in these parts. Messing with the mob. Not a good idea. Been tracking this guy for a few days. Not a very interesting guy. Cubicle day job, a wife, three kids, and so far, I’ve counted five mistresses. Goes to the club every night it seems. I decided to bag him tonight.
There, he’s walking out now. Two gals with him. Prostitutes- it figures. Low-life trash to keep the low-life scum company. This ought to be interesting. As I’m walking up, I slide my silenced Browning M-1900 into the inside pockets of my overcoat.
“Excuse me, Sir. Are you Robert Fineo?” I ask, disguising my voice in a deep Russian accent.
“Hoo ‘ants to noh?” he grunts, grinning at his two hired lovers, thinking he’s big ****. They giggle back.
Damnit, am I going to enjoy this. Damn kids butchering the stupid language. Probably dropped out of high school. “I’d like to see you alone for a moment, Sir. I have a business proposition for you.” He starts to follow me, ladies in tow. “Alone, sir. If you don’t mind. It may not be.. appropriate.. for their ears.” I murmur to him, as I motion towards the prostitutes.
“Riiight dude.” He gives the girls a ‘stay here’ signal. Following me into the ally, the *** pipes up again. “So wat’s da deal, bro? Yo got sometin’ foh me?”
Spinning around and dropping the accent I sneer, “I’m not your bro.” Pressing him against me, I stick my silenced Browning M-1900 into his stomach. Leaning in close as his knees begin to quiver, I whisper into his ear my version of the only bible verse I ever learned- my auditory trademark:
“Even though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death,
I will fear no evil: For Evil art with me;
Thy knife and thy sword, they comfort me.
Thou preparest a grave before me in the presence of mine enemies;
Thou adorns my head with fire; My cup runneth of thy blood.”
He whimpers. I pull the trigger. Twice. He slides to the ground, and I drag him to a dark corner. A quick search revealed a wallet, cell phone, and a pager. Taking a three hundred dollar tip from the wallet, I slink towards the other end of the alley and depart.
Death.
It follows me everywhere, yet I’m always a step ahead. The police can never find me, every kill is different. Out of one hundred and thirty six jobs, they’ve connected three of them together. My entire family were innocent bystanders and victims in a mob war. And now I’m working for the same family that killed my parents. It’s all just a job though.
No one can quite understand how I feel. I’ve never felt that teenage angst. Instead, I felt the urge to kill. I am the Shadowwalker. Unfound until I am sought, Unseen until I am found. I am the Angel of Death, walking amongst the living- until your time is up, that is.
And film pictures: http://www.zaccohn.com/Pics/film/2005-08-06/index.htm
fun!