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Thread: The Never-ending Story Thread²

  1. #441
    Child's Play CharityNot satisfied.
    The tower shakes and rumbles as the carnage unfolds below, demonic bodies clashing with the humanoids and reanimateds in an endless battle for… well, something. Who knows? Qhobeg, Thrawn, Dalaes and Ante are running down what appears to be a very large flight of stairs.

    Qhobeg: How… many floors… must we have to go down… before we get to the bottom?

    Thrawn: 42. And stop whining.

    They run down the emergency stairs silently for a little while, assorted footwear banging against the concrete.

    Dalaes: Tell me again why an evil citadel has emergency stairs.

    Ante: Probably forced on us through evil writers and the labourers that built this place.

    Qhobeg: Are… we nearly… there yet?

    Ante leans over and looks down into the murky darkness that was the forty-odd flights of stairs to get to the bottom.

    Ante: No.

    Qhobeg pauses for breath, still limping and a little way behind the others.

    Dalaes: Come on! Only 37 more flights of stairs to go!

    Qhobeg groans, and continues the descent. There is no sound except for the beating of feet on concrete and the sound of a war going on outside. Actually, that’s quite a lot of sound, so forget the “there is no sound” comment. Anyway, on to the bottom of the emergency staircase, which is a smashing section in which Th—

    RAM: Get on with it!!

    Oh, all right. Eventually, our heroes reach the bottom albeit bedraggled, aching, hungry and sore. Qhobeg points to a lift breathlessly, leaning against a convenient wall as he does so.

    Qhobeg: Why couldn’t we have… urp… taken that instead?

    Thrawn: It would have been quicker, but we would have had about six random battles just getting down. Plus, look at all these items!

    Thrawn rummages about his person and produces what appear to be several blue cones. They’re quite solid, and shine randomly. Dalaes and Ante look at each other. Qhobeg would as well, if he wasn’t currently retching from the physical exertion.

    Ante: So… um… what do they do?

    Thrawn: Hell if I know.

    He experimentally tips one upside down, but nothing happens. Not even with vigorous shaking. Maybe they’re just things. But hey, they’re shiny, and sometimes that’s all that matters.

    Dalaes: I think we should have left those for the protagonists.

    Ante: Whatever. There’s the exit. We’d better hurry to catch up with Geb and Young!

    The heroes set off, out of the door and into the warzone. What happens next? Where did Geb and Young go? Is Matterialize still plastered into the ground? Will the humanoids and reanimateds win? Why am I asking these questions!? Is it an obsessive-compulsive disorder? And will Thrawn ever find out what the blue cone-type shiny things are for!!?

    Dalaes: Probably not.

    Ahem. Find out next post, on the NEVEEER ENDIIIING STOOOOOOOORRYYYY!!

    Sorry, got carried away there. Aheh.

    TonyTW: Yes. Yes you did.
    Hey, Blue? I'm loving the things you do. From the very first time, the fight you fight for will always be mine.

  2. #442
    As the elevator doors close and TLTE rides up to the last level, a dead silence falls on the remaining occupants of the level. Cool Matty, Miss Fire, Pingu, and Krig stare across the floor at the immutable Blackguard. Suddenly, the silence is broken by a thunderous **ACHOO**!

    Blackguard: Gesundheit.

    Krig: Thank.

    The Blackguard begins walking toward the Heroes menacingly, hefting a heavy spiked mace he seems to have procured from somewhere.

    CM: Ok... Team huddle!

    Miss Fire: Uh, are you sure that's...

    CM: Yes! Team huddle!

    The four Heroes huddle in a little circle, as the Blackguard gets increasingly closer.

    CM: All right, I've got a plan! Krig, stop trying to bite Pingu.

    Krig: Sorry.

    CM: Here's the plan: You three distract the Blackguard.

    Miss Fire: And...?

    CM: No time to explain the rest!

    Miss Fire: This doesn't sound like a very well thought-out plan...

    Krig: Krig think it work!

    CM: Really? I haven't even told you the whole thing.

    Krig: Oh. Then maybe not.

    Miss Fire: Why are we still huddling? Shouldn't we be putting this plan into action?

    CM: I don't know. How close is the Blackguard?

    Krig: Krig not know.

    CM: One of us should check.

    Pingu: Ooh! Ooh! Pick me! Pick me!

    CM: Miss Fire, why don't you check?


    Miss Fire: Me? Why don't you do it yourself?

    CM: I'm the leader here, my job is to delegate things like this. We need to know how close the Blackguard is.

    A large, black gauntleted hand taps CM on the shoulder.

    CM: Ok, never mind. Problem solved. Alright team, are you ready?

    Pingu: Ready!

    Miss Fire: Ready.

    Krig: All for one and one for... uh... Grah!

    CM: Let's go!

    Just as our Heroes are about to Spring Into Action(™), a nearby Coca-cola vending machine goes *DING*!

    Everyone: Huh?

    The door to the Coca-cola vending machine swings open, to reveal... a super-secret elevator filled with a somewhat cramped-looking Qwerty!

    Qwerty: Ugh... should've designed this with... more room... ow my back...

    Qwerty falls out of the Coca-cola vending machine onto the floor, writhing in cramped spasms. Everyone stares at him for a while, until the Blackguard speaks up.

    Blackguard: Well, I've got to be going, so I guess I'd better kill you all quick-like.

    CM: Hmm. Y'know, that was exactly the sort of distraction I could have used...

    The Blackguard swings his mace, and the Heroes scatter, not wanting to be smashed into little pastey bits. The Blackguard begins chasing after CM, missing him by inches with each swing.

    CM: Remember the plan!

    Miss Fire: Right!

    Miss Fire begins unloading her pistols at the Blackguard, who doesn't seem to notice the hail of bullets sparking on his armour. When her pistols start clicking, she tosses them aside and reaches into her duffel bag, pulling out a 12-guage shotgun. She blasts away until she runs out of shells, tosses the gun away, and reaches into her bag again, pulling out an AK-47 and letting loose a stream of ammunition. The Blackguard starts to get annoyed, and turns and starts toward Miss Fire.

    Pingu: Uh, yes! Over here, you big lout!

    Krig: Yes, come here stupid black man!

    Pingu: *Gasp!* Krig! That sounded racist!

    Krig: Whuh?

    Pingu: You called him a stupid black man! That could be conceivably construed as racism by some hyper-sensitive liberal!

    Krig: But he have black armour on him and Krig think he not so bright.

    Pingu: That's entirely beside the point! Your comment was racist and I think you should apologize to our readers!

    Krig: No! Krig stand by what Krig said!

    Miss Fire: Shut up, you two! He's coming this way!

    By now, a rather large pile of spent weaponry is laying behind her, the pile being suspiciously larger than her duffel bag. As her 1920s-era Tommy-gun runs out of ammo, she tosses it aside and rumages around one last time in her bag, pulling out a full-sized, shoulder-launched Tomahawk missile. CM can be seen sneaking around behind the Blackguard.

    Blackguard: What the... That's not even possible! The kickback would tear your arm off!

    Miss Fire: Just watch me.

    With a tremendulous **SSSHHHFFFZZZLLLLTTT!*** and a gianormous **CRAKABABOOOOOM!**, the Tomahawk missile launches and causes the Blackguard to erupt in an enorminious orange fireball. When the blaze dissapates, however, the Blackguard is still there, only now he's just a few steps away. He crosses those few steps with lightning speed, and with a **SWACK**, Miss Fire goes flying across the room, spinning like a ragdoll. She comes to a rest, unmoving.

    Krig: Fire lady!

    Krig runs after Miss Fire, stopping over her motionless form. He hesitates, staring at her in confusion, as if not sure what to do. The Blackguard laughs a dry, booming laugh.

    Blackguard: HAHAHAHA! I may have regained my mortality, but that does not mean I can be killed by the likes of you! Did you truly think your silly projectile-based weapons would work on me any more this time than before?

    CM (from behind the Blackguard): No, not really.

    Blackguard (spinning around): What?

    CM: I just needed enough time to sneak up behind you and plant some metaphysical explosives on your back.

    Blackguard: Some what?

    The Blackguard tries to look and grab at what's on his back, but his armour restricts him. On his back, affixed between his shoulder plates, is the little plot-hole generator TLTE gave Cool Matty, a single red light blinking. A short distance away, Cool Matty holds a small detonator in his hand.

    Over by the Coca-cola vending machine elevator, Qwerty manages to get to his knees and gasps in horror when he sees what is happening.

    Qwerty: No, you idiot! You'll kill us all! Well not me, but... I mean, did I say that out loud? I'm not one of the Hands of NeS! Stop looking at me! And don't detonate that thing! Don't you know how dangerous plot-holes are?

    CM: Don't worry. I've got it all under control.

    As Cool Matty's thumb depresses the detonator button, the whole world seems to hold still for a moment. Then, all hell breaks loose. Unnatural ripples distort the space station walls beyond recognition as holes in the very fabric of reality open up everywhere. The Blackguard dissapears, sucked into a swirling vortex of energy. Lightning, or something like lightning, flashes everywhere. Blinding lights obscure everything... and then it is still. Level 9 is empty. In the distant reaches of the space station, explosions can be heard. Everything is beginning to come apart.

    Meanwhile (Nescount: 2. Or possibly more), on a random beach in California, the wonderful sound of a homeless guy yodeling and playing a banjo missing three strings echoes across the movie star filled sands. On the beach, little Timmy is putting the finishing touches on his rebuilt sandcastle. It rivals its predecessor in size, nearly six feet tall, with the same parapets and drawbridges and arrow slits and everything. Little Timmy is patting the final bits of sand down on one of the parapets when the whole castle begins to vibrate. Timmy steps back in confusion, and suddenly a violently glowing plot-hole bursts open in the middle of the sand castle. Four people tumble out of the glowing hole in space-time, flattening the sand castle masterpiece. Timmy looks on, tears welling up in his eyes.

    Timmy: Why... why do you hate art?

    Qwerty: It makes me gassy.

    CM: Hah! What did I tell you? Totally under control!

    Qwerty: How did you do that, exactly? The odds that a plot-hole would safely transport us to California seem mind-bogglingly high -- it's more likely that it'd transform us all into ducks or something. What are you not telling us?

    CM: Oh, that's just a little metaphysical trick I learned from an old friend of mine. Worked like a dream.

    Pingu: But there should be five of us...

    CM: Crap... what happened to Krig? He should be right here somewhere. Miss Fire, did you -- Miss Fire!

    His eyes growing wide, Cool Matty drops to his knees beside Miss Fire, who is lying sprawled out beside the remains of the sandcastle. Her eyes are closed, and blood trickles out from a gaping wound on her torso.

    CM: Miss Fire? Miss Fire, can you hear me? Miss Fire?

    Several thousand miles away, across an ocean on the Island formerly known as Britain (Helebon had it renamed "the Dominion of Bleeding Eyes," in honour of his nephew), a small Viking-type figure lies in front of a circle of large standing stones. He lies there, comatose, his new futuristic helm lying beside him, next to his broken axe, shattered in combat with the Ever-ending Plot so long ago.

    Voice: Krig, wake up.

    Krig opens his eyes and blinks a few times, then yawns and stretches. He looks around and sees a man dressed in bright white robes smiling down at him.

    Krig: Krig know you.

    Bright-garbed Man: Yes, Krig.

    Krig: Where are Krig and bright man?

    The man in white robes smiles again.

    Bright-garbed Man: Come with me, Krig. I'll show you.

    The man takes Krig's hand and helps him to his feet. He picks up Krig's axe-handle and presents it to him.

    Bright-garbed Man: It's not good for things to stay broken, Krig.

    Krig doesn't reply, taking the axe-handle and staring up at the man silently. The man turns and walks toward the standing stones, stopping for a moment and beckoning Krig after him. Krig follows obediantly, and the two enter the ring of Stonehenge.

  3. #443
    Losien lies on her back, shivering in the torrents of ice over and around her, on the battle-ravaged NeS arena.

    Losien: So...cold...where am I...

    Distant battlecries jar her out of her fugue-like trance. She raises her head, trying to see through the red gloom around her, but apart from the broken bodies of NeS heroes piled around her she sees nothing. Then-

    Losien: Geb!

    Her brother looms over her, wounded and fierce, his eyes focused grimly on some distant foe. He looks totally unlike the bumbling, lovable sibling she grew up with.

    Losien: Geb, help-

    But Gebohq turns suddenly, raising a gleaming sword into the air and rallying unseen allies.

    Gebohq: NOW! The Ever-ending Plot must be destroyed!

    He leaps over her, sword flashing, and a handful of familiar NeS faces rush forward after him.

    Losien: Someone help me! Gebohq! TLTE!

    And at the mention of this name, her world shifts and changes, clarifying itself, the haunted past catching up with the present.

    Losien is at once aware that she is submerged, not in ice, but in a puddle of freezing cold water. She is lying on a steel landing ramp, extending upwards into a spacecraft she has never seen before. Moving is almost impossible for her, her joints inexplicably stiff and sore, but rolling her body into a half-crouched position, Losien is able to lean over the side of the ramp and watch-

    Michael: HAH!

    Moving faster than TLTE can begin to comprehend, Michael MacFarlane draws one of Absolver's cutlasses and throws it, overhand-style, through the air. The blade cuts through the sterile hangar air, gashing deeply into TLTE's side. With an agonised cry, TLTE twists awkwardly and falls forward to his knees.

    Michael draws his other sword, wild hope in his heart as he rushes forward, but it is all a clever feint: he is almost in striking range when TLTE pulls his final Smith and Wesson from his belt, concealed beneath his crouched frame. Gritting his teeth, TLTE quick-draws and fires his last six rounds.

    Two bullets fly wide, sparking distantly against the hangar walls.

    One bullet strikes the midsection of Absolver's blade, wrenching it violently from Michael's hand.

    The third bullet buries itself in Michael's left thigh and he staggers, pitching forward involuntarily.

    The fifth bullet hits Michael squarely in the chest, but TLTE can hear the muted thud of ballistic-proof armour, and so he recompensates-

    The muzzle flash is huge on the final shot, scorching TLTE's face, but it is nothing compared to the agonised cry as Michael's head jerks backward violently. He falls back, over the edge of the circular platform, just as a dramatic explosion shakes the hangar bay and flames billow out from the ground all around the small structure.

    TLTE: Farewell, comrade.

    Slowly and painfully, TLTE rises. Holding his side gingerly, he walks over to Absolver's blades and reclaims them, clipping them to both sides of his belt, samurai-style.

    TLTE: Rest in peace, brothers-in-arms. It is a sad world you leave - two fine young men perish and one worn-out old spy lives, despite it all.

    The station shakes again, the flames growing more and more vivid, but TLTE cannot leave without seeing him one last time. Carefully, he reaches the edge of the circular platform and peers over-

    A cloud of black assails him and he falls backwards, his arms flailing.

    TLTE: Michael!

    The inky paper flies over him, some pieces still ablaze with fire, swarming and shaping into Michael once more - but when the human shape is final, the damage is obvious. Michael is burned in several places, his clothing tattered - but his face is undamaged and furious.

    Michael: NO! I will not let her go! I can't!

    TLTE: It's over, tovarish. You are defenceless.

    Michael: "A true warrior is never unarmed." Didn't you teach me that?

    It is only then that TLTE notices that one of Absolver's cutlasses is no longer on his belt.

    Michael once again rushes at TLTE, who is no longer armed with a gun. Instead, TLTE meets his blow with his own sword, and they circle each other, slashing and parrying. As they duel, the platform is badly damaged by an internal explosion and tilts sharply, at a 45-degree angle. TLTE rolls downwards, grasping onto a rudimentary handhold - Michael leaps upwards and grabs the top of the platform.

    Michael clenches his fist, which crackles with energy, and hammers the platform. It splits almost immediately, and TLTE's lower section is destabilsed. As the lower section crumbles into nothingness, TLTE leaps onto its disintegrating apex and jumps through the air to the thin platform gantry, somersaulting over Michael's blade as the villain slashes sideways at him.

    The gantry has been uprooted, and now points upwards diagonally at the ceiling. TLTE edges backwards up its surface, the hangar exploding beneath him, as with an equally deft maneuver Michael gains the base of the gantry. Ignoring TLTE's higher ground advantage, Michael clambers to him, his golden sword clashing again and again against TLTE's silver, each blow an accusation, a bitter recrimination. There is nowhere for either of them to go, certain death on all sides
    - and yet neither of them can score the final coup de gras.

    At last, the thin gantry can no longer hold their weight, and it too breaks in half, shuddering and falling a couple of feet, barely holding them above the flames below. Michael is momentarily staggered and as his spacecraft flies overhead, TLTE takes his chance, leaping up and over him to grasp the landing ramp and pull himself up onto it.

    For a moment, he catches sight of the stirring Losien, and he loses his focus as an unrestrained joy takes him.

    Then, suddenly, he spins just in time, for Michael is leaping up after him. But this time, TLTE is ready, and with one swift move, he severs Michael's sword arm.

    Michael: AAAAAAAHHHH!

    He sinks to his knees on the ramp, and TLTE's sword glides to his throat. Once again, TLTE feels strangely - as if he is being impelled by a powerful force to do the "right" thing.

    TLTE: I....

    Blood pours from Michael's wound - it is inky and black, and bears no significant resemblance to human blood.

    Michael: DO IT!

    He glares up at TLTE, his eyes imploring, hateful, and strangely resigned.

    TLTE: My brutja....

    His hands waver...and then release his sabre. It clatters to the floor between them. Michael stares at it disbelievingly.

    TLTE: I am as responsible for this as you are. I can't kill you, it would be the end of both of us! You are...redeemed, Michael.

    Michael: Redemption?

    He looks down, shaking his head and laughing. Or perhaps he is crying.

    Michael: I don't deserve redemption-

    Suddenly, he leaps forward, grabbing TLTE by the neck and holding him over the edge of the ramp.

    Michael: And neither do YOU!

    He holds TLTE over the edge, and TLTE can only close his eyes.

    Then he hears Michael's breath drawn in sharply - feels Michael's muscles tense rigidly.

    And then he is dropped back to the ramp, gasping, opening his eyes and drawing his own breath in shock.

    Michael: My love...

    Michael is standing motionless before him, his eyes glazed over slightly. TLTE's saber is protruding from his chest.

    And standing behind him, her white hands holding TLTE's sword handle, a scared expression on her face, is Losien.

    TLTE: Michael, no...

    Losien: Michael?!

    She draws the sword out immediately, and Michael sinks to his knees. He starts breathing heavily, and after a few more moments, he collapses. Losien stands frozen, a perfect picture of shock and disbelief. TLTE is similarly stunned.

    Losien: But...he was attacking you!

    They look at each other for the first time, and the reality of the moment sinks in. Both of them rush to Michael's side, and he looks dimly up at them.

    Losien: Michael, I didn't know!

    Michael: ...sorry...

    TLTE: What are you trying to say?

    Michael: So sorry, TLTE....I couldn't be saved...but thank you for trying...

    He smiles sadly, bloodink trickling down from his mouth.

    TLTE: Michael, who funded this? Who helped you accomplish all of this?


    TLTE: Which men, Michael?

    But Michael only chuckles softly to himself, his breath ragged and inconsistent now.

    Losien: What is it, Michael?

    Michael: I'm...sorry...this just reminded me of....the first day we all met.

    He breaks off, melancholy in his eyes.

    TLTE: I-

    Michael: Such a

    His eyelids flutter, then close. Slowly, his body flutters, then collapses into the black paper once again. Before TLTE and Losien can catch them, the papers fly downward, igniting on the inferno beneath them.

    Automatically, the spacecraft turns and begins to abandon the deserted hangar. TLTE and Losien collapse into each other's arms, exhausted, when the last piece of paper flies into Losien's hand. It is, unlike the others, perfectly white, with neat calligraphy forming one solitary sentence:

    Losien: "I love you."

  4. #444
    In the depths of the creepy complex underneath of the Haunted House of Heroes...

    Maybe: Clean-clean-clean...


    Maybechild, Ford, Mustang, Dr. Dormouse, The Mega_ZZter and Mimiru attack the Dust with their dust sprays and cleaning rags. This is where the writers would say that their cleaning would make Janitor Bob proud, except that Janitor Bob would be correcting their cleaning form and noting their sub-par levels of cleanliness. Mr. Stafford remains inactive during the dusting.

    MZZT: Aaaaaaand we're done.

    Mustang: No we're not! This place must be wiped clean!

    MZZT: No, it's fine.

    Mustang: But--

    MZZT: But nothing! You had us all going with your stories, but now we can plainly see that you're just a neat freak and wanted us to do your dirty work.

    Mustang: What? That's nonsense! Can't you feel the Dust's evil presence? Ford, back me up here!

    Ford looks elsewhere ever-so-conviniently.

    Mustang: If we don't wipe this place clean now, the Dust will only regrow in strength, and then--

    Mr. Stafford: --Blah blah blah, can we leave now?

    Maybe: Alright, let's head back up then.

    Mustang: But--

    Mimiru: We can always come back if it gives us problems.

    Mustang: Well fine! I'll just mop and wander around the house then and chant ominous warnings of your imminent doom!

    Maybe: You go do that then. Let's see if we can't contact the others in London or the group that went to rescue Losien.

    Everyone begins to file out. Mustang, Maybe, Ford, Mimiru, MZZT, Mr. Stafford, and Dr. Dormouse. The good doctor, before exiting, sneezes.

    Is that the Dust laughing?
    The Plothole: a home for amateur, inclusive, collaborative stories

  5. #445
    Light. Blinding white light. Gebohq searches for something, anything, but fails. It seems to him as if the whole world is staring, focusing their attention to his every action. He feels as if he's being put on trial. Then the thought sneaks up from behind and looms over his mind. Could it be?

    Gebohq: Am I... dead?

    Voice: Yes. Or rather...

    The light fades away, and Gebohq can now see the form of Arkng Thand focusing.

    Thand: much as anyone is when they are asleep.

    Gebohq can begin to make out that he and Arkng Thand are in a lobby. It might be large enough to be called a hall, if not for the shelves full of books, and boxes full of books, and piles of books clogging the chamber. As far as Gebohq can tell, the only other things in the room are a couple leather chairs, a flight of stairs hugging the circular chamber upwards through the ceiling, and two doorways: one presumably leading outside from the look of the door, and the other to another flight of stairs descending.

    Not surprisingly, Gebohq is confused.

    Geb: Asleep? But I was about to die, and Helebon--

    Thand: Now now, you need not worry about all that. As can be expected, you and your friends have kept the world safe for another day.

    Geb: Wait... asleep? This seems familiar...

    Thand: As it should. You've been in this state before. You, your friends, even the NeS have been in this state, and not too long ago.

    Geb: I'm in the dreamstate? But why?

    Thand: I'll get to that in a moment. *holds out his hand* My name is Arkng Thand. Bear with me if this seems redundant.

    Geb: *shakes hands* Gebohq...

    Thand: Good. Have a seat then. Would you like anything? Tea perhaps?

    Geb: Coffee and a danish?

    Thand: If you wish.

    Arkng Thand, using his control over the dreamstate of the NeS, produces the coffee and danish from thin air, and hands them to Gebohq. Thand then sits down as Gebohq relishes in the first descent food he's had in weeks. Nevermind that it isn't "real" food.

    Thand: Gebohq, let me begin by telling you that while you are not dead in the clinical sense, you have certainly died. You have died in the same way everyone dies when they have fallen asleep, when they have faced too much of the real and surrender to the starry night. Many people die like this. Many of your friends have died like this. But this death is not forever, just as the death of your body is not the death of who you are. Death's power has long been broken -- humanity choses now. Each person faces now not an end, but a crossroad, where they can chose to walk a different road, where they can chose to change. You have come to one of those crossroads, Gebohq, and choices will have to be made. The Never-ending Story Thread will change, and I--

    Just then, Shadowlord enters.

    Shadowlord: Thand! They're coming!

    Geb: Wh-- who's coming?

    The main door opens, and the Potentials enter.

    Phoenix: Arkng Thand! What have you done?

    Thand: I'm not sure I understand what you mean.

    Erronem: That is not Gebiyl sitting here. How did he escape? Is the EeP still inside him?

    Thand: I couldn't tell you. I assume the containment must have weakened, but apart from that....

    Arkng Thand shrugs, as if that is all he has to offer. The Potentials, Alexan in particular, narrow their eyes at him, searching for something more.

    Erronem: They shouldn't have been able to escape. Gebiyl's own body was relocated, and Gebohq's body's is the only one they could have used, but only if Gebohq himself stopped using it. Even then, they would have to know the exact location. And yet, Gebohq is here, which means--

    Geb: HOLD ON! Are you saying that evil-me is in MY body right now?

    Alexan: Yes, Geb. Way to spell it out there.

    Geb: Well you guys are going to fix this, right? Kick him out of my body!

    There is an uncomfortable silence.

    Alexan: About that...

    Geb: Oh come ON! This is the Never-ending Story for crying out loud! Someone just slap a plothole and be done with it!

    Alexan: We can't. For one, that's not just "evil Geb" in your body -- he carries the EeP with him. Even in its weakened form, the EeP is too strong to have holes punched in it.

    Geb: You've got to be kidding-- I mean, there's got to be SOMETHING we can do.

    Phoenix: As long as they are living in your body, Gebohq, there is little we can do.

    Thand: We could put Gebohq in Gebiyl's body.

    Geb: WHAT?

    Thand: At the very least, he wouldn't be out of the picture.

    Geb: You want me to go in as a villian?

    Shadowlord: And who knows? Maybe good Geb here will find a way of his own through the NeS.

    Erronem: This could get tricky...

    Geb: Excuse me, don't I have a say in any of this?

    Alexan: I think it's the best option we have right now.

    Geb: I think the best option is for me to stay here and have more danishes, thank you!

    Arkng Thand smiles. Phoenix notices.

    Phoenix: No! You're too important to be left here, Gebohq. You must go.

    Geb: But I don't wanna be a villian!

    Phoenix: You won't be. Things will work out. They always do.

    Geb: They don't seem to be these days...

    Erronem: Shadowlord, please call Mayaal. We will need to know where Gebiyl's body is.

    Shadowlord: *already holding a cellphone by his ear* Already there. Hello? Hey Mayaal--.... yeah, I know you're busy right now but--.... well yes but--... the Potentials need to know where Gebiyl's body is, now. We have Gebohq here with us. ....say that again? ...are you serious? ...OK then. Thanks man. Catch you later.

    Alexan: We better make this quick. Morthrandur's been shadowing the Otter's actions lately, but as soon as he gets word of Gebiyl's escape...

    Erronem: Shadowlord, if you would write down the location--

    Shadowlord: Been there, done that.

    Geb: So where am I going?

    Alexan: To Gebiyl's body, smart guy.

    Geb: No, I meant--

    Erronem: Try to remember that you're in Gebiyl's body, and that he's in yours. There will be relational problems, to say the least.

    Geb: OK, but where--

    Phoenix: There's not much we can do now. You're on your own, Gebohq. Find a way to stop the EeP before it's too late.

    Geb: Right, now where--

    Thand: Gebohq, it's in your hands now. Don't die.

    Gebohq looks at Thand as if another moment of revelation was reaching out to him. His moment jerks away though as Shadowlord slaps something on his back.

    Shadowlord: All ready to ship out.

    Geb: What did you put on my back...?

    Thand: Goodbye, Gebohq.

    With that, Erronem boots Gebohq's bottom, and Gebohq blinks out of existance. The Potentials scrutinize Arkng Thand and Shadowlord before exiting themselves.

    Shadowlord: I'd really hate to be Gebohq right now...
    The Plothole: a home for amateur, inclusive, collaborative stories

  6. #446
    Europa. The sixth known satellite moon of Jupiter. Consisting mainly of silicate rock, covered in a thin sheet of ice, it has known no terrestrial visitor in the entire expanse of history.

    Until now.

    A small spacecraft, black and shining, locates one of the extremely rare craters on the planet's otherwise smooth exterior and clamps down on its icy expanse. From within, two space-suited figures emerge: they stride purposefully down the landing ramp, carrying various impressive tools and materials. Notably, one of the figures has two golden cutlasses clipped to his utility belt. They gleam inexplicably, despite the crater's obfuscation.

    The two figures briefly exchange glances, then set to work. The labour is long and difficult: neither of the two are well-versed in zero gravity, and their task is as cumbersome as it is eccentric.

    They labour nonetheless, two mute figures hidden from a distant sun.

    Finally, though, it is done. Laser torches are packed away: excess steel and iron pieces are discarded; hammers and manual implements are returned to their places. The two figures stand together, reflecting on their work.

    TLTE: Thank you for your help, my love.

    Losien: It was the least I could do.

    Two cairns are assembled before them. TLTE steps forward, in front of the one on the left, and reads the plaque that adorns it.

    TLTE: "In memory of Absolver: scoundrel, vagabond, saviour of all. Dearly missed by his best friend, and revered by all NeS heroes."

    He withdraws his comrade's blades, admires them for one last time, then gingerly places them within the cairn.

    Losien steps forward to the other cairn, and reads its plaque.

    Losien: "In memory of Michael MacFarlane: his humility matched only by his heroic standing. Died valiantly in defense of his true love."

    She kneels before the cairn. In her hand is one of her signature hairpins, still bracing a lock of her hair. She places it carefully within the cairn.

    TLTE: They leave us to face an evil world, Losien.

    Losien stands and returns to his side.

    Losien: But we face it together now.

    They return to Michael's spacecraft and blast off. The memorial crater is overcome briefly by a brilliant stream of light - and then a peaceful dusk settles over it.


    TLTE and Losien sit across from each other at the table in the galley of the ship. Losien holds TLTE's hand as the Russian explains, with as much detail as is possible, the gap in the NeS she has missed - from the terrible final battle with the EeP in the Arena, and subsequent developments in NeSquared. In telling the story, TLTE realises how many gaps in the tale there truly are: unsolved mysteries, grave dangers to date intangible...yet looming closely ahead.

    Losien: So...what do we do now?

    TLTE: We return to Earth, immediately. For all I know, Helebon has defeated Gebohq and the rest of the NeS heroes already. They need our help.

    Losien: So we find Gebohq, Antestarr and whoever else we can?

    TLTE: Right. Then we go to the one person who, I believe, understands exactly what is causing the habitual chaos in NeSquared.

    Losien: Gebohq, right?

    TLTE: No, my love. Arkng Thand.

  7. #447
    ((NSP: An Ante-Geb post.))

    Ante: Hai.

    TLTE: Hai.

    Ante: u suk.

    Thrawnbot{lotsofnumbars]: LOLLERSKATES!


    *Meanwhile, down the hall in the writers' office, away from Gebohq attempting to create a new post using sock puppets...*

    TLTETW: So, how do you suppose he manages to use more than 2 sock puppets at a time?

    SatanTW: If you have to ask you probably haven't been working here nearly long enough.

    MaybeTW: *Sigh*

    Anywhos, back to the story. Let's say... in the Haunted House of Heroes. We haven't heard from them in a while--

    << --Yes we have. Three posts ago. >>

    What the-- update computer? What are you doing still around?

    << Not much. Running a defrag, moving some files from the old Hall of Heroes, collecting some Dust... Let me tell you, moving files when it became Helebon's Citadel was NOT fun! >>

    Right right, collecting dust. Wait a minute...

    << Meanwhile, in the Haunted House of Heroes-- >>

    Hey, that's my job!

    << --Maybechild, Ford, and the rest start to think about their missing friends... >>

    Maybe: For crying out loud, men aren't suppose to take this long shopping!

    MZZT: I'm hunnnn-gry!

    Ford: Maybe we should try contacting them?

    MZZT: But... that takes so much effort!

    Ford: Just do it already!

    MZZT: *grumble grumble*

    Mustang: Would you like some bait?


    *Fine you witch, I'll just talk about our Ante-Heroes (bad pun) in the Londonian Remains. As Ante, Dalaes, Qhobeg, and Thrawn 42689 walk as calmly as possible from the massive explosions and crumblings of the Grand Citadel of Helebon, Ante picks a freshly broken piece of rebar from some nearby wreckage. Ignoring the commotion of demons and peoples and Matterialize, Ante winds up with his best homerun swing and clocks Dalaes on the back of the head, sending him sprawling to the ground.*

    Dalaes (trying to get back up): What the heck was that for?!

    Ante: Oh, that was just for your betrayal a short while ago. I wish I had something a bit more grand to flay you with, but I'll just have to beat you until you wish you were with Helebon.

    Qhobeg: Uh, are you sure this is the right place to be doing this? I mean, isn't there a sudden insurgence of war for independance going on?

    Thrawn#s: Well, it might be fun to see what color this half-breed bleeds.

    Dalaes: Talk of betrayal... you're far worse than me. You knew exactly what I was getting into when you gave me the Darksaber, but you still didn't care. You never cared about your friends here...

    Ante: Quit it!

    Dalaes: No... You're just upset that you've lost your replacement. Don't worry, I know far more than you want anyone to know... The Darksaber is more than a source of power, it's a source of knowledge of the inner workings of the story, knowledge of the hearts of those prominent to the story. Your god is dead, and now your new hope is los...

    *Ante abruptly ends Dalaes' sentance with a swift blow to the temple with his chunk of rebar. Dalaes falls to the ground, unconscious. As Thrawn and Qhobeg move forward, Ante holds an arm out, motioning them to stay back.*

    Ante: Leave him, he's served his purpose for now. I suppose if he feels he finds a place for himself, he'll find us again.

    Qhobeg: Are you sure he'll be alright laying here in the middle of this chaos?

    Ante: If the story wills it.... Ooh, a convenience store that's open!

    *Ante quickly diverts the attention of Thrawn and Qhobeg to a nearby store that actually appears to be open and selling something that isn't ammunition or St. Christopher medallions concealing tactical nuclear arms. The three work their way over wreckage and assorted bodies and into the store*

    Indian Behind the Counter: Welcome to my shop. If you are being demons I would most humbly ask you to leave before I load my shotgun.

    Thrawn: It's fine, we're just here for some supplies.

    IBtC: Well, we are not having the ammunition as that would draw the attention of the oppressors.

    Qhobeg: Nah, we mostly need food.

    *As Ante, Thrawn and Qhobeg mill about the store looking for various supplies. As Ante grabs 3 crates of Funyuns, Thrawn handles what appears to be a large chunk of meat on a femur.*

    Thrawn: Hey, I found this stuff called Master Bait. Think we should pick it up?

    Ante: Eh, why not, could come in handy. Ooh... a display of fresh prawn. We should bring back a couple of pounds of it, we could have a barbeque later.

    Qhobeg: Well, I've heard the Otter has a pretty big collection of that in his room, maybe we should just borrow some of his...

    Ante: How about we just get the stuff here, as we can be sure of its quality. Besides, I don't see any sheep mixed in.

    Qhobeg (to the IBtC): So, how much for the stuff?

    IBtC: That will be costing 500 billion demonickles.

    Thrawn: Demonicles...?

    IBtC: Yes, that is the currency imposed by the imperialistically minded ones.

    Ante: Well, we just kinda left the collapsing Citadel of Helebon, and were probably more than partially responsible for its destruction...

    IBtC: Oh, in that case the bill will be on top of the house. Have a nice day.

    *As Ante and company prepare to use the thingywatches, Phil the ex-Ugo Driver busts in the door.*

    Phil: Ok, I'm ready to save the day!

    Ante: Actually, I think it's been saved. Or rather, the end has been postponed.

    Phil: Aww...

    Ante: But... uh... we can leave you behind to make sure that the demons don't take over again. Or to play pinball.

    Phil: PINBALL! WOO!

    *Phil rushes out the door as Ante, Thrawn, and Qhobeg utilize their superwatchesofduum to transport themselves, and their Funyuns, Master Bait, and Prawn back to the HHoH.*


    Zip-pan to California, where CoolMatty huddles over the inanimate body of Miss Fire. Pingu stands nearby, rubbing a stubby foot behind his opposing ankle. The sound of waves is broken by beeping from the watches of CoolMatty and Qwerty. After a few seconds of inaction, Qwerty looks at his watch.

    Qwerty: We're wanted back at HQ.

    Pingu: I'll take this as my cue to exit, perhaps to return another day.

    Pingu waddles away. CoolMatty doesn't move.

    Qwerty: We'll take her with us.

    CoolMatty nods slowly, and activates his watch, holding Miss Fire. The two dissapears.

    Qwerty: ...and this is my cue to exit.

    Qwerty turns off the beeping on his watch and walks away.


    Scene-change to Europa. Hey TLTE.

    TLTE: How are you today, comrade Narrator?

    Why did you and Losien go all the way back to Europa to bury your friend? The spacestation was by Earth now, no?

    TLTE: Uh...

    Losien: Hey, it looks like the guys want us to come back. It's been so long since I've seen them. I wonder how Geb is doing.

    TLTE: Let's go then!

    TLTE and Losien transport back to the Haunted House of Heroes...


    *When suddenly, and with great aplomb, Antestarr the Once Writer now World Traveller and Possible Refugee bursts into the office of the writers.*

    AtOWnWTaPR: I return triumphant! I found the holy grail of all writers buried deep within the cradle of civilization, nestled between the loving breast of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers... I have discovered the Fountain of Creativity!

    *AtOWnWTaPR holds up a canteen.*

    AtOWnWTaPR: Within this vessel is the water that will stop the dreaded conspiracy known as the Writer's Bloc forever!

    TLTEtW: Uh, wouldn't that be Block?

    AtOWnWTaPR: Maybe. The important part is that it will no longer hold sway over you all! Here, take a sip and be free!

    *As AtOWnWTaPR opens the canteen, a mob of writers assail him, causing the canteen to be fumbled around until it at last comes to rest overturned in a small cabbage garden that TheOttertheWriter had been taking care of for the past couple months.*

    KrigtW: Well, it looks like we're gonna have to raise the Cabbage of Creativity now...

    GebtW: Does this mean we get to bring back the Fruit Cocktail of Hope?

    TLTEtW: Weren't you just playing with socks? Go wash your hands!

    GebtW: But... but... I'm in charge! Give me your socks!


    << At this time, within the HHoH, an emergency meeting of the Heroes has been called to order to discuss the current state of the Funyun... er... Union. >>

    Maybechild: I call to order this roundtable discussion of the Heroes. First order of business: recent cleanup in the basement. Ford, take it away.

    Ford: Well, apparently some evil dust from the past was in the basement and wanted to use people by offering them immense power at the cost of their souls. We cleaned it up with some leftover cleaning supplies and threw it away. So far, everyone seems fine. Next?

    CM: Ok, those of us who went to Jupiter were attacked by all manner of people including some still unidentified fighters, old story characters, and the Blackguard. Somewhere along the line the planet became another star in our solar system and some stuff got blown up and I think the Blackguard died.

    TLTE: Apparently, in charge of the villainous lost characters on the Jovian station was my old friend Mike MacLongname, who valiantly defended his true love to the death. However, we have rescued Losien and brought her back.

    CM: But at the cost of Miss Fire who is currently in a suspended animation capsule in the old room that we all slept in that one time, and Krig who seems to have disappeared.

    TLTE: Shh, stop putting a damper on a happy ending.... ok, bittersweet... er... kinda okay?

    Ante: And we went to Earth to get some supplies. There we discovered that Helebon had taken over, so we went to the top of his citadel where we were betrayed by a half-demon and then found Gebohq, who we assumed was dead, only to watch him appear to die again, go psycho, kill Helebon, steal Young, and jump out of a 60 story window. So we bought Funyuns and came back.

    << The heroes sitting at the table, aside from Thrawn and Qhobeg, stare in awe at Ante as he mentions Gebohq's discovery, death, and betrayal. >>

    Ante: You're all right... I should have picked up some Doritos.

    TLTE: In light of recent events and discoveries, I move that we elect emergency leadership to a member of the heroes at this table. I nominate myself as the first candidate, on the grounds that I have proven myself in battle and have had advanced soviet training in many fields, including but not limited to hand-to-hand combat, small arms, sneaking, large arms, and tv/vcr repair.

    Mimiru: I move that Maybechild be the second candidate, as she has seemed to be the voice of reason amongst the chaos that is our chain of command, not to mention she would best fit in the role of a matron, leading our group in a more sane, mature sort of direction.

    Qhobeg: I nominate Ante as the third candidate. He is currently the most senior member of the Heroes at this table and has, on numerous occasions, pulled a magic hat out of an unmentionable area in order to lead the party to victory over adversity. The magic hat is figurative, by the way.

    TLTE: Well, if there are no objections, shall we cast our ballots?

    All: Agreed.

    << The heroes each grab a slip of paper and a pen, attempting to keep secret their votes as they scrawl out their choices. The papers are then passed to TLTE, who tallies the votes. >>

    TLTE: And here are the totals: Maybechild gets second from the last with 2 votes. Coming in above her is me, with 5 votes. Antestarr nails the win by the margin of 1 vote over mine... 6 total. And in dead last place, with 1 vote, is Pee-Wee Herman.

    Ante: Well, then, it appears that I've gained leadership over this "League of Heroes". I would like to say that from what I've seen, it appears people at this table are becoming increasingly more obsessed with reaching their own goals. It just so happens that this time around, we managed to avert complete tragedy while at the same time getting most of what some of us wanted... but I know for a fact that it will not be long before some of us go off on our own again to further our own ends. Put on top of this the fact that Gebohq, the pillar upon which our friendships were built, has gone insane and murderous, even to the point of kidnapping, we are in a rather bad situation as a group. Therefore, as my first (and last) action as the leader of the Heroes, I hereby declare that we officially disband. Those of you who feel the desire to go with me to find Young, or perhaps to find Gebohq may accompany me. Others may or may not want to do something about that second star in our solar system... But the rest of you may go home or pursue your own dreams. Your obligations are finished.

    << The heroes-- >>

    Scram, Update Computer! Will the heroes continue to be heroes? How will they take Antestarr's execution as new leader? So many more questions to answer, here on The Neverending Story Thread Squared!
    Last edited by Antestarr; 08-25-2005 at 03:31 AM.
    Pereant qui ante nos nostra dixerunt.

  8. #448
    Child's Play CharityGoY's Pessimistic Soy Boy Toy
    A reality so unreal that it could only exist in this state of 1337 is our setting. A 60 foot Sky Yacht floating through the sky, propellers whisking in the wind as the gigantic ship coasts through the clouds. Sitting conically on the bow with a cigar in his lips, the blindfolded Mayaal pours and takes a glass of scotch off of a tray that a black clad mustached kirby holds, his other hand propped under his arm with a towel over it. Mayaal holds the 80's style cell phone to his ear with his shoulder, nodding for bUTTLERkIRBY, he sips the scotch then continues talking loudly into the phone.

    Mayaal So yeah, I figured it'd be a fun little way to mix things up..... no. Oh yeah. Sure. Hey, I'll talk to you then, ok? I love you man, I really do. Tell your mother I said hello, give her a smooch for me. Eh? Yeah.

    He flips the cell phone receiver up and tosses the cell phone over the side of the yacht. It disappears into a thin wisp of smoke as it's existence is no longer. Appearing on the deck in clad black, Bahc is suddenly tapping his foot.

    Bahc Why do you create these restrictions? You could feel the sensation of scotch in your mouth. You could have any sensation you want, yet you limit your perception to.... to this?

    Mayaal Unlike you, I find the emptiness of 1337 to be too abstract and bland at the same time. A little bit of sanity never hurt anyone. Unlike you, I haven't let go of my mortal instincts.

    Bahc They make you week, and allow you to favor the heroes.

    Mayaal It IS my job to ensure the good guys are keeping in balance with the sorts YOU take a hand in.... even if they don't know it.

    Bahc So what'd you want? I have an appointment with a certain Jim7 later...

    Mayaal Ah, yes. I have devised a... a wager. We will provide the mortals of NeS with a...challenge. A sort of game. Are you with me?

    Bahc This sounds like fun...

    Mayaal It is, it is. Now, what if we presented the rules, and made wagers on how long it'd take the mortals to break these rules? If a good guy breaks it, you win. If a bad guy breaks it, I win. Let's say... an entire story arch can be in the winner's favor? What do you say to that?

    Bahc You've got my interests....

    What will this strange writing requirement be? How will the mortals of NeS handle the stress of a writing rule? How will this effect the balance the hands have on NeS as a whole!? Find out next time on NeS!

    Have I said that before? I'm getting slight Dejavu....

    [NSP: I didn't read a single post by anyone. If I made plotholes: Too bad. Basically, someone can come up with some writing rule [Nothng but questions, all rhetoric, sarcasm only, or something a bit more elaborate] that everyone has to follow. The moment a character messes up, something big will happen by the hands of the NeS]
    ᴸᶥᵛᵉ ᴼᵑ ᴬᵈᵃᵐ

  9. #449
    Meanwhile, in that miniscule moment between when Gebohq has been kicked out of the dreamstate of NeS and when he wakes up in Gebiyl's body...

    Geb: Ow! That's certainly going to leave a B.U.M.P.!

    Wow. I really should be expecting these sort of story posts by now...

  10. #450
    The HHoH.

    There are a few pointed moments of silence following Antestarr's final command. A few of the heroes look at each other, making various "should we/shouldn't we" gestures. TLTE in particular looks surprised and uncomfortable, though his attempts to catch Ante's attention are not heeded. This is mainly because Ante himself is gathering his few remaining belongings, preparing to leave.

    TLTE: I think-

    Qhobeg: Right! Who's for a drink?

    Immediately, the anxiety of breaking down the long-standing heroic pact between the heroes is broken.

    Ford: Getting toasted on booze while our leadership and camaraderie is in tatters...the spirit of the NeS is alive and well in you, newbie!

    An embarassing amount of the heroes shuffle out with the two of them, mumbling curses as to why the now-defunct base of operations had to be so far from the nearest pub. Pushing open the chipped oak doors that encase the grand and ominous building, they find themselves bursting out into an unseasonally bright and chirpy day. A bluebird that could easily have flown out of a 50's Technicolour production chirps magnificently at them.

    Ford: Bloody Hell, what an awful day. Far too bright for relaxed drinking weather.

    Otter: "The problem with the world is that everyone is always a few beers behind." Spike Milligan, you know.

    Qhobeg: Let's find a dimly-lit hellhole of booze and gambling before we lose consciousness.

    The unsavoury former NeSheroes (essentially all of them, really) stumble out of their former responsibilities and begin the long road back to debauchery.

    TLTE: Look at them go. You'd think they never even WANTED to be heroes!

    He peers out at the diminishing figures from one of the broken windows at the house's front, shaking his head sadly. Losien places one hand on his shoulder consolingly.

    Losien: They've been heroes for a long time, my love. Many of them have been fighting the forces of evil and ruin since the opening pages of the original NeS. Maybe...maybe they deserve a break!

    TLTE: But not now, Losien! It can't be now!

    Losien: Why not?

    He turns back from the curtain. TLTE looks irritated, of course...but he also looks genuinely scared.

    TLTE: Because someone wants to kill us. Someone who has the resources to finance and obtain, among other things, a space station, an army, a fallen NeShero, and the Ever-Ending Plot. The EeP, Losien: our greatest enemy, set on us like a dog released from its master's chain!

    Ante: You worry far too much, comrade.

    The hero and scholar has walked over to them while they spoke. Behind Ante, TLTE can see Cool Matty and Mimiru in the meeting room, apparently conducting a heated argument.

    Ante: We can't prove that the EeP is even back yet, save an unfortunate incarnation in a land composed of dreams. Anyone could have returned in the dreamstate, for all we know!

    A vague idea surfaces in the back of TLTE's mind at this comment, but he dismisses it for now.

    TLTE: Our main objective -

    Ante: You mean YOUR main objective. The League of Heroes is no more.

    TLTE: That's precisely my point! Gebohq is either insane, dead, or both: Gebiyl remains very evil and at large; the EeP may well have survived page 51; London is in a complete bloody shambles, and overrun by at least two incursionary forces: and we disband? This is the time we need to band together and fight the most!

    Ante: With respect, I disagree. For the time being at least, we must accept the outward state of affairs. If we lose Young, I believe the consequences are going to be far worse in the long run.

    TLTE: We need to destroy our foes!

    Ante: We need to save Young and Gebohq!

    Suddenly, Losien marches up to Ante and slaps him in the face. There is a moment of total silence - Ante looks almost comically stunned, and TLTE suppresses a grin. The suppression becomes much easer as Losien turns around and slaps him too.

    TLTE/Ante: What -

    Losien: You two with your pretentious "higher goals!" People out in the street are dying!

    TLTE/Ante: ...

    Losien: Women and children!

    TLTE/Ante: ...

    Losien: Cute little puppies with Bambi eyes! Horribly torn to shreds, burnt to death, and we're standing here arguing! Do you not care for your fellow man?

    Ante: Actually...we've never really stopped to think about it.

    TLTE: We always thought that if we fought evil, people would look after themselves.

    Ante: Though with all the explosions and fires we cause fighting evil, I'm sure we've at least singed innocent clothing before.

    TLTE: That's a good point, actually.

    Ante: But we blow up a lot more bad guys than good guys, usually.

    TLTE: Oh yeah, we're morally in the clear.

    Losien glares at them both for a moment, then-

    Losien: Maybechild!

    Maybechild walks up.

    Maybechild: Losien! How have you been??

    Losien: I've seen better days. Look, I'm going to go join the volunteer aid forces to clean up the mess these JERKS have left behind...join me?

    Maybechild: Beats hanging around here, I guess.

    Losien smiles primly. She then turns around and looks reproachfully at TLTE.

    Losien: When you work out what you've done wrong, call me and apologise.

    TLTE: ...yes, honey.

    The two storm off. Losien rushes back in briefly, planting a kiss on Cool Matty's cheek.

    Losien: Thanks for helping to save me, CM! I'm sure we'll get along just fine!

    CM turns an attractive shade of crimson. Mimiru flushes with indignation, and watches her leave balefully.

    CM: Er, at any rate...we thought you two looked like you could use some help, so we decided to stick around.

    Mimiru: I thought poor TLTE could use some help, but Ante sounds like he needs us as well. We've been debating the point.

    TLTE: This exercise in prioritising our goals is needless. We need to visit Arkng Thand anyway: he's a scholar of epic proportions, he'll undoubtedly be able to organise us into something approaching a team.

    CM: Not a bad idea. I'd certainly like a few more magic tutoria-

    He breaks off, because at that moment everyone notices the look of utter shock on Ante's face.

    Ante: What...did you say?

    TLTE: What? Arkng Thand?

    Ante: How do you know Arkng Thand?!

    His voice is incredulous, shocked, and...almost eager.

    TLTE: How the hell do YOU know him? We were introduced to him through Highemperor - we were given to understand he was a recluse.

    Ante stares off into the distance for a moment, then sits himself down at the table. He looks utterly shell-shocked.

    Ante: He's still alive...

    CM: Ante, how do you know Arkng Thand?

    Ante: Arkng Thand mentor.

    Bewildered silence from the others.

    Ante: He...started me on the path of NeScholarship. I met him during the original NeS, on one of the earlier pages when I was absent. He swore me to secrecy, I couldn't even tell Geb. The things...the things he showed us...

    Mimiru: "Us?"

    Ante: The NeScholars. A small group of academic journeymen dedicated to understanding this, the greatest phenomenon in the history of mankind.

    TLTE: The NeS, you mean.

    Ante: He was an incredible man. None of us could fathom how he continually unearthed NeSian artifacts, documents proving the origins of the NeS, the WriterGod...his treatise on the NeS remains the most important document in this story. Incredible work.

    Ante pulls out of his jacket a plastic binder, within which a copy of Thand's treatise is kept.

    Ante: the original Treatise. The first version ever made. He gave it to me as a gift. He trained me as his protege, but then, he...

    Suddenly, Ante gets up, looking at the others imploringly.

    Ante: You have to take me to him. I thought...I didn't know what I thought.

    TLTE: Of course, we'll go. But Ante, what happened to the NeScholars?

    Ante looks at them all for a long moment, undisguised suspicion in his eyes. They can all feel a reluctance on his part to let them into his greatest secret, the inner circle of his thoughts. Then, he simply sighs, and nods.

    Ante: We'll need a VCR.

  11. #451
    Fifteen minutes later, the haphazard remains of the League of Heroes are assembled around an extremely dingy television set. Ante steps forward, unzipping a tailored pocket that contains a ziplock bag. Within the bag, preserved from the ravages of time - an unmarked VHS videotape.

    Ante: I haven't looked at this since it was made.

    CM: What is it?

    Ante: The last official meeting of the NeScholars.

    He slips the video into the VCR and steps back, watching the screen pensively. A few moments of static pass, and then the familar 5-4-3-2-1 screen flash.

    TLTE: High production values, for a home video. What do you think of digital camcorders?

    Ante: Shhh. We're getting to the important

    The screen flickers, and suddenly a shaky hand-camera affair begins. The camera operator focuses on the floor intently, then scrolls up to focus on a very different-looking Antestarr.

    Mimiru: ...Ante?

    Ante: Unfortunately, yes.

    This Ante appears to be emulating a clean-cut version of his normal appearance, with mixed success. His long hair is arranged into a neat ponytail, his face (frequently shadowed given the infrequent grooming patterns of the full-time hero) is clean-shaven, and he is struggling to do up a tie on a buttoned-down suit that only an incongruously fashioned hero would select.

    Video Ante: Get that video out of my face! We're almost out of time!

    Camera Operator: Couldn't you just provide some sort of opening, Ante?

    Video Ante: ...fine.

    On the screen, Ante whips his jacket on, and draws from the pocket a scrunched piece of paper. Nervously, he wipes his forehead and speaks.

    Video Ante: "It gives me great pleasure, as the youngest member of the NeScholars, to be placed in charge of the video recording of our presently scheduled conference. The pursuit of knowledge and research is key to the continued survival of this, the Never-ending Story, and I am honoured to be a part of this society."

    CM: So you were honoured to be directing...a home video?

    Ante: It was a high honour, make no mistake.

    The Video Ante lowers the sheet of paper and looks at the camera, sheepishly. He says, in a less confident tone:

    Video Ante: I'd also like to add that it is a privilege to be here for my mentor, Professor Arkng Thand-

    TLTE: "Professor"?

    Ante: When you've been around as long as Thand has, you pick up a few diplomas.

    Video Ante: - and that I'm...very - very proud to be here as he accepts the position of Chairman and Lifetime Patron of the society.

    Video Ante stares down at the floor for a few moments, then furiously returns to preparing himself. TLTE looks between the Antestarr before him - a pillar of calm, self-assured confidence - and the almost sophomoric, deferring Antestarr on the screen, and tries to reconcile the two images of the man.

    TLTE: When was this recorded?

    Ante: Much earlier in my life. In terms of quantifying of the first 10 pages of the NeS.

    A scattered montage of images onscreen: Ante, adjusting his suit, brushing his teeth and combing his hair simultaneously; Ante and the unseen cameraman, racing through the plush, ornate halls of an unknown building; Ante presenting a bronze ticket of admission to a burly security guard; and finally, as the film becomes sequential again, Ante marching self-consciously forward into what appears to be a formal, but jovial function. The guests are quite clearly academics - the vast majority of them archetypal dusty, nerdy men in tweed jackets and horn-rim glasses. Ante is very obviously the youngest there, but he seems accepted well enough.

    CM: To coin the vulgar phrase, this is quite possibly the worst sausage fest ever.

    Ante: Yes, I know. Still, the NeScholars were conceived before equality was given any real credence in the world. Women were aware of us - powerful women, of course. But they never joined, or were allowed to do so.

    TLTE: Not really a party, is it? I mean, no swinging from the chandeliers here...are they even drinking alcohol?

    Ante: This isn't that sort of party. Without any trace of conceit, we were celebrating being the wisest, smartest, most well-informed men in the entire NeS.

    TLTE: Oh. I...don't think I've ever been to one of those parties.

    Ante: Yes, I don't think you have either.

    The gentle celebrations continue onscreen: Ante seems adept at forging connections, guiding the nameless cameraman through several important-sounding conversations. The cameraman is inexperienced, but shakily documents as much as it can.

    Video Ante: ....was very interested to see your report on science fiction and general pop culture crossovers into the NeS, Mr. Hamill. I'll be following the subsequent accounts with great interest.

    Video Mr. Hamill: Always a pleasure to hear from the future leaders like yourself, Antestarr.

    Mimiru: Wait, isn't that-

    Ante: Yes.

    At that point, a gong sounds, and the members of the NeScholars all retreat to their seats on a long table that resides at the end of the room. Ante's seat is nothing special, but he seems proud enough to assume his position. After they are all seated, the man in central position - a man the camera operator zooms in on to display a middle-aged scholar with a golden "Chairman" sash around him - begins to speak.

    Chairman: NeScholars! As Chairman of our great society, I welcome you to our 51st official conference!

    Much cheering and tapping of glasses. The camera operator himself begins to whoop, amateurishly.

    Chairman: Now as you know, much about our great Never-ending Story has been discovered and researched since our last congregation that must be discussed. Further information concerning the origin of the Ares clones has been affirmed, thanks to the efforts of The Twenty-First Member. Congratulations to your efforts!

    Controlled applause from the gathering.

    Ante: "The Members" was an official title we referred to each other in concert. Informally, it was frowned upon - but in speeches and addresses, it was essential etiquette.

    Chairman: Our best wishes also to The Fortieth Member, who is absent today as he further charts the outer regions of the Dreamstate. We wish him the best of luck in this difficult endeavour.

    Cheering and applause from the gathering.

    Chairman: Of course the main business for this, our 51st assembly, is undoubtedly an exciting and memorable occasion for all of us. The time has rightly come to honour one of the greatest NeScholars of all time, an inaugural member of this society and the most active and celebrated participant in our findings. He is, as always, fashionably late to the proceedings-

    A bemused chuckle from all the participants but Ante, who becomes the zoomed-in focus of the camera's attention. He looks anxious, but excited: like a man waiting for his wife to deliver their child.

    Chairman: -but wait, I think...yes, here he is! Gentlemen, I give you the Chairman-Elect and new Lifetime Patron of the NeScholars, The Third Member: Arkng Thand!

    There is a distant clicking sound, as if someone were tapping on the ground with a steel object: the room is gripped with a deathly silence, as everyone looks in awe to the open doors. Slowly, the camera pans this way too.

    Ante: I remember that moment so clearly, despite how long ago it was. That moment, he wasn't my mentor - he was the WriterGod incarnate.

    CM: Ha! Ante, you can't-

    But he stops. Arkng Thand, dressed in a pearl-coloured suit, strides through the doors, a silver cane rapping on the expensive floor. Even reproduced on film, his aura is apparent - though his physical appearance is only a dapper old man, it seems like the world swirls around him, struggling to settle in the midst of his knowledge and power. Slowly, the master NeScholar takes his hat off, and bows low.

    Arkng Thand: Gentlemen. Apologies for my lateness. As my dear mother once told me, I'll surely be late for my own funeral. Or was it I'll be late at my own funeral? One is surely more disposed to the second option, I'm sure you'll agree.

    A polite laughter from the unseen others - the camera operator is still very much focused on Thand.

    Thand: It gives me a great pleasure to join you on this occasion. Our 51st meeting is testament to the strength of our society, and I congratulate you all for the work achieved here. However, I am afraid to inform you that this conference will be brief and - dare I say it - unpleasant. You see, I regret to inform you that I am resigning from the NeScholars.

    There is a full half-minute of total silence, in which Arkng Thand smiles politely, withdraws a gentleman's handkerchief and polishes the handle of his cane. The camera whips briefly over the stunned faces of the other NeScholars, Antestarr's stunned and pained expression being the most telling.

    Chairman: ...Resigning? will you be Chairman then?

    Thand: I won't. Nor will I be Lifetime Patron, I'm sorry to say. Unfortunately, you're still employed!

    He smiles benignly at this. No one else laughs, politely or otherwise. This revelation from Thand is too shocking to even provoke a debate. Finally, the Chairman articulates the desperate truth of the situation.

    Chairman: But...we NEED you!

    Thand: You do, don't you? I can only express my apologies again, but I have a new personal mission now. A mission of the utmost importance, even more important than identifying the inner workings of the NeS. I imagine this society will disband after my announcement. However, I urge you to continue the work we began nonetheless. "The unexamined life is not worth living," after all.

    He offers his heartbroken colleagues yet another polite smile. Slowly, he withdraws an impossibly neat sheet of paper from his breast pocket, placing it before the Chairman.

    Thand: I will accept these regions of the NeS as tributaries to the work accomplished here because of me. These regions should be regarded as mine alone, and not intruded upon by any of you. Understand that I hold you all in the highest regard, but require vast areas of space for my continued research.

    A protest is almost mounted by this remark, but something - the uncertainty of the atmosphere, the weakness of the NeScholars, or perhaps Thand's force of personality alone - halts it in its early stages.

    Thand: Now, let us part on an amicable note, as we always have. Gentlemen, I bid you good day.

    After enduring their silence for another minute or so, he bows and turns to leave. Ante winces as he watches the screen, for at that moment his digital voice pleads loudly:

    Video Ante: But Professor Thand! What could be more important...than THIS?!

    Slowly, the figure of Arkng Thand turns at the doors, offering his student a cryptic, knowing smile.

    Thand: Only one thing, my dear boy. And you are very much a part of it.

    He then leaves, without another word. As soon as the door closes, a cacophony of raised voices and sounds erupt, the camera growing shaky and being placed on a table.

    Antestarr switches off the television and looks around at them.

    Ante: That was the last time I saw him. I grit my teeth and devoted myself to my other occupation, saving the NeS as a hero alongside you and the others. But I never stopped asking questions...I always studied it as I defended it...just as he taught me to.

    He shakes his head, dismissing old evils. Presently, he turns to TLTE.

    Ante: Alright comrade, let's play your game. You legitimately believe something big is happening behind the scenes? Some great new evil?

    TLTE: Definitely.

    Ante: Have you been drinking?

    TLTE: I'm not drunk.

    Ante: Good enough for me. You help me find Young...I'll play detective with you.

    Mimiru: We're coming with you, of course.

    CM: Right. Of course.

    TLTE: Right. Let's go see Arkng Thand then.

    He marches out of the room, CM and Mimiru following. Ante walks with them...but he falls behind, lost in his thoughts.

  12. #452
    Meanwhile, Ahnuld sits disassembled in a box in the Haunted House of Heroes, collecting Dust...




    ...SUDDENLY A JANITOR WALKS PAST THE BOX AND...Oh who am I kidding, nothing important is happening.

    ...I might as well keep busy...*ehem* Okay, the janitor is walking...walking...he notices the box..and he...WOAH! He noticed the box! He is walking over to the box..he opens the box....He finds Ahnuld!

    Janitor: What is this odd box here full of robotic parts. Well then, I think I should wait here a moment and see if anyone claims ownership... ... ... Well then, I guess it's mine now. *whistles*

    A few hours later

    Janitor: It's amazing how a janitor such as myself just happened to find a box of robot parts. Even more amazing is that I knew how to assemble them.

    The janitor hits a big red button on the back of Ahnuld

    Ahnuld: ...

    Janitor: Speak my creation!


    Janitor: Oh god!


    Janitor: uhh, umm....Speak....English....Please...


    This isn't going anywhere anytime fast...

    Think while it's still legal.

  13. #453
    Not Suitable for Motor Vehicles
    [i]At the pub, the heroes are now colossally drunk. Most of them are merry, some beyond merry, to the point of ecstatic, a few have passed out, but one is most definately in a funk. The evening started out well for him; coming out with his friends, having a few too many tequila sunrises and Irish Car Bombs, laughing about times past, a few very long games of pool. But as the night progressed the things wearing on his mind started to get to him. So he resigned himself to a lonely barstool, getting quieter and quieter, nursing gin after gin.

    This particular hero, ******* great-great-half-huncle to his former leader, Gebohq, student of Dr. dormouse, brief apprentice to Arkng Thand, and current alcoholic, is very worried about the world as it stands.

    Barkeep: Something troubling you friend?

    Ford: The worlds in a right state now innit? A bloody army of bloody demons, fighting anothe bloody army of forgotten characters, and no one seems to give much of a damn. If only i could get them to listen to me. Useless bloody loonies the whole lot. They were great once. All of them.

    Barkeep: Hey, man, don't i know it. I've been here through the years, watching you guys enter NeSU, graduate, eventually join the league. i've watched you grow from reckless kids to semi-responsible heroes; who, despite their incompetance, always managed to win through.

    Ford: But those days are gone now. The League of Heroes is disbanded, and most of them are feeling relief. RELIEF! look at them. Celebrating thier newfound lack of responsibility. They down give a rats *** that the world if alling down about their ears.

    Ford grew quiet then, seeming to debate with himself. after a time, he looked up.

    Ford: Bless me, Jake. I want to make a toast.

    The barkeep, a lanky, long-haired, goateed, ex-hippie hands Ford a steaming mug of God's Blessing, more commonly known as Irish Coffee.

    Jake: These are expensive mugs, but i've got a feeling this is important. just this one time.

    Ford looks up at him and met his eyes, looking slightly afraid.

    Jake: Whenever you're ready, friend.

    He, that is, Ford, seems to gather himself and takes a sip of that marvelous brew. A little cream stuck to his nose, but he didnt notice. Takeing a deep breat, he walks up to the chalk line in front of the beautiful parabolic fireplace.

    Those near him stopped their conversations as he raised his mug, and soon after, everyyone else followed. Looking around at them, he begins to speak.

    Ford: Friends, i have known most of you for a very long time. I attended NeSu with some of you, some i met on my travels through the pages. Every one of you was with me at the battle of 51. I love all of you like a family. Which is why it hurts me so much to say this.

    He pauses, to let a brief mumble pass across the room. when it quiets again, he speaks again.

    Ford: I look around me here and i see people who were once so rightous they were willing to do anyting to save the world from the forces of evil, now apathetic wasting thier time in a bar getting smashed watching films and trying to get eachother in the sack. All the while, theres a bloody war going on out there in the world. none of you seem to care that hundreds of thousands of innocents are being destroyed by the demons and the forgotten characters. Well i care. I'm afraid for the world. I'm so afraid that i'm going out to make any and all differance that i can. So this, friends is my toast:

    To cowardice. May all of you be so afraid for the world that you will do as I am about to.

    with this, Ford drained his glass, tossed it in the fireplace, turned, and walked out the door.

    (NSP: read my post in the workshop.)
    My girlfriend paid a lot of money for that tv; I want to watch ALL OF IT. - JM

  14. #454
    Mayaal: Yes. Yes. No, I- ok. No, yeah. Right. Love you too. Bye.

    Mayaal hits the disconnect button on a large 80s style cell phone and throws it on the deck. It bursts into flames and melts into a puddle of plastic with a little lump in the middle which looks suspiciously like a tiny little sculpture of Jean Claude Van Damme's face.

    Mayaal: Sorry about that. That was my mother.

    Bhac: You don't have a mother.

    Mayaal: Oh. Right. So anyway, about that wager I was talking about...

    Bhac: Yes, as I said, you have my interest, not to mention my impatience. You were on that phone for like, five posts.

    Mayaal: Well, Mother talks a lot. Anyway, I was going to say, the rules are: each character in a post must say the word "spelunking" at least once in that post.

    Bhac: Spelunking?

    Mayaal: Yes. It means cave exploring.

    Bhac: Yes, I know what it means, but... Spelunking?

    Mayaal: Meh. I thought it'd be funny.

    Bhac: Yes, you and your "humour". I am far too evil for that sort of thing.

    Mayaal: Yeah, I've been picking up on that vibe. Anyway, I figure variations on "spelunking" would be acceptable. Like "Spelunked" or "Spelunkification". But any character who does not use the word at least once in a post where they have lines, loses the game for their side.

    Bhac: Intriguing. I can work with that. And if I win, the villains get an entire story-arc in their favour?

    Mayaal: Exactly. But remember, if the good guys win, you have to honour your agreement.

    Bhac: Oh, don't worry about me. Worry about your incompetant "heroes", you buffoon!

    Bhac dissapears in a flurry of shadows, leaving an icky bloodstain on the deck.

    Mayaal: Aw, crap. And I just got that waxed.

    Forsooth! Surely this is a plot point which will resonate for pages to come! Who will mess up first? Which side will emerge victorious? To find the answers, we may have to go spelunking into the depths of insanity, next time on the Neverrrrr-endinnnnng Storrrrrrrryyyyyyyyyyuh!
    So sayest the Writer of Silly Things!

  15. #455
    CM: Wooooooh! Wait, I really, really gotta use the bathroom...

    Mimiru: Are you SERIOUS? All this time we were in here, and now that we are leaving, you decide you have to go... I swear, you act like you are a two year old sometimes.

    TLTE: What are you looking at me for? You don't need my permission!

    CM: Oh, right...

    CM scurries back into the HHoH to use the bathroom. Meanwhile, Ante finally catches up, although he doesn't realize it, and plows right into TLTE.

    TLTE: Ante! Will you watch where the hell you're walking?

    Ante: Huh wha? Oh, sorry. It's just got me thinking, is all.

    TLTE: Look, I am sure he'll answer all your questions soon. It's not like he's run away in hiding or anything.

    Ante: True... hmm....

    Meanwhile, in the HHoH, CM arrives at the bathroom.

    CM: Ya know, I don't think anyone has ever used this bathroom before....

    CM shuts the door, and flicks on the light. The bathroom, while a bit dusty, is in decent condition. After doing his business, he goes to flush the toilet.

    CM: Man, I hope this doesn't clog....

    He throws the switch, and down goes the waste. But not a moment later, the wall spins around, taking CM with it. CM falls down inside a dark, damp cave.


    ... No. I refuse to say it.

    CM: Oh come on! I wanna be on fire!

    Not unless you are dying from such a circumstance, I refuse.

    CM: Blah, you're such a party-pooper! Aight, give me the olde backup.

    CM's palm begins to glow slightly, then erupts into flame. CM raises it up high, and looks at his surroundings.

    CM: Woh, creepy place. I better find a way out.

    CM continues to walk, and notices a decline in the floor, that continues to go steeper and steeper. Sure enough, a minute later, CM slips on the slick, slightly wet floor, and slides.


    CM finally lands in a small pond in the cave. The flame fizzles, then finally relights as CM dries himself off.

    CM: Ah geez, I'm all freakin wet now, just what I needed.

    Suddenly! *bum bum bummmmmm* The ground beneath CM begins to move...

    CM: Oh no... unstable... woh, it's really moving!!!

    The floor continues to rise up, until it comes out of the water. It is then CM notices something.

    CM: Oh. Crap. It's not a floor, its a monster's BACK!!! AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!


    The monster, obviously peeved at being awaken at such an odd hour, turns its head to see what is poking its back.

    Monster: WRAAA!

    CM: Oh no... oh no!!! Phoenix Gust!

    CM's famous bird flies down from the ceiling, but crashes harmlessly on the watery creature.

    CM: ... crap.

    Monster: Ualuealuealeualeualuealuealeuale!!!!!!

    The monster, speaking an ancient language of the bat caves, summons a tidal wave to crash over CM.


    CM narrowly escapes the tidal wave, although he is now thoroughly soaked. The monster winds up for another wave...

    CM: Oh like hell it is! It's time to get serious!

    CM grabs his rusty dagger, and rushes through the shallow pond toward the monster.

    CM: 32 strike attack!

    CM lets off an impressive 32 consecutive strikes on the monster's abdomen, but the monster seems to be unaffected. CM must not be much of a dagger user, with such weak power.

    CM: What the hell! It was the skin, not my strength!

    You keep believing that. Anyway, the monster summons the second wave!

    Monster: Ualuealuealeuale!!!!!

    CM, scared out of his mind, rushes back up the steep incline, only managing to get up by pure adrenaline and fear. He reaches the bathroom rotating wall, slams into it, and falls back into the bathroom.

    CM: Oh my god... oh my god... I thought I was dead...

    CM rises, and runs out to tell the others what he saw.

    CM: Mimiru! TLTE! Ante!!!

    Mimiru turns around towards the sound of CM's voice, and notices CM's condition.

    Mimiru: What the hell happened to you? Did you fall in?

    CM: No.. huuuhh ... huhhh... I... I fought a monster... there was this cave... behind a secret wall... in the bathroom... and there was this huge water monster.... and I fought it... but I couldn't beat it... so I ran back... and ...

    Mimiru: Jesus, CM, I can't even let you go to the bathroom yourself? And even then, you tell these stupidly outrageous stories, as if anyone would actually believe them.

    CM: No... it's true!! I swear!

    TLTE: Oh, please CM, don't insult our intelligence. If you are really that scared to go, you can stay here.

    CM: Like hell I'm hanging around in a building with a thing like THAT in the bathroom!


    Everyone falls silent and looks at Ante.

    TLTE: Wow... I don't think that was necessary...

    Ante: Eh, I'm sorry, I was just absorbed and you interrupted my train of thought... best not interrupt me while I am spelunking about up here *points to head*.

    Mimiru: Speaking of spelunking... what the hell DID get you all wet?

    CM: I told you! I fell through this revolving wall...

    TLTE: Look, if all you are going to do is lie, then I don't want to hear it. Let's get moving.

    Mimiru: *Sigh*, I guess you are right. Come on, wimp, let's go!

    CM: Yeah yeah, I'm coming. But I am NOT coming back.

    TLTE and the gang begin to walk to Mimiru's house, which is not far away, so they can obtain another vehicle for getting around.

    TLTE: So, did I ever tell you guys about that one time I was spelunking in some cave, and I fought this crazy water creature?

    CM: Are you mocking me now?

    TLTE: Oh heavens, no! Why would I ever...

    CM: I'll kill you! I swear, I will!!!

    Will they find Young? And what of Arkng Thand? Or even worse, when will the horrible excuses for using spelunking end? Find out next time... on...

    Monster: UaluealSpelunkuealeuale!!!
    Last edited by Cool Matty; 09-16-2005 at 11:49 PM.

  16. #456
    TLTE: Now, if there are no more objections, let's go find out what the Hell is happening in the NeS!

    CM: By just asking, though? This seems ridiculously easy by our standards - a walk in the park, even!

    Ante: Bear in mind we have to locate a machine that can plug us back into the Dreamstate, and travel through a war-torn maelstrom to do so. It's more analogous to a spelunk in the dangerous uncharted caverns.

    TLTE: With no torch.

    Ante: Or guide.

    TLTE: Or legs.

    CM: Alright, I get it!

    Mimiru: We're here, thank God.

    They stop outside Mimiru's house, a quaint-looking mansion of Hugh Hefner proportions.

    Ante: Cute place.

    Mimiru: I haven't been here for years - to this particular mansion, anyway. I feel like I'm spelunking uncomfortably through my hideously rich past.

    TLTE: Touching. No, really. *ahem* We need an inconspicuous mode of transport, perhaps a black SUV or - aw, spelunk. It's the media.

    The others turn just in time to be barraged by a machine-gun hail of camera flashes as an obscene number of paparazzi and journalistic types race across the road to them. With haste, Mimiru sneaks through a hole in one of the plush hedges around the mansion perimeter, presumably to get a car. Ante moves forward to deflect the press, as Cool Matty sidles up to a pained TLTE.

    CM: The media know about us? The NeSheroes?

    TLTE: Oh yes, mageling. You are - or were, should I say - part of an elite global crimefighting team. We're regular tabloid fodder.

    CM glances back at Ante, who has somehow acquired an electric hedge trimmer and is holding off the hordes of media vultures with it.

    Press Mob: Antestarr! Any truth in the rumours of the NeSheroes disbanding?? Was the Ever-ending Plot destroyed for good?? Has CookedHaggis returned yet from his spelunking sojourn in Scandinavia??

    Ante: Back, you devils!!! Back!

    He makes another threatening pass with the hedge trimmer. TLTE watches him, laughing.

    TLTE: Come on, now. Why do you think the cast list of the heroes is as inconsistent as service in a cheap restaurant? We're constantly conducting interviews, recording soundbites, approving biographies...I believe only last month, I signed off my life to be made into an epic film.

    He smiles, pleased with himself.

    TLTE: I'm being portrayed by Liam Neeson.

    CM: Unbelievable.

    TLTE: I think Losien is going to be played by Rachel McAdams. They couldn't get Danny DeVito for Krig, unfortunately.

    CM: Old man, I hate you.

    He walks off.

    TLTE: (Calling after him) I think I'll have Zach Braff play you, mageling! He looks moody enough!

    CM: (Calling back) Get spelunked!

    TLTE watches the retreating and defiant form of CM, still clutching onto some kind of wretched heroic nobility. He looks for Mimiru, nowhere in sight. Finally, he watches Antestarr - a man he holds in great and high regard - as he attempts to sodomize a photojournalist with his own camera, ostensibly for the brutal symbolism of it all.

    Ante: Who's taking photos now, funny man? WHO's TAKING PHOTOS NOW?!??

    He sits down on the curb, shaking his head.

    TLTE: God, I hate people.

    The quest continues...
    Last edited by The Last True Evil; 09-21-2005 at 06:04 AM.

  17. #457
    Elsewhere, Gebiyl (who looks like Gebohq, being in his body -- a subtle but important difference) drags Young by the Female Character Grab Area (see rule # 148 concerning Gender Equality)with one hand. In his other hand, he lights the way, with the glowing NeSword, through the deep, intertwining cavern tunnels. These are the same tunnels Gebiyl trekked through with Dr. Dormouse during his days at NeSu (back when he knew himself as Gebohq) and the same tunnels found at Stonehenge when confronting Cthulhu -- they're sometimes known as plot tunnels, a confusing maze of conduits that can lead some to anyplace they wish, and leave some lost forever. Currently, Young is looking between her captor and her surroundings. Gebiyl stops at a fork in the tunnel they are in, then yanks Young with him to the left.

    Young: Ow!

    Gebiyl: Kidnapping a damsel... I haven't pulled such a classic in a long time.

    Young: You're not Gebohq, are you?

    Gebiyl: Now what makes you say that?

    Young: Gebohq is a hero. He would never do this.

    Gebiyl: Hahahahaha... oh that's irony if I ever heard it. Do you know what Helebon did to me?

    Young: No, but it was unlikely torture in what was his Citadel. Why are you not still in Mother's dreams?

    Gebiyl: Mother's? ...oh right, the NeS. You're quite perceptive, little girl.

    Young: Thank you.

    Gebiyl: To answer your question, I'll be honest: I don't know. But with you in my grasp now, I intend to get some answers.

    Gebiyl continues to drag Young through the tunnels.

    Young: Are we lost?

    Gebiyl: Of course not! We're just doing a little spelun--

    He stops walking and twitches his head slightly.

    Young: Is something wrong?

    Gebiyl:, nothing's wrong. I just realized that I was about to use the wrong word, is all.

    Young: Spelunking?

    Gebiyl: ...right... that word...

    Young: Seems like the right word to me. We're in a cavernous area. We seem to be "exploring"...

    Gebiyl: WE'RE NOT SPELU--

    He bites his sword-hand hard, dropping the NeSword in the process.

    Gebiyl: ...we're not lost. It's a shortcut. I'm a master of doing things quick, you should know that.

    As he bends down to pick up the NeSword, Young pickpockets something from Gebiyl's pants. Gebiyl gets back up, yanks Young close to him, and proceeds to continue down the tunnels, now knocking occassionally on the walls. Where is Gebiyl intending to go with Young? Why did Gebiyl refrain from using the word "spelunking?" What did Young steal from Gebiyl? Keep reading NeSquared, and maybe you'll just find out...

  18. #458
    After ooing and aahing at the mansion, the group walks up to the elevator inside the mansion.

    TLTE: So uhh, how far down does this elevator go?

    Mimiru: Well, this is just the basement. There's also the sub-basement.

    CM: Woh, wait. I never heard anything about any sort of sub-basement.

    Mimiru: That would be because I never told you.

    CM: But... theres not even a button for it.

    Mimiru: Well of course there isn't. One doesn't hide their cache of high-tech weapondry and vehicles and let anyone stride on in!

    CM: Why didn't you tell me?!

    Mimiru: Oh look, we're at the bottom. We have to switch elevators from here.

    CM: Wait a second, you didn't answer my question!

    Mimiru scurries off, CM close behind. TLTE and Ante turn and look at eachother for a moment, shake their heads, and follow.

    Mimiru approaches a small pedastal made of marble. She pulls out a few colored marbles, and places them in some notches on the pedestal. The pedestal rises, along with the floor, to reveal another elevator.

    TLTE: Quite an interesting security measure. I assume it only works with those marbles?

    Mimiru: Sure does. And if you put them in the wrong position, the elevator comes up, but drops you to the bottom... rather ungracefully... to go spelunking with the devil.

    Ante: That's ... uhh... pleasant. Someone remind me not to go spelunking about in Mimiru's mansion.

    TLTE: Remind... Ante... no... spelunking... mansion... got it!

    Ante looks at TLTE, irritated...

    TLTE: What?

    CM: Of course, this still begs the question of why she didn't let me, her boyfriend over over 3 years, NOT KNOW about such important things!

    Mimiru: Moving on, then!

    CM: Argh! Spelunk this! I give up!

    Suddenly, time freezes, and Bhac and Mayaal appear.

    Bhac: Now wait one got damn minute. I've dealt with lame cop outs, obviously strained lines, and other things to get the word used... but this is rediculous! It isn't even proper word usage! "Spelunk you!" Come on!

    Mayaal: I do not recall that being part of the agreement, Bhac. I merely stated that they must use spelunk once in a sentence, never that it had to be used CORRECTLY.

    Bhac: Well I demand that the rule be added, then!

    Mayaal: And have it work retroactively too, I assume?

    Bhac: That would be only fair, of course.

    Mayaal: I never thought I'd hear that word arise from your mouth, Bhac. Are you softening up on me?

    Bhac: Remind me again why I haven't stabbed you in the throat?

    Mayaal: Because it would be the equivalent of stabbing yourself in the throat?

    Bhac: Damn, your right. But you know, the satisfaction of watching you die is becoming more appealing by the day, Mayaal. No matter what the consequences may be.

    Mayaal: So you wish me to add a rule, retroactively, that would cause the hero side to lose. You expect me to agree to that?

    Bhac: I was hoping.

    Mayaal: PLEASE! Bhac, you give me too little credit, here.

    Bhac: Fine. But if this becomes any sillier, I will call off this game, Mayaal.

    Mayaal: Fair enough.

    Bhac and Mayaal vanish once again, and time unfreezes.

    Mimiru: "Spelunk This"? Are you sick? Come on, CM. Even I can come up with more creative stuff than that.

    The gang boards the elevator, and the elevator begins to lower.

    CM: Oh, so NOW you listen to me, just to pick me apart! Some friend you are!

    Mimiru: Wait, so now I'm just a "friend"?

    CM: Oh no, no, I meant...

    TLTE: Oh for Lenin's sake! Shut up already, before I spelunk you!

    Apparently afraid of a good spelunking, CM quiets down. The group finally arrives at the bottom floor, and the doors open, to reveal a sterile-white warehouse with numerous large gadgets and vehicles, ranging from the latest in rifle weaponry, to the most advanced cars, trucks, and army vehicles.

    TLTE: Is that... a ... a... XM8 LIGHT ASSAULT RIFLE, with all the modifications, including sniper, compact, and light machine gun configurations?

    Mimiru: Uhh... yeah...

    TLTE: And... and... that! Is that an M1 Abrams tank?

    Mimiru: That's actually the one scrapped for parts. There's two others behind it in decent condition.

    TLTE: Why didn't you tell ME you had all of this?! This is... amazing!

    TLTE runs over to the M1 Abrams (picking up an XM8 rifle along the way and stuffing it in his coat), jumps in, starts it up, and gets on the PA

    TLTE: We could take this! It's fast, maneuverable, and its easily powerful enough for any war-torn city!

    Mimiru: Except for the complete lack of decent gas milage, so we'll run out of gas before we get anywhere near London. Not to mention, I dunno how a tank would fare in the dreamstate either.

    CM: Yeah! And who is gonna drive the damn thing anyway?

    TLTE: Me, of course. The motherland had quite the tank armory back in her day.

    CM: Uhh, wasn't that in the Cold War?

    TLTE: Yes, and your point?

    CM: Okay, look. This is an Abrams. They have computers onboard. They're absolutely nothing like those pieces of crap you drove back in the 50's.

    TLTE: I'm not that old!!! You saying I am some old washed up geezer?

    CM: Well, no, but I like that better, so stick with it.

    TLTE: I am going to turn you into a crater, child! As soon as I can find the damn targeting button!

    Mimiru: Get out of the damn thing, okay? It may be from the 80's, but its got some serious strength behind it. Get out before you end up killing us all.

    TLTE: You shock me, my dear! How do you know so much about these things? You never let this on before.

    Mimiru: I'm well traveled, I guess.

    Ante: We need something that can just keep us safe as we go through town. We don't need a vehicle that can destroy what's left of London. And I don't think a tank is going to do much good in the dreamstate either.

    TLTE: True, I guess.

    TLTE sighs, and leaves the tank.

    CM: Woh, that looks pretty damn cool...

    CM points to an obviously expensive, but very secure looking vehicle

    Ante: Is that a Hummer?

    TLTE: No... it's got some sort of modification...

    Mimiru: Modified Hummer, complete with titanium plating all around, windows with bullet-proofing, special-grade runflat tires designed for mines, and a full-fleged TV/DVD/Audio system in the rear seats.

    CM: Holy mother of pearl!

    TLTE: I think we've found our vehicle.

    TLTE (To Ante): Why does Mimiru get all this awesome stuff? KGB never has this sort of collection!

    Ante: TLTE, when's the last time you even spoke with the KGB?

    TLTE: Well, not for a while now, they don't seem to respond...

    Ante: They closed down, TLTE. A long time ago.

    TLTE: Oh. Oh okay. Well, that's besides the point.

    Ante: Actually, how do we know this vehicle will work in the dreamstate anyway?

    TLTE: What do you mean?

    Ante: I mean, how are we supposed to get it into the dreamstate? You can't exactly put a hummer to sleep!

    Mimiru: You have a point. Rather, I am not sure how any of us will return to the dreamstate. I am not sure of the condition of the device.

    CM: Uhh, I can teleport us there...

    Ante: What? How?

    CM: I can teleport any place I can visualize. Obviously now that I have been inside, I can visualize it.

    TLTE: But wait, if you could teleport in, doesn't that mean you could have teleported us all out of the dreamstate also?

    CM: Uhh... well... uhh... I didn't... I mean, I couldn't... err...

    Mimiru: What he means to say is he's a complete freakin' moron and forgot about it.

    TLTE: Oh, so now I have multiple reasons to kill you?

    CM: Yikes! I'm sorry! I tried once, I just wasn't powerful enough, I guess!

    TLTE: What if I shoved a few car batteries down your throat, would that have helped?

    CM: I think that'd just kill me.

    TLTE: Hmm, not the result I'd like, but I'll take it!

    Ante: Anyway, are we ready to go into the dreamstate?

    TLTE: As long as we have Mr. I-forgot-I-can-teleport to get us out, I don't see any problems.

    CM: *sigh* Everyone grab my hand, and someone touch that car.

    They do so, and CM concentrates on the lunacy that is the dreamstate. A second later, they appear inside the dreamstate

    Ante: I did never get a decent answer before... What exactly makes this car worthwhile... here?

    Mimiru: Oh, it's simple! The hummer is such an outrageous and crazy car in the first place, that there's absolutely nothing the dreamstate could do to it to make it any crazier!

    CM: That's enough logic for me, let's go!

    Ante: I suddenly feel naucious.

    TLTE: Aye, Ante.

    How much spelunkage per mile does that Hummer get? Will it get them to London and Arkng Thand? What of the other heroes? Stay tooned!
    Last edited by Cool Matty; 09-29-2005 at 07:28 AM.

  19. #459


    Cool Matty: Quite clearly, I'm driving.

    TLTE: Go spelunk yourself! I'm driving!

    CM: You? What are you, 50? You're too old to operate this equipment...

    TLTE: One - I'm 39. Two...

    He whips out a tiny spy notebook, and clicks on a shortcut to a familiar webpage..

    TLTE: ...your character bio says you're 17 years old.

    CM: 17 and a half!

    TLTE: I feel like I speak for the entire group when I say: get in the back of the Hummer and I'll give you a lollypop.

    CM: Ahh, go take a long spelunk in a small cave...

    He looks disdainfully at some modern weaponry, then leaps in the back.

    TLTE: Right. Mimiru, get in the Hummer.

    Mimiru: What? You're the man, so you get to drive?

    TLTE: What? No- Huh?

    Mimiru: You think I can't navigate us to Arkng Thand's tower because I'm a woman, don't you?

    TLTE: Mimiru, I would never-

    Mimiru: You're just as bad as CM, you know!

    CM leans out the side of the Hummer.

    CM: Please don't lump me together with grandpa over here. He's nearly dead anyway.

    TLTE: Get back in the Hummer, or I'll make you wear it as a hat.

    CM sneers at him, then complies.

    TLTE: Ante, help me out here...I'm not a sexist, am I?

    Ante, who has been reclining against the Hummer and watching the swirling mists of the dreamstate that haze all around them, leans forward with a small smile.

    Ante: Of course you are.

    TLTE: Thank you for - what?

    Ante: You're a product of another era, and you carry all its burdens and prejudices.

    TLTE: Such as what?

    Ante: How about unbridled evil? Does that grab you with any force?

    TLTE: Look, we've been through this. You can all trust me now!

    Ante: Why?

    TLTE: Because I decided to be good. I'm a hero!

    Ante: But you're an evil character at heart. Every good deed you do is a conscious rebellion against your heart of hearts.

    Mimiru: Used to be evil, huh? Spelunking men!

    She leaps into the Hummer and folds her arms, lower lip pouting furiously. CM finds the expression absurdly endearing and leans forward to make out with her. Mimiru resists at first, but eventually goes with it. Outside the Hummer, TLTE folds his arms and looks intently at Ante, who still regards him with that unreadable grin.

    TLTE: You don't really think I'm still evil, do you?

    Ante: You might do great things with the NeSheroes, TLTE. You might even believe in these things you do, to a point. But all of the good things you do hinge on her.

    TLTE: Losien, you mean?

    Ante: She's all your fragile heroism rests on. If anything were to happen to her - and WriterGod forbid it ever does - you're as likely to become our greatest enemy again as you are to stand with us. Me? I'm trying to save the world for the point of saving the world, and nothing else.

    TLTE: You? You're the most laid-back, absentee example of a hero I've ever met!

    Ante: Oh, I'm not saying I object to your reasons. Come on: a monosyllabic Viking, a waiter, a drunk...these are our peers? Screwed up as we are, questionable motives and apathy are nothing compared to our comrades' vices.

    He turns, looking out on the void of the dreamstate.

    Ante: At the end of all things...when we have spelunked through all of the caverns and scaled all of the mountains that the NeS has to offer...we'll either die or we'll keep fighting. And with those possible endings, who cares about the qualifications of an NeShero?

    TLTE: You're a very cynical human being, tovarish.

    Ante turns back and grins at TLTE. It's a quiet, placid grin - but it speaks of untold wisdom.

    Ante: The things Arkng Thand showed me changed me, I have no doubt of that. I suppose you could say he opened up the basement of the universe and let me poke around in its garbage. It's an ugly thing, existence.

    Voice: But it can be a beautiful thing as well.

    They both spin. Arkng Thand is standing in front of the hummer, dressed in a dark blue wool suit and lighting his signature pipe. Cobalt smoke rises lazily from the pipe, as the light from his match illuminates the side of his aged features.

    Arkng Thand: Or have you forgotten already, Antestarr?

    TLTE briefly glances at Ante, who suddenly looks so much like the young, bewildered Ante on the videotape he carries with him that it's extremely unnerving. When he speaks, though, his voice is controlled.

    Ante: Mast - Professor Thand. It's been a long time.

    Arkng Thand: Yes, it has. You've made a name for yourself, my former pupil. I've been watching your headlines with interest...

    CM emerges from the Hummer, covered in lipstick, trying absurdly to act dignified.

    CM: Professor Thand, it's a pleasure to-

    Thand laughs at him, an old man's contented chuckle.

    Thand: You may resume your tryst in the vehicle, young man. We will speak later.

    CM looks surprised, but relieved.

    CM: Right.

    He jumps back in. TLTE rolls his eyes, but secretly feels envious, and wonders how Losien is faring.

    TLTE: How did you know we were coming, Professor?

    Arkng Thand: Please, TLTE. I'm in the middle of writing a unified text that documents every significant happening in the history of the NeS. I can understand your comparatively simple motives.

    He raises one of his hands from his cane, and suddenly the magnificent tower of Deitopos looms behind him.

    TLTE: Neato trick.

    Arkng Thand: I feel...compelled to...

    He grimaces as if he has tasted something foul.

    Arkng Thand: "Spelunk."

    TLTE: Oh yeah, that word has been quite popular lately.

    Arkng Thand: We are all just pawns in the WriterGod's game of chess, aren't we...

    He speaks comically in tone, but his features twist briefly, making Thand seem both enraged and extraordinarily ugly. Then the expression is gone, and he is a patient (if slightly weary) scholar again.

    Ante: We need help. Some strange happenings are occurring in the NeS, and we could use a fresh perspective on matters.

    Arkng Thand: Oh, I already know what you have to do next. Come inside and I'll explain what has been happening.

    He turns around, walking back into his tower. Ante follows behind him, from a familiar distance. TLTE walks over and raps on the side of the Hummer.

    TLTE: We're going inside, mageling!

    CM: (Muffled) Ten minutes!

    TLTE: Now, mageling!!!

    There is no response. TLTE snorts and walks inside.

    TLTE: rabbits...

  20. #460
    Geb: Ow... my butt... what a strange sleep I had...

    Gebohq rubs his eyes, but when he opens them, he still sees black.

    Geb: Weird, my hand feels strange. Maybe I slept on it wrong. No, wait... that wasn't a dream -- I was in the dreamstate. Thand... weird guys... oh crap! I'm in evil me's body! Where am I?

    As he says the last sentence, Geb tries to sit up, but half-way up his head hits something. What seems to be a very small ceiling gives way, and a crack of light shines on one side. It immediately falls back down though, hitting Geb's head again and leaving him in the dark.

    Geb: OW! What the heck?

    He then pushes the very small ceiling with the strange-feeling hand, and it lifts and falls to his side, leaving his top half exposed to the outside. Geb noticed that he has been dressed in a simple black outfit -- not quite formal, and not quite a war-ready uniform, but something similar to both. He also notices that he's been inside a coffin. There was something about it that Geb couldn't quite place about it though -- the coffin appeared more ritualistic, or did it look more like a stasis chamber? It has elements of both a strong past and future, as far as Geb could tell. Gebohq looks around him, and that's when he notices there's someone else there.

    The someone else is a small but physically-fit man, wearing a loin cloth and blue body paint. The man is also shaking in his boots, or would be if he were wearing any. Geb looks around and sees that he and this man are in a cavernous room, lit only by a ring of torches, with one entrance behind the man, which appears to go outside. He couldn't be certain, but Geb thinks he can hear jungle noises from outside. Geb looks at the man again.

    Geb: Could you tell me where I am? Have I been spelunking while drunk?

    Man: The Geb has spoken to me with a holy verse of spelunking!

    The man immediately prostrates himself towards Gebohq.

    Geb: Uh... what are you doing?

    Man: I... I am unworthy to stand before you, Lord Geb. Please take pity on me.

    Geb: Lord? This doesn't seem right...

    Man: Of course! Forgive me, my Lord! I will gather the village at once so that we may offer the human sacrifice for you to feast on.

    Geb: What?

    The man rushes out.

    Geb: WAIT! I DON'T LIKE EATING PEOPLE! ...ah damnit.

    Geb then looks at his hand that felt strangely numb and sees that it is gloved. He removes it to see that it is mechanical, and screams.
    Last edited by Gebohq; 09-29-2005 at 03:53 PM.

  21. #461
    Meanwhile, Shattered Geb (I, the Narrator, have decided to call Gebiyl this for now as he once came from the NeShattered thread and may remind our readers that his current Gebohq body is hardly different from his own, and his mind is likely more broken thanks to the EeP inside him) and Young climb out of the plot tunnels and into snow-bound Siberia. Patches of trees dot the landscape, and not too far from their spot, the two of them can see a bunker site that looks absolutely nothing like the Severnaya site from the James Bond movie "Goldeneye." It's certain that none of the writers for the NeS have broken imaginations.

    Geb the writer: I don't like your tone, Mr. Narrator.

    Too bad. In any case, Shattered Geb and Young hike over to the bunker entrance. Or rather, Young tries to walk through the snow, shaking cold, while S. Geb pushes he forward.

    Young: It's too cold! I'd rather be back with the spelunking.

    S. Geb: The faster you move, the sooner you'll be warm again. Move!

    After a few minutes of trudging through the snow, they reach the bunker entrance, where a survelliance camera is mounted above the door. They are greeted by a soldier with an AK-47.

    Soldier: Почему Вы здесь, более странны?

    S. Geb: Я - друг Последнего Истинного Зла, и она моя. Мы прибыли от пещер немного к западу от сюда.

    Soldier: Ahhh... "spelunking" yes?. We will tend to you, comrade. We will even speak English. I can tell you don't speak Russian very good.

    The soldier holds a walkie-talkie of some sort now, though he is still pointing his rifle at S. Geb and Young, unlike certain other Speilburg movies involving alien visitors.

    Soldier: Есть американский человек(мужчина) и синяя девочка волос здесь. Они утверждают, что они - друзья Последнего Истинного Зла.

    Voice from walkie-talkie (or Soldier #2): Впустите их. Это могло быть интересным ....

    Soldier: Да, друг. Человек(мужчина) может говорить по-русски, но он забивает наш язык.

    Voice from walkie-talkie (Soldier #2): Мы будем держать это в памяти.

    The door to the bunker opens by itself, and another soldier comes out. The new one pats them both down, then heads back inside. The former motions with his rifle for S. Geb and Young to follow, and they do so. The soldier who patted them down leads S. Geb and Young down a long flight of steps, which ends in a small room bare of anything except another door with another survelliance camera above it on the opposite side, and open closet spaces on either end, lined mostly with heavy coats.

    Soldier #2: You two, stay here. Someone will be with you shortly. Crazy spelunkers...

    The soldier then exits through the door, but all S. Geb and Young can make out before the door closes is a bare hallway that runs to the left and right of the door. S. Geb remains patient, while Young looks at the surveillance camera, then back up the stairwell, then at S. Geb.

    Young: Why are we here?

    S. Geb: You will find out soon enough. Stay quiet, or your life will be forfeit.

    An uncomfortable silence falls. Moments later, an officer enters. He looks similar to TLTE, if TLTE were to be clean-shaven and wearing an officer's uniform.

    Officer: Greetings. I am Lieutenant Colonel Romanov. They tell me you two were "spelunking", as some call it... You say you are a friend of The Last True Evil, yes?

    S. Geb: Yes. I am Gebohq, and she is called Young.

    Romanov: I see. I have heard of you before, Gebohq. You run around the world with some friends. They call you heroes. I think they are wrong. You are likely aware that TLTE is not unique, yes?

    S. Geb: Yes. The one I know could command the others with his force of personality alone.

    Romanov: Ah... I know the one you speak of. Number one-oh-five. Even the "original" TLTE did not have the chemistry with the clones that 105 did. He was a more real TLTE, more dedicated to his country than any of us could have hoped. Now he is a real hero.

    S. Geb: Yes he is.

    Romanov: Which makes it all the more strange that we have not heard from him or any of the others for some time now. Perhaps you killed him, yes?

    S. Geb: I could never do that. We're on the same side now, after all. If you can't beat them, join them, yes?

    Romanov: Ahhahaha... yes, yes. He is doing well then?

    S. Geb: Very well. He has taken a liking to my sister, and the two were out on a date when I left for here.

    Romanov: That old dog... he's quite the Romantic. So then, what brings you here to our neck of the woods?

    S. Geb: Well, in our journeys, the two of us came across this girl here. Now she may look human, but I assure you she is not like you or I. And though she may not look it, she is very dangerous, and her resourcefulness matches that of TLTE himself. To be honest though, that is all we know. She is quite a mystery. TLTE suggested that I bring her here. He said this site had the proper equipment.

    Romanov: We have some of the finest in the country! This site was key in his cloning project.

    Young: He's not who he says he is! Don't trust him!

    S. Geb shoots Young an angry glare.

    Romanov: The little lady speaks? How cute. Still, she has a point. You'll have to undergo some screening before I can proceed. You understand, yes?

    S. Geb: ... of course.

    Romanov: Then follow me, if you will.

    S. Geb and Young follow Lt. Col. Romanov through the door.

    S. Geb: Shplunkin' rushin...*mutters*


    Mayaal: Did he say "spelunk?"

    Bhac: Yes?

    Mayaal: ... we'll leave that as an "if" point. I think we're going to have trouble with him...
    Last edited by Gebohq; 09-29-2005 at 05:47 PM.

  22. #462
    The gang walks through the entryway, following Thand. As usual, everyone gawks at the amazing architecture.

    Mimiru: You know, I'll never get used to this place...

    Ante: No one ever does, I suspect.

    Ante, TLTE, and Thand continue walking, while Mimiru and CM linger, still taking in the beauty.

    TLTE: CM! Mimiru! Let's go! Do I need to have you kids hold my hand? You'll get lost in this place!

    CM: Actually, TLTE... I...

    Thand: TLTE, Ante, actually, they can wait here for a moment, and make themselves comfortable. I have plenty to discuss with you two at the moment.

    TLTE: I...oh.. alright then. You kids be good, you hear? If I hear any troublemaking going on, I'll beat you over with my belt so hard, Stalin will be wincing! You'll have to spelunk back to your body, your soul will be THAT lost.

    CM: Oh no, not Stalin! Please, TLTE. We aren't babies, and you are CERTAINLY not our father! So get going!

    Mimiru: Right! And if you even DARE touch me with your belt, I'll have my blade down your throat so fast you'll think you were splitting from the inside out!

    TLTE blinks. Stunned, he turns around quietly, not quite sure what to say, seeing as how Mimiru is not the type to explode like that.

    Ante: Charming children you have there, TLTE. Straight from the spelunking zoo.

    TLTE: Shut up.

    The two walk through a door Thand courteously holds open for them. As the two pass through, Thand looks back at CM and nods, knowingly. He then follows suit, and closes the door.

    Mimiru: Well, the nerve!

    CM: Please, Mimiru, stop spelunkin' pouting!

    Mimiru: Hah! Why should I? I have every right to be...

    Mimiru suddenly notices that CM is kneeling on the floor before her. No... even more specific... on ONE knee. At first, the gesture does not register in her mind. But then he begins to speak...

    CM: Mimiru, will you...

    Mimiru: you little spelunker....

    The moment finally registers, and she understands... and she begins to cry.

    CM: Will you marry me?

    Mimiru, now bawling, covers her mouth, in shock. She continues to cry for a moment, as CM pulls out the ring, and slips it onto her other hand.

    Mimiru: Matt... I mean... Tsukasa... I... OF COURSE I'LL MARRY YOU!!!

    Not milliseconds after CM gets the ring on, she grabs him and hugs him deeply.

    CM: I love you, Mimiru...

    Mimiru: I love you too...

    In the other room, as Thand sits down with TLTE and Ante, Thand notices the answer.

    Thand (to himself): Ah good, she accepted. But that word... spelunk... ugh... it bothers me...

    Thand: So where did we leave off, Ante?

    OMG Mimiru is getting married to CM? This'll be spelunkin interestin!
    Last edited by Cool Matty; 09-29-2005 at 05:50 PM.

  23. #463
    Meanwhile (NeS count: a^2 + b^2), a number of the former NeS heroes continue to get wasted in a ill-lit, seedy tavern not too far away from the Haunted House of Heroes. Or maybe the tavern is, in fact, really far away, but we'll likely never know. See, the woods that surround the HHoH seem to have that magical property (that so many forests of fantasy realms, and plot tunnels, have) that allow travellers (like the former NeS heroes) to reach nearly any destination as if it were next door. As it was in the tavern, however, the only place travellers are likely to go is to the bathroom after having a few too many drinks. The Otter, therefore, is in the bathroom, having missed out on Ford's speech.

    As the Otter releives himself, a dark figure looms behind him. The figure stands at least seven feet tall, dressed in dark blue/black robes, a hood covering its face in a darkness deeper than the mysteries of the Abyss. A pale, skeletal hand reaches out and taps the Otter on his shoulder.

    Otter: Whut dew want-- BLOODY SPELUNKING HELL! Itsh yew again! Mort-and-her? Mirth-randier...?

    Figure: Morthrandur. "Spelunking hell?"

    Otter: You nearly made me piss me pants, you did!

    Morthrandur tilts his head to look at the urinal, then back at the Otter.

    Otter: ...well, I mean uh... whut da bloody hell do y'want?

    Morthrandur: To inform you that I must attend to other matters. You have a great ancestory, but you have been stagnant yourself. You must put your perception to the test. I wish I could test you myself, but as I said, I must leave you--

    Otter: Good! Leave a man with some peash already...

    Morthrandur: Doubt your future. Remember that.

    With that, the sepulchral phantom Morthrandur dissapates into the air. The Otter zips his pants up and heads for the sink, washing his hands and face. He looks into the mirror, thinning his eyes, as if the answers to his thoughts could be found if he just looked hard enough.

    Otter: ...I haven't had nearly enough to drink yet.

    The Otter heads out of the bathroom.

  24. #464
    In the Writer's World

    *Gettleburger The Writer (GBTW, so as not to be confused with Geb the Writer) attempts to push through the crowds to the front door of the NeS building, where he is stopped by the trusty NeS Gaurd, Dan*

    Dan: I'm sorry sir, you need to be a writer to get in.

    GBTW: But I am a writer!

    Dan: *squints*I've never seen you here before in my life!

    GBTW: Look, here's my writer's pass!

    Dan: Sir... this pass expired 3 years ago. You're going to need to fill out these forms to renew it.

    GBTW: Can't I just call Geb's cell phone?

    Geb's cell phone is lying on the pavement approximately 15ft away because the evil evil phone man caused him to throw it out the window.

    GBTW: What about the building's phone number?

    Dan: Oh, we missed last month's phone bill. Also, we don't have internet, a mailbox, or a telegraph system. Last month's budget was spent on the electric bill, doughnuts, coffee, sporks, and a stripper named Bertha.

    GBTW: ... Why don't you just go up and tell him I'm here?

    Dan: *picks up a can with a string through it and mumbles something into it, then turns back to Gettle* He'll be down in a moment.

    *An hour later*

    GBTW: I said, that was no woman, that was my wife! HA HA HA!
    Dan: HA HA HA!

    *One more hour later*

    Dan: So then he says, that was no banana, that was my--

    *One hour later*

    Dan: And then she went and opened the box with the fruit cupcakes! It was hilarious!
    GBTW: HA HA- -
    *at this very moment the door bursts open to reveal Geb standing there*

    *Gebohq the Writer, looking nonplussed, just then notices Gettle*

    Geb: Oh, it's just you. Do you have any spare cash?

    Gettle: Yea, just a few dollars... I will get paid for this, right?

    Geb: *snatches the money out of his hands with a Frodo-like eagerness("My precious!") Sure.

    Gettle: Great! When do I start?

    Geb: As soon as you find somewhere to settle in.

    Gettle: Uh, wait, what happened to my office?

    Geb: Erm..we had to make room for the panic room.

    Gettle: *crestfallen* You mean... for the crowds?

    Geb: No, for Krig the Writer. He gets into fits sometimes, you know how it is. Nasty cravings for Nutty Butters and Fanta.

    Gettle: Uh-huh...

    *They enter the building, leaving the angry mobs and Dan alone to face them*

    Geb: There's a spot right there!

    Gettle: That's a bathroom.

    *Geb shimmies out of the room*

    Gettle: *sigh*

    *Gettle sets up his typewriter on top of the toilet seat and begins typing*


    In NeSquared

    *In that magical tavern, a mysterious figure in lots of what can only be described as complex gear throws open the door and marches up to a rather nervous looking man at the bar*

    Mysterious Figure: I'm here for the spelunking!

    Otter: You do realize that when we say 'spelunking' we don't mean going into caves and exploring, right?

    Mysterious Figure: Uhh...

    Otter: It's actually an acronym for f--

    Mysterious Figure: Oh... OH. *comprehension dawns*

    Otter: No worries, it's a common mistake. Say, have we gotten drunk, smoked, partied, done illegal acts, or went mailbox bashing together before? You look familiar.

    Mysterious Figure: Yea, it's me, Gettle! You know..the guy with the bingy machine?

    Otter: OMQ! Gettles! *jumps on him*

    What a quaint reunion. Does Otter's destiny involve Gettle? Does Otter's destiny actually involve anything except drinking? Find out next time, when he's actually sober!

    (NSP: Hi I'm back, at least for now)
    A dream is beautiful because it remains a dream.

  25. #465
    (stupid NES radio got me all excited again... )

    In the Writer's World:

    Sarn - Uhh... What am I doing in here? *looks up and sees an angry mob surrounding a large building* That Building! It looks.. familiar somehow.

    Sarn pushes his way through the crowd. At the main gate a man sits telling jokes with a guard. The guard's name tag says "Dan." Just then Sarn's old friend Geb appears at the gate. Geb and the other man disappear into the building. Sarn approaches the guard.

    Dan - Can I help you wit something?

    Sarn - Uhh, yeah. I just saw my old friend Geb go into that building. Can I talk to him?

    Dan - Whaddya want from him?

    Sarn - Well.. I'm not really sure, actually. The last time I saw him, my character was about to open this weird box... And then everything was dark... And I've been in this hospital in Sweeden. I don't remember what happened before that.. or after really. Just laying around in that hospital bed. But I know I've been here before.

    Dan - Well you can't just waltz in and expect to see Geb. He's a very busy man you know. Now bugger off.

    Sarn - But... but...

    Dan - Now!

    Sarn quickly "buggers off."

    Sarn - What a rude guard... No matter. I have to get into that building.

    Sarn sneaks around the side of the building. When no one is looking, he quickly hops over the electric fence. Luckily, as no one has paid the electric bill, the fence leaves him unharmed. Sarn, grinning smugly to himself, sneaks inside through a back door.

    Meanwhile, Gettleburger is sitting on the floor of his new office, typing away at his typewriter. Sarn bursts into the room.

    GBTW - All Right. Who are you then?

    Sarn - You look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?

    GBTW - I don't know.. But I asked you first.

    Sarn - I'm Sarn_Cadrill, hero extrordanaire. *Sarn twirls his cape.

    GBTW - Uhh. This is the Writer's World. We're all fat, lazy, ugly writers. There's no heroes here. And you don't even have a cape to swirl.

    Sarn - Oh.. Right. Sorry. It's been hard for me to keep track since my mysterious accident. I'm Sarn_Cadrill the Writer.

    GBTW - Oh, you're a writer then? Top notch. You'd better go see Geb.

    Sarn - I'm looking for him. Do you know where he is?

    GBTW - No idea. But good luck. And if you see him, tell him to get down here... I've want to show him what I've been writing.

    Sarn - Right then. Prepare for Atomic Blastoff. Secure all securables.

    GBTW - What?

    Sarn - Hmm? Did you say something?

    GBTW - uhh... Are you sure you're ok?

    Sarn - Of course I'm ok. I am, after all... A HERO.

    Sarn wanders off muttering something about fireteams.

    GBTW - *muttering* They'll let just about anyone in here these days...

    Meanwhile, by pure chance, Sarn happens to bump into Geb in the hallway, literally.

    Sarn - Watch where you're going, you insolent ensign.

    Geb - wha? Who are... Sarn? Woah! Where have you been?

    Sarn - That's Sran. And Captain Cadpill to you.

    Geb gives Sarn a strange look
    Geb - Uhh.. That's the wrong story. And you're not a character. You're a writer?

    Sarn - What is this nonsense about? I'm Captain Cadpill. Where is my crew. We must be getting underway immediately.

    Geb - What's wrong with you Sarn? I think you need medical attention.

    Sarn - *demeanor changes* I don't need medical attention. I'm a Hero. I rescue people.

    Geb - I think you're getting your stories mixed up Sarn. Besides. We're all fat, lazy, ugly writers here. We don't do anything but sit on our butts at our computers or typewriters all day, because if we tried to do anything athletic we'd run out of breath.

    Sarn - You evil creature. You cannot trick me. I am a Hero. We Heroes are very gullible.

    Geb - Don't you mean "not gullible?

    Sarn - What? ... Geb! I haven't seen you in some time! How did I end up in a Sweedish hospital?!

    Geb - *looking rather confused* Uhh. You had a heart attack. We were writing in your character's death and you just couldn't take it. We took you to a local hospital, and then you were transferred out without any warning. We had no idea what happened. But... are you ok?

    Sarn - If I decide I need medical attention, I'll speak with the ship's medical officer, Missus Jupiton, not some lowly ensign.


    Sarn - Uhh... Right. Why are you bringing that up, Geb? That story hasn't been popular for a long time. Anyway, I've got a transcript for NeS I thought you might like to see. It's a clever way to write me back into the story. I don't know where I came up with the idea. I'm some kind of genious. But basically, after the explosion, the Hero Sarn_Cadrill ended up in the hospital with amnesia... And somehow, he developed some strange sort of Multiple Personality Disorder. And then, somehow he manages to show up again, and is accepted back into the gang of Heroes. Any plot holes can be explained away by the amnesia. I tell you, I'm a genious.

    Geb - Let me see that. *Geb snatches away the transcript and begins to read*


    In NeSquared

    The door to the tavern suddenly bursts open. Lightning strikes near by with a deafening roar, illuminating a tall, muscular man standing confidentaly in the doorway. He saunters into the room, and glances left and right, sizing the place up.

    Otter - He must be a villain! Did you see that lightning?! *Otter draws a sword*

    Tall, muscular man - No, no... I'm a Hero. My name is Sarn_Cadrill. Sorry about the lightning there... Just an unfortunate coincidence.

    Otter - I don't believe you.

    Sarn - I swear it by my honor as a Hero. Ask Geb if you don't believe me.

    Otter - Where is he?

    Sarn - I have no idea. I'm too lazy to read back and find out. Let's just write him into this tavern.

    Otter - Well that could wreak havoc on the story... But then, he might be in here anyway. Why not.

    Sarn and Otter walk over to the bar, where Geb sits staring moodily at his drink.

    Otter - Geb?

    *Geb drains his glass and turns to the pair*

    Geb - What?

    Otter - This guy says he knows you.

    Sarn - Geb! It's me. Sarn!

    Geb - Sarn! Where have you been? What's happened to you? How'd you get back here???

    Sarn - Amnesia.

    *Geb smiles knowingly

    Geb - Amnesia! Brilliant!

    Sarn - Aye.

    Sarn sits down at the bar and orders a drink. He and Geb catch up on old times, as the evening wanes.
    Last edited by Sarn_Cadrill; 10-16-2005 at 05:33 PM.
    If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.

    Lassev: I guess there was something captivating in savagery, because I liked it.

  26. #466


    *The Grandoise Singles Cruise of 1337, upon which a mere two passengers were aboard, suddenly rocked in a most violent and un-righteous manner. Mayaal looked over from his lounge chair, upon which he was watching a copy of Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure (which was most assuredly a legally aquired piece of video and not downloaded through the magic of the internet) on his portable video device, to see Bhac cackling triumphantly and leaving nasty melty bloody traces all over the shuffleboard area.*

    Bhac: See, Mayaal, those foolish writers slipped up and left out your silly "spelunking" in a post which exclusively dealt with the heroes within that seedy English pub! It's obvious who the winner of the bet is.

    Mayaal: Now hold on just a moment... Firstly, I believe that the writer, Sarn_Cadrill, did not read back quite far enough to notice our odd wager. Second, he managed to write in Gebohq magically teleporting to the pub, yet we know that "Gebohq" as it were is currently inhabited by S. Gebohq, who subsequently falls under the "villain" category. And finally, I can't say whether the character of Sarn is mentally capable of fulfilling the duties of a hero.

    Bhac: Doesn't matter. Sarn declared himself a hero, so he falls into their ranks. And it's Gebohq's body, so technically anything spoken by the body is spoken by a hero. Finally, it shouldn't matter who wrote the section, as the wager covered all writers, past through future. And don't be trying any of your "oh, so we should call it a tie" stuff. I won, fair and square. It's time for a villain slanted story arc.

    Mayaal: Very well... I shall concede. For now, let us see how these things shall unfold... once they fix the phone booth time machine...

    Bhac: ...Are you even paying attention to the story?


    *Russian bunkers always seem so drab. Young took note of the lack of pictures on the walls, as well as the very neutral colors of paint used. She also took a moment to notice her abductor seemingly vanish into a puff of black as though sucked through a void of nonsense. Lt. Col. Romanov, however, seemed rather distraught at the sudden disappearance of his newfound "ally".*

    Romanov: That little... he's a fast one. Young lady, where did that filthy capitalist spy disappear to?!

    Young: Oh, I dunno. I think he had to go to the bathroom. Or maybe get a stiff drink.

    Romanov: Do not take that flippant tone with me. In Soviet Russia, tone flips you!

    Escort 1 (to Escort 2): Did that even make sense?

    Escort 2 (to Escort 1): Shush, do not make the Lt. Col. pull out the "prodding rod".

    Romanov: I feel that since your friend seems to have disappeared, we should have a little chat.

    Young: But I was told not to chat with strangers.

    Romanov: We have ways of making you talk.

    *Romanov produced a slender metallic rod from his waist and clicked a button, causing a slight blue tint at the tip.*

    Romanov: My friend here has proven to be quite persuasive in the past.

    Young: Actually, I think I'd rather chat over some tea.

    Romanov: Why you... that is an absolutely...

    *Romanov stopped for a moment, as though he lost his train of thought, then put down his rod and continued.*

    Romanov (sincerely): fabulous idea. Please, follow me to the Officers' Lounge... Nameless Escorts, you are dismissed.


    *Just outside a pub where a grand ruckus of freedom is ensuing, Gebohq (or at least his body) and Sarn_Cadrill walked with arms around each others shoulders. A confused Otter follwed behind, trying very hard to figure out why it was so hard to put one foot in front of the other.*

    (S.) Geb: You know, Sarn... it's been a while... and I know you've got amnesia and all... so you may have forgotten how we do things.

    Sarn: Bah, it can't be that hard to pick back up. It seems to usually involve alcohol.

    (S.) Geb: And right you are. However, we must go on a covert mission to help fund the aquisition of said alcohol.

    Sarn: Obviously a mission of great importance.

    (S.) Geb: Indeed. Now, I have to keep a low profile through this mission, so, I'm gonna duck into this alley back behind the pub. Meanwhile, I need you to go across the street to that bank and explain to them that they should give you all the money in the vault or else the bank will explode. It should work great.

    Sarn: Ah, excellent plan. Then I return to you when I'm done?

    (S.) Geb: Right...

    Otter: Hey... eisher of you pretty ladiesh know wherez a guy can find hish car keysh?


    *Helebon sat at what appeared to be a radio news desk, wearing a pair of headphones and staring at a small microphone in front of him. The room appeared to be nearly pitch black, with the occasional light pass through, like a pair of headlights running past a window.*

    Helebon (as though trying to hypnotize someone): You will listen to what I saaaaaay.... you will go insiiiide and start kiiiiiling people... woooooo!

    Booming Voice: Idiots... all of them.

    Helebon (looking up from the microphone): What the... Who said that?!

    Voice: Every single entity that's ended up in here with me has been a complete and utter nincompoop. I mean, honestly, evil seems so... dumb these days.

    Helebon: I hear you making fun of me! Do you know who I am?! I'm the ruler of the underworld, usurper of the throne of the dark lord himself!

    Voice: Yes, yes... you managed to take power from someone who wasn't even there and then somehow managed to scrape by while keeping it from Jim. I saw it all years ago.

    Helebon: What nonsense are you talking about? And how dare you talk down to me?!

    Voice: FOOL! I am the darkside. But not the Darkside as you know it. I have 1000 years more experience, 1000 years more wickedness, 1000 years more pain and suffering... What you call your realm would fall apart without me, for I am the drive that causes people to be lead to you, yet I still reap what they sow. Even your own machinations have empowered me.

    Helebon: So, I guess I should be impressed or something. But what authority do you have to ridicule me?

    Darkside3k: I govern this space in which you now reside. I have come to understand and manipulate it. I spared your psyche thinking perhaps you could work under me to find a way to be free. But it seems you just want to play futile games.

    Helebon: Hey, I'm trying to control the loser who's holding us!

    Darkside3k: You cannot sway the mind of one who already walks our path. You can only hope to help guide it through its feelings. Yet this one is stronger than the last... he already resists another strong power, so his defenses are great.

    Helebon: Alright... suppose I do help you, since you seem to have some idea of what you're doing. What's in it for me.

    Darkside3k: I can help to restore you to your former seat, watching over those souls who have finished their service to me.

    Helebon: Well, I don't like how you phrase it, but I think we can work something out...


    *Ares sped down a highway in the American desert in his viper. Despite rocking out to some Motley Crue, he couldn't help but notice a bizarre hitchhiker in the road. Not your standard psycho, to say the least. Ares stopped to greet his old acquaintance.*

    Ares: So, fat one, what brings you to this lonely stretch of road.

    Hitchhiker: Out of pizza. And catnip. And a few other things.

    Ares: Well, I was just on my way for some slurpees and a hot-dog myself. I suppose I can let you hitch a ride. Just don't leave any fur on the seat, Morris.

    *Morris, the everfat web-designing cat, climbed into Ares' viper and buckled up. Instinct welled up within him, telling him that this would be a rough ride. Or maybe that was just gas. Find out what happens next on our extra special, villain-centric storyarc: Ares and Morris Go To Seven-Eleven!!


    Bhac: What the...?! What kind of foolishness is this?!

    Mayaal: You simply stated that if you won our wager, we'd have a story arc slanted toward the villains. You never stated that you wanted an epic victory over the heroes with crushing defeats and non-stop drama.

    Bhac: You really know how to pee in someone's cheerios, you know that?
    Pereant qui ante nos nostra dixerunt.

  27. #467
    "Ahhh! Get it off my foot!"
    Meanwhile, in a bright, sanitary and lonely cell an inmate sits in the corner, staring blankly at a clock securely bolted to the wall out of reach. He sits, counting every click the second hand makes as it eclipses the minute hand once again. When you take up residence in the Blackfield Asylum, there's not not much else to do. The inmate doesn't say a word, as he pulls out a black crayon from his palm and decorates the covered wall with one more tally mark. They cover the entire wall, as high as his arm can reach, resembeling a dark field of dead grass, untouched by the winds. One for each time the second hand completes its journey only to start again. every waking minute he counts. As he watches the clock, the second hand stops moving. He watches for an hour. Finally, he dares to think.

    "Yes, I guess the battery is dead. Now what?"

    He looks around the stark nothing that surrounds him. A bed, A solid metal door, and a tray of cold, untouched food. Tying everything together with a claustriphobic decore are the blank, white 9 foot high walls. He looks down at the crayon in his hand, and the vast expanse of blank space in front of his eyes.
    He stands to his awkward feet for the first time in 3 months and walks to the far wall. He places the crayon to the wall and begins to clumsily write words. They are faint and far, he has been used to hazy thoughts for so many years, pictures and unnamed feelings in his head. Words seem to be a new concept to him all over again. A way to let the thoughts out of his head, to step from the solitude of his mind and search for something other than the constant feed loop of thoughts that always run through his mind. Slowly, fumbling, he begins to weave words into a portal to a place out of his reach, a place far from this cell...


    In NeSquared:

    *Sarn walks across the street from the bank, a dissapointed and puzzled look on his face and nothing but lint and a bottle cap in his pockets. He sees Geb come from the dark alley zipping his pants up and approaches him.

    Geb: Well? what of our plan?

    Sarn: Nothing. I guess some nut tried the same thing about an hour ago.

    Geb: Bloody hell! Well, there has to be another way to procure funds.

    Sarn: Like what?

    Geb: Gimme a second...

    *Geb thinks for a minute. Sarn watches a cloud that looks suspiciously like Willy Nelson*

    Geb: I've got it! Sarn, do you have a bottle cap by any chance?

    *Sarn feels in his pockets*

    Sarn: Why yes I do! It's conveniently here in my pocket! Under My cape! Even though I drink my beer from cans!

    Geb: Where did that cape come from?

    Sarn: I couldn't say.

    Geb: Well never mind. Just let me see the bott--

    *Suddenly a plot hole opens in the sky. A mysterious character drops from the hole, mr.Bean fashion, directly between Sarn and Geb.*

    *The mysterious stranger stands to his feet. He is slightly short with an atheletic build, his hair is dark and close cut. His jeans are old and stained with machine oil. He wears a black carhartt jacket. He has a dark gotee and in his right hand is a large sledge hammer*

    Geb: Who the hell are you?

    Mysterious stranger: Who the hell are you ?

    Geb: I asked first.

    Mysterious stranger: I asked last.

    Geb: Fine. I'm Geb. I am a professional heavy weight drinker.

    Mysterious stranger: People call me Sok Munkey. I'm a machinist. I was working in the shop when a bloody hole formed in the floor and sucked me in.

    *Sok Munkey rubs his sore head and winces*

    Geb:. . .

    SokMunkeytheMachinist: I didn't even get my bloody lunch break. Now where the hell am I. . .

    *He jumps as he turns and sees Sarn standing behind him.*

    . . . and who is this tall, muscular man?

    Sarn: I am Sarn_Cadrill. I am a hero extraordinaire.

    *Sok Munkey eyes Sarn suspiciously.*

    SokMunkeytheMachinist: Nice Cape.

    Sarn: Thanks.

    Who is this new stranger? Is he villian, hero, or anti-hero? Why is he called Sok Munkey? Does he have something to hide? How did he come to NeSquared? How the freking heck does he tie in with anything?

    (Hey, Cool Matty invited me to write in the NeS, so I decided to give it a shot. I've never done this before, so sorry for any gaping plot holes. I'm learning)
    "I'm interested in the fact that the less secure a person is, the more likely it is for that person to have extreme prejudices." -Clint Eastwood

  28. #468

    yep, i feel the urge to generally muck things up

    ... ok, back to the story. First, though: Sok, i suggest you read a bit of NeS Workshop, especially the very first post, as is has a handy listing of all the characters and thier relative positions, but otehrwise you seem to be doing fine with that last post. Rather well, actually, at least your descriptive talents are top-notch (really liked that asylum, if you couldn't tell :-p). And no plot holes that i could see. Had you come in earlier you might have hit the spelunking thing, but that has concluded, so you're pretty much in the clear for doing whatever you feel like. [/ooc]

    On the 1337 cruise ship of 1337, Bhac was standing over the now mostly blood-soaked shuffleboard court and fuming at Mayaal, who was still lounging comfortably on his chair and looking quite pleased with himself.

    Bhac: Oh, you think this is great, don't you? Your little loop-holes, snaking me out of a perfectly legitimately won story-arc?

    Mayaal: Well, while i'd have to call you on the 'Legitimately' part, yes, i think i was quite clever.

    Bhac: Grr, you're going to regret this slight, Mayaal, I'll make sure of that. As for this 'Story-Arc', an insult to all story arcs i may add, i think I'll just have to mix it up a bit. You're not going to take this victory away from me.

    Mayaal: *sigh* You're going to make me get up from my chair, aren't you?

    Bhac: Oh, no, please, stay comfortable. I'll take care of everything myself.

    With that Bhac turned around, stalked to the edge of the boat, and did a perfect three flip dive over the edge and into the clouds.

    Mayaal: Actually, i was talking about having to get up to clean up all the blood on the deck.. ah, well.

    He snapped his finders once and a Kirby with a mop appeared by his side. Mayaal waved vaguely in the direction of the shuffleboard court and then sat back to continue watching Bill and Ted as the Kirby shuffled over and started to mop up the sticky blood puddle

    Janitor Kirby: Eck. Why do i always get summoned for the messy jobs?


    In The American Desert

    Morris and Ares blasted down the road, a huge Dust cloud trailing out behind them. They were engaged in cheerful conversation as they bore down upon an odd bloodstain on the road. It was probably from some roadkill or something. Probably.

    Morris: So, my friend, what have you been up to lately? its been quite a while.

    Ares: Well, i dunno about 'friend'.. ah, what the hell, its so long since we saw each other, might as well be friendly. I've been taking it easy lately, to tell you the truth, just sort of hanging back and watching events. You?

    Morris: Well, I've managed to hook a few jobs lately, to bring in the cash, you know. you might have heard of some... You ever hear of Google?

    Ares: Google? hmm, no, can't say i have- *BOOM* Holy... what was that!? i can't control the car!

    Morris We must have hit something and bust the tire! Woah, watch out, we're heading for the blackish holeish thing!

    Ares: Where? Oh, i see it... oh, boy. you have your seatbelt on?

    Morris: Of course! My special Cat ESP warned me before i got in that this would be-

    Ares: Ok, i get it, i was just checking. Just hold on.

    Morris: No need to tell me that!

    Ares tried valiantly for the last few seconds to turn the car back onto the road, but to no avail. The car went skidding into the hole to land with a thud on what seemed like nothing. the hole then sealed up above them

    Morris: Oh, boy, this definitely isn't 7-11. Where am i going to get my catnip now?

    Ares: Bah, stupid plotholes. Why did we have to run into one now? And what... wait a second, you can get catnip at a 7-11? I never knew that...

    Plot Hole Wizard: Hello!


    In Soviet RussiaNeS reads you

    Inside the bunker, Young and Romanov sat across from each other sipping tea. Young was trying hard to look pleasant, while Romanov looked at her over the rim of His tea cup, apparently still unconvinced of her newly helpful attitude. Above this scene a tiny red spider crawled out of the acoustic tiles of the ceiling and lowered itself slowly onto Young's shirt. From there it crawled into the same pocket where the item she lifted from S. Geb was.


    Outside The Pub

    Geb and Sarn were still staring at Sok when the trench-coated figure walked up to their small group. This figure had a black cowboy hat over his slick black hair and the black trench-coat was closed over the rest of his body.

    Trench-coated Figure: How are you, Gentlemen.

    Sarn spun around extremely fast at this.

    Sarn: Agh! Cats!

    TF: ... What?

    Sarn: Oh, sorry, thought you were someone else.

    Sok Monkey: Who are you?

    Bhac:Oh, I'm sorry, I've not introduced myself, have I? I'm Bach, a mercenary. Your little conversation earlier intrigued me. Might you have need of me on your mission?

    (S) Geb: Quite possibly, quite possibly. but i really don't have anything to pa you with.

    Bach: Ah, well, that's no matter. I'll just take my cut later, when you have the ability. What do you say, sound fair? I enjoy the adventure, so i assure you my price will be very modest.

    (S) Geb: Well, i suppose that's fair. Welcome!

    Bach: *bowing* I am at your service ah... Geb, is it?

    Bach extended his hand for a handshake. Small beads of blood collect on his fingertips. S. Geb, oblivious to this, grasps it firmly. A bit of blood is left on Geb's hands after the handshake and quickly disappears into his skin as the four 'Heroes' talk.
    Last edited by Noble Outlaw; 10-18-2005 at 09:23 PM.
    A Knight's Tail
    Exile: A Tale of Light in Dark
    The Never Ending Story²
    "I consume the life essence itself!... Preferably medium rare" - Mauldis


  29. #469
    Somewhere in the Writer's Realm, a pointless instant message conversation takes place:

    Generic_Screename: Hi
    VoodooSnowflakes: heylo
    Generic_Screename: wassup
    VoodooSnowflakes: nothing, what are u doing?
    Generic_Screename: nothing

    Then a new window opens

    WriterGod: Hello VoodooSnowflakes

    Voodoosnowflakes: Great some who thinks they know me, just wants to bug or maybe someone changed their name with out telling me.

    VoodooSnowflakes: Do I know you?
    WriterGod: You might not know me but I know you
    VoodooS: who are you?
    WriterGod: I can't tell you my real name, it would make your head explode.
    VoodooSnowflakes: Buh BYE

    a few minutes later...

    WriterGod: HEY! why did you do that for?
    VoodooSnowflakes: WTF, I thought I just blocked you
    WriterGod: writers, always thinking you can just ignore me
    VoodooSnowflakes: I don't understand, who is this what do you want, and no I will not cyber you.
    WriterGod: The only thing you need to understand and what I want is for you to write.
    VoodooSnowflakes: huh?
    WriterGod: I need you to write
    VoodooSnowflakes: ? write what?
    WriterGod: A character a story, something, maybe start with topic familiar to you.
    VoodooSnowflakes: But I don't understand you want me to do what?
    WriterGod: Stop asking me questions! you writers and your questions and requests for inspiration! my reasons shall be revealed to you later! JUST WRITE!

    WriterGod has signed off

    Narrator: Who is this VoodooSnowflakes? Was that really the WriterGod on a instant message chat? What will Voodoosnowflakes write? will she even write?

    WriterGod: How many times Do I have to repeat, i'm tired of you writers asking questions?

    Narrator: But I'm just the Narrator and didn't you just ask a question? **** i just asked a question too....

  30. #470
    [OOC] Ok, so I was convinced to try my hand at the NeS... This is my first shot, and I just came up with it as I wrote along. So here goes [/OOC]

    Meanwhile, returning to the street outside the pub, Sarn and Geb, along with their new "friends" Sok Monkey and Bach have just finished exchanging, what may be in a very loose sense considered, pleasantries. Taking advantage of the sudden moment of uncomfortable silence, Geb’s lightning like*** brain springs into action.

    Geb: So.... Any of you guys have any money?

    The large figure of Sok Monkey swings around slightly, as if checking to see if something was behind him, then with a sudden shift in posture admits:

    SM: Nope, I think I left my wallet with my lunch in the break room.

    With quick and hopeful eyes Geb looks over to the Dark figure of Bach, only to be met with a solid unflinching stare. The two trade glances momentarily, before Geb is forced to look away in udder defeat, or just to hide some swelling inner laughter.

    Sarn: No money.

    Geb: Nope

    SM: Sorry

    Bach *glare*

    I still have the bottle cap though.

    Geb: The what? Oh, yeah, that should do. Everyone, Come with me.

    *Geb leads bravely across the street, and daringly storms into a corner drug store*

    Geb: Ok, Here is the plan. Sarn, you go up to the counter and tell them that you want to get the 10 cent refund for a bottle you bought here.

    SM: Five cents

    Geb: What?

    SM: They only give Five cents for bottles out here.

    Geb: Ok... Five cents. You go up there and demand your Five cents.

    Sarn: But don’t you need a bottle... I mean to get the refund don’t you have to give them the entire bottle? All I have is the cap?

    Geb: Just tell them that you already recycled the bottle... and that you want your five Cents. Meanwhile, SM, you go stand in front of the door...look...un-doorish, you know, so people don’t try to come in. Bach... You...ummm

    *Bach continues to stare unflinchingly at Geb*

    Geb: Anyway... Ill go look for something that looks like a gun.

    Sarn: You mean Like a water gun?

    Geb: Exactly, but probably more gun like than that.

    SM: So more gun like than a gun that shoots water?

    Geb: Exactly. Then, while the casher is busy telling Sarn and his bottlecap to go away Ill sneak up behind him with my Gun...

    SM: You mean Gun Like Object.

    Geb: Yes, Gun like object, and make him give us his money so we can go across the street and get something to drink.

    SM: You know, I think they sell alcohol here, why don’t we just take that while we are at it.

    Geb: Quiet, everybody... GO!

    *With an air of slight confusion, Soc Munkey takes position in front of the door. After simply standing in place for little while, he decides to brandish his hammer menacingly just to make sure people don’t get the idea that they could come in. Sarn has begun the epic task of Convincing the Cashier to give him a Five Cent refund for a bottle cap. All the while, Geb has begun sneaking up and down the isles looking for something more gun like than a water gun.*

    Man: Excuse me

    Geb: What?

    Man: I said excuse me, could you not step on the burritos please.

    *Geb looks down at a large man, distinguishable only from a hobo by the fact that he is slightly less well shaven, sitting in the middle of the isle surrounded by a circle of individually wrapped microwave burritos*

    Geb: Um... Sorry about that.

    Man: That’s all right, you only steeped on a breakfast burrito, nobody like those anyway.

    *after a quick glance down the isle, Geb turns back to the strange man on the floor*

    Geb: Excuse me, could I borrow one of those burritos?

    Man: Certainly.

    Geb: Thank you.

    *After a short bow of appreciation, Geb quickly grabs the Nearest Burrito, and brandishing it violently he jumpes up and points it at the cashier.


    How will this daring daylight robbery at bean-point end? Who is the burrito man? Will Bach ever say anything ever again? And Will Sarn actually get a Five Cent Refund for his Bottle Cap?

    Lightning Like*** - In that it strikes once, and when if anybody sensible is around when it happens they will tend to run away very quickly.
    Last edited by West Wind; 10-19-2005 at 02:20 AM.
    "Well, if I am not drunk, I am mad, but I trust I can behave like a gentleman in either
    condition."... G. K. Chesterton

    “questions are a burden to others; answers a prison for oneself”

  31. #471
    Sarn the Writer: Wow... This is cool how I can just show up one day and suddenly we're off on this bank robbing tangent. Now then, what should I do now...

    Meanwhile, in the drug store...

    Sarn: Uhh, Geb. That's a burrito. Have you gone mad?

    Geb: What are you... talking about... this isn't... a burrito. *nudges the cashier with the burrito* Don't you turn around. Or... I'll shoot you... with my burr- eh handgun.

    Cashier: Uhh.. He just said it was a burrito.

    Geb: He also thinks he's captain of a starship. You're going to trust his judgement?

    Sarn: Don't speak to me like that, Lt. Geb. Now shoot the man with the damn phaser and let's transport off this rock.

    Geb: Uhh, Captain? *Geb rolls his eyes* I don't think we need to shoot him if he just gives us the money.

    Sarn: That's rediculous. Now you keep him busy while I dream up a brilliant and daring plan.

    *The cashier glances back and forth nervously between Sarn and Geb

    Cashier: Wait which one of you is in charge?[/b]

    Sarn and Geb (in unison): I am.

    Sarn doesn't notice Geb's claim to authority, as he is too busy formulating his brilliant and daring plan.

    Sarn: Ok. Here's what we'll do. We're going to use a strategy that I devised years ago to fight the evil Dr. Wass. While the rest of you were sitting around twiddling your thumbs, I adapted this plan to suit our needs here perfectly. We're going to divide this away team into smaller groups which I like to call Fire Teams. Sok Monkey and I will form Fire Team Alpha. Bach, you and the ensign here (Sarn points to the man on the floor with the burritos) will form Fire Team Beta.

    Man with burritos: Wha? What's an ensign?

    Sarn: You're an ensign. It means you're expendable.

    Man: I'm not expendable.

    Sarn: Sure you are. Except in rare cases, all ensigns are expendable. They're kind of like Machinist's Mates.

    Man: This is rediculous.

    Sarn: Hmm.. Then again, expendable ensigns don't usually get this many lines. Normally it's just stuff like, "AHHHHHHH!!!" or "Ugh" or "YAAAAaaaarrrrg..." I'd better make sure. Can't be losing any non-expendable crewman on this away mission. Do you have a name, ensign?

    Man: Of course I do. I'm called Hawthorne.

    Sarn: I see... First name?

    Hawthorne: No one ever uses my first name.

    Sarn: That tears it then. Expendable. Now then. Fire Teams! Form UP!

    The cashier glances at his watch. Geb sighs and buries his face in his hands. Hawthorn gets up off the floor and stands next to Bach uncertainly. Sok Monkey grins in anticipation and stands next to Sarn.

    Sok Monkey: You're brilliant, Sir!

    Sarn: Yes, of course... And top notch attitude, Sok. You've got a bright future, young man. Now then. Fire Team Alpha! Advance!

    Back in the Writer's World, Sarn leans back in his chair with a satisfied grin and stretches his back

    Sarn the Writer: I'm such a genius. I knew I'd be able to work Fire Teams into that somehow.

    Sarn leans forward and taps out an email:

    "Attention NeS writers:

    If you don't know what I'm talking about, I strongly reccomend you check out "The Adventures of Captain Cadpill," originally posted here in the ISB archives. It's insanely funny, and gives you some background info on Sarn the Hero's alter-ego Captain Cadpill. Unfortunately, I can't seem to find it now... Must have been pruned away. But I'm going to try and see if I've got it on my hard drive somewhere and I'll post it elsewhere on the ISB if I find it... (I used to have it, but that was like a year ago, and I've been through several formats and whatnot.) And kudos to whoever came up with Fire Teams originally... That was the best part of the story, I think.

    [tags... ugh]
    Last edited by Sarn_Cadrill; 10-25-2005 at 10:28 PM.
    If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.

    Lassev: I guess there was something captivating in savagery, because I liked it.

  32. #472
    *With the determination of a man not quite certain of the definition of the word doubt, Sok Monkey Marches forward towards the cashiere whilst Sarn takes position behind the nearby adult magazine rack. With a quick glance to Bach and Ensign Hawthorne he gestures for them to flank the Cahier. Bach responds slowly, and walks calmly around the counter with Hawthorne following timidly behind him. Finally, In a moment of epic aspirations, Sarn leaps form his position behind the adult magazines and makes a dash for the Counter, jumping at the last moment and caching his foot on the edge of the counter*

    Sarn: Ophfff

    Casher: Ummm… Are you ok?

    *Sarn quickly gets to his feet, and with an unwavering stare addresses the Casher*

    Sarn: Give us the money, or Lt. Geb here will be forced to disintegrate you.

    *Geb, Caught significantly off guard, razes the burrito in a near harmless gesture*

    Geb: Yeah… Better Listen to him, this thing is set to kill.

    Casher: You guys want the Money?

    Sarn: That’s Right.

    Casher: From the Register?

    Geb: Yeah.

    Casher: You do realize that there are only twenty dollars and some change in there, right?

    *Sarn’s gaze quickly narrows*

    Sarn: What did you say?

    Casher: Ummm… the armored car just made its weekly pickup; didn’t you guys see it pulling away when you came in?

    *Sarn steps back, his look of previous calm confidence replaced by one of concern. He appears to quickly run some numbers through his head, then suddenly looks up*

    Sarn: That is nowhere near enough. Do you honestly expect us to be able to cover our expenses with twenty dollars?

    Casher and Geb in unison: What Expenses?

    Sarn: How about the term Fireteam for a start. Do you think they would just GIVE away a term like Fireteam? I mean if the Fireteam was free then everyone would have Fireteams, Terrorist, Criminals, Little kids playing Cowboys and Spacemen. Think of the carnage man… THINK.

    SM: You mean we have to pay to say Fireteam.

    Sarn: Its not on a per word basis, its more of a conceptual license thing.

    *Sarn suddenly realizes that he has relaxed his guard, and in a motion similar to that of a paper cup being crush in reverse, straitens up, now with a renewed air of calm, cool, and collected confidence*


    Geb: What about….

    Sarn: No time men, we have to get out of here.

    *Sarn darts quickly for the front entrance, followed obediently by Soc Munkey. Geb looks sheepishly at the cashier, leaves his bottle cap on the counter, and slowly trudges along with Hawthone by his side. Bach takes the moment of opportunity to grab a pack of breath-mints from a nearby rack, and slips the cashier a dollar bill produced from an unseen fold in the dark coat. With an almost apologetic grin, he follows after the others*

    Several minutes later: in an alley behind the very same convenience store

    Sarn: Lt. Geb, contact the ship and get us transported off this rock.

    Geb: Um, sir… we cant do that…

    Sarn: Why not Lieutenant?

    *Geb, Finally feeling a total loss of control, finally snaps. Still clutching the microwave burrito, he confronts Sarn*

    Geb: For one: We don’t have a ship. Two: We don’t have any transporters. And three: we don’t have a ship.

    SM: Number one and number three are the same thing.

    *Geb steps aside and leans over to Soc Munkey*

    Geb: I know that, but the only way we can ever convince him is buy sheer quantity of arguments, Logic has no hold over him anymore.

    SM: Oh…

    Sarn: If we cannot transport out Lt Geb, just tell me. Don’t make up excuses. And stop inciting mutiny amongst the crew.

    *Meanwhile, Hawthorne has been following the conversation from a safe distance (2.5 Meters), and feeling compelled to contribute, steps forward and raises his hand*

    Hawthorne: I have a mini-van.

    Sarn: What was that? Speak up ensign.

    Hawthorne: I said, I have a mini-van, you know, to ride in.

    Sarn: A minivan you say?

    Hawthorne: Yeah, a ‘98 Astro Van, It’s just down the street.

    Sarn: Well done Ensign, I have half a mind to promote you right here and now, except that would put us in the unfortunate position of not having an ensign on this away team, and we cant take that risk, now can we? Everyone, To the Shuttle craft.

    Geb: You mean Astro Van.

    Sarn: One more word from you Lt, and I will make you the replacement ensign for Hawthorne. Now… move, move, MOVE!

    *Our five heroes dash (well, walk really) towards there new found method of transportation. What Adventures will await them far out In the Cosmos? How long will Ensign Hawthorne last? Will the Astro Van even start? Find out in the next exciting episode of… MINI-VANS IN SPACEspacespacespace…*
    Last edited by West Wind; 11-02-2005 at 12:21 AM.
    "Well, if I am not drunk, I am mad, but I trust I can behave like a gentleman in either
    condition."... G. K. Chesterton

    “questions are a burden to others; answers a prison for oneself”

  33. #473
    In the depths of space, stars move quietly over swift spinning worlds. The dark eddying currents of space wash over one planet in particular. Deep under its surface, it shudders with anticipation. An ancient memory stirs; of madness beyond the possibility of mere mortal comprehension. A spirit older than knowledge begins to awaken with a yawn. Somewhere a tea cup shatters on a floor. But we will not speak of such things at this time, for now there are other matters to attend to. Five unlikely heroes in their crimson chariot have just merged into the northbound lanes of a nameless expressway...

    *Geb feels something cold and wet press against his hand*

    Voice: Excuse me old chum, wouldja mind if I just ate this?

    *Looking down, Geb notices the breakfast burrito clutched in his hand. After a long moment he blinks and looks around for the source of the voice. Only seeing a small dog wedged between front and back seats he shakes his head and resumes his attentions to his seat belt.*

    Voice: Well, really. If you feel that way you might just say so. Here I am, missed lunch, stuck in a car all day long, four guys shows up and one of them has a perfectly good albeit slightly deformed breakfast burrito in his hand you think it might be natural for a fellow to be feeling a bit peckish.

    *Without warning, the dog takes a nip at Geb.*

    Geb: Shoo! Shoo! Gerrof, you!

    Sarn: Lieutenant Monkey!

    Sok Monkey: I didn't do it! I'm all the way over here!

    Sarn: No excuses! What have you done to the captain? Speak or I'll shove you out the airlock.

    SM: But the airlock only rolls down halfway.

    Sarn: Then I will vaporize you and throw your atoms out the airlock.

    Geb: Ow, ow ow! Get him off me, get him off me!

    Sarn: But sir, I have the prisoner right here in restraints. Buckled up, as you can see. It is the law.

    Geb: No, no, it's this little dog! He's trying to steal my phaser!

    Voice: Woof.

    Geb: See? See?!

    *Bach wordlessly reaches back from the passenger seat and pets the dog.*

    Voice: Whine whine gimmethedamnburrito whine.

    SM: Did anyone just hear someone say something about a burrito?

    *Geb points the breakfast burrito at the dog.*

    Geb: Any attempts to steal my weapon will result in immediate execution. Do you understand me, Mr... dog person?

    Dog: Wimper.

    Hawthorne: Thatchett, stop pestering, ahh, Captain Geb. So where are we headed?

    *Bach slips Hawthorne a piece of paper. Hawthorne looks at it blankly for a moment, and then his mouth expands in recognition.

    Hawthorne: Ahh, ok. Hang on, fellas, we're going to, um, full displacement.

    *Hawthorne pulls into the fast lane and accelerates.*

    Thatchett: Woof. Look at me, aren't I so cute? You want to give me the burrito. Gimme the burrito.

    Geb: I'm going to give this cute little dog my burr-- NO! I am trained to resist all forms of mental influence! You shall not confiscate my weapon!

    *Thatchett cocks his head and stares at Geb. A long moment passes. Then he snaps the burrito out of his hand and slips onto Bach's lap with a smug expression. Disgusting slurping sounds issue from the front of the minivan.*

    In the the driver's side of a police car, a friendly representative of local law enforcement becomes aware of a vibration in his seat. He looks over to his cup of Melville's coffee just in time for it to leap out of his cup holder and issue itself over his pants. With a yelp he leaps from the car and totally misses the red minivan cruise past in front of him on the expressway. If he had been looking, he would have certainly noticed his radar gun short circuit just before the minivan disappeared in an unspectacular white flash.

    Who is this dog with the power over minds and a taste for squished breakfast burritos? Where is Bach directing Hawthorne? Who, for that matter, is Hawthorne, this not-quite hobo with a minivan that seems to have the power to disappear? What is this disturbance in the very fabric of reality that seems to be affecting containers of high temperature brewed liquids? Will anything actually become of this story, or is it simply doomed to become a forgotten imagination? Find out in the next exasperating installment of the NeSquared.

  34. #474
    Child's Play CharityNot satisfied.
    The hulking mass of the cruiser glowed eerily in the semi-light of Sol, partially obscured by the dull-looking red-and-green planet it was currently trying to stay in orbit around. It didn’t seem to be having much luck – someone had made off with the primary engines long ago, and are probably in the process of being sold for scrap in the busy streets of Hong Kong. As such things are. As if the gaping abdominal wound wasn’t enough, the ship’s exterior was marked with twenty-foot high letters proclaiming such mannerisms as “Sucrose Or Bust – Both, Preferably” and “I Less Than Three Jupiter”. The main viewdome at the front of the ship was encrusted in four types of grime, and the internal lights outlined the remains of a half-eaten hamburger that met a rather nasty fate. Overall, a rather decrepit ship.

    Tony: Ooog…

    Tony reached for the saucepan that had slid off during his slumber and jammed it awkwardly on his head. Coughing loudly, he cleared a space of empty Cinnabon boxes and leaned his head down on the whatsit. Unbeknownst to him but fortunately beknownst to us, the garbage disposal whirred into life and threw out a rather battered if otherwise unscathed box of cinnabons towards the planet, before an engine strut works itself free and follows suit.


    Meanwhile, somewhere on another nameless expressway…

    Geb: What happened!?

    Thatchett: Oh, it was just one of this minivan’s trans-hyperdimensional quantum singularity pulse generators kicking in.

    Sarn: Ah. I trust this ship is fitted with the required class four-B deflectors, as per article 24328-335/B.

    Geb: 24328-335/B? “No member of the Corps may perform a quadruple heart bypass in a Dart Wader mask?”

    Sarn: 335/C then.

    Geb: I’m not too sure how much appendicitis has to do with the current situation, either.

    Sarn: One more peep out of you…

    They sit in silence for a scant few minutes, broken by Sok Munkey’s stomach making an unhealthy grumbling noise and the various annoying squeaks of the ashtray he was preoccupying himself with.

    SM: I wish we got that $20 after all…

    Geb: At least we could have eaten, however many royalties were demanded for the use of ‘Fireteam’.

    Hawthorne: I had enough burritos. You could have asked.

    Geb: But breakfast burritos?

    Hawthorne: Compared to your diet in the past, a breakfast burrito should be the least of your worries…

    Geb: There’s less nutritional content than a cardboard box! Less than one of Sarn’s plans!

    Sarn: That’s enough! Consider yourself demoted, Ensign Ohq!

    Thatchett: Bipeds. Pff.

    Geb rolled his eyes and the group continue their journey in silence.

    SM: I hope we didn’t get caught on the speed trap back there.


    Flashback to the policeman… after having dabbed at his trousers and whimpering gently, he turned around from having a poke at his radar when a box of cinnabons gently floats down, aided by a parachute. They look slightly battered but nonetheless still edible. With a plonk, they land in the middle of the not very busy road. Seeing his chance, he slid off the bonnet and made his way towards the box of wonder, although this mystical joy is cut short when an eighteen-wheeler careens over the box. The policeman looked up, tears in his eyes and covered in cinnabon gook, before being thrown to the ground from an explosion caused by a squad car being crushed by a five-ton cruiser engine strut. Today was not being a very good day for Phil.


    Hawthorne: I’m sure it was nothing.

    SM: Rather like the content of that gratuitous flashback. Seriously, who writes this?

    They travel in silence for a few more moments, with a snap after SM breaks the ashtray.

    Sarn: So where is this shuttle bound?

    Hawthorne: Who knows? In the past we’ve just cruised around from place to place, producing real-time special effects until-- oh.

    Sarn, SM and Geb: Oh?

    Hawthorne: Until we run out of fuel. Like we have done now.

    Sarn sighed inwardly. If this ship was under his command, why, there wouldn’t be any of this fuelless malarkey. Why, back when he was an Ensign…

    SM and Geb just look to each other. With the sound a dying squeaky toy makes when crushed for it’s last, the shuttle- ah… minivan reappears on a slightly different stretch of nameless expressway. There’s more of that than you might think. The minivan itself judders to a halt outside a rather convenient convenience store.

    Voice: Welcome, gentlemen! Welcome to the convenience store… OF THE DAMNED!!

    What is this unexpected development? Why have they made their way to the Convenience Store of the DAMNED? Why did Tony post when he should be doing coursework? And is Geb’s demotion permanent? Only time will tell… well… I’ll tell. It’s my job as the narrator. I should get paid more, though. It’s a rather lousy job. And a pension? Pah! “You’ll get a pension”, they say. “You’ll be set for life.” Jerks.
    Hey, Blue? I'm loving the things you do. From the very first time, the fight you fight for will always be mine.

  35. #475
    *Ahem... 3 posts in less than a day? What the heck is going on he- Err... Welcome back for another exciting edition of NeSquared! You all just got done reading the last episode. Don't expect me to recap... Anyway, on with the show then...

    Phil: How am I supposed to explain that to guys back at the station...

    Phil sticks up a finger in traditional hitchhiker fashion. Just as he does, an ominous, swirling black hole appears in the middle of the road.

    Phil: What the heck is that?

    The hole grows and begins to suck Phil towards it. Phil screams and tries to grab hold something, anything. Fingernails scraping the warm pavement, he is dragged into the Plothole.

    Meanwhile, Sarn and his brave crew examine their surroundings. Sarn's demeanor changes suddenly.

    Sarn: Well then... Let's just purchase some fuel at this cheerful convenience store and be off.

    SM: But Captain, didn't you hear that voice? This is the convenience store.. of the DAMNED.

    Sarn: Huh? Captain? Who are you calling captain?

    At this, SM's eyebrow raises in confusion, but before he can respond, Sarn continues:

    Sarn: Anyway what are we worried about some stupid conveniece store for? We are, after all... Heroes. Sarn flourishes an imagionary cape.

    Geb: So you're not captain anymore? Does this mean I'm not demoted?

    Sarn: De-what?

    Geb: Nevermind.

    Sarn: Right then... Let's fill up the ole gas tank, and be on our way.

    Hawthorne: I thought you guys were broke? How can you afford gas?

    Geb: Well, it's your van. You pay for the gas.

    Hawthorne: Oh no... I don't give out free rides. You guys have to pay your way. Besides... I'm practically a hobo. Where do you expect me to get money to pay for gas?

    Geb: Well where'd you get the money for a van that has trans-hyperdimensional quantum singularity pulse generators?

    Hawthorne: (sarcastically) It just fell out of the sky one day. Bugger off.

    Sarn: Enough of this pointless bickering. Heroes don't bicker...

    *Geb mutters something about what kind of heroes has Sarn been hanging out with to come to that conclusion, and how he'd really like to meet them*

    Sarn: The fact of the matter is, we need the gas, and we don't have any means to get it. This, my fellow heroes, is a desperate time. (Inspiring organ music swells behind Sarn) And desperate times call for desperate measures.

    SM:You mean we're gonna pump and run? (the organ music cuts off suddenly)

    Sarn:We'll do what must be done. *Sarn squints his eyes, Clint Eastwood-style and glares into the camera or audience or whatever.


    Meanwhile, Morris the Cat and Ares sit in their car surrounded by utter blackness. Strangely the cabin of the car remains illuminated around the two villians. Periodically, a hole will open out of the blackness, revealing behind it various landscapes, some comfortable, others alien.

    Morris: How the heck are we supposed to get out of this mess?

    Ares: Don't look at me. I'm on vacation.

    Morris:But we could be here for a long time... We need to do something!

    Ares: Why? It's kind of peaceful here. Besides all these holes opening up is kind of enterta-

    Ares is cut short as a particularily large hole is opened up and a man in police garb falls through, landing face-down rather unceremoniously in the darkness. The man scrambles to his feet with a wild-eyed expression, and Ares notices a brown stain over the man's crotch.

    Ares: Hellllllo... We've got company.

    Morris: Should we say hello? Maybe he brought food.

    What will become of Sarn's daring attempt at gasoline robbery? How will Ares and Morris react to the emergence of Bill? Find out next time... Does anyone even read this crap? A monkey could do my job... ugh.
    If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.

    Lassev: I guess there was something captivating in savagery, because I liked it.

  36. #476
    "Ahhh! Get it off my foot!"
    Enter the monkey.

    Picking up...

    Ares: What is this guy covered in?

    Morris: It looks edible...

    Phil the Highway patrolman approaches the car, not a little dazed and confused as he observes his surroundings.

    Ares: Maybe we should--

    At this moment another plothole opens its gaping mouth. Whisps of darkness like many black arms wreath around the patrolman. With one misplaced step, he is pulled into the black void, weeping frantically like a girl as he falls.

    Morris: That was weird.

    Suddenly the car lurkes forward. The hole is expanding under the car. It begins to roll into the hole.

    Morris: Reverse, you fool! put this thing in reverse!

    Ares turns the key in the ignition. The engine rattles, coughs indignantly, and returns to its idle thoughts of Pennsoil Supreme Motor Oil. Oh, to have a tall, cool glass of Pennsoil Supreme...

    But I digress. The engine is too busy with its own concerns at the moment to start.

    Ares: It won't start!

    Morris: Do you use Pennsoil Supreme?

    Ares: No, I usually go to the nearest auto shop and ask for their old oil.

    Morris: Well you know, if you used Pennsoil Supreme--

    Too late. As if finally deciding, the vehicles rolls forward through the hole, following patrolman Phil.

    At the Gas Station of the Damned

    Sarn steps forward dramatically. he throws his head back in herioc determination as the wind catches his imaginary cape. dramatic sounding western music starts.

    Sarn: OK, away team. Life or death, let's prepair to execute my new plan!

    Sarn turns and looks behind him. Suddenly the dramatic western music changes like a record to a western saloon tune. Sok Munkey wanders about the lot looking for enough change on the ground to buy something to eat. Burrito in hand, Geb is busy hitting on that redhead over on pump 2. Bach is nowhere to be seen, Hawthorne has joined sokMunkey in his search, and that weird dog is finding a new use for the telephone pole in the corner of the dusty lot.

    Sarn: Company! Formation!

    Everyone mulls around for a second and shuffle back to Sarn kicking up the thick red dust. Bach suddenly shows up out of nowhere and stands staring at Sarn in a fashion he finds discomforting. The dog sniffs the pole and pees on it again.

    Hawthorne: Anyone got any spare change?

    Sarn looks at Hawthorne without answering.

    Sarn: Alright away team. We need to fuel this vessel. due to our current financial status, we will have to do without the luxury of paying. Now, to EXECUTE MY DARING PLAN.

    The redhead has lost all interest in Geb and peels out of the gas station. Maybe she never was interested and was hoping that her icy silence would shut him out. . .

    The tenacious and unfazed Geb returns to the circle just as Sarn announces the last line. His eyes twitch and then roll involuntarily.

    Sarn: Now. Hawthorne, prepare to pilot us out of here hot, we'll probably have alot of fighters on our tail when we run. If only we had a deflector sheild...

    Sarns thoughts turn to the olde days of space grandieur, shiny ships with lots of guns and dastardly space pirates to hunt...

    Hawthorne: What do you mean by hot?

    Sarn snaps back

    Geb: I'll tell you who's hot...

    Geb looks up the road after that redhead as Sarn focuses his eyes intensly on Hawthorne

    It means real fast like.

    Hawthorne: Oh. Right.

    Just as Sarn is about to give orders to the rest of this motley crew, a massive plothole opens in the sky. Out falls a patrolman, still wailing like a girl. He hits the pavement and after a moment regains his feet. Covered in Cinnamon roll goo, coffee, and dirt, he is a sad figure to behold as he wimpers and brushes himself off. Suddenly a car drops through the still-open plothole directly behind the patrolman. Phil jumps and screams at an octave reserved for small birds. Out stumble the driver and a fat, unkempt cat.

    at least we made it to a convinience store.

    Ares: I wonder if the sell Pennsoil Supreme...

    *wimper* ...Jesus Mary and Joseph... *wimper*

    What has brought all these strange characters to so strange a place? What will happen next? Will the sky give up any more mysterious characters? What is that dog doing to that gas pump? find out next ime on NeSquared!
    Last edited by Sok Munkey; 11-02-2005 at 08:11 PM.
    "I'm interested in the fact that the less secure a person is, the more likely it is for that person to have extreme prejudices." -Clint Eastwood

  37. #477
    Meanwhile, back at the other convenience store (you know, the slightly less dammed one)

    A tall and slender detective dressed in a casual overcoat and traditional detective fedora enters through the front door. As he strides slowly over to the casher’s counter, the eyes of 4 young investigators follow his every movement in a hushed silence. The detective leans against the casher’s counter, and reaching into the breast pocket of his coat produces a pack of cigarettes. The taps the pack until a single cigarette stands above the rest, and takes it between his teeth.

    Casher: Um… Sir… This store is strictly no smoking.

    A thin smile creeps across the detective’s face, leaving the unlit cigarette drooping from his mouth he speaks.

    Detective: Sonny, right now this is a crime scene. This is MY crime scene, and if I want a smoke I’ll bloody well have a smoke. Now, the boys tell me that you were behind the counter when this all went down, is that right?

    The casher nods silently.

    Detective: Good… Good

    Still leaning his full weight on the counter, the detective produces a steno notebook from somewhere, and prepares to take notes.

    Detective: Now… Just talk me through what happened.

    Casher: Well, the armored van had just left with the weekly pickup, and these four guys came in the front door.

    Detective: Yes… Can you describe them?

    Casher: Well, there was a big guy with a hammer. A Guy in a dark coat and cowboy hat. A guy who kinda looked like that guy from TV… you know… And another guy… I think he had a cape or something. Or maybe it was the TV guy who had the cape. I really did not get a good look at them.

    Detective: Great…

    *scribble scribble*
    The casher goes on to describe the events of earlier that day whilst the detective continues scribbling in his notebook.

    Detective: Ok, one question, you said four people came in, but five people left… Who is the extra man?

    Casher: Oh, that would be the burrito man. He comes in here every other week, sits on the floor and reads the wrappers on burritos for an hour or so, then he usually buys a gallon of milk and pays with a fresh $20. We usually let him hang around because he never asks for change.

    Detective: So This burrito man, he was working with the other four?

    Casher: No not really, he just seemed to follow them out.

    Detective: Did any of them say anything strange?

    Casher: Umm… I guess so. For the most part I had a hard time understanding allot of what was going on. But the TV guy did say something about Fireteams or something.

    Detective: Fireteams (a look of surprise comes over his face) really. I see, Thank you for your time.

    The detective turns away, and then suddenly swings back with a mischievous smile on his face.

    Detective: Oh, and one more thing… Good job kid.

    The detective the walks over to one of the junior investigators standing near the door.

    Detective: Tell the boys to treat this like a professional job, I want a full inventory of every burrito in that place, I want to know the SERIAL number of the burrito they took. I want ID’s on everyone who entered or left this place in the last two days, especially that burrito man. Oh, and make sure to Bag that bottle cap as evidence, that is the key to this entire case.

    Several hundred miles away, at the convenience store of the dead.

    Silence has come over the heroes, still standing in what remains of a group huddle, all five pairs of eyes are fixed on the car that having suddenly dropped from the sky, felt the need to produce two very questionable individuals. The car, feeling the force of ten focused gazes sags suddenly to the ground as what is left of it’s suspension falls to the ground. The Ares and Morris, having taken in there surroundings, begin returning the inquisitive gaze. Silently, bad western music flows across the barren desert, and brining with it images of tumbleweeds drifting across the ocular showdown. Felling very scarred, patrolman Phil stumbles along the ground, dazed and confused he collapses on the ground in the middle of the showdown. All seven pairs of eyes continue uninterested in the affairs of local law enforcement. Finally, after countless moments of unspoken tension, a voice breaks the silence.

    Thatchett: You guys got any grub? I’m looking at you cat-boy…

    Back outside the slightly less dammed convenience store

    The detective leans against the wall just next the door, he takes a moment to fumble with his unlit, before placing it, unlit, back in his mouth. A portly man comes over and stands next to the detective with an air of self-importance.

    Fat Man: You think this was a professional job?

    Detective: Has to be, how many run of the mill con jobs can afford a term like Fireteam?

    The Fat Man nodds in agreement.

    Detective: The whole stick up was a ruse, their real target was the burrito man.

    Fat Man: A kidnapping?

    Detective: Hard to say.

    Fat Man: Listen, some of the kids are starting to talk.

    Detective: Don’t say it. This is NOTHING like that case…

    Fat Man: Burrito… Bottle cap… kidnapping… Sounds very familiar.

    A sudden air of tension settles over the pair, the detective staring silently of into the distance.

    Fat Man: Did you hear about officer Redman?

    Detective: Phil? No, what happened to him?

    Fat Man: Dunno, just disappeared, squad car and everything. The guys found some wreck near his favorite speed trap, but no trace of him.

    After a moment of silence, the Detective silently walks over to his unmarked brown Cadillac. Dropping into the drivers seat he takes the cigarette out of his mouth and tucks it behind his ear. Inside his jaded mind he rolled over the images from the convenience store. He was right, it was like THAT Case.
    Last edited by West Wind; 11-03-2005 at 12:31 AM.
    "Well, if I am not drunk, I am mad, but I trust I can behave like a gentleman in either
    condition."... G. K. Chesterton

    “questions are a burden to others; answers a prison for oneself”

  38. #478
    And now a word from the mind of the Detective...

    Being a hard-boiled detective isn't easy, you know. You see 'em in the pictures, you read about 'em in the books. Snotty rich kids buy perfectly good khaki three-quarter-longs cause they think it's chic and leave 'em in their closets to rot.

    Perfectly good coats, too.

    Chuck was right, this did look like
    that case if you looked at it the right way. It would look better through the bottom of a bottle but the old lady's locked up all the booze. Said something about my secretary Sarah, but what the hell.

    Fireteams, yeah. Fireteams. That's some serious licensing for lightweights to be throwing around. This has gotta be big, way bigger than just four guys. Come to think of it, they used Fireteams twelve years ago. I'd better call Alice and get her to pull those files...
    Last edited by Majiir; 11-10-2005 at 09:38 PM.

  39. #479
    Morris the Cat: Did you say something, dog?

    Thatchett: You heard me. I want some grub, and you're fat enough to share some of yours.

    Morris: Don't make me use hacks on you, dog. I've taken down worse than you.

    Thatchett: What'd you do, sit on them?

    Sok, Sarn, and Hawthorne all look at Morris and Thatchett with puzzled interest.

    Sok Munkey: I wonder what the dog and cat are arguing about.

    Sarn Cadrill: Don't be absurd! Animals don't argue. They're animals, without a mind or soul like people.

    Hawthorne: Isn't this world pretty absurd as is?

    Sarn: Nonsense! The world is perfectly simple to understand. You just need to know where to look. For one, don't look at the plot-holes, monsters, gods of war or talking cats. Besides, everything looks absurd to an ignorant bum like you, Ensign.

    Hawthorne: Right. I'm going to see if there are any breakfast burritos in the gas station's convinience store.

    Sok: Of DOOM!

    Hawthorne: Right. Of doom.

    Meanwhile (NeS count: 4.269% of all words in the NeS thusfar), Ares, Bach and Geb stand in their own little group.

    Ares: Hey, Geb. Haven't seen you since you were held prisoner in Helebon's Citadel.

    Geb: Huh? Oh, right.

    Ares: You seem... different, somehow. Did your time held captive harden you?

    Geb: I... I'm having a hard time remembering...

    Geb holds his head, his eyes roving back and forth, searching for thoughts. Ares looks at him, apparently interested in Geb's struggling response. Bach looks at Geb as well, but interested in Geb's response for a different reason...

    Bach: Oh, what a liar you are, Gebiyl. What a liar...

    Geb: I was being imprisoned, and then I was being drained of my blood... or was I still imprisoned? But then I broke free, and stole away into the cold. No, wait... I didn't break free, I feel asleep, and I had a strange dream I was in Africa...

    Bach's eyes light up.

    Bach: No, it can't be. That's not possible...

    Geb: But then I woke up...I think. It's all very confusing.

    Ares: How the fighting spirit breaks when imprisonment has its way. It's a damn shame. Take no prisoners, I've always said.

    Geb: Excuse me...

    Geb walks away, around the other side of the convinience store. Bach takes the time to shadow Geb, with no notice from anyone. He's ninja like that.

    Geb: Augh, my head...

    Geb staggers his last couple steps and falls, clutching his head. Something... strange happens. Geb changes.

    Wait a minute. "Something strange happens?" What kind of description is that? Isn't your job as a writer to DESCRIBE these sort of things?

    Geb the writer: Shut up. Nobody's asking you.

    Anyway, bad writing aside, Geb changes, and Bach notices.

    Geb: Damnit. First I get sucked by a plothole away from Young in Russia and into a bar with a bunch of the drunk heroes, then I find myself in Africa, back in my own body, and now I manage to snap myself back, with a bunch of no-names at a convinience store. What the hell is going on?

    Bach watches as Geb tilts his head, as if listening to someone beside him. He notices that Geb looks quite fustrated.

    Geb: I'm switching bodies back with Gebohq? I thought you said that wasn't possible... new writers? What do you mean "they have flexibility that older writers have lost?"... well fuq. What am I doing listening to you anyway, EeP? If I had half a mind, I'd right stab myself right here and take you with me... Fuq. I hate you so god damn much...

    Bach: Flexibility? Of course! New writers have both original ideas and enough ignorance to ignore even the basic conventions of NeS, even able to swap souls of characters. Why didn't we think of this before? Still, Gebiyl continues to possess much strength and resiliance, even juggling the Ever-ending Plot within him to his advantage, and thwarted the new writers' inadvertant actions, for now. But what will the Shattered Geb do, now that he seems to have stabilized? I must keep an eye on him...

    (S.) Geb: ...better go back and rejoin the others, before they become suspicious. Figure out a way to get back to Russia, must get my hands back on Young...

    Criminey! What will happen now? Will the new writers be able to thwart plans of plotting and save the NeS through their own ignorance of it? Just how MANY manevolant forces do we now have stirring in the NeS? Will NeS get any female writers posting often? Hint hint. Watch my subtle suggestions at work. Find out, in our next installment of The Never-ending Story Thread Squared

    (NSP: New writers, feel free to check out the first post of the NeS workshop, which includes active characters, who and where they are, etc.)

  40. #480
    Several hours in the future, in a dark and dusty office.

    Open books and notebooks cover virtually every surface of the small office on the second floor, all the bulbs in the ceiling light have long since burnt out, and the entire room is illuminated by the dark orange light of a single desk lamp. A diffuse light shines in through the frosted glass of the door casing a rectangular pool of light on the floor. In the middle of this pool of light is a shadow shaped into the word “Detective”. A figure sits uneasily behind the desk on the far side of the room, he moves compulsively as he digs through notes and case files, his actions serving to increase the level of bibliotic chaos in the room. The hunched figure of the Detective fails to notice the shadow that has been slowly encroaching on the rectangle of light on the floor, finally obscuring the word “Detective” with broad and muscular shoulders. With a creak of insufferable pain the door swings slowly open. The detective, finally aware of the intruder looks up.

    Detective: Frankie, is that you?

    Frankie: Yeah, the boys downtown sent me over, said you were handling this kidnapping case.

    The detective adjusts the desk lamp so as to provide as much illumination in the dark room as possible, then leans back into his thick leather chair.

    Detective: What do you have for me Frankie?

    Frankie: Well, we managed to ID three of the suspects.

    Frankie walks slowly across the room, and drops a set of files onto the already cluttered desk of the detective. Each file has a frame from one of the convenience store cameras paper clipped to the front. The detective picks up the first file and begins thumbing through it. Frankie takes sits down on the edge of the Detective’s desk and lights up a cigarette.

    Frankie: Sarn Cadrill, seems like a good enough chap, but has a history of mental illness. His record gets a bit cloudy several years ago. We think he may have become involved in some sort of international crime syndicate, strictly low level, but we have very little proof. He may be fancying himself as the leader of this little operation, but most likely he is just a pawn and does not even realize it.

    The Detective sets the first file away, and takes the second file from the top of the stack.

    Frankie: Gebohq Joseph Anne-Marie Simon. Numerous minor offenses, public drunkenness, parking citations, the usual stuff. Apparently he and Mr. Cadrill knew each other back in college. It is hard to say, but he also seems to have dropped off our radar several some time ago. But more interesting, take a look at the picture on the next file.

    The Detective closes Geb’s file, and sets it aside with Sarn’s. The next folder has an old fuzzy picture instead of the enhanced security footage of the other files, yet the picture is clearly of Geb… or is it?

    Detective: It’s the same guy.

    Frankie: Yep, the guys came across a few records on someone named Gebiyl. He seems to have appeared a little while after Gebohq went dark on us. Take a look at his record.

    Detective: Conspiracy, Grand Larceny, Assault… Quite a record.

    Frankie: And take a look at this, a genuine 14-22… Stealing Candy from a Baby… I never expected to see one of those on paper.

    The detective take a close read over the police reports contained within Gebiyl’s file.

    Frankie: Some of the guys are thinking he is the brain behind this operation.

    Detective: I don’t think so…

    Suddenly the Detective closes Gebiyl’s file and sets it aside with the others. The Next file belong to Bach, but there is no name on the file, only his picture.

    Frankie: We could not find anything on the cowboy, whoever he is, he is new.

    The detective opens the file only to find it empty. He quickly sets it aside and moves on to Sok Munkey’s file.

    Frankie: Some Chap named Sok Munkey, he was reported missing earlier today from a machinist hall up north. Say the guy just disappeared from his station right in the middle of a work shift. Never missed a moments work until today. Some history of Violence, usial Blue Collar stuff mostly.

    Detective: A machinist… interesting.

    Frankie: And Finally, your Burrito Man.

    The detective shifts SM’s folder to the side, leaving it open, and takes a look at the final file.

    Frankie: We could not come up with anything concrete, no name, no family, no place of residence. But we did come across a pair of license plates belonging to a 1998 Chevy Astro-Van.

    Detective: And trace of the Van?

    Frankie: Nope, we put an APB out about an hour ago for it, but I somehow don’t think it is going to turn up anywhere around here.

    Detective: Humm… Thanks Frankie, tell the guys downtown good work as usual.

    Frankie: Listen, about that… Everyone at the station is getting real worried about you. I mean it’s no secret, the similarities and all that. You don’t have to work this case, we can hand it off to Holsten or Brian.

    Detective: No… This was my case twelve years ago, and its my case now.

    Frankie: So you really think they are connected.

    The detective suddenly rises to his feet and grabs Frankie by the collar, staring him down with too-sober eyes.

    Detective: Listen, I don’t want anyone saying anything that isn’t down official in one of these reports. But yes, my gut feeling says that whoever was behind that kidnapping twelve years ago is behind this.

    The detective sinks back into his chair. The suddenly he starts rustling in one of the desk drawers.

    Detective: Hey Frankie, any news on Phil Redman?

    Frankie is startled by the sudden change of conversation, and takes a moment to take a deep drag from the cigarette.

    Frankie: Yeah, the cleaning crew moved the wreck they found near his favorite speed trap, and they found his patrol car crushed underneath. The say the wreck was some sort of support beam or something, but they have no idea where it came from or how it got on-top of Phil’s car.

    Detective: *still rummaging through the desk* And Phil?

    Frankie: Still no trace.

    The Detective suddenly pulls out a map from one of the desk draws, and spreads it out over the clutter on his desk.

    Detective: Ok, The convenience store was located on 14th street. *he takes out a red pen and draws a circle on the map* Where was Phil’s Speed Trap?

    Frankie: On the I-82, near Hawkers Bvd onramp.

    Detective: So here *he points on the map*

    Frankie: Yeah, that’s about right, there is this big bill board and its just a half mile away from his usual doughnut shop, you know where they have those great bearclaws on Thursday.

    The Detective seems oblivious to Frankie’s useful discourse, but has instead started tracing a path between the two circles. He then looks up and with a sudden motion draws a red line right off the edge of the map.

    Frankie: You think…

    Detective: I’m going, tell Headquarters to send backup.

    The detective stands up and grabs his overcoat and hat and starts heading for the door. Frankie suddenly grabs him by the shoulder.

    Frankie: Listen Man… Be careful…

    Detective: I can’t, not this time.

    How did the police get so much information on our “heroes” in so little time? Is any of it even accurate? What happened twelve years ago? Who is this mysterious detective? What does he have to do with anything? Where is he Going? How much more can Patrolman Phil take? Why do we all ask stupid questions like this?
    Last edited by West Wind; 11-03-2005 at 09:22 PM.
    "Well, if I am not drunk, I am mad, but I trust I can behave like a gentleman in either
    condition."... G. K. Chesterton

    “questions are a burden to others; answers a prison for oneself”

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