Re: Mini-Grand 5104 (Round 2: CHEKOF Headquarters)
08-16-2011, 01:53 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Lord Paradise.
”MY DADDY WAS A POLICE OFFICER.” The voice of Amme Beelzeburg was not so much spoken as excreted, heralded by a foul industrial smell. Hector wasn’t sure why they’d equipped Emissary with olfactory sensors, but it worked. ”MY DADDY WAS A GOOD MAN. YOU ARE BAD MEN.” Then, the death—O, such death there was.
“Snap her infantile neck while she’s distracted!” yelled Jastra, pressing up against Hector’s back, but Hector was distracted as well. For one thing, whatever was in that tea was starting to push over an event horizon where his euphoria subsided into sleepiness and hunger. For another, there were cops and strippers everywhere on the screen, and Hector had a lot of confusing thoughts about that. For a third thing, Jastra was not helping, with her, you know, touching him.
Furthermore, and perhaps most significantly, were all the tubular slimy things crawling all over his shoulders, which Jastra identified as “snakes.” He assumed without looking very hard that they had pointy teeth and no social qualms about using them. Jastra didn’t seem to mind them, and seemed to ascribe to them some sort of symbolic value.
Knowing he wouldn’t be able to maneuver the robot across the field of strippers and death, he settled on punching more cops. He was interrupted when a grotesque, pointed hand grabbed Emissary’s head and spun the robot around.
”Hmm. There’s someone new behind the wheel now, isn’t there? Well, nice to meat you!” The robot’s punches weren’t doing anything to Carne-Z except perhaps tenderizing her a bit, and were promptly stopped when Emissary found itself bound by strips of something brown and crispy.
“What’s that smell?” asked Hector.
“Bacon,” replied Jastra, giving his stomach a squeeze. “Perfect bacon.”
Hector decided he didn’t want to know what “bacon” was made from or what qualities of bacon constituted perfection. Whatever it was, it had Emissary completely incapacitated, leaving Carne-Z to deal with the cops by herself.
Hector, frustrated, stepped out of the control apparatus. Snakes dropped off of him with a sound like water boiling.
Jastra sulked. “Carne-Z’s meat constructs tend to fade into grease and nothingness after a half hour or if she goes more than a half mile away,” she explained. Then she gave an evil smile. “That gives us some time alone, at least.”
Jastra Juggs leaned in and whispered something in Hector’s ear, leaving behind just a numb feeling and a trace of saliva on his earlobe. Hector got her gist, but was nonetheless compelled to ask her what a “cock” was, just to make sure.
“I’ll demonstrate,” giggled Jastra, a violet flush spreading over her scarlet cheeks. She knelt down and reached for Hector’s waistband, and then froze.
And then remained frozen. Agent 7 was standing in the doorway, carrying what Hector recognized as a freeze gun.
”Looks like you’re gonna need to take a cold shower,” quipped the fish.
* * * * * *
Before he could properly bemoan that pun, the Player was blindsided by a flashing “You’ve lost karma!” message.
“Minus karma for not letting this guy get off!?” he demanded of whatever Gods would listen. “That is horseshit!”
* * * * * *
This change of events was hormonally traumatizing enough that in Hector’s time, he would have been hospitalized for it. Lacking access to the proper medical facilities, he instead responded with an all-consuming rage, like a star. “Fuck you, man,” was the best response to the fish he could manage. Then he remembered that he had a Thing he could do. “You should not have done that,” he growled, his eyebrows twitching dangerously.
From the hallway out of sight there came a sound Hector did not recognize.
* * * * * *
From the left speaker there came a sound the Player recognized. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” he moaned.
He spun Agent 7 around to the right. Sure enough, there was a stampede of charging elephants. Suspecting that the freeze ray would not be terribly effective in this situation, he ran.
”MY DADDY WAS A POLICE OFFICER.” The voice of Amme Beelzeburg was not so much spoken as excreted, heralded by a foul industrial smell. Hector wasn’t sure why they’d equipped Emissary with olfactory sensors, but it worked. ”MY DADDY WAS A GOOD MAN. YOU ARE BAD MEN.” Then, the death—O, such death there was.
“Snap her infantile neck while she’s distracted!” yelled Jastra, pressing up against Hector’s back, but Hector was distracted as well. For one thing, whatever was in that tea was starting to push over an event horizon where his euphoria subsided into sleepiness and hunger. For another, there were cops and strippers everywhere on the screen, and Hector had a lot of confusing thoughts about that. For a third thing, Jastra was not helping, with her, you know, touching him.
Furthermore, and perhaps most significantly, were all the tubular slimy things crawling all over his shoulders, which Jastra identified as “snakes.” He assumed without looking very hard that they had pointy teeth and no social qualms about using them. Jastra didn’t seem to mind them, and seemed to ascribe to them some sort of symbolic value.
Knowing he wouldn’t be able to maneuver the robot across the field of strippers and death, he settled on punching more cops. He was interrupted when a grotesque, pointed hand grabbed Emissary’s head and spun the robot around.
”Hmm. There’s someone new behind the wheel now, isn’t there? Well, nice to meat you!” The robot’s punches weren’t doing anything to Carne-Z except perhaps tenderizing her a bit, and were promptly stopped when Emissary found itself bound by strips of something brown and crispy.
“What’s that smell?” asked Hector.
“Bacon,” replied Jastra, giving his stomach a squeeze. “Perfect bacon.”
Hector decided he didn’t want to know what “bacon” was made from or what qualities of bacon constituted perfection. Whatever it was, it had Emissary completely incapacitated, leaving Carne-Z to deal with the cops by herself.
Hector, frustrated, stepped out of the control apparatus. Snakes dropped off of him with a sound like water boiling.
Jastra sulked. “Carne-Z’s meat constructs tend to fade into grease and nothingness after a half hour or if she goes more than a half mile away,” she explained. Then she gave an evil smile. “That gives us some time alone, at least.”
Jastra Juggs leaned in and whispered something in Hector’s ear, leaving behind just a numb feeling and a trace of saliva on his earlobe. Hector got her gist, but was nonetheless compelled to ask her what a “cock” was, just to make sure.
“I’ll demonstrate,” giggled Jastra, a violet flush spreading over her scarlet cheeks. She knelt down and reached for Hector’s waistband, and then froze.
And then remained frozen. Agent 7 was standing in the doorway, carrying what Hector recognized as a freeze gun.
”Looks like you’re gonna need to take a cold shower,” quipped the fish.
* * * * * *
Before he could properly bemoan that pun, the Player was blindsided by a flashing “You’ve lost karma!” message.
“Minus karma for not letting this guy get off!?” he demanded of whatever Gods would listen. “That is horseshit!”
* * * * * *
This change of events was hormonally traumatizing enough that in Hector’s time, he would have been hospitalized for it. Lacking access to the proper medical facilities, he instead responded with an all-consuming rage, like a star. “Fuck you, man,” was the best response to the fish he could manage. Then he remembered that he had a Thing he could do. “You should not have done that,” he growled, his eyebrows twitching dangerously.
From the hallway out of sight there came a sound Hector did not recognize.
* * * * * *
From the left speaker there came a sound the Player recognized. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” he moaned.
He spun Agent 7 around to the right. Sure enough, there was a stampede of charging elephants. Suspecting that the freeze ray would not be terribly effective in this situation, he ran.