More Futurisitic Fun Than You Really Wanted, part I of V

[P3nT4gR4m]

Pixie administers the eucharist...

[Pope Pixie Pickle]

 

[Cainad (dec.)]

to the last several posts.

guys I'm running out of mittens to give, halp! this thread is using them all up

[Adios]

Recording from new recruit briefing


"Allright, lissen up maggots. This will be your first week of missions, most of you will die, especially if you do not listen to your squad leaders. Do I make myself clear?"

{mumbled sounds of agreement}

"Simple advise for you, take the Juice. If you survive 5 missions then you can decide otherwise. Trust your training, don't think down there, just react. You've all seen the films, but once you see one of these damn things face to face your world will change.

They are fast, powerful and smart. If you are slow, you will be eaten, if this happens make damn sure you don't take anyone else with you. This is the real world now ladies, at least the new real world."

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"I thought when I signed up I was supposed to be in operations, that's what they told me."

{laugh}

Well, get this straight kid, IF you survive 15 or 20 missions then you may be considered for something like that, until you will do exactly as you are told, when you are told to do it, and how you are told to do it. AM I clear on this?"

"Yes Sir."

"The people in those jobs have paid their dues and most of them have been too badly disfigured to stay in the field. Do Not fool yourselves children, we are in a war, a war for the survival of man kind. Our enemy is faster, stronger and bigger than us. Our brains and equipment close that little gap, but only if you can manage to not get dead.

You are all assigned to Sue squads, your squad leaders have survived at least 5 Sue missions. Keep your mouths shut and your eyes open. Keep your finger on the trigger. Survive 3 missions and we may even ask what your name is."

"Any other questions?"


"Allright, squad leaders take over, get your teams squared away and those assigned duty today, you have one hour to be back here. Make your peace before then."

mumbling and shuffling as teams get together, recording ends

[Adios]

Pent, that fucking art is HOT!

[Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.]

Pent, that art is fucking aces. Absolutely kick-ass.

Loved the last bit, Charley. "Survive three missions we may even ask what your name is." Wow.

[P3nT4gR4m]

The first time you pull the hat on, then feel the spike of pixies needle, straight in the base of your skull, that's the kicker brother. When the visor goes down, that's when it changes. It's down to your ears and your sense of smell and that other sense that nobody seems to talk about, y'know the way you somehow know where everything is? That sense is boosted by the eucharist, brother, you don't need your eyes, that's why the visor's there. Stop you making stupid mistakes cos your vision gets clouded. We fight blind. It's the only way.

When it's quiet and you and your brothers are heading down the tunnels, just before the howling starts. Just before the fucking nessies are on you. That's when you'll shit your armour. Everybody does. First couple of times. And then you feel the bastards, coiling round you, snapping at your legs, clawing at your chestplate. Keep your axe swinging, use your elbow spikes and trust the servos and, if you're really fucking lucky, or really fucking good, or maybe a mixture of the two, you'll come out of there alive and we'll talk again. If you get killed then remember this one thing - it's only killed, no big deal.

[Eater of Clowns]

That artwork is great, Pent.

And Payne, that last one just threw off my perception of this world in such a good way.

[Payne]

That artwork is great, Pent.

And Payne, that last one just threw off my perception of this world in such a good way.

You're welcome

Pixie administers the eucharist...

I may or may not fap to this... 

[Adios]

Recording from new Sue team

"Hey Top."

"Yeah kid?"

"Were you scared the first time?"

"Scared? Hell no. I was fucking terrified. Funny thing though, what I was most afraid of was pissing myself. Don't get me wrong, the thought of going into those tunnels was making me damn near cry, the thought of facing one of those damn monsters made my fucking knees weak. I dunno though, pissing myself would have been the most humiliating thing I could have imagined."

"So, how did you get over it, I mean I am shaking and I don't want to cry."

"Hit the juice kid. Go ahead, do it now. You forget all about the fear, you just want to get down there and kill something after that."

"You don't take it now Sarge."

"No, no need anymore. Listen kid, I don't remember a lot about my first mission, but what I do remember is getting jerked off of my feet from behind and rolling to my feet ready to kill something, I mean anything. It was my squad leader, the fight was over, but I kept pushing on so he had to stop me.

It was a pretty tense minute or two, no doubt he would have killed me if I had gone after him. I remember looking around and the rest of the newborns were as in as bad shape as I was. I only took the juice one more time after that."

"Kid? Hey, kid. hehehe, well, so much for being scared kid.


Move out meatheads, split up , half on one side, half on the other. Look sharp, reports say heavy traffic ahead."

{recording ends with the sound of boots walking off.}

[Payne]

So, you freaks always want to ask me about the 'rituals'. I'll tell you straight up, I don't know how they became what they are. The Communion thing was just a thing to do, you know? The Green Disciples were going Below with me about once a week, and they were all tripping out on The Idea so I threw them the Eucharist. And yeah, originally it was just a glass of wine. Any man deserves a last drink.

I was off my face on The Idea more than they were. I was reading Augustine and Paul and all the early church fathers. I was soaking up all the Buddhist shit I could find, all the Tao. I was quoting Marx and Hegel and Nietzsche at them, losing my intellectual shit in a flood of verbs and nouns. I knew I hadn't defined The Idea with any of it but I kept trying to chip away at the monolith that kept it hidden using any philosophy I could.

Those first five, man. They were fucking giants. We all could see it: from me down to the newest recruit to see the last living Green Disciple. They took those words and gave them real fire. The Idea was mine, but the mission was theirs.

It was Disciple Samson who brought the first notebook to the pre Sortie ritual. I could see him scribbling down notes in the gloom as I ranted myself hoarse. He was rocking himself back and forth on his knees like a Moslem lost in his love for Allah. I remember thinking that we had no Mecca you see. That compasses and maps and direction are meaningless Below. There is Up, and there is the battle and that is everything.

Samson was rapidly becoming something more. He was lethal and resolute in the most astoundingly, primitively, gracful way I have ever seen Below. Above, he was quiet and contemplative. He was the first to build his quarters in the Catacomb. And he was the first to administer the 'Juice. It was pulled out of a kit bag he brought with him to the Sortie ritual, wrapped up in a stained purple stole. It was laid out alongside his Prayer book and a wicked simple looking obsidian dagger so precisely that it reminded me of a surgical table.

And I ranted. This was rolling on now and I couldn't stop, even had I wanted to. The Idea, I could see it in their eyes - they could see the shape of it despite the inability of my words to make it pristine and clear. Samson began the first counterpointed rolling chant behind my words, and soon Evans and Brock and all the rest were doing it. They had obviously prepared this before, but I knew they intended it to honour me and so I was.

Then came Communion. We were celebrating our unity of purpose, and yeah it now seems appropriate that this new unity, this closeness greater than the atms of a neutron star, was to be celebrated by a new ritual. As the Disciples and the recruits took their sip of wine, Samson took the arm and gently inserted the needle. And then he asked me to do it for him, and so I did. I don't know what was in that batch, I never did find out what Samson had used. When I asked him he said it was Nessie blood with an absolutely earnest bent to his words. The other men did too, though we all could see that the fluid resembled nothing of the ichor we returned from our Sorties covered in.

For them, I guess it really was Nessie blood. Belief is powerful. Maybe it was the promise that taking it would allow them to shed Nessie blood. Whatever it was, 'Juice became a part of it all, a link in the ever expanding chain that bound us together.

Samson was the first to die, and we never found out exactly what his Idea was. He went Below without the armour and was torn up so bad that we had nothing to take above with us. Now and again one of the recruits will wear a necklace with what they claim is Samsons trigger finger on it, or his eye. Brutal stuff, but these are brutal times. After Samson was gone, I remained ever after at the threshold of the Below. I was needed there to co-ordinate the ever expanding mission, and I needed to prepare all those children as best as I could.

His last batch of the 'Juice is lined up in five syringes behind the altar, as are his other ritual devices, and the rookies whisper to each other in their bunks at night that Samson isn't really dead, that in some Final Night he will return to don his armour and administer the Last Eucharist and we will all be killed in some final battle against the Below. I don't believe in these things, because we cannot, must not, lose.

Samson was gone, and so too were the others of the First Five. There was another, greater, change to come. For on the heels of the last Green Disciple came Pixie, the Templars and the beginning of the true war.

[Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.]

I came up with this small three section story but I'm having trouble prying it out of my head in between work, sleep, work, and work. :S

[Telarus]

Pixie administers the eucharist...
http://i75.photobucket.com/albums/i312/P3nT4gR4m/pixie.jpg

DAMN P3NT. Those are sweet. I was thinking about the servo power-Armor and I got the image in my head that they look a little like the space suits on Stargate Universe (interesting 'ancient'-punk design). These would make great reference material. Links:

http://malor.files.wordpress.com/2009/10/stargate-universe05.jpg
http://josephmallozzi.files.wordpress.com/2009/12/peter-in-uniform.jpg
http://www.blogcdn.com/www.tvsquad.com/media/2010/11/stargate-universe-the-greater-good.jpg
http://www.blogcdn.com/www.tvsquad.com/media/2010/06/sguincursionrecap610.jpg
http://popculturezoo.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/NUP_139336_0255.jpg

[Jenne]

I got about 4 hours sleep between the outskirts of London and Edinburgh. I'd been on the loop of sleep-then-no-sleep for about a week anyway—why stop now? Payne figured after my "debriefing" in the Sue Zone with the Servoheads I'd need to go up north and talk to his scientists about that Payneite Juice and see if the gas we had in the US would be "effective" like he and his troops seemed to believe.

I put myself on the train because, frankly, driving in buttfuck England is like driving yourself delirious, one kilmometre at a time. They have these roundabout circulars that are Bob-honest built to just drive a man to drink, and those men already in their drink can just drive themselves straight to hell in 'em.

So I picked the station with the most direct route and headed north. I was supposed to meet up with P3nt, Payne's point man in all things computer. I had no idea what that meant, except that P3nt knew who the lab guys were, having worked with them when he was a young whelp in the 80's. What I didn't figure on was that this trip would end up bringin me news that would change my life.

I was met at the station by a cabbie with a name placard, so the guesswork was taken out of that one. I climbed in and sat back in the cushions, trying not to fall asleep. I hoped that when I met up with P3nt, he'd have some coffee hot, dark, thick and ready.

The building we pulled up to was your usual Scots afair—with a hodgepodge of stone and brick, maybe some wood stuck here and there to prop it up against the wind and damp. We rolled up outside and I just could make out a dark doorway where a man threw away a butt into the cobblestones and headed out to meet us, hands in his pockets and head down as he walked. He reached us just as the driver pulled my case out of the boot.

"P3nt? How the hell are ya?" I reached and tried to shake his hand. He looked down at my hand, hesitated a fraction and grabbed me in a quick embrace, dropping it as soon as it happened.

"Rog, shit's not good here. I'm sorry we're meeting like this, Mate, but you know, better now than never."

"Fuck yeah. Let's go in. Do you savages out here do anything but scotch and ale? I need some coffee like a sonofabitch."

"I'll fix ye a cuppa, I might. Let's go in."

The small dark galley that led from the door to the back of the small house-like structure in the front had a hotplate, a stove, a small microwave and a fridgerator that I swear to god dated from 1955.

I watched as P3nt grabbed a mug, instant coffee, and turned on the electric water boiler. When all was in order, he turned to me with a raised brow and a question in his eyes. I knew what it was.

"He's fine. Pix is too. But I know they are missing life as it is. Or was."

P3nt seemed to know what I mean and sighed. He lit a cigarette, offered me one, which I declined, shrugged and leaned back on the sink in the corner of the room, blowing smoke in a thoughtful manner.

"I tell ye what, Roger. If I had a DIME for every mate that I saw coming back from these godforsaken tunnels, fucked up six ways to Sunday...I'd be a very fucking rich bugger."

"I was there, not seven hours ago. P3nt, I know what's wrong, but I can't begin to know how to fix it. If you nuke the whole underground of London, you destroy the people up above. The mobilization it would take to evacuate the whole city and its surroundings...it boggles the mind. Blows me away."

"Aye. But what's to do? Payne's killin' himself, and I'm fair tied up here, working the internet underground for him. Life as we know it, it's at a stand still it is, and I'm fair done with it. We was hoping you would be part of the solution, and I'm hoping with what we show ye tonight, it'd be on its way to be finished."

"I'm curious as to what that could be. Payne was mighty mysterious in London," I replied, accepting the cup of steaming brew from P3nt's hands. I blew the steam off and sipped, hoping as he was that tonight, we'd all get some answers. I didn't have a clue how much I could actually be of help to these comrades in arms, but I was willing to try.

Three hours later I was standing in front of a hugeass computer, trying to understand what any of this had to do with the battle going on underground in London.  As P3nt was explaining to me how the configurations of different battle plans were going, I got a call on my private cell.  I excused myself and walked out of the building.

The chill air made my breath puff out in little expirations of steam.  "Yes," I said, "this is he."

"Sir, your brother's been injured.  He's in the OR, and they are prepping him for surgery now."

"Fucking shit."  I sat on my heels, against the brick wall on the outside of the bunker that P3nt's men were in, feverishly working on strategies that might work for the Payneites.  "What happened?"

"Sir, I don't know, I was given this message ten minutes ago to give to you.  I know he was in a battle in Utah, and that there was a considerable loss of life, but I don't know what's wrong or how he was injured."

I stared down at my feet, wishing I'd had one of P3nt's cigarettes in my hand.  A deep drag on some nicotine would be helpful at this moment.  "Thank you.  I'll be on the next plane out.  Can I have his location?"

"Sir, we'll have someone meet you in Salt Lake City.  Text your flight information to this number."  The voice on the line gave me some digits, and I recorded them into my phone, hanging up after we were done.

Fuck.  I had to wrap things up quickly here, and I'd barely begun.  I should have taken a partner.  Doing this shit alone had its definite drawbacks.

"P3nt, I've gotten some bad news.  Shit's hit the fan back home, my brother's in the hospital.  What can we do here in the next hour before I have to get back on a train and take a plane the fuck outta here?"

P3nt looked at me with that raised eyebrow of his and considered.  I'll show you something no one outside of this building's seen.  Others only know and have heard of."

What.  The.  Fuck.  "Ok."  I hesitated a fraction, P3nt saw it and laughed for about ten seconds straight, side-splitting, gut-wrenching belly laughs that started from his groin and made their way up through his mouth.

He straightened up finally and took me through a corridor, into a stairwell and down, down, under the floor.  I could tell this was not your usual "into the basement" affair.  There was a whole different, clinical atmosphere here.  And this is probably what Payne had sent me to see.

"You see, Rev," P3nt said, as he pushed a series of code buttons into a keypad display on a door at the end of a hallway, overhead fluorescent lights blinking on and off, washing out his complexion to where he looked not a little ethereal, "this shit's, well, a little off the hook."

And then I saw it.   Actually, I smelled and heard it before I saw it.  That same, sickly sweet smell I'd encountered in the tunnels under London was present, and a high-pitched keeling wail assaulted my ears at the same time.  P3nt had captured a "Nessie," a beastie...  In Scotland, of all places.
...

On the plane back from Edinburgh, I considered several things.  First and foremost, I had to go see Junior.  I got more details from his wife out in Colorado.  Janey had always liked me, though we hadn't always seen eye to eye on things.  I egged Junior on, whereas she had always wanted him to take a desk job and take the "high road" in life.  My attitude had always been:  Fuck that.  

Though, if she'd had it her way, he'd probably not be in this mess and not be in the recovery room of a hospital out in Utah.

Janey'd given me the low-down on Junior's condition, and he was fine, not in a coma or nothing, just needed some surgery after a C4 blast had given him a run for his money.  The latest mission had gone badwrong, and Junior'd been on the front lines.  I asked Janey if she'd be meeting me out there, and she replied that she was more or less warned by Junior's second in command to stay put and watch out for anything havey cavey at home.  Some of the homefront operatives' homes had been burgled recently, and many of them had shit stolen, mostly their cell phones, laptops, CPUs off their desktop computers, any files at home that weren't personal, etc.

This worried me somewhat, as I hadn't been home to safeguard my own shit in days.  I know I had Crazy Eddie's information in an encrypted file on my phone as well as my desktop computer at home.  If shit's gonna hit the fan, I didn't want to be the guy who started it all.

Thinking back to the monstrosity I'd seen in P3nt's underground bunker in the lab building...I just didn't know how I was going to process all I'd seen.  I wanted to go home and assume the fetal position after a few shots of cheap whiskey, but then I figured that'd be the pussy's way out.

No, the best thing to do was to meet this shit head on.  P3nt's "beastie" just didn't fit what we'd all thought.  It responded to light, sound and smell.  No one could tell if it was male or female, but it did show emotion.  P3nt shared with me that at one point, they played Lionel Ritchie's greatest hits for ten hours straight, and it eventually beat itself into unconsciousness.

The boys in London had found this one about three months ago, thinking it was a baby, as it was tiny and could be transported in a truck up north.  P3nt's men were experimenting on it daily, and its susceptibility to the elements is what made Payne and everyone else think it might respond to nerve gas, similar to what we were generating in the US.  I thought I could get a handle on Crazy Eddie's resources and smuggle some to P3nt or Payne, but I'd have to get Crazy Eddie to agree.  Since the fucker had one AWOL, that might be harder than I thought.

We touched down into Salt Lake City airport, and again I was met right outside the gate by a guy with a placard and a towncar, and off we went to find my brother, damn his hide.
...

I hate hospitals.  There's no way I want to spend more than an hour or two, tops, in one.  Of my own free will.  But, when my little brother is in a bed, fixed up to tubes and monitors, I guess I have to just submit.

He came to after I'd been there for the better part of an evening, and his first words shocked the shit outta me.

"Crazy Eddie's dead."

"Junior.  How you feeling?"

"He's dead, Roger.   I'm sorry."

"The fuck, Junior?  You just woke up.  Out of motherfucking surgery.  For chrissakes."

Junior sighed.  He looked tired.  Dark circles under his eyes, a bluish, greenish area under his left  cheek and a split lip, hands all bruised as they lay lifeless on top of the hospital-white sheet.  "I know this is hard for you.  You went through basic with him."

"Shhh.  Just, fuckin' rest already.  We'll—we'll talk tomorrow.  Or later on this morning, whatever the fuck.  I'm just glad you're ok."

Goddammit.  Goddammit all to hell.

Junior closed his eyes.  "Ok," he whispered.  "Have it your way."  He was asleep in two seconds.

[P3nT4gR4m]

Pixie administers the eucharist...
http://i75.photobucket.com/albums/i312/P3nT4gR4m/pixie.jpg

DAMN P3NT. Those are sweet. I was thinking about the servo power-Armor and I got the image in my head that they look a little like the space suits on Stargate Universe (interesting 'ancient'-punk design). These would make great reference material. Links:

http://malor.files.wordpress.com/2009/10/stargate-universe05.jpg
http://josephmallozzi.files.wordpress.com/2009/12/peter-in-uniform.jpg
http://www.blogcdn.com/www.tvsquad.com/media/2010/11/stargate-universe-the-greater-good.jpg
http://www.blogcdn.com/www.tvsquad.com/media/2010/06/sguincursionrecap610.jpg
http://popculturezoo.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/NUP_139336_0255.jpg

The way I described the armour to TGRR was "a warhammer 40k marine crossed with a JCB" The more I draw them the more refined my design is getting, Every time I think I've gone as chunky as it's possible to go, whaddya know - it gets chunkier