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This is a story. Regulars know they don't contribute unless asked. Newbies - don't spam it up. Stories are fun. You may take the mick out of my puny skills, if you wish :-)
Cheers, Stryke.
**
RASTA SKANK AND THE TEMPLE OF CUBE
Nice Guy scribbled insanely on his papers, tomes of archaic text surrounded him. At last, the secret was there. It had been so obvious! It had been right in front of him the whole time. He wrapped up his secrets and began to scribble a name on them. He wasn’t safe. First his apprentice had gone missing.. The lad had such dreams. Then the letters had begun. He suddenly span around, as a shadow flitted across the edge of his vision. Someone… was in here. He hurriedly threw the book into the mail chute, smiling as it slid away and to safety. Then he pushed his flowing hair out of his eyes, and grabbed the Colt45 he had concealed in his desk. As he turned, he felt a motion behind him. Suddenly the gun was jerked out of his hand and he was thrust forward into a mound of books. He grunted in pain and a fist ground into his lower spine.
“ Where is it?” hissed a voice. Nice Guy gulped.
“ I’ll never tell you!”
“ So be it.”
Nice Guy turned, and saw the face of the man who had attacked him. His brow furrowed as he searched for understanding, then his vision faded…
**
Rasta sighed as he slumped into his desk. He was a computer programmer at Sony, and he hated his job. He feared to think what might happen if his boss discovered the stash of illegal Nintendo games he had hidden under the third floorboard of his home in the biggest town in the new county, New Sony. He groaned again as the mailman passed by and haphazardly threw his mail onto the desk. Rasta scrabbled over the usual game applications for addicted fans. The strange ones had taken to grinding up the Psone’s and injected into their blood. He threw them straight into the bin, then picked up a strange parcel. The address was scrawled on it, and Rasta turned it over to see where it came from. America. He gulped. That place had been desolated since the old Japan Wars. He remembered… No, the guy must be dead by now. Rasta wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and turned back to his computer, ready for the long day ahead. He threw the package over his head and into the bin.
**
Rasta threw his keys onto the table and slumped onto the sofa. It wasn’t there. He crashed onto the floor and opened his eyes, wildly. The place was a wreck. The Playstations he kept in plain view were on their side – he never played on them. The TV was smashed, and everything was ripped to pieces. He pulled a hand over his face, and dashed to the third floorboard. He wrenched it open. He sighed in relief. The SNES was still there, Clayfighter was undisturbed. He heaved back onto the floor, and glanced up at the wall. He gulped again.
WE KNOW YOU HAVE IT. GIVE IT TO US.
Then a symbol was scrawled onto the wall. Everyone knew that symbol. The Three Fingered Hand – the symbol of Sony’ secret police. Rasta knew who they were after. But he was… in America.
Ten seconds later Rasta’s car screeched out of the drive and towards his office.
**
He slammed open the front door, zipped his card into the lift socket, and raced up to his office. Something was very very wrong. His old tutor, Archimedes N. Guy had sent him that parcel, and had been an expert in Archaic Games. He had taught Rasta that once there was others apart from Sony. He had given Rasta his SNES, and taught him of the Holy Cube, an artefact imbued with the power to stop Sony’s world domination. He had believed the last surviving copy to be located in America, but that place has been destroyed in Sony’s first attack. Rasta stepped out the lift and ran to his desk, rummaging in the bin. He pulled out the parcel and ripped it open. A CD fell out, and a note.
To Rasta,
I was right. There was a console that came after the SNES! There was a dream that was Earth. You had only to whisper its name, and it would disappear. It’s name was Nintendo, Rasta – it is here in America. But I am in great peril, my pupil. You must carry on my dream. Contained in this CD is half the information you need. Find the rest where this leads to. I have a friend who will attempt to contact you. Beware, they are coming for you.
Archimedes Nice Guy.
Rasta gulped. He hadn’t gone on an adventure for years. He remembered the old days, when he had followed Archie on searches around the world, for traces of an age before Sony. He glanced at his computer. It was 21st April, 2002. He stuck the CD in and gaped, open-mouthed, as images flashed past his eyes. Spectacular images, games that only existed in the imagination. Then a map scrolled across the screen, blueprints, a name. No-one knew his real name of course, the man went only by a codename. Rasta remembered his first contact with the agent, the mysterious ‘Vottanator’ who no-one knew. This was who Archie chose for him to contact? The man who was infamous for his slaying of Votta, the extremist leader of the X-Party? Rasta sat back, and thought. America was a dangerous place. He touched a part of his desk and a drawer slid open. An old Colt45 sat there, with his hat and old clothes. Not the drivel Sony issued, but true clothes, harking back to better times. He looked out of the window, gritting his teeth. He couldn’t just leave.
Five minutes later the drawer was empty. Rasta holstered the Colt45, and pulled the brim of his hat at a sideways angle. He grinned at himself in the reflection. Then a shot shattered the window. He rolled away, under a desk. Three dark figures slipped silently out of the lift and began advancing across the room. Rasta slipped his gun from its holster and levelled it at one figure. He would have to be quick. He shot, sending the guy reeling backwards into another, then he ran and dived through the shattered window, a computer wire tied around his waist. He fell lightly to the ground as the wire tightened, and dived behind a bush as two bullets shattered the flagstone he had been hiding on. Rasta looked smugly at the CD, and made off through the bushes. Rasta had to find Vottanator, or else, all was lost.
**
A figure looked downwards, from the broken window.
“ Do you wish to pursue, sir?”
He held up a hand, slowly.
“ Did you get a trace on the CD?”
“ No sir. But we have the identity of his contact. The name is Vottanator.”
“ Make it so.”
“ Yes, Agent Turbo.”
Turbo turned from the window, the Three Fingered Hand embossed on his shirt.
“ He will try to find the Cube. This shall not be allowed. I shall not allow it.”
He nodded to his other two agents.
“ Strength and Sony.”
“ Strength and Sony” they replied, as was the custom.
Turbo walked away, eyes hard.
**
to be continued...
Cheers, Stryke.
**
RASTA SKANK AND THE TEMPLE OF CUBE
Nice Guy scribbled insanely on his papers, tomes of archaic text surrounded him. At last, the secret was there. It had been so obvious! It had been right in front of him the whole time. He wrapped up his secrets and began to scribble a name on them. He wasn’t safe. First his apprentice had gone missing.. The lad had such dreams. Then the letters had begun. He suddenly span around, as a shadow flitted across the edge of his vision. Someone… was in here. He hurriedly threw the book into the mail chute, smiling as it slid away and to safety. Then he pushed his flowing hair out of his eyes, and grabbed the Colt45 he had concealed in his desk. As he turned, he felt a motion behind him. Suddenly the gun was jerked out of his hand and he was thrust forward into a mound of books. He grunted in pain and a fist ground into his lower spine.
“ Where is it?” hissed a voice. Nice Guy gulped.
“ I’ll never tell you!”
“ So be it.”
Nice Guy turned, and saw the face of the man who had attacked him. His brow furrowed as he searched for understanding, then his vision faded…
**
Rasta sighed as he slumped into his desk. He was a computer programmer at Sony, and he hated his job. He feared to think what might happen if his boss discovered the stash of illegal Nintendo games he had hidden under the third floorboard of his home in the biggest town in the new county, New Sony. He groaned again as the mailman passed by and haphazardly threw his mail onto the desk. Rasta scrabbled over the usual game applications for addicted fans. The strange ones had taken to grinding up the Psone’s and injected into their blood. He threw them straight into the bin, then picked up a strange parcel. The address was scrawled on it, and Rasta turned it over to see where it came from. America. He gulped. That place had been desolated since the old Japan Wars. He remembered… No, the guy must be dead by now. Rasta wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and turned back to his computer, ready for the long day ahead. He threw the package over his head and into the bin.
**
Rasta threw his keys onto the table and slumped onto the sofa. It wasn’t there. He crashed onto the floor and opened his eyes, wildly. The place was a wreck. The Playstations he kept in plain view were on their side – he never played on them. The TV was smashed, and everything was ripped to pieces. He pulled a hand over his face, and dashed to the third floorboard. He wrenched it open. He sighed in relief. The SNES was still there, Clayfighter was undisturbed. He heaved back onto the floor, and glanced up at the wall. He gulped again.
WE KNOW YOU HAVE IT. GIVE IT TO US.
Then a symbol was scrawled onto the wall. Everyone knew that symbol. The Three Fingered Hand – the symbol of Sony’ secret police. Rasta knew who they were after. But he was… in America.
Ten seconds later Rasta’s car screeched out of the drive and towards his office.
**
He slammed open the front door, zipped his card into the lift socket, and raced up to his office. Something was very very wrong. His old tutor, Archimedes N. Guy had sent him that parcel, and had been an expert in Archaic Games. He had taught Rasta that once there was others apart from Sony. He had given Rasta his SNES, and taught him of the Holy Cube, an artefact imbued with the power to stop Sony’s world domination. He had believed the last surviving copy to be located in America, but that place has been destroyed in Sony’s first attack. Rasta stepped out the lift and ran to his desk, rummaging in the bin. He pulled out the parcel and ripped it open. A CD fell out, and a note.
To Rasta,
I was right. There was a console that came after the SNES! There was a dream that was Earth. You had only to whisper its name, and it would disappear. It’s name was Nintendo, Rasta – it is here in America. But I am in great peril, my pupil. You must carry on my dream. Contained in this CD is half the information you need. Find the rest where this leads to. I have a friend who will attempt to contact you. Beware, they are coming for you.
Archimedes Nice Guy.
Rasta gulped. He hadn’t gone on an adventure for years. He remembered the old days, when he had followed Archie on searches around the world, for traces of an age before Sony. He glanced at his computer. It was 21st April, 2002. He stuck the CD in and gaped, open-mouthed, as images flashed past his eyes. Spectacular images, games that only existed in the imagination. Then a map scrolled across the screen, blueprints, a name. No-one knew his real name of course, the man went only by a codename. Rasta remembered his first contact with the agent, the mysterious ‘Vottanator’ who no-one knew. This was who Archie chose for him to contact? The man who was infamous for his slaying of Votta, the extremist leader of the X-Party? Rasta sat back, and thought. America was a dangerous place. He touched a part of his desk and a drawer slid open. An old Colt45 sat there, with his hat and old clothes. Not the drivel Sony issued, but true clothes, harking back to better times. He looked out of the window, gritting his teeth. He couldn’t just leave.
Five minutes later the drawer was empty. Rasta holstered the Colt45, and pulled the brim of his hat at a sideways angle. He grinned at himself in the reflection. Then a shot shattered the window. He rolled away, under a desk. Three dark figures slipped silently out of the lift and began advancing across the room. Rasta slipped his gun from its holster and levelled it at one figure. He would have to be quick. He shot, sending the guy reeling backwards into another, then he ran and dived through the shattered window, a computer wire tied around his waist. He fell lightly to the ground as the wire tightened, and dived behind a bush as two bullets shattered the flagstone he had been hiding on. Rasta looked smugly at the CD, and made off through the bushes. Rasta had to find Vottanator, or else, all was lost.
**
A figure looked downwards, from the broken window.
“ Do you wish to pursue, sir?”
He held up a hand, slowly.
“ Did you get a trace on the CD?”
“ No sir. But we have the identity of his contact. The name is Vottanator.”
“ Make it so.”
“ Yes, Agent Turbo.”
Turbo turned from the window, the Three Fingered Hand embossed on his shirt.
“ He will try to find the Cube. This shall not be allowed. I shall not allow it.”
He nodded to his other two agents.
“ Strength and Sony.”
“ Strength and Sony” they replied, as was the custom.
Turbo walked away, eyes hard.
**
to be continued...
Page:
This is a story. Regulars know they don't contribute unless asked. Newbies - don't spam it up. Stories are fun. You may take the mick out of my puny skills, if you wish :-)
Cheers, Stryke.
**
RASTA SKANK AND THE TEMPLE OF CUBE
Nice Guy scribbled insanely on his papers, tomes of archaic text surrounded him. At last, the secret was there. It had been so obvious! It had been right in front of him the whole time. He wrapped up his secrets and began to scribble a name on them. He wasn’t safe. First his apprentice had gone missing.. The lad had such dreams. Then the letters had begun. He suddenly span around, as a shadow flitted across the edge of his vision. Someone… was in here. He hurriedly threw the book into the mail chute, smiling as it slid away and to safety. Then he pushed his flowing hair out of his eyes, and grabbed the Colt45 he had concealed in his desk. As he turned, he felt a motion behind him. Suddenly the gun was jerked out of his hand and he was thrust forward into a mound of books. He grunted in pain and a fist ground into his lower spine.
“ Where is it?” hissed a voice. Nice Guy gulped.
“ I’ll never tell you!”
“ So be it.”
Nice Guy turned, and saw the face of the man who had attacked him. His brow furrowed as he searched for understanding, then his vision faded…
**
Rasta sighed as he slumped into his desk. He was a computer programmer at Sony, and he hated his job. He feared to think what might happen if his boss discovered the stash of illegal Nintendo games he had hidden under the third floorboard of his home in the biggest town in the new county, New Sony. He groaned again as the mailman passed by and haphazardly threw his mail onto the desk. Rasta scrabbled over the usual game applications for addicted fans. The strange ones had taken to grinding up the Psone’s and injected into their blood. He threw them straight into the bin, then picked up a strange parcel. The address was scrawled on it, and Rasta turned it over to see where it came from. America. He gulped. That place had been desolated since the old Japan Wars. He remembered… No, the guy must be dead by now. Rasta wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and turned back to his computer, ready for the long day ahead. He threw the package over his head and into the bin.
**
Rasta threw his keys onto the table and slumped onto the sofa. It wasn’t there. He crashed onto the floor and opened his eyes, wildly. The place was a wreck. The Playstations he kept in plain view were on their side – he never played on them. The TV was smashed, and everything was ripped to pieces. He pulled a hand over his face, and dashed to the third floorboard. He wrenched it open. He sighed in relief. The SNES was still there, Clayfighter was undisturbed. He heaved back onto the floor, and glanced up at the wall. He gulped again.
WE KNOW YOU HAVE IT. GIVE IT TO US.
Then a symbol was scrawled onto the wall. Everyone knew that symbol. The Three Fingered Hand – the symbol of Sony’ secret police. Rasta knew who they were after. But he was… in America.
Ten seconds later Rasta’s car screeched out of the drive and towards his office.
**
He slammed open the front door, zipped his card into the lift socket, and raced up to his office. Something was very very wrong. His old tutor, Archimedes N. Guy had sent him that parcel, and had been an expert in Archaic Games. He had taught Rasta that once there was others apart from Sony. He had given Rasta his SNES, and taught him of the Holy Cube, an artefact imbued with the power to stop Sony’s world domination. He had believed the last surviving copy to be located in America, but that place has been destroyed in Sony’s first attack. Rasta stepped out the lift and ran to his desk, rummaging in the bin. He pulled out the parcel and ripped it open. A CD fell out, and a note.
To Rasta,
I was right. There was a console that came after the SNES! There was a dream that was Earth. You had only to whisper its name, and it would disappear. It’s name was Nintendo, Rasta – it is here in America. But I am in great peril, my pupil. You must carry on my dream. Contained in this CD is half the information you need. Find the rest where this leads to. I have a friend who will attempt to contact you. Beware, they are coming for you.
Archimedes Nice Guy.
Rasta gulped. He hadn’t gone on an adventure for years. He remembered the old days, when he had followed Archie on searches around the world, for traces of an age before Sony. He glanced at his computer. It was 21st April, 2002. He stuck the CD in and gaped, open-mouthed, as images flashed past his eyes. Spectacular images, games that only existed in the imagination. Then a map scrolled across the screen, blueprints, a name. No-one knew his real name of course, the man went only by a codename. Rasta remembered his first contact with the agent, the mysterious ‘Vottanator’ who no-one knew. This was who Archie chose for him to contact? The man who was infamous for his slaying of Votta, the extremist leader of the X-Party? Rasta sat back, and thought. America was a dangerous place. He touched a part of his desk and a drawer slid open. An old Colt45 sat there, with his hat and old clothes. Not the drivel Sony issued, but true clothes, harking back to better times. He looked out of the window, gritting his teeth. He couldn’t just leave.
Five minutes later the drawer was empty. Rasta holstered the Colt45, and pulled the brim of his hat at a sideways angle. He grinned at himself in the reflection. Then a shot shattered the window. He rolled away, under a desk. Three dark figures slipped silently out of the lift and began advancing across the room. Rasta slipped his gun from its holster and levelled it at one figure. He would have to be quick. He shot, sending the guy reeling backwards into another, then he ran and dived through the shattered window, a computer wire tied around his waist. He fell lightly to the ground as the wire tightened, and dived behind a bush as two bullets shattered the flagstone he had been hiding on. Rasta looked smugly at the CD, and made off through the bushes. Rasta had to find Vottanator, or else, all was lost.
**
A figure looked downwards, from the broken window.
“ Do you wish to pursue, sir?”
He held up a hand, slowly.
“ Did you get a trace on the CD?”
“ No sir. But we have the identity of his contact. The name is Vottanator.”
“ Make it so.”
“ Yes, Agent Turbo.”
Turbo turned from the window, the Three Fingered Hand embossed on his shirt.
“ He will try to find the Cube. This shall not be allowed. I shall not allow it.”
He nodded to his other two agents.
“ Strength and Sony.”
“ Strength and Sony” they replied, as was the custom.
Turbo walked away, eyes hard.
**
to be continued...
Cheers, Stryke.
**
RASTA SKANK AND THE TEMPLE OF CUBE
Nice Guy scribbled insanely on his papers, tomes of archaic text surrounded him. At last, the secret was there. It had been so obvious! It had been right in front of him the whole time. He wrapped up his secrets and began to scribble a name on them. He wasn’t safe. First his apprentice had gone missing.. The lad had such dreams. Then the letters had begun. He suddenly span around, as a shadow flitted across the edge of his vision. Someone… was in here. He hurriedly threw the book into the mail chute, smiling as it slid away and to safety. Then he pushed his flowing hair out of his eyes, and grabbed the Colt45 he had concealed in his desk. As he turned, he felt a motion behind him. Suddenly the gun was jerked out of his hand and he was thrust forward into a mound of books. He grunted in pain and a fist ground into his lower spine.
“ Where is it?” hissed a voice. Nice Guy gulped.
“ I’ll never tell you!”
“ So be it.”
Nice Guy turned, and saw the face of the man who had attacked him. His brow furrowed as he searched for understanding, then his vision faded…
**
Rasta sighed as he slumped into his desk. He was a computer programmer at Sony, and he hated his job. He feared to think what might happen if his boss discovered the stash of illegal Nintendo games he had hidden under the third floorboard of his home in the biggest town in the new county, New Sony. He groaned again as the mailman passed by and haphazardly threw his mail onto the desk. Rasta scrabbled over the usual game applications for addicted fans. The strange ones had taken to grinding up the Psone’s and injected into their blood. He threw them straight into the bin, then picked up a strange parcel. The address was scrawled on it, and Rasta turned it over to see where it came from. America. He gulped. That place had been desolated since the old Japan Wars. He remembered… No, the guy must be dead by now. Rasta wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and turned back to his computer, ready for the long day ahead. He threw the package over his head and into the bin.
**
Rasta threw his keys onto the table and slumped onto the sofa. It wasn’t there. He crashed onto the floor and opened his eyes, wildly. The place was a wreck. The Playstations he kept in plain view were on their side – he never played on them. The TV was smashed, and everything was ripped to pieces. He pulled a hand over his face, and dashed to the third floorboard. He wrenched it open. He sighed in relief. The SNES was still there, Clayfighter was undisturbed. He heaved back onto the floor, and glanced up at the wall. He gulped again.
WE KNOW YOU HAVE IT. GIVE IT TO US.
Then a symbol was scrawled onto the wall. Everyone knew that symbol. The Three Fingered Hand – the symbol of Sony’ secret police. Rasta knew who they were after. But he was… in America.
Ten seconds later Rasta’s car screeched out of the drive and towards his office.
**
He slammed open the front door, zipped his card into the lift socket, and raced up to his office. Something was very very wrong. His old tutor, Archimedes N. Guy had sent him that parcel, and had been an expert in Archaic Games. He had taught Rasta that once there was others apart from Sony. He had given Rasta his SNES, and taught him of the Holy Cube, an artefact imbued with the power to stop Sony’s world domination. He had believed the last surviving copy to be located in America, but that place has been destroyed in Sony’s first attack. Rasta stepped out the lift and ran to his desk, rummaging in the bin. He pulled out the parcel and ripped it open. A CD fell out, and a note.
To Rasta,
I was right. There was a console that came after the SNES! There was a dream that was Earth. You had only to whisper its name, and it would disappear. It’s name was Nintendo, Rasta – it is here in America. But I am in great peril, my pupil. You must carry on my dream. Contained in this CD is half the information you need. Find the rest where this leads to. I have a friend who will attempt to contact you. Beware, they are coming for you.
Archimedes Nice Guy.
Rasta gulped. He hadn’t gone on an adventure for years. He remembered the old days, when he had followed Archie on searches around the world, for traces of an age before Sony. He glanced at his computer. It was 21st April, 2002. He stuck the CD in and gaped, open-mouthed, as images flashed past his eyes. Spectacular images, games that only existed in the imagination. Then a map scrolled across the screen, blueprints, a name. No-one knew his real name of course, the man went only by a codename. Rasta remembered his first contact with the agent, the mysterious ‘Vottanator’ who no-one knew. This was who Archie chose for him to contact? The man who was infamous for his slaying of Votta, the extremist leader of the X-Party? Rasta sat back, and thought. America was a dangerous place. He touched a part of his desk and a drawer slid open. An old Colt45 sat there, with his hat and old clothes. Not the drivel Sony issued, but true clothes, harking back to better times. He looked out of the window, gritting his teeth. He couldn’t just leave.
Five minutes later the drawer was empty. Rasta holstered the Colt45, and pulled the brim of his hat at a sideways angle. He grinned at himself in the reflection. Then a shot shattered the window. He rolled away, under a desk. Three dark figures slipped silently out of the lift and began advancing across the room. Rasta slipped his gun from its holster and levelled it at one figure. He would have to be quick. He shot, sending the guy reeling backwards into another, then he ran and dived through the shattered window, a computer wire tied around his waist. He fell lightly to the ground as the wire tightened, and dived behind a bush as two bullets shattered the flagstone he had been hiding on. Rasta looked smugly at the CD, and made off through the bushes. Rasta had to find Vottanator, or else, all was lost.
**
A figure looked downwards, from the broken window.
“ Do you wish to pursue, sir?”
He held up a hand, slowly.
“ Did you get a trace on the CD?”
“ No sir. But we have the identity of his contact. The name is Vottanator.”
“ Make it so.”
“ Yes, Agent Turbo.”
Turbo turned from the window, the Three Fingered Hand embossed on his shirt.
“ He will try to find the Cube. This shall not be allowed. I shall not allow it.”
He nodded to his other two agents.
“ Strength and Sony.”
“ Strength and Sony” they replied, as was the custom.
Turbo walked away, eyes hard.
**
to be continued...
Nice one Stryke, entertaining and I want more. When will the rest be ready?
Is it a story? ... Yes you say...
*JaCeeUK hammers in the direction sign to the story forum*
Styrke, I will read this a bit later as it would be very disrespectful of me not to.
*JaCeeUK hammers in the direction sign to the story forum*
Styrke, I will read this a bit later as it would be very disrespectful of me not to.
AliBoy wrote:
> Nice one Stryke, entertaining and I want more. When will the rest be ready?
Bout half an hour?
> Nice one Stryke, entertaining and I want more. When will the rest be ready?
Bout half an hour?
Rasta ran through the alleys of Sony Town, sweat drenching his face. He had memorised the address. He knew the agent would be waiting for him.. a few more corners… A hand reached out of a shadowy corner and slammed him against a wall.
“ Stand still.” A gruff voice came from the tall figure. “ Are you armed?”
“ Yes…Colt45… I’m Ras..”
“ I know who you are. I’m Vottanator. That’s all you need to know. A.N.G contacted me. You will need my help.”
“ Whats your name?”
“ I don’t. Let’s go.” Vottanator flipped the gun back to Rasta and set off at a fast pace through the back alleys.
“ Go where?”
“ Dry cleaners, video shop, car park, where do you think? America, you muppet!”
Rasta fell silent. He checked his gun as they slipped through the night, and headed for the docks.
“ Hello boys!” a voice came from an alley. Rasta and Vottanator turned as a sailor lurched out of an alley.
“ Hello, sailors! I’m Bonus! Looking for a good time?”
Rasta looked disgusted and they ran onwards, searching for the sea-plane they were after.
Bonus straightened up as soon as the duo were out of sight. He pulled a mike from his collar.
“ Sir, I have them. Proceeding with caution.” He beckoned to another alley and Game ducked out, gun held one handed. Bonus beckoned swiftly to one side.
Rasta elbowed his way through the window of a well-built sea-plane. He threw his shotgun through and shoved himself into it. He kicked open the door and Vottanator clambered in.
“ We’ve got company.” Vottanator threw the plane into ignition, then grabbed his pistol and laid a circle of bullets into the decking just before Bonus’s feet.
“ Get us OUT of here!” yelled Vottanator. He levelled the shotgun through the window and aimed square for Game. The resulting shot carved the agent to pieces, and Bonus sent a blindingly fast field of return fire, thudding off the metal. Vottanator ducked down as Rasta turned the plane round.
“ You ever flown before?” yelled Vottanator over the roar of the massive engines starting up.
“ Well, I’ve played Lylat Wars!” yelled Rasta in response. Vottanator coughed hurriedly and shot two shells in the direction of Bonus, who was forced to dive into the water to avoid them. Rasta checked from his helmet, remembered he didn’t have one, and thurst a big lever forward.
“ Nope! That’s the rudder!” he yelled, as the plane lurched sideways.
“ You muppet!” yelled Vottanator. Rasta grinned sheepishly and randomly pressed buttons.
“ Well, it worked in Lylat Wars!”
The plane skimmed across the water and roared into the sky.
**
Turbo stepped out of the car and looked coldly down at the body of Game.
“ He failed his test of devotion.” He stepped over the body. Bonus was standing, shaking in fear as Turbo slowly approached.
“ Explain.” He said curtly.
“ I offer no excuse Master. They defeated me.” Bonus stood nobly.
“ Then I shall spare your life. Admitting fault is the first step to excellence.”
“ Really?” said Bonus, incredulously.
Turbo grinned. “ No, not really.” He whipped his gun out and had unloaded a cartridge into Bonus before he realised what happened. Turbo’s lip curled.
“ This organization will not tolerate failure.”
He clicked his fingers. Two agents immediately appeared from the darkness.
“ He is heading for America in a SonyAir C Mk 2. Get me….. Tekken.”
They gasped, in horror.
**
Rasta lay back, idly steering the plane.
“ Careful, Rasta. We don’t have any continues in real life.”
Rasta grinned.
“ I know that.” But he sat up straighter and gripped the steering wheel. “ Where’s the lasers on this?”
“ Git.”
Rasta snorted, and concentrated on the air.
“ What is the Cube, Votty?”
“ Don’t ever call me that. The Cube is a lengendary artefact. I presume A.N.G told you of the 64?”
“ Yes. He said it was the downfall of Nintendo?”
“ The downfall… Yes, that would describe it. Let me tell you or how our leader was lost….”
**
Dringo grinned as he advanced across the room, his 64 held aloft.
“ We have you now, Sony scum!” he cried, in the jubilation of the moment. Goatboy scrabbled backwards, his PS1 clutched in his hands.
“ HAHAAHAHAHAH! Behold your downfall!” Dringo pressed the start button.
They both stared as a long drawn out whine followed, then a green pipe fell out, with a sign attached. Dringo gaped as he read.
“ I’m a-sorry. Gone on a-holiday. A-bye! A-Mario.”
Goatboy smirked.
“ Your 64 has failed, Dringo-meister. You shall die!” He rose to his feet, debated switching the PS1 on, then clubbed Dringo to death with it.
**
“ Without Dringo we were lost. Goatboy and his monkey legions proceeded to destroy all traces of our culture. He invaded from Japan, destroying our home, gallant America.”
Rasta stifled a chortle, then sat back.
“ We had one hope left. We sent a Terminator, back in time, to kill the young Goatboy. Unfortunately, they sent back a note, saying RUN AWAY, and our plan was foiled. We had another hope left, somehow. The Temple of Cube, containing our unleashed weapon. It shall save the world, Rasta!”
Rasta debated this.
“ Does it have Lylat Wars?”
**
“ Stand still.” A gruff voice came from the tall figure. “ Are you armed?”
“ Yes…Colt45… I’m Ras..”
“ I know who you are. I’m Vottanator. That’s all you need to know. A.N.G contacted me. You will need my help.”
“ Whats your name?”
“ I don’t. Let’s go.” Vottanator flipped the gun back to Rasta and set off at a fast pace through the back alleys.
“ Go where?”
“ Dry cleaners, video shop, car park, where do you think? America, you muppet!”
Rasta fell silent. He checked his gun as they slipped through the night, and headed for the docks.
“ Hello boys!” a voice came from an alley. Rasta and Vottanator turned as a sailor lurched out of an alley.
“ Hello, sailors! I’m Bonus! Looking for a good time?”
Rasta looked disgusted and they ran onwards, searching for the sea-plane they were after.
Bonus straightened up as soon as the duo were out of sight. He pulled a mike from his collar.
“ Sir, I have them. Proceeding with caution.” He beckoned to another alley and Game ducked out, gun held one handed. Bonus beckoned swiftly to one side.
Rasta elbowed his way through the window of a well-built sea-plane. He threw his shotgun through and shoved himself into it. He kicked open the door and Vottanator clambered in.
“ We’ve got company.” Vottanator threw the plane into ignition, then grabbed his pistol and laid a circle of bullets into the decking just before Bonus’s feet.
“ Get us OUT of here!” yelled Vottanator. He levelled the shotgun through the window and aimed square for Game. The resulting shot carved the agent to pieces, and Bonus sent a blindingly fast field of return fire, thudding off the metal. Vottanator ducked down as Rasta turned the plane round.
“ You ever flown before?” yelled Vottanator over the roar of the massive engines starting up.
“ Well, I’ve played Lylat Wars!” yelled Rasta in response. Vottanator coughed hurriedly and shot two shells in the direction of Bonus, who was forced to dive into the water to avoid them. Rasta checked from his helmet, remembered he didn’t have one, and thurst a big lever forward.
“ Nope! That’s the rudder!” he yelled, as the plane lurched sideways.
“ You muppet!” yelled Vottanator. Rasta grinned sheepishly and randomly pressed buttons.
“ Well, it worked in Lylat Wars!”
The plane skimmed across the water and roared into the sky.
**
Turbo stepped out of the car and looked coldly down at the body of Game.
“ He failed his test of devotion.” He stepped over the body. Bonus was standing, shaking in fear as Turbo slowly approached.
“ Explain.” He said curtly.
“ I offer no excuse Master. They defeated me.” Bonus stood nobly.
“ Then I shall spare your life. Admitting fault is the first step to excellence.”
“ Really?” said Bonus, incredulously.
Turbo grinned. “ No, not really.” He whipped his gun out and had unloaded a cartridge into Bonus before he realised what happened. Turbo’s lip curled.
“ This organization will not tolerate failure.”
He clicked his fingers. Two agents immediately appeared from the darkness.
“ He is heading for America in a SonyAir C Mk 2. Get me….. Tekken.”
They gasped, in horror.
**
Rasta lay back, idly steering the plane.
“ Careful, Rasta. We don’t have any continues in real life.”
Rasta grinned.
“ I know that.” But he sat up straighter and gripped the steering wheel. “ Where’s the lasers on this?”
“ Git.”
Rasta snorted, and concentrated on the air.
“ What is the Cube, Votty?”
“ Don’t ever call me that. The Cube is a lengendary artefact. I presume A.N.G told you of the 64?”
“ Yes. He said it was the downfall of Nintendo?”
“ The downfall… Yes, that would describe it. Let me tell you or how our leader was lost….”
**
Dringo grinned as he advanced across the room, his 64 held aloft.
“ We have you now, Sony scum!” he cried, in the jubilation of the moment. Goatboy scrabbled backwards, his PS1 clutched in his hands.
“ HAHAAHAHAHAH! Behold your downfall!” Dringo pressed the start button.
They both stared as a long drawn out whine followed, then a green pipe fell out, with a sign attached. Dringo gaped as he read.
“ I’m a-sorry. Gone on a-holiday. A-bye! A-Mario.”
Goatboy smirked.
“ Your 64 has failed, Dringo-meister. You shall die!” He rose to his feet, debated switching the PS1 on, then clubbed Dringo to death with it.
**
“ Without Dringo we were lost. Goatboy and his monkey legions proceeded to destroy all traces of our culture. He invaded from Japan, destroying our home, gallant America.”
Rasta stifled a chortle, then sat back.
“ We had one hope left. We sent a Terminator, back in time, to kill the young Goatboy. Unfortunately, they sent back a note, saying RUN AWAY, and our plan was foiled. We had another hope left, somehow. The Temple of Cube, containing our unleashed weapon. It shall save the world, Rasta!”
Rasta debated this.
“ Does it have Lylat Wars?”
**
Very good story Gaz. First one from you I have read. Keep it up.
What a little scoundral TBN is :o) Shooting him like that. PAH :o) Very good Gaz.
Rasta brought the plane down in a screeching halt in a desolated airstrip, somewhere in middle America. Vottanator winced as it landed.
“ So you really couldn’t fly?” he asked, rubbing his head.
“ Nope. Beginner’s luck, eh?”
Vottanator shook his head and leapt from the plane, shotgun held ready. He crunched a skull to dust as he landed. He grimaced, as strode away, flipping a short range communicator from his belt. Rasta pulled his Colt45 free, and sniffing the air.
“ There is a scent of death here…” he muttered to himself.
Vottanator looked around him.
“ Our ride will be here shortly. There is a dedicated few of us, who work for the better good of mankind. Well, dedicated few of you. I work for Bruce Lee movies.” He moved away, eyes darting about, nervously. Then a jeep roared out of a derelict garage nearby. The driver jumped out, tripped, and landed on his face. Vottanator sighed.
“ Rasta, meet Grix. He is…was Archie’s apprentice. We removed him from close contact to Archie because he believed his life was in danger.”
“ Hey Votty!” said Grix happily.
“ Don’t call me that.”
**
Turbo sat back in the padded seat of his executive jet. It was just him, and the…animal thing that sat opposite him.
“ Ms Mystique. How are you?”
“ The name is TEKKEN!” she roared. Turbo delicately pressed a finger over his ear.
“ Sorry, Tekken it is.”
Turbo sighed. This was the worst kind of Sony fan. They injected themselves with powdered consoles, and then drank Tekken Tag Tournament in solution, for the crack of it. This specimen was the worst he’d seen. Completely insane, of course, but dedicated, and freakishly strong. They grew fur, oddly, and for unexplainable reasons, they began to look like huge monkeys.
“ Tekken, I have a little job for you. I wish a..” he gulped as the word formed in his mouth. “ N…. N…”
“ Maybe if you write it down?” asked Tekken.
“ I can’t spell it. Alright, Ninty. Don’t make me say it again! I wish this thing eliminated.”
Tekken howled in anger.
“ I shall do this! I shall rip his arms from his sockets while howling!”
Turbo smiled, a thin cold smile.
“ Excellent.”
**
Grix drove haphazardly across the landscape. Rasta looked around expectedly. He opened his mouth to speak.
“ You’re going to ask where the red shells are, aren’t you?” sighed Vottanator.
“ No…”
“ Grix, where are we headed?” asked Vottanator, shaking his head.
“ Archie’s old house, located in a cave somewhere in middle America. It’s… this way, I think.”
Vottanator sighed. He was stuck in the middle of the desert with someone who was looking around for banana skins, and another who didn’t know the way to his own home. He should have stayed at home, not taken the contract, and watched An Audience With… Bruce Lee’s Second Cousin in Law.
**
Rasta stepped silently into the home. Papers were scattered everywhere.
“ Look’s like there’s been some sort of fight.”
Grix grinned. “ Maybe, but it’s always like this. Ah, my tuxedo!”
Rasta proceeded further into the dimly lit cave. He pulled out the book, glancing at the instructions held within. He looked up, and pressed a particular piece of rock. It slid away, revealing a strange purple item. Rasta held it up, curious.
“ Do you think it’s some sort of sex toy?” he inquired.
“ Better than that!” exclaimed Grix.
“ Better than a sex toy?” said Rasta, incredulously.
“ Mm. It’s a Game Boy Advance!”
“ Game Boy?” asked Rasta. “ Sounds like a sex toy to me.”
Grix snorted and looked at it.
“ He seems to have reprogrammed it! Let’s see now…” Grix pressed a button, and it turned on, vibrating slightly.
“ Don’t even say it, Rasta.”
A screen flashed up.
“ Hello Rasta!” said Archimedes N. Guy, his face grinning up. “ I hoped you’d find this. If this isn’t Rasta, go away!”
Grix looked away quickly. Rasta sighed, and looked back.
“ I have contained here directions to the Temple of Cube! It was so obvious! But be careful, Rasta, they will know you are near!”
The Game Boy exploded in a small plume of flame.
“ What about saying ‘This will self destruct in 5 seconds’?” said, Rasta outraged.
“ Nah, far too cliché. Come, my brethen!” Grix charged from the cave. Rasta and Vottanator followed him, sullenly.
“ Still think it’s a sex toy, Votty.”
“ Don’t call me that.”
**
“ So you really couldn’t fly?” he asked, rubbing his head.
“ Nope. Beginner’s luck, eh?”
Vottanator shook his head and leapt from the plane, shotgun held ready. He crunched a skull to dust as he landed. He grimaced, as strode away, flipping a short range communicator from his belt. Rasta pulled his Colt45 free, and sniffing the air.
“ There is a scent of death here…” he muttered to himself.
Vottanator looked around him.
“ Our ride will be here shortly. There is a dedicated few of us, who work for the better good of mankind. Well, dedicated few of you. I work for Bruce Lee movies.” He moved away, eyes darting about, nervously. Then a jeep roared out of a derelict garage nearby. The driver jumped out, tripped, and landed on his face. Vottanator sighed.
“ Rasta, meet Grix. He is…was Archie’s apprentice. We removed him from close contact to Archie because he believed his life was in danger.”
“ Hey Votty!” said Grix happily.
“ Don’t call me that.”
**
Turbo sat back in the padded seat of his executive jet. It was just him, and the…animal thing that sat opposite him.
“ Ms Mystique. How are you?”
“ The name is TEKKEN!” she roared. Turbo delicately pressed a finger over his ear.
“ Sorry, Tekken it is.”
Turbo sighed. This was the worst kind of Sony fan. They injected themselves with powdered consoles, and then drank Tekken Tag Tournament in solution, for the crack of it. This specimen was the worst he’d seen. Completely insane, of course, but dedicated, and freakishly strong. They grew fur, oddly, and for unexplainable reasons, they began to look like huge monkeys.
“ Tekken, I have a little job for you. I wish a..” he gulped as the word formed in his mouth. “ N…. N…”
“ Maybe if you write it down?” asked Tekken.
“ I can’t spell it. Alright, Ninty. Don’t make me say it again! I wish this thing eliminated.”
Tekken howled in anger.
“ I shall do this! I shall rip his arms from his sockets while howling!”
Turbo smiled, a thin cold smile.
“ Excellent.”
**
Grix drove haphazardly across the landscape. Rasta looked around expectedly. He opened his mouth to speak.
“ You’re going to ask where the red shells are, aren’t you?” sighed Vottanator.
“ No…”
“ Grix, where are we headed?” asked Vottanator, shaking his head.
“ Archie’s old house, located in a cave somewhere in middle America. It’s… this way, I think.”
Vottanator sighed. He was stuck in the middle of the desert with someone who was looking around for banana skins, and another who didn’t know the way to his own home. He should have stayed at home, not taken the contract, and watched An Audience With… Bruce Lee’s Second Cousin in Law.
**
Rasta stepped silently into the home. Papers were scattered everywhere.
“ Look’s like there’s been some sort of fight.”
Grix grinned. “ Maybe, but it’s always like this. Ah, my tuxedo!”
Rasta proceeded further into the dimly lit cave. He pulled out the book, glancing at the instructions held within. He looked up, and pressed a particular piece of rock. It slid away, revealing a strange purple item. Rasta held it up, curious.
“ Do you think it’s some sort of sex toy?” he inquired.
“ Better than that!” exclaimed Grix.
“ Better than a sex toy?” said Rasta, incredulously.
“ Mm. It’s a Game Boy Advance!”
“ Game Boy?” asked Rasta. “ Sounds like a sex toy to me.”
Grix snorted and looked at it.
“ He seems to have reprogrammed it! Let’s see now…” Grix pressed a button, and it turned on, vibrating slightly.
“ Don’t even say it, Rasta.”
A screen flashed up.
“ Hello Rasta!” said Archimedes N. Guy, his face grinning up. “ I hoped you’d find this. If this isn’t Rasta, go away!”
Grix looked away quickly. Rasta sighed, and looked back.
“ I have contained here directions to the Temple of Cube! It was so obvious! But be careful, Rasta, they will know you are near!”
The Game Boy exploded in a small plume of flame.
“ What about saying ‘This will self destruct in 5 seconds’?” said, Rasta outraged.
“ Nah, far too cliché. Come, my brethen!” Grix charged from the cave. Rasta and Vottanator followed him, sullenly.
“ Still think it’s a sex toy, Votty.”
“ Don’t call me that.”
**
Their jeep raced across the landscape, Rasta driving, eyes glued to the map beside him. Vottanator scanned the horizon, always on the alert. Then two black jeeps roared out of a depression in a rockface, and a flurry of machine gun fire peppered the jeeps side.
“ What was that?” yelled Grix, and fell into the back. “ Ow, I’ve been shot!” Grix held the side of his arm. The bullet had only grazed him. Then Rasta yelped as a bullet skimmed over his shoulder, leaving a red streak on his jacket.
“ I don’t sodding believe this. Will everyone stop getting shot?” yelled Vottanator, and returned fire with his shotgun. One jeep came closer, and Vottanator was stunned to see a monkey-type thing poised to leap into his jeep. It roared as it pushed off, and crashed into Vottanator, sending him backwards, over Grix. Tekken roared insanely, trying to grab the gun.
“ I never thought I’d see YOU again, Votty!” she yelled, pummelling the mercenary with her massive hands. He growled, and forced the gun up into her stomach. She looked down, shock on her face.
“ Don’t. Call. Me. THAT!” He fired. A full two shells of shot ripped up through the thing, sending it flying backwards out of the jeep. He raised himself up and shot the tyres out of the other jeep.
“ Wow, fireworks!” said Grix, and fell over his seat.
**
The jeep skidded to a halt. A massive, purple temple rose before them, gleaming in the morning light. Vottanator and Rasta gaped, and Grix fell over.
“ It’s purple.” Said Rasta. “ Do you think it’s a..”
“ It’s not a sex toy.” Said Vottanator flatly, before walking forward. “ Do you know the story, taken from The Instruction Manuel, Book of Link?”
“ Nope.”
“ Then read this.” Vottanator handed the adventurer a slip of ancient paper.
CH1 V1 And lo, the three questers – Dringo, Tiltawhirl and GasMask – gaped mighty, for they had found what they sought. Lo, GasMask also found yesterdays cheese sandwich in his beard. V2 They advanced into the Temple, and it was grand. An Angel appeared before them, and they were sore afraid. In fact, Tiltawhirl ran away. V2 They were led to the Cube, and imbued with its mighty knowledge. Dringo took it upon himself to take the knowledge back to the world, for he was naïve. GasMask was too preoccupied with his beard. V3 So it was decided that GasMask would remain, sanctified in the rays of the Cube, until someone who was worthy came to take the Cube, and empty his potty.
“ Wow.” Said Rasta. “ So he will be alive, but very very old, like in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade?”
“ Wellll…” said Vottanator. “ There seems to be confusion over that. Read on.”
V4 However, after 10 minutes, GasMask did get bored, and lo, he wandered off to find more cheese and get the latest FHM. He failed in his mission. V5 GasMask was punished for his crime, and made to take a Dreamcast in with him to guard the Cube.
“ Urgh.” Said Rasta, in shock. “ No-one deserves that.”
Vottanator shrugged as he looked at Grix, who was doing handstands.
They proceeded upwards through the purple corridors, always on the alert for any dangers. Eventually they emerged into a massive antechamber. A figure was hunched over the tiny TV in one corner. It turned, tears pouring from his eyes.
“ What is it?” whispered Rasta. “ What’s wrong? Earthquake? Illness?”
GasMask wept more. “ Worse. Shenmue! No!”
“ That’s GasMask. The Dreamcast must have eaten away at his brains…” Vottanator whispered.
They reverently stepped around the weeping figure, and stepped up to the pedestal. The Cube was there, light shining everywhere. Rasta shielded his eyes.
“ NOT SO FAST!” Turbo’s voice echoed out of the corridor.
“ I wasn’t moving fast. I was moving quite slowly. How come everyone always says not so fast?” Rasta grumbled, but he turned round. Turbo was standing coolly at the door, silenced pistol held in his hand.
“ You are all going to die, and the Cube’s powers shall be harnessed by President Goatboy for the greater good of mankind!” he proclaimed grandly. There was silence.
“ Goatboy is a silly name!” proclaimed Grix right back at him.
“ So is Grix.” Whispered Rasta, quietly.
“Oh.”
Meanwhile, Vottanator was sidling up to a lever embedded in the ground. He pulled it, just as Turbo latched on to what he was doing.
“ What did that do?” he demanded.
“ Nothing.” Said Vottanator, quickly.
“ You’re lying.”
“ Yes.”
“ So what does it do?”
“ It releases a large boulder with big spikes on.”
Turbo opened his mouth to scoff at this, but he was cruelly crushed as a large boulder with big spikes on rolled past.
“ You did warn him, Votty!” said Grix, happily.
“ Don’t call me that. Let’s get the Cube and then get out of here.”
“ Sounds good to me!” said Rasta happily. He bundled the Cube into a bag and they ran from the temple.
**
“ So, Rasta, that was a good laugh, eh?” said Grix. They were flying away in the plane.
“ I still think the GameBoy Advance was a sex toy.” Fumed Rasta.
“ And I still don’t know why GasMask is just sitting there.” Said Vottanator. They all looked around at the old man, who was sitting cross legged in the middle of the floor.
“ Who said he could come?” asked Rasta.
“ Not me.”
“ Me neither.”
They all continued staring at GasMask, who finally looked up at them.
“ What?”
Grix fell out his seat.
Rasta shrugged, and turned back to Vottanator.
“ So, how much fuel we got?”
“ Erm…” Vottanator turned round. “ About…. –1 gallons….”
Rasta gulped, and looked out of the window. The plane began to divebomb towards a lush green jungle.
“ Um, Votty……help?”
“ Don’t call me that.”
THE END
RASTA SKANK WILL RETURN…..
“ What was that?” yelled Grix, and fell into the back. “ Ow, I’ve been shot!” Grix held the side of his arm. The bullet had only grazed him. Then Rasta yelped as a bullet skimmed over his shoulder, leaving a red streak on his jacket.
“ I don’t sodding believe this. Will everyone stop getting shot?” yelled Vottanator, and returned fire with his shotgun. One jeep came closer, and Vottanator was stunned to see a monkey-type thing poised to leap into his jeep. It roared as it pushed off, and crashed into Vottanator, sending him backwards, over Grix. Tekken roared insanely, trying to grab the gun.
“ I never thought I’d see YOU again, Votty!” she yelled, pummelling the mercenary with her massive hands. He growled, and forced the gun up into her stomach. She looked down, shock on her face.
“ Don’t. Call. Me. THAT!” He fired. A full two shells of shot ripped up through the thing, sending it flying backwards out of the jeep. He raised himself up and shot the tyres out of the other jeep.
“ Wow, fireworks!” said Grix, and fell over his seat.
**
The jeep skidded to a halt. A massive, purple temple rose before them, gleaming in the morning light. Vottanator and Rasta gaped, and Grix fell over.
“ It’s purple.” Said Rasta. “ Do you think it’s a..”
“ It’s not a sex toy.” Said Vottanator flatly, before walking forward. “ Do you know the story, taken from The Instruction Manuel, Book of Link?”
“ Nope.”
“ Then read this.” Vottanator handed the adventurer a slip of ancient paper.
CH1 V1 And lo, the three questers – Dringo, Tiltawhirl and GasMask – gaped mighty, for they had found what they sought. Lo, GasMask also found yesterdays cheese sandwich in his beard. V2 They advanced into the Temple, and it was grand. An Angel appeared before them, and they were sore afraid. In fact, Tiltawhirl ran away. V2 They were led to the Cube, and imbued with its mighty knowledge. Dringo took it upon himself to take the knowledge back to the world, for he was naïve. GasMask was too preoccupied with his beard. V3 So it was decided that GasMask would remain, sanctified in the rays of the Cube, until someone who was worthy came to take the Cube, and empty his potty.
“ Wow.” Said Rasta. “ So he will be alive, but very very old, like in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade?”
“ Wellll…” said Vottanator. “ There seems to be confusion over that. Read on.”
V4 However, after 10 minutes, GasMask did get bored, and lo, he wandered off to find more cheese and get the latest FHM. He failed in his mission. V5 GasMask was punished for his crime, and made to take a Dreamcast in with him to guard the Cube.
“ Urgh.” Said Rasta, in shock. “ No-one deserves that.”
Vottanator shrugged as he looked at Grix, who was doing handstands.
They proceeded upwards through the purple corridors, always on the alert for any dangers. Eventually they emerged into a massive antechamber. A figure was hunched over the tiny TV in one corner. It turned, tears pouring from his eyes.
“ What is it?” whispered Rasta. “ What’s wrong? Earthquake? Illness?”
GasMask wept more. “ Worse. Shenmue! No!”
“ That’s GasMask. The Dreamcast must have eaten away at his brains…” Vottanator whispered.
They reverently stepped around the weeping figure, and stepped up to the pedestal. The Cube was there, light shining everywhere. Rasta shielded his eyes.
“ NOT SO FAST!” Turbo’s voice echoed out of the corridor.
“ I wasn’t moving fast. I was moving quite slowly. How come everyone always says not so fast?” Rasta grumbled, but he turned round. Turbo was standing coolly at the door, silenced pistol held in his hand.
“ You are all going to die, and the Cube’s powers shall be harnessed by President Goatboy for the greater good of mankind!” he proclaimed grandly. There was silence.
“ Goatboy is a silly name!” proclaimed Grix right back at him.
“ So is Grix.” Whispered Rasta, quietly.
“Oh.”
Meanwhile, Vottanator was sidling up to a lever embedded in the ground. He pulled it, just as Turbo latched on to what he was doing.
“ What did that do?” he demanded.
“ Nothing.” Said Vottanator, quickly.
“ You’re lying.”
“ Yes.”
“ So what does it do?”
“ It releases a large boulder with big spikes on.”
Turbo opened his mouth to scoff at this, but he was cruelly crushed as a large boulder with big spikes on rolled past.
“ You did warn him, Votty!” said Grix, happily.
“ Don’t call me that. Let’s get the Cube and then get out of here.”
“ Sounds good to me!” said Rasta happily. He bundled the Cube into a bag and they ran from the temple.
**
“ So, Rasta, that was a good laugh, eh?” said Grix. They were flying away in the plane.
“ I still think the GameBoy Advance was a sex toy.” Fumed Rasta.
“ And I still don’t know why GasMask is just sitting there.” Said Vottanator. They all looked around at the old man, who was sitting cross legged in the middle of the floor.
“ Who said he could come?” asked Rasta.
“ Not me.”
“ Me neither.”
They all continued staring at GasMask, who finally looked up at them.
“ What?”
Grix fell out his seat.
Rasta shrugged, and turned back to Vottanator.
“ So, how much fuel we got?”
“ Erm…” Vottanator turned round. “ About…. –1 gallons….”
Rasta gulped, and looked out of the window. The plane began to divebomb towards a lush green jungle.
“ Um, Votty……help?”
“ Don’t call me that.”
THE END
RASTA SKANK WILL RETURN…..
Right, that was my story. Now, please, feel free to insult me and poke insults. :-). I shall work on the next Rasta Skank adventure shortly.
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