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Not done one of these for a while, so here we go.
In case you missed them all - here’s the links to the first ones I did. I suggest you read them, because you probably won’t have a clue what’s going on otherwise.
So blah-de-dah to the lot of you.
(Remove spaces. Duh)
EPISODE IV - A NEW GOAT:
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/ >SPACE< display_messages.php?threadid=53932&forumid=416
EPISODE V - STRYKE STRIKES BACK:
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/ >SPACE< display_messages.php?threadid=56067&forumid=416
EPISODE VI - RETURN OF THE REDDY:
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/ >SPACE< display_messages.php?threadid=62331&forumid=416
EPISODE I - THE TAMPONMAN’S FENCE:
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/display_messages.php? >SPACE< threadid=68187&forumid=416¤tsort=desc
And now:
A FinalFantasyFanatic Production,
Original idea by me,
Created, developed, written, edited, checked, and posted by the legend himself, FFF.
****** EPISODE II : THE CLONED DOORS ******
Sniper had somehow managed to carry Mystique from his army-issue Volvo to the front door. She was a lot heavier than she looked - 2 tonnes as opposed to 1.
They had just returned from their honeymoon, but the only visible change in the two was that they would make a stop sign look ghostly. Their sunburn seemed to actually glow - a furnace of anger over stolen sun-loungers, screaming kids and surfing psychopaths.
Kids? I hear you ask.
I know you didn’t, but shut up and listen anyway.
Not only did Mystique have the most incredibly enormous rack in the world (so much so that most people found themselves engaging the pair in conversation over their legal owner) but she had some weird kind of super-fast child-birthing system.
Probably because she hated them so much.
But she’d had one on the way to the airport, and a further 4 during their 2 week holiday. No twins or anything. So Pro-Evo, Meka, KR, Ant and Aliboy were born - each with a silver shotgun in their mouth and a threatening mad woman at the other end demanding some peace.
Sniper’s ankle finally gave way with a tired snap as he fumbled with the key. He’d promised to carry his wife over the threshold and that’s what he would do - stomach ulcers or not. A hernia popped up from nowhere as the door swung open and he heaved his wife inside.
Luckily her spine and skull broke her fall onto the mountain of pointy parcels, letters and wedding gifts (most of them, apparently, broken glass, knives or cactuses) stacked behind the door.
One of the letters caught Sniper’s hawk-eyes (not actual hawk-eyes). Probably because of the pretty pink handwriting and pictures of flowers, puppies and frills on the front, as well as the fact it was addressed to “Snipie dearest”.
It was from Tony, no doubt. He and only he could be so incredibly, absolutely, wholeheartedly camp. Sniper swallowed back bile risen in his throat as he prepared to open the letter. Already the smell of cheap perfume was stinging his eyes.
It read:
“Help. I can’t get out,
Tony”
It took an hour for Sniper to catch up with himself.
Where were the floucy non-words?
The hugs and kisses?
The scented purple pen?
The floral border?
The pictures of his new puppy?
The little rainbow-doodle in the corner?
It just wasn’t right.
And when Tony’s not as camp as pink feck, something seriously wrong.
Either he was just about to give away an Extra GAD, his bunnies had died, or something worse. Something actually dangerous.
He quickly dished out the rifles, grenades, knives, C4 and rockets among his newly-born children (who could all strip, clean and re-essemble a Kalashnikov one-handed in 30 seconds, although weren’t yet potty trained nor could eat solid foods). Mystique took nothing but her natural assets - they could stop an army at 1000 paces.
The USRN (United Special Reserve Nations) HQ (Headquarters) WL (Was Located) OTECOA (On The East Coast Of Africa), FNPR (For No Particular Reason).
The family took a Dodo there - for some reason all the transport they had seemed to be broken or damaged in some way. The plane had no wings - they weren’t quite flying but rather falling horizontally.
It was a very upsetting experience for the children, who somehow managed to remove several vital organs and a pile of sticky-out bits from their siblings. Aliboy, KR and Meka had all been crammed in an overhead locker, which exploded somewhere over Spain, filling the plane in several inches of vital fluids.
Mystique was quite furious at the absence of Muller Fruit Corners from the refreshments trolley Sniper had stolen. There weren’t even any peanuts, or those weird little shaped biscuit thingies.
The plane touched down (well, it hit the ground somewhere along the way) outside the USRN HQ. The family dragged themselves from the burning wreckage with little loss of body parts; those left behind were quickly reattached.
And there was no Tony to greet them.
Something was definitely wrong.
Sniper felt somehow empty standing on the tarmac. There was no flouncing mass of feather boas jiggling towards him and his ear drums were still intact. The high-pitched dog-killing sonar Tony called his voice only echoed through his memories.
He had a migraine already.
His nose started bleeding.
The family rushed (well, strolled really) inside the USRN’s main door and were greeted by a very strange sight indeed. Inside the main door was another main door - exactly the same as the main main door. The pink streaks, the fluffy lambikins, the sun-rays - everything was exactly the same.
They carried through the second door and emerged in a room. Of sorts. The walls, floor and ceiling were made of doors, all exactly the same. Clones, one might say.
Sniper was getting annoyed.
He turned to his left and entered the door there.
Beyond was another door-room, exactly the same, apart from a small chair in the middle, where a distinctly foreign-looking Bloke was sitting.
“El Blokey?” Sniper started, confused. He shrugged. “Whatever. Where’s Tony? It’s urgent.”
The man smiled and spread his hands out, a strange grin on his face. “Wrong room, idiot.” Sniper was several centuries ahead of him and left rather swiftly.
He found himself back in the first room. Or so it seemed. There was no-one else there, no Mystique (bless her), no kids, nothing.
He ripped his arm off. This was going to get very, very annoying.
Two days and a few hours later he found Meka sitting on the floor of a room, different from the rest. He was sat in front of a door, very similar to the first door the family had come through, except it was made of paper, not metal.
Sniper picked his child up and a thought struck him - if all the doors were clones of the original, then this clone must have mutated slightly, just changing materials. And if a mutation was carried forward form generation to generation, and it was bad for the doors, then it could possibly kill them all if it spread far enough.
His string of thoughts ended there. They didn’t really seem to mean much, so he just broke through the mutated door and into the room beyond. This room, too, had a mutation in it - a door in the floor was glowing an overly-camp shade of plum.
“Tony,” Sniper muttered and jumped through it.
After a few hours of jumping and climbing through the mutations in the cloned doors, the emerged in a room, totally different from the others. It was pretty damn big to start with, and had normal walls and ceilings.
In the middle was a big hunk of rusty metal one might call a machine. It was spitting out doors, clones of the originals, every few seconds. A few mutations lay discarded in a pile to the side.
And in the middle of it all, of this nonsensical yarn was one man, Stryke.
The very man who had tried to take over the world in every story, the very man who’d been foiled at every step, the very man who was Sniper’s arch enemy and the very man who smelled pretty bad.
“Good evening, Sniper.” He said, his tone sharp and cruel. “You’re late. And ..... youlikemen.” He gurgled along happily to himself with something that could have resembled a laugh, underwater. Then his eyes snapped back to Sniper, his face serious.
“This!” He jabbed a stubby finger at the chunky door-spewing monstrosity of design. “Is my cloning machine. For doors, as I’m sure you’ve seen. My somewhat evil plan is to clone every door in the world and create one giant maze covering the globe. And I’ll be at the centre of it all, handing out maps. Yes, maps. Maps to the right way in life - my way. The exit of the maze leads directly into salvation and a new life under me. Quite literally in some cases, I’m sure. And when I have enough gathered with me, I shall have one hell of an army. Then we shall .......”
The air of evil plotting left him and his eyes dimmed. He scratched at his head.
“Well, I’m sure we’ll think of something. Something ..... ha-ha....... EVIL!” He gurgled away again, the retarded noise taking the edge off his malice.
Sniper cleared his throat, Stryke turned to him.
“Do you really think I care?” He started, Stryke looking a little put-out. “I only came here to kick your evil face back to whatever hole it crawled form. You know that, I know that - now can we get on with it?” He tapped his foot impatiently on the floor.
Stryke pouted.
“Oh alright. Big meanie. Spoil all my fun .....” He trailed off into incoherent mumbling, then turned and pulled a big lever on the machine. Sniper sighed, and was suddenly buried under several hundred large metal doors.
Stryke was bent-double in hysterics.
Meka went for a walk.
The inquisitive child meandered towards the pile of mutated doors, only stopping to pick up and eat a piece of discarded chewing gum. Something moved in the heap.
As Meka got closer something jumped out of the pile - it was a door. But not any old door, a big, ugly, mean-looking door.
With teeth.
Which growled.
Meka loaded his shotgun and levelled it at the beast, but it was too late, it had pounced. And now was sailing through the air, a stream of slobber in it’s wake. Meka ducked, the door flew into a large, door-shaped hole in the side of the machine. Which ground into action.
The toothy, hungry door was cloned about fifty times before Stryke noticed, and by then his left leg had been digested. Seeing no other food sources around the doors began to eat the other doors around them - all the other clones were set upon.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the machine-room expanded as the doors got stuck in and devoured every door they could see. Eventually, the actual USRN building was uncovered - walls and all.
The beastie doors probably could have taken over the world if the wanted, and had enough brains to think about it. But they had spied the building's main door and it looked mighty tasty. The second the last iron scraps with licked up all the evil doors disappeared. Completely.
The main entrance to the USRN had been the mould for the cloned doors, and they could not survive without it. The big daddy was gone, and the little kiddies went hungry.
Stryke ran away.
Quite quickly.
Sniper looked around the giant shell of the USRN that was left. He spied Mystique in one corner, curled up in the foetal position in a corner, which squidged everything up and out very alluringly.
He ran over to her and gave her a prod.
She jumped up and screamed. “OOhhhhHH! SppPPPpPPPPAAANnnnKKKKk MYyyyYyYYYYy MOOOOooonnnnkKKKKKKKkEEEeeeeeYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!” In his face.
“Mystique?” Sniper asked, “What’s wrong, you have no monkey. I don’t want to spank it. What happened?”
She said nothing, but opened her arms. In it lay an extremely tacky polystyrene monkey - in a little suit with a banjo and a stupid look on it’s face. “Ook ook?” She inquired. The monkey said nothing.
Sniper shook his head, confused, but picked his wife up and carried her to a plane outside, breaking 62% of his bones in the process; then gathered up the other kids.
They left silently, all trying to figure out what the hell had happened to Mystique and what was up with the monkey. (All except Aliboy, who was shaving his skin.) But they never found out.
*
Tony lay forgotten and alone in another corner of the USRN, clutching a pink poodle in his arms, wrapped in a feathery dressing gown chewing on some pretty flowers.
He hoped Sniper would come for him soon, the bunnies had died yesterday.
********
End
********
Thankee children,
FFF
In case you missed them all - here’s the links to the first ones I did. I suggest you read them, because you probably won’t have a clue what’s going on otherwise.
So blah-de-dah to the lot of you.
(Remove spaces. Duh)
EPISODE IV - A NEW GOAT:
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/ >SPACE< display_messages.php?threadid=53932&forumid=416
EPISODE V - STRYKE STRIKES BACK:
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/ >SPACE< display_messages.php?threadid=56067&forumid=416
EPISODE VI - RETURN OF THE REDDY:
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/ >SPACE< display_messages.php?threadid=62331&forumid=416
EPISODE I - THE TAMPONMAN’S FENCE:
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/display_messages.php? >SPACE< threadid=68187&forumid=416¤tsort=desc
And now:
A FinalFantasyFanatic Production,
Original idea by me,
Created, developed, written, edited, checked, and posted by the legend himself, FFF.
****** EPISODE II : THE CLONED DOORS ******
Sniper had somehow managed to carry Mystique from his army-issue Volvo to the front door. She was a lot heavier than she looked - 2 tonnes as opposed to 1.
They had just returned from their honeymoon, but the only visible change in the two was that they would make a stop sign look ghostly. Their sunburn seemed to actually glow - a furnace of anger over stolen sun-loungers, screaming kids and surfing psychopaths.
Kids? I hear you ask.
I know you didn’t, but shut up and listen anyway.
Not only did Mystique have the most incredibly enormous rack in the world (so much so that most people found themselves engaging the pair in conversation over their legal owner) but she had some weird kind of super-fast child-birthing system.
Probably because she hated them so much.
But she’d had one on the way to the airport, and a further 4 during their 2 week holiday. No twins or anything. So Pro-Evo, Meka, KR, Ant and Aliboy were born - each with a silver shotgun in their mouth and a threatening mad woman at the other end demanding some peace.
Sniper’s ankle finally gave way with a tired snap as he fumbled with the key. He’d promised to carry his wife over the threshold and that’s what he would do - stomach ulcers or not. A hernia popped up from nowhere as the door swung open and he heaved his wife inside.
Luckily her spine and skull broke her fall onto the mountain of pointy parcels, letters and wedding gifts (most of them, apparently, broken glass, knives or cactuses) stacked behind the door.
One of the letters caught Sniper’s hawk-eyes (not actual hawk-eyes). Probably because of the pretty pink handwriting and pictures of flowers, puppies and frills on the front, as well as the fact it was addressed to “Snipie dearest”.
It was from Tony, no doubt. He and only he could be so incredibly, absolutely, wholeheartedly camp. Sniper swallowed back bile risen in his throat as he prepared to open the letter. Already the smell of cheap perfume was stinging his eyes.
It read:
“Help. I can’t get out,
Tony”
It took an hour for Sniper to catch up with himself.
Where were the floucy non-words?
The hugs and kisses?
The scented purple pen?
The floral border?
The pictures of his new puppy?
The little rainbow-doodle in the corner?
It just wasn’t right.
And when Tony’s not as camp as pink feck, something seriously wrong.
Either he was just about to give away an Extra GAD, his bunnies had died, or something worse. Something actually dangerous.
He quickly dished out the rifles, grenades, knives, C4 and rockets among his newly-born children (who could all strip, clean and re-essemble a Kalashnikov one-handed in 30 seconds, although weren’t yet potty trained nor could eat solid foods). Mystique took nothing but her natural assets - they could stop an army at 1000 paces.
The USRN (United Special Reserve Nations) HQ (Headquarters) WL (Was Located) OTECOA (On The East Coast Of Africa), FNPR (For No Particular Reason).
The family took a Dodo there - for some reason all the transport they had seemed to be broken or damaged in some way. The plane had no wings - they weren’t quite flying but rather falling horizontally.
It was a very upsetting experience for the children, who somehow managed to remove several vital organs and a pile of sticky-out bits from their siblings. Aliboy, KR and Meka had all been crammed in an overhead locker, which exploded somewhere over Spain, filling the plane in several inches of vital fluids.
Mystique was quite furious at the absence of Muller Fruit Corners from the refreshments trolley Sniper had stolen. There weren’t even any peanuts, or those weird little shaped biscuit thingies.
The plane touched down (well, it hit the ground somewhere along the way) outside the USRN HQ. The family dragged themselves from the burning wreckage with little loss of body parts; those left behind were quickly reattached.
And there was no Tony to greet them.
Something was definitely wrong.
Sniper felt somehow empty standing on the tarmac. There was no flouncing mass of feather boas jiggling towards him and his ear drums were still intact. The high-pitched dog-killing sonar Tony called his voice only echoed through his memories.
He had a migraine already.
His nose started bleeding.
The family rushed (well, strolled really) inside the USRN’s main door and were greeted by a very strange sight indeed. Inside the main door was another main door - exactly the same as the main main door. The pink streaks, the fluffy lambikins, the sun-rays - everything was exactly the same.
They carried through the second door and emerged in a room. Of sorts. The walls, floor and ceiling were made of doors, all exactly the same. Clones, one might say.
Sniper was getting annoyed.
He turned to his left and entered the door there.
Beyond was another door-room, exactly the same, apart from a small chair in the middle, where a distinctly foreign-looking Bloke was sitting.
“El Blokey?” Sniper started, confused. He shrugged. “Whatever. Where’s Tony? It’s urgent.”
The man smiled and spread his hands out, a strange grin on his face. “Wrong room, idiot.” Sniper was several centuries ahead of him and left rather swiftly.
He found himself back in the first room. Or so it seemed. There was no-one else there, no Mystique (bless her), no kids, nothing.
He ripped his arm off. This was going to get very, very annoying.
Two days and a few hours later he found Meka sitting on the floor of a room, different from the rest. He was sat in front of a door, very similar to the first door the family had come through, except it was made of paper, not metal.
Sniper picked his child up and a thought struck him - if all the doors were clones of the original, then this clone must have mutated slightly, just changing materials. And if a mutation was carried forward form generation to generation, and it was bad for the doors, then it could possibly kill them all if it spread far enough.
His string of thoughts ended there. They didn’t really seem to mean much, so he just broke through the mutated door and into the room beyond. This room, too, had a mutation in it - a door in the floor was glowing an overly-camp shade of plum.
“Tony,” Sniper muttered and jumped through it.
After a few hours of jumping and climbing through the mutations in the cloned doors, the emerged in a room, totally different from the others. It was pretty damn big to start with, and had normal walls and ceilings.
In the middle was a big hunk of rusty metal one might call a machine. It was spitting out doors, clones of the originals, every few seconds. A few mutations lay discarded in a pile to the side.
And in the middle of it all, of this nonsensical yarn was one man, Stryke.
The very man who had tried to take over the world in every story, the very man who’d been foiled at every step, the very man who was Sniper’s arch enemy and the very man who smelled pretty bad.
“Good evening, Sniper.” He said, his tone sharp and cruel. “You’re late. And ..... youlikemen.” He gurgled along happily to himself with something that could have resembled a laugh, underwater. Then his eyes snapped back to Sniper, his face serious.
“This!” He jabbed a stubby finger at the chunky door-spewing monstrosity of design. “Is my cloning machine. For doors, as I’m sure you’ve seen. My somewhat evil plan is to clone every door in the world and create one giant maze covering the globe. And I’ll be at the centre of it all, handing out maps. Yes, maps. Maps to the right way in life - my way. The exit of the maze leads directly into salvation and a new life under me. Quite literally in some cases, I’m sure. And when I have enough gathered with me, I shall have one hell of an army. Then we shall .......”
The air of evil plotting left him and his eyes dimmed. He scratched at his head.
“Well, I’m sure we’ll think of something. Something ..... ha-ha....... EVIL!” He gurgled away again, the retarded noise taking the edge off his malice.
Sniper cleared his throat, Stryke turned to him.
“Do you really think I care?” He started, Stryke looking a little put-out. “I only came here to kick your evil face back to whatever hole it crawled form. You know that, I know that - now can we get on with it?” He tapped his foot impatiently on the floor.
Stryke pouted.
“Oh alright. Big meanie. Spoil all my fun .....” He trailed off into incoherent mumbling, then turned and pulled a big lever on the machine. Sniper sighed, and was suddenly buried under several hundred large metal doors.
Stryke was bent-double in hysterics.
Meka went for a walk.
The inquisitive child meandered towards the pile of mutated doors, only stopping to pick up and eat a piece of discarded chewing gum. Something moved in the heap.
As Meka got closer something jumped out of the pile - it was a door. But not any old door, a big, ugly, mean-looking door.
With teeth.
Which growled.
Meka loaded his shotgun and levelled it at the beast, but it was too late, it had pounced. And now was sailing through the air, a stream of slobber in it’s wake. Meka ducked, the door flew into a large, door-shaped hole in the side of the machine. Which ground into action.
The toothy, hungry door was cloned about fifty times before Stryke noticed, and by then his left leg had been digested. Seeing no other food sources around the doors began to eat the other doors around them - all the other clones were set upon.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the machine-room expanded as the doors got stuck in and devoured every door they could see. Eventually, the actual USRN building was uncovered - walls and all.
The beastie doors probably could have taken over the world if the wanted, and had enough brains to think about it. But they had spied the building's main door and it looked mighty tasty. The second the last iron scraps with licked up all the evil doors disappeared. Completely.
The main entrance to the USRN had been the mould for the cloned doors, and they could not survive without it. The big daddy was gone, and the little kiddies went hungry.
Stryke ran away.
Quite quickly.
Sniper looked around the giant shell of the USRN that was left. He spied Mystique in one corner, curled up in the foetal position in a corner, which squidged everything up and out very alluringly.
He ran over to her and gave her a prod.
She jumped up and screamed. “OOhhhhHH! SppPPPpPPPPAAANnnnKKKKk MYyyyYyYYYYy MOOOOooonnnnkKKKKKKKkEEEeeeeeYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!” In his face.
“Mystique?” Sniper asked, “What’s wrong, you have no monkey. I don’t want to spank it. What happened?”
She said nothing, but opened her arms. In it lay an extremely tacky polystyrene monkey - in a little suit with a banjo and a stupid look on it’s face. “Ook ook?” She inquired. The monkey said nothing.
Sniper shook his head, confused, but picked his wife up and carried her to a plane outside, breaking 62% of his bones in the process; then gathered up the other kids.
They left silently, all trying to figure out what the hell had happened to Mystique and what was up with the monkey. (All except Aliboy, who was shaving his skin.) But they never found out.
*
Tony lay forgotten and alone in another corner of the USRN, clutching a pink poodle in his arms, wrapped in a feathery dressing gown chewing on some pretty flowers.
He hoped Sniper would come for him soon, the bunnies had died yesterday.
********
End
********
Thankee children,
FFF
Page:
For the very reason that you were in one of my stories. I had a scan through them before I wrote this one.
And the whole UW / FF connection, 'twas bound to stay with me : )
And the whole UW / FF connection, 'twas bound to stay with me : )
Not bad at all, FFF.
UW da 2nd.
UW da 2nd.
FinalFantasyFanatic wrote:
> Heh, Ultima Weapon - you were in one of my stories.
Indeed. How did you remember?
> Heh, Ultima Weapon - you were in one of my stories.
Indeed. How did you remember?
Heh.
Thanks for the pops Sfone, but I really don't think it's going to worl.
I've probably got some disease or other.
Thanks for the pops Sfone, but I really don't think it's going to worl.
I've probably got some disease or other.
pop
Not very.
I don't think I did, anywho.
Alrthough I just won a GAD for "Our Kids" which I wrote in 10 minutes off the top of my head.
Irony's a real b'stard.
Meh, a GAD's a GAD : )
I don't think I did, anywho.
Alrthough I just won a GAD for "Our Kids" which I wrote in 10 minutes off the top of my head.
Irony's a real b'stard.
Meh, a GAD's a GAD : )
Hey, FFF how off will you be if you don't get a GAD for this?
Heh, Ultima Weapon - you were in one of my stories.
I just can't believe that some of these people are still here and I'm glad no-one remembered me donks ago.
Whaat-aah! BL (formley known as Ultima Weapon)
Whaat-aah! BL (formley known as Ultima Weapon)
Cruel and pop.
A cruel, cruel world.
A cruel, cruel world.
Page: