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The Army of Idiots by Jay2645
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Part I: The Beginning
Date: 30 October 2009, 2:50 am
The attack had begun.
Stepping swiftly from the Pelican dropships they had just flown in on onto the beach, the marines got ready for their ground assault. Two armored jeeps, nicknamed "Warthogs" and driven by the best drivers in the unit, exited the Pelicans and waited for orders from their commander.
The enemy knew they were coming; no one for miles around could have missed the sound of their insertion Pelicans. Right about now, soldiers were running about, grabbing weapons or possibly just climbing out of their bunks.
The base they were launching an assault on was just an entry point into enemy territory. It was an abandoned, decades-old power plant, humanity's first major attempt at a viable wind-powered power generator. The idea was, instead of having many small-output miniature wind power generators, you could build just one, giant fan, powered mostly by the wind, but utilizing some nuclear reactors for additional power. In reality, the fan didn't actually do much, and the plant almost completely relied on the nuclear reactors. The environmental groups bought the fact that it was an eco-friendly power plant at first, but quickly turned against it once they realized it was really just a massive cover-up scheme for more nuclear power plants. After years of protest, the reactors were shut down and the facility fell into neglect. Now the plant is just a pile of ruins on a shark-infested beach, but, if taken, it could be the biggest stronghold they had as they marched off to victory.
No one really knew WHY they were fighting. It was probably something along the lines of the galactic military government of the United Nations Space Command not giving up their wartime governing powers or something like that. I really don't think anyone actually KNEW, should you ask them. They just liked to fight over stupid things for stupid reasons. It seemed all humans were that way.
On the beach, the air was tense with the anticipation of battle. They had many of their best soldiers standing on the beach, waiting. There was no way the enemy, codenamed "blue", could withstand their attack.
Unless... Unless the enemy had their best soldier, one who never lost a single battle.
Little did they know that soldier was stationed at this outpost.
He has killed millions, and once won a battle single-handedly, outnumbered 300 to one. They said that he ate bullets for breakfast, nails for lunch, and bad Chuck Norris jokes for dinner. There was no stopping him once he started fighting. It was almost as if he had some sort of "health bar" they didn't, because it seemed that he could take dozens of bullets without dying, then simply duck behind a piece of scenery for a few seconds and come back out as if he had just stopped to tie his shoes. His movements were so fluid, it's almost as if he had some sort of device that could control his movements from afar, a "controller" of sorts, and the operator was somewhere far, far away, watching from a TV screen in his living room. Some said he had hacks and cheat codes, granting him superhuman abilities. The rest looked at those some funny and slowly backed away, because there were no hacks nor cheat codes to real life, those were only found in videogames. And even if there were hacks in real life, you'd have to hack your life console to get them, and that voided the warranty. And no one wanted to void their warranty, because what if your life console broke? You'd have to send it back to God, and then he'd tell you that he can't fix it because you voided the warranty. The only one he ever fixed a life console for was for his best buddy, some guy named "Jesus" or something. That was screwed up, man. Fix it for the rest of us, too, don't play favorites because he's your BFF or boyfriend or something. Anyway, while some rumored that that soldier used hacks, obviously, he couldn't, or else he would void his warranty, and God would bring down the banhammer on him faster than you could say OMFG YOU HAXOR!!!!1111one. And being banned from life sucks. But I digress.
Unfortunately, Blue team's one awesome soldier of awesomeness was currently on vacation.
His replacement, named Bob Guy, was a noteworthy one. He had skills that were unbelievable. He was so good that... Pfft- That... AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Who are we kidding? He was the worst shot in history.
As the other team got ready for their assault, Bob was already ready for action. He looked around, as if searching for something, like a voice in the room that didn't have a person to match it. And it was talking about him, describing his every movement, condemning him, making fun of him in a very narrator-ish tone.
"COMMANDER! THE VOICES IN THE SKY ARE TALKING TO ME AGAIN!" Bob said.
His commander, supervising troops in the dark grey command center of the power facility as they prepared for combat, replied, "Just ignore them, Bob, and they'll go away."
"Ok. Mr. Voice, can you go bother someone else?" Bob asked.
There was silence, as the narrator voice didn't have a reply. He simply narrated what was going on around him; it was his job, he must do it, and as such there was no going away for him.
"Commander! The voice says he doesn't have a reply, then said that he wasn't going to go away!"
The commander yelled from the other room, "Bob. Ignore it. It'll go away soon."
After saying this, Bob's commander whispered something into the ear of one of the soldiers, and then walked over to speak to Bob.
"We're losing men, fast. I would send you out there, but you have... Special needs."
"That's what my mommy told me!" Bob said, a bright and vibrant smile on his face.
The commander paused. "We need you, though."
"Need me for what?"
"We need you to stay the hell out of everyone's wa-" The commander started, then rethought what he was about to say.
"I mean, we need you to watch the base," the commander said. "I'm going to have to go out there. I have to leave you in charge of the base, but whatever you do, do NOT hit that button right next to you."
Bob looked around for the button, and then found it next to a large display, which was, in turn, next to him. The display, formerly used to monitor the power the generator put out, now had been reprogrammed to operate everything in the base. Like most UNSC tech, it ran Windows 2500, an operating system which still thoroughly sucked, but was better than anything else out there. Little had changed in 500 years; it still got the blue screen of death on a regular basis. The date on the Start Menu read July 2555.
Below the monitor, there was a red button with an extra-large sticky note on it. Above the button, it read: "CAUTION: SELF-DESTRUCT".
"The red one with the BIG sticky note which reads 'DO NOT PRESS THIS, BOB' written on it?" Bob inquired.
"Yes, that one. Do you understand?"
"Yep!"
"I need you to repeat what I said, Bob. What did I say?"
"I need you to repeat what I said, Bob, what did I-"
"NO, NO, NOT that!"
"NO, NO, NOT that!"
"Repeat what I said the first time."
"Repeat what I said the first time."
"Repeat this: NEVER hit that button next to you."
"NEVER hit French toast before bed."
The commander paused and sighed. He wasn't going to get anywhere with Bob this way.
"Umm... Yeah. Let's go with that. I'm going to back away slowly, and you're NOT going to hit that button."
"OK!"
And, with that, the commander slowly backed off and left Bob alone.
Bob's tiny mind struggled with the difficult order his commander had given him.
"Never hit French toast before bed?" He said to himself, "I can do that. Ooooh... What's this shiny red button thingy? Do... Nut... Press... This... Bob... Donut press this Bob? IF I HIT THIS, I GET A DONUT? Sweet."
And, with that, Bob pressed the button. Suddenly, he remembered the first lesson his mom taught him: Pressing shiny red buttons in the hope of getting a donut was bad. VERY bad.
"I didn't hit the button," he said, trying to reassure himself. "My finger did."
Just then, a sultry female voice echoed through the halls, coming over the loudspeakers. It had just a slight metallic tinge to it, enough to remind you that there was not actually any girls present in the facility and that this was just a computer talking. The entire fiasco was actually rather depressing.
"This base will self-destruct in 60 seconds. Free coffee is available in the command center if needed. Have a spectacular day."
"That lady is very nice," Bob said, "she wants me to have a spectacular day! HAVE A SPECTACULAR DAY, TOO, NICE LADY!"
Windows 2550 suddenly got the blue screen of death.
Bob then calmly left through the main entrance and casually strolled past the intense firefight that was occurring between his team and the enemy. Both teams were pinned down in a side generator structure, in ruins now, which used to be used as a place to temporarily store the windmill's power before funneling it to the main structure, the place where Bob had just hit a shiny red button.
"See ya later, Commander!" Bob said, casually strolling past the battle.
The commander turned, saw Bob, and waved. "Bye, Bob! Wait... Bob! I need you! Come back!"
Bob stopped and paused.
"I think it's very sweet that you feel that way towards me, but I prefer my relations with women."
"Bob! Come back! This is insubordination!"
"I really don't care about the 'in' status of whatever the hell subordination is, but I do agree, that 'subordination' outfit looks very good on you."
And, with that, Bob hopped in one of the now-empty enemy Warthog jeeps and drove off.
Surprisingly, no one shot at Bob, possibly because half of the other team had died of laughter, and the other half couldn't stop laughing long enough to hold their guns steady. Blue team was about to make short work of them when C4, buried in strategic locations around the building (if by strategic you mean that people decided to stuff it everywhere it could fit), went off on a timed explosion set off by a red button sixty seconds beforehand.
The only survivor was Bob, driving casually out of the explosion, going off to visit his old friend Ian in the next camp. He was stopped by military police, who wondered why the first thing he asked is where were the donuts he was promised. After they learned what he had done, they decided to take him off to the general of the area, but almost decided to shoot him anyway because he wouldn't stop asking if they were there yet.
A short while later, Bob was in a bright white room. Most of the lights were off, except for one very bright one shining down on Bob, who was sitting Indian-style on the ground in front of the highest-ranking official of the area.
"...You were responsible for the loss of ALL OF B COMPANY!" The general said.
Bob took his finger out of his nose and stuck it into the air. "I wasn't. My finger was."
The general was, at first, taken aback by this comment. Who in the right mind would backtalk like that to a general? Then he realized he was talking to an idiot.
"I cannot let this go unpunished. I am going to send you to noo- Err... N company." He allowed a little sarcasm into his voice. "It's the absolute FINEST out of all of the companies under my command!"
"Will I be able to meet some new friends?"
The commander paused for a moment. "Yes, yes you will."
Bob's eyes suddenly lit up. "Awesome! Will I get a mouse? I've always wanted one! Can I get one, please? A widdle white one! It'll be sooo cute, and I'll play with it every day, and give it all the cheese it will ever want! So, can I get one, pleaaaase?"
"No."
"Can I get a cute widdle pony then?"
"No."
"Pweaaaase?"
"No."
"Just one widdle white mouse? I'll name him Mister Squeaky, and he will be MY MISTER SQUEAKY, forever and ever and ever!"
"No. Take him away."
"Take who away? DON'T TAKE AWAY MISTER SQUEAKY! NOT MY MISTER SQUEAKY! NOOOOOO!!!"
Suddenly, two uniformed guards burst through the door, picked up Bob, and carried him off. As he went down the hallway to the van that was waiting to carry him off to his new desert outpost, he could be heard shouting, "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
They called it Blood Gulch for a reason. There were two bases; each had been taken by a small company for each team. This is where each team set their rejects, as the territory didn't really matter anyway.
The reason why it was named Blood Gulch was because no blood is ever spilled there.
Coincidentally, both the companies sent in by each team were given the designation "N" company, and the same joke was going around both teams that the "N" stood for noob, standard UNSC computer slang for moron. Secretly, the N really DID stand for noob, but the official statement issued by each team's command center said it was just an unfortunate naming coincidence, and not, by any means, a name that implied the very low skill level of whoever was unfortunate enough to be sent to the company. The only people who actually believed this statement were the people of N company.
The blues had managed to secure one of the two bases in the canyon, the other team, codenamed "Red", the other. Each base existed because there was a base on the other side of the canyon. It was a box canyon in the middle of nowhere; no one cared if the other team actually ever CAPTURED the other base. It was just a place to send their rejects.
And the Blue's commander, Commander Pie, was just another reject. He worked his way up the ranks by proving his worth in the simulators. But, when he was called upon to fight, he always lost, with most, if not all of his team, wiped out in a "Unfortunate grenade incident" or "Unfortunate bullet wounds" or "Unfortunate jeep crash where the jeep the Commander was driving drove most of the company off the edge of a 500 foot cliff, barely escaping his own death by a well-timed bailout". The Commander had never won an actual battle in his life. But, even when he was demoted, he still tried to order people around. So, in frustration, they promoted him back to Commander and sent him to command N company. And this commander was about to get the new recruit Command had been promising him.
Pie stood outside his base, watching as a military jeep drove up, threw Bob out by the seat of his pants, and then drove off. Pie extended his hand.
"Hello Bob, welcome to N company."
Bob looked at his hand, confused. "What does the N stand for?"
Pie kept his hand extended, waiting. "Don't ask."
Finally, Bob spit on Pie's hand and looked up at Pie, satisfied. "Don't Ask doesn't start with N."
Pie stared at his hand, and then dried it off on his pants. "It's not 'Don't Ask'."
"Then what is it?"
"OK, it's a French word, pronounced 'Nub'. Most people go and say 'Noob', but that's butchering the name. Completely butchering it."
"You sure that's French?"
"Of course I'm sure! I was at the top of the bottom of my class in French! Bon-jor Mouse-your! That's French."
"French for what?"
"I don't really know."
Bob got a vacant look on his face, and then said gloatingly, "I learned something today."
Pie took Bob to the main room of the base. It was brightly lit, with standard-issue military-cliché grey plating on the floors, with concrete walls and ceiling. In one corner was an obviously smart man, in his late twenties or maybe early thirties, who was playing with a small metal replica of an F-16. You never were too old to play with toys.
In the other corner was someone who looked like a bum. Somehow, he managed to tear up his barely-worn dress uniform, and he looked as if he hadn't shaved his entire life. Maybe he was afraid to.
Pie lead Bob in and started to make with the introductions.
"Anyway, here are your squad-mates. This here is Kyle Andross. We call him 'Flyboy' or 'Fly', mainly because he meant to check the 'Air Force' box when he signed up for the Army, but he checked 'Marines' by accident. It was sad."
"Hey Fly."
"Hey."
Pie continued: "Next, we have Joe. Joe was a Hobo who was drafted during the last war. Since he always insists on wearing ripped clothes EVERYWHERE, we call him Torn."
"How are ya, Torn?"
"Well, I'm-" Torn started.
Bob cut him off. "That's nice."
"And finally, we have me, Apple Pie, Commander of the finest company in this god-forsaken canyon."
"Your name is Apple Pie?" Bob asked.
"It's an Irish name."
"It is?"
"No. I had two idiot parents who thought they were being funny."
"Oh."
"Anyway, everyone, off to your posts! Flyboy, go draw up attack plans. Torn, guard the entryway from the reds. Bob... Umm... Protect Flyboy. I'll be in my cabin reading the articles from Playboy magazine. Don't disturb me."
Pie walked off to his cabin, and everyone went about to do their duties. As he went, Flyboy shook his head and muttered under his breath, "Nobody ever just 'reads the articles'..."
AOI, Part II: The Part That Comes After the Beginning
Date: 2 November 2009, 11:49 pm
Flyboy sat at his desk, the pencil furiously flying across his paper. Bob, who was at attention behind him, finally couldn't stand being a silent guardian anymore.
"Whatcha doing Fly?"
"Drawing up plans to go capture the red's flag."
"Someone on the Red team has a fag?"
"No, the Flag. We want it."
"Why do we want a fag? Unless... Flyboy... No..." Bob had a stunned look on his face. "You're not gay, right? Because I thought my last Commander was straight, but a comment he made to me right as I was leaving revealed his true feelings for me and made me HIGHLY uncomfortable."
"I'm straight. Sometimes, I steal Pie's Playboy magazines and do things while looking at them."
"What kind of things?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"Well, now I'm curious."
"Naughty things."
"Oh. But why do you want to kidnap the red team's fag?"
"THE FLAG."
"Oh, the flag." There was a pause, a moment of silence where you could hear a pin drop, or a Zombie apocalypse virus spreading, or maybe even the distant thunderclap of a team of ninjas being unleashed upon a pirate ship which was sailing on the seven seas. Finally, Bob went on: "What flag?"
Flyboy turned his office chair around to point at a large tattered blue flag, emblazoned with a giant "N".
"See this flag? Torn used it as a blanket for a little bit, but the reds have one just like it. We want to capture that Red flag and take it back here."
"If they have one just like it, why do we need it?"
"Because... Well... IT'S THE FLAG!"
"But we already have one."
"It's a sign we captured their base or something. If we get it, then they have to surrender. That's the way it works."
"What if they don't surrender?"
Flyboy let out a frustrated sigh. "Go bother Torn or something."
Across the box canyon, in the red base, the red team's commander, Nate, was fixing an ATV. It had been making funny squeaky noises for the past few days when he pushed it around, and he had no clue why. There was a mouse that had made a home in the suspension, but Nate hadn't figured that out yet. He had a companion, George "Ducky" Montague, who earned his nickname when he was in basic training by refusing to get out of the pool unless he was ordered to several times. Not surprisingly, the first place he was sent was here, to red team's "N" Company. Inside the red base were the other two members of "N" company: Puma and Cake.
Puma's real name was Pu Ma. He was Chinese and served his function as the base's stereotypical computer genius. The sounds of him hammering his palms on his computer's keyboard were audible from anywhere in the base. Females tended to shy away from him due to the odors emanating from his armpits, and consequently, late at night, the sound of him hammering on his keyboard was replaced by a different kind of hammering.
Cake's real name was Vanilla Cake. He was Pie's cousin, and both their twin mothers had a sad sense of humor. Growing up, Cake and Pie had always hated each other's guts. In fact, if he could, Cake would have murdered him and used his entrails as party favors.
When he heard what side of the war Pie was fighting on, he immediately joined the other side, just so he could get the chance to finally fulfill his dream.
"Nate, can I drive now?" Ducky pestered,
"No." Nate insisted.
"Now?"
"No."
"What about now?"
"NO."
"Now?"
"Ducky, if you ask ONE more time, I will get that Rocket Launcher we have in the base, and I will fire it at point-blank range at your face."
"What if I duck and you miss your shot?"
"It has 2 shots in it."
"But you'll kill yourself."
"You'll die, too, so it'll be worth it."
"What will Puma and Cake do?"
"The exact same thing they're doing now. What are they doing now?"
Ducky tilted back a little bit so he could see inside the base, which had pretty much the exact same style as the blue base, except with a few more red colored lights.
"Doing a pole dance with the flag." Ducky replied.
"WHAT?"
A smile slowly started to creep onto Ducky's face, but he managed to stifle it before it became too noticeable. "I think they're running a strip club."
Nate got out from under the ATV and stormed off towards the base. "Alright, I'm going in there to stop this."
After he was inside finding out that there was no pole dancing going on, Ducky crept over to the ATV and started it up.
"YAY!"
And, with that, Ducky went on a joyride across the canyon.
Nate came back out of the base, angry as to why the other members of the team lied to him, saying that they weren't doing anything like that; when he trusted Ducky's word enough to know they were. Actually, he didn't trust Ducky at all, he just wanted an excuse to give them punishment.
"No they aren't. Ducky? Ducky? Where'd you go? Oh well, time to get back to working on the..." Nate then realized what Ducky's true motives were. What he didn't realize is that because of Ducky's actions, there was now one more mouse in heaven. "DUCKY!!"
Nate went inside to grab their experimental laser-type weapon, the Anti-Vehicle Model 6 Grindell/Galilean Nonlinear Rifle, as it said in the instructions which had come with it. He had been meaning to test their new weapon, which he affectionately called the "Big Shiny Laser Beam". He had named it himself, and was quite proud of the very original name he had come up for it.
He set the sights on one of his marines, riding around the canyon, humming the song "William Tell" while going on a joyride with his new ATV. Poor Ducky couldn't figure out why the squeaking had stopped though; maybe Nate fixed it. He was sad, because he was getting attached to the little squeaky noise, it was almost like getting the pet mouse he always wanted, except you can't really take care of or play with a noise like you can a mouse.
"This'll teach him to mess with me..." Nate said, as he slowly charged up the battery in his laser. "Hey, Ducky! IMMA CHARGIN MAH LAZER!"
At this obscure internet reference, Ducky perked up. Then he saw a little patch of flowers next to him.
"OH LOOK! A FLOWER!" Ducky rushed off his ATV and ran to the flower garden. As he did so, Nate let out a cry of "SHOOP DA WHOOP!" and a laser fired across the canyon, destroying the ATV and leaving a scorching mark on the ground.
Puma, meanwhile, put his face in the palm of his hand.
"OH MY GOD!" Ducky cried, "A BUNNY!" Then, oblivious to the destroyed and smoldering hulk of what was formerly a military ATV, he ran over to play with a little white bunny rabbit hopping around on the other side. And oh, how much fun they had for the thirty seconds they knew each other! That bunny was Ducky's new best friend, the companion he always wished he had. That is, until Nate fired another shot, narrowly missing Ducky, but hitting his poor, poor little white companion, killing it instantly.
"NOOOOOOOO! MR. BUBBLES!" Ducky lamented for the loss of his friend, and he immediately ran off crying towards red base. Nate, out of battery for his laser, decided to go back inside to put it on the charger.
As Ducky ran towards red base, he ran into Bob, who was taking a brisk jog around the canyon, which he was told would build his muscles, but was really just to leave everyone alone.
"Hey Ducky! Long time, no see!" Bob said.
"Oh, hey Bob. I lost my best friend today to a superheated laser shot."
"Sorry to hear that. That's how I lost my pet turtle. Poor, poor Speedy." A tear formed in Bob's eye. "Anyway, before I start to break down and cry, any plans coming up?"
"Yeah, my teammates are going to take a fag somewhere."
"Whoa, that sounds awesome!"
"Yeah... But I'm a little homophobic. No real reason for it... Its just they creep me out. Except the lesbians. God, I hope that by fag, they mean a lesbian. A HOT lesbian. That would be SO AWESOME. Except you know they'll never have any attraction to you, so it's pointless to even try, but they're hot anyway. Unless they have a unibrow. Or if they're fat."
"Yeah. Anyway, I got to go. See ya later, Ducky!"
Pie was on guard duty outside the base when Bob ran up to him.
Bob, slightly out of breath from his brisk jog, said, "Pie! I heard the reds say that they're taking a fag somewhere!"
"What? And why aren't you leaving all of us alon- I mean, going for a nice jog?"
"I said, the reds are going to take a fag somewhere! And I got tired of jogging, it's exercise! I don't like exercise."
"So the reds are going to take a fag somewhere. Riiight. How about you go ask them? If they let you live, maybe we can follow them."
"Wow, that sounds like a great idea!"
"I think so too, Bob. I think so, too."
Nate had a feeling he was going to have an unexpected visitor. He didn't know why; he just KNEW. This is why his initial reaction wasn't to fire the shotgun he was holding when a stranger in the blue's armor walked up to him.
"Hey, where are you guys taking the fag?" Bob asked.
"The what?"
"The fag."
"We have a fag?" Immediately, thoughts of his worst fears confirmed went through his head: He was trapped in a base full of gay guys. Then he realized that the reason this stranger was in the blue's armor was because he was on blue. He thought about shooting him... But that was too easy. "But I DO know that we'll be in Sniper Country soon."
"Oh, thanks."
"No problem." Nate said, watching as Private Bob Guy left across the box canyon, going off to tell Pie of his news. "Idiot."
Sniper Country was a barren, desolate place. They say that when God was making the Earth all those years ago, Sniper Country was one of the last places He made. In fact, God was so thoroughly tired of making things by this time that He just said, "Screw it." And thus Sniper Country was born: Miles upon miles of God-forsaken desert, with two gigantic mesas stretching up on either side. The UNSC government had carved out one mesa and converted it into a system of tunnels which functioned as a base for the Blue team, the Neo-Communist rebels the other. Each side existed only because the other side was there (like most places in this damn war), and both sides constantly had snipers just sitting there, watching the broad expanse of desert and waiting for someone wearing different armor to venture out of their hole.
Naturally, according to standard naming procedure, both divisions were given the designation of "S" division, meaning "Sniper". The usefulness of not naming divisions based off of their purpose had been lost over the years.
There was a common saying about sniper country, a proverb of sorts: "Like trying to bring a shotgun to Sniper Country." In accordance with the saying, Bob and Pie each arrived at the place where the red team's fag was to be held armed only with their shotguns.
Bob thought this was a grand idea.
The Warthog jeep they were in paused for just a moment in the middle of the broad expanse of desert. A seemingly random bridge just was… There, in the middle of the desert, and Pie directed his full concentration on the bridge, as if he were going to destroy it with only his mind.
After a long silence, Pie finally spoke. "I think I see a red."
Bob quickly stared at the bridge as well. "I don't see anything."
"Keep looking." Both of them stared at the bridge even more intently than before, as if focusing all their destructive energies upon that bridge itself. "Bob, get out and check."
Bob whined like a ten-year-old who had just been asked to clean his room. "But whhhhhhhhhhyyyyy?"
Pie's unflinching gaze was directed fully onto Bob. "That's an order."
Bob sighed as he slowly climbed out, the same ten-year-old angst put into each one of his movements. He began to scan the area and advance towards where Pie ordered him to when fifty separate sniper bullets hit his chest from all angles.
Somehow, his body survived intact and he fell to the floor.
Pie finally stopped staring off into the distance. "I guess that it was just a fox. C'mon, Bob, get up, stop being such a lazy bum and get back in."
"I can't." Bob groaned.
"Why not?"
"My legs don't work anymore."
Pie sighed in frustration. "Don't be stupid. You got shot in the chest, not your legs. Your legs should work fine."
"Did you SEE the number of bullets that hit me? It's a miracle I'm still alive."
Pie was taken aback; Bob was actually using logic for one time in his life. "Alright," he said reluctantly, "I'll go get you some help."
In a cloud of dust, the Warthog spun its tires and headed off into the distance.
Back at Blood Gulch, the Red team received a knock on their door. Nate opened the door slowly to reveal a mercenary, clad from head to toe in midnight black armor (midnight blue was sold out), with the only slight variation coming from the silver shine of the helmet's visor.
"Inferno here, at your service," said the mercenary, "Pyromaniac and heavy weapons specialist."
Nate was most pleased that the mercenary he had ordered off of ineedaweapon.com had arrived.
"Did you bring the mech?"
"The Mythos is parked out back, as per your request. We are loaded up with 700 high-energy anti-matter charges and ready to go."
"Good," Nate said, smiling, "Warm her up. I have our first target."
A lone Warthog once again tore through the barren wastelands of Sniper Country. Once again, it was only occupied by two people: Pie in the driver's seat and Flyboy in the passenger. Torn was left back home to watch over the base.
"And so, after the flying monkeys attacked us, we-"
"SHUT UP AND TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED TO BOB!"
"Fine, fine. He's over there, by that funny and pointless bridge to nowhere." Pie said, stopping the 'Hog next to Bob's body.
Flyboy rushed out and felt for a pulse. "It's no use. Bob's dead. Kaput. Gone. Poof."
"That-"
"Missing. Gone forever."
"Tha-"
"On the other side. No longer with us."
"Th-"
"Slaughtered by the many bullets of an angry and wrathful God, never again to walk among the living!" Flyboy screamed, voice rising in intensity as he did so.
Pie stared at him. "Are you quite finished?"
"Yes."
"Good. AS I WAS SAYING, that sucks. Poor Bob, he will be missed." Pie paused for a moment. "Oh well, time to send in another recrui-"
Pie was once again interrupted by a huge explosion behind him. He slowly turned around to view it in its majesty, as it glowed a bright blue, slowly dimming along the edges, the mark of a bolt made out of pure high-energy anti-matter charges. The explosion left a distinctive smell in the air, not unlike the smell of poop from a newborn baby. The smell of this newborn baby poop lingered as the explosion faded away, leaving a massive 100-meter diameter crater behind the Warthog.
"Well."
Flyboy quickly leaned over the center console of the 'Hog, putting his elbows in Pie's lap and grabbing the steering wheel of the Warthog. "GAS IT!" he cried, "GO, GO, GO!"
Pie didn't gas it, but instead stared at Flyboy. After a moment, he slapped Flyboy across the face. "That was gay," he said, "Get out of my lap, and never, ever, touch me again."
Flyboy slowly took his hands off the wheel and put them back where they belonged as Pie hit the gas and took off. Another explosion marked the place where they just were, hitting the bridge where Bob's body lay.
"Well, he's dead for sure, now." Pie remarked.
Flyboy was quiet for a moment as the smell of baby poop permeated the air, before he finally said, "Ever think that we're just two fictional characters in a story written by some random guy who have just experienced an elaborate plot device?"
Pie shrugged.
The Warthog darted behind into the "Blue" mesa of Sniper Country. It tore past many surprised snipers and finally parked itself in a hangar full of bombers.
"Speaking of elaborate plot devices…" Pie said, leaving his sentence unfinished and pulling out a set of car keys. He causally hit a button on the keys and one of the Longsword bombers in the hangar bay chirped.
"Well, it is a jolly good game of hide-and-go-seek, isn't it?" Inferno asked, turning around in the pilot's chair of the Mythos walker. "I expect we'll kill Pie and Flyboy soon enough. Then you just have that last imbecile to take care of."
Nate gave him a cold, hard stare.
Inferno had a giddy sense of happiness in his voice. "I just wish I could see the terror on their faces!" he said with glee. When Nate didn't break his stare, he turned around and resumed operation of the Mythos.
"Just shoot another random antimatter charge and pray we hit them." Nate said. There was a large, light-blue explosion and the thick smell of newborn baby poop as Nate slowly let a smile sneak across his face and closed his eyes for a nap.
Flyboy was finally in control of his dream plane: The Longsword-class bomber. "She's slow," he said, casually caressing the bomber's control console, "but she can blow the hell out of anything she wants to. Virtually limitless missile supply, bay full of mini-nukes…" He sighed in ecstasy. "I love you, Longsword."
The onboard computer let out a single beep.
Flyboy smiled. "Aww… That's so sweet!" He attempted to give the plane a hug, rather unsuccessfully.
Pie's voice rang out from the galley. "I just restocked this damn thing with food, where the hell did all of it go?"
Flyboy got more pissed than an angsty teenager going through puberty. "SHUT UP! You don't know what she and I have been through! We love each other, and we always will! You wouldn't understand; you CAN'T understand! YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!"
Pie simply stared back at him.
After a lengthy staring contest, Flyboy went back to caressing the Longsword's control panel. He was running his finger up, down, and around the buttons, giggling as he did so, when a large explosion rocked the Longsword. Flyboy's romance with the plane was lost and he jumped to full alert.
"They missed us, but it's only a matter of time until that thing brings my baby down." Flyboy said, "Distance to target is 1 kilometer. Missiles will be in range in twenty seconds."
The overwhelming smell of baby poop went through the Longsword's cabin as the entire view through the main viewscreen was obscured by bright blue. Flyboy simply flew straight through the explosion. "We're in missile range."
"Fire."
The Longsword launched a sudden hail of missiles at the Mythos.
Inferno finally finished getting the Mythos' built-in Macintosh to boot up iTunes and begin to play some heavy metal. "Nothing like the classic stuff for an epic battle."
Nate groaned. "Inferno, that stuff is almost 600 years old now. Can't you change it to something a little more… Recent?"
"No."
The Mythos' hull was suddenly riddled with explosions.
"Hull integrity at 62%. Antimatter charge ready." Inferno reported.
"Fire." Nate replied, half-asleep.
The Mythos trembled as another shot raced out of its cannon. The heavy metal music continued to blare. Inferno leaned back in his chair and turned it up some, much to Nate's chagrin.
"Damn, they dodged it." Inferno said.
"Inferno, it's a giant damn bomber. How the hell could you miss it?"
Inferno leapt up and pulled a pistol out of his belt. "What the hell did you just say?" he said menacingly, leveling his pistol with Nate's unprotected head.
"You wouldn't, Inferno."
"I'm warning you, friend. I am a dangerously insane individual." He let a slight smile crawl across his face. "The worst psychopaths are the ones that know they're insane." Inferno said, laughing.
"If you do it, you won't get paid."
Inferno slowly lowered his pistol, face scowling behind the visor. The Macintosh behind him paused the music suddenly and let out a cheery beep.
"Hull integrity at critical levels." it said, before resuming the music.
"Hell." Inferno said. He grabbed Nate by the collar. "C'mon, let's get the hell out of here." Inferno dragged Nate out of the Mythos, pausing to retrieve his sniper and flamethrower. He threw Nate into a nearby sand dune, jumping out of the door and going into a combat roll himself.
The Mythos exploded in an epic blue explosion in the background.
Nate pulled himself up and dusted himself off. "That wasn't so bad."
Multiple sniper shots suddenly ripped through his legs and sent him tumbling to the floor. "Never mind."
AOI Part III: Improbability
Date: 14 November 2009, 9:40 pm
Inferno was back in Blood Gulch, aiding the remainder of the reds in preparation to strike and kill the weakened blue team.
The fact that they blew up his Mythos didn't matter; he had several of the walkers back home and as such getting one blown up was merely nothing more than a minor inconvenience while he got a new one.
His whole affair with this team seemed to be a string of minor inconveniences.
Inferno's mouth opened and closed a couple times while his mind was suddenly filled with inexplicable but terribly attractive visions of Nate being consumed with fire, then running around in terror with the tips of several large and pointy spoons protruding from him.
He smiled; these visions were common and quite pleasant.
It was just too bad that Nate was currently in a medical facility getting his legs replaced with cyborg implants.
It must be a terribly painful procedure; he hoped that they forgot to use antiseptic.
He closed his eyes and saw himself holding his trusty flamethrower, igniting the hospital that Nate was staying in. Nate, legless, was helpless as the flames slowly consumed him. His screams of pain only delighted Inferno further.
Inferno sighed in pleasure and leaned back in his chair further in preparation for a short nap.
Nate found himself sitting on an operating table, surrounded by medics. He couldn't feel the lower half of his body; looking down, he noticed it had been chopped completely off.
"Oh, this is terrific." He told himself sarcastically.
One of the medics turned to his cohorts. "We can rebuild him. We have the technology." He paused for a moment and then said, quietly, "I've always wanted to say that."
Nate sighed. "Great. My life is in the hands of even more idiots than usual."
One of the doctors stuck a needle into his arm. Slowly, his thought processes grew cloudy until eventually he fell into a deep sleep. The last thing he remembered was making a mental note of how quite a lot of antiseptic seemed to be going into his arm and that there was a voice with a thick German accent saying, "Vhoops."
Inferno finally was ready. Pie and Flyboy had returned, he had his flamethrower, and nothing would stop him this time.
Except perhaps the team of idiots he was stuck with.
Puma was the only remotely competent member of the team, as he had a carefully-organized battle plan drawn out, just in case the reds ever were to press an attack.
Cake and Inferno would flank the base from opposing angles. Inferno would create a diversion using his flamethrower while Cake hid with a sniper.
When the blues come running from the base to attack Inferno, Cake would pick off who he could with the sniper, then they would use attack plan bravo, go into delta six formation, then follow-up with a well-timed grenade.
If none of that worked, then Puma would be on the base's computer and would simply launch an orbital and precise MAC (Magnetic Accelerator Cannon) strike on blue base. When questioned as to why they didn't try that now, Puma said that it would be "too easy."
While Inferno felt that Puma's plan might work, it was still far too orthodox for his tastes. Rushing the base, each armed with flamethrowers and using the fire contained within to set the entire region ablaze was the best tactic, he felt.
He voiced this opinion with Puma at gunpoint. Puma was only too happy to agree with him on all accounts.
Meanwhile, Ducky had shown himself to be dreadfully incompetent within the first few minutes of his arrival. He tried simply relegating Ducky to unimportant menial jobs, but in response to Ducky's increasingly annoying cries for Inferno to remove his helmet, Inferno had Ducky bound and gagged, a task the other members of red team seemed all too happy to carry out.
It wasn't Ducky's stupidity that annoyed him; he could deal with stupidity. No, rather, it was the sheer persistence with which he was trying to be stupid. It had all the effect of someone who had heard a funny joke recently and was trying too hard to retell it, completely ruining the intended effect of the joke itself and rendering the whole situation as funny as a shark in a clown school.
Simply put, Inferno simply didn't like him.
Cake seemed to be as incompetent as Ducky was and was as lazy as a Grif on a summer's day, until the subject of Blue team's Commander Pie was brought up, at which point he turned bloodthirsty and ruthless.
Inferno became most pleased with him past that point.
Nate had no idea how long he slept, although it felt like forever and fifteen days. As soon as he was once again self-aware, he looked down and suddenly noticed that his lower body was once again intact. He stood up, slowly and carefully.
His legs seemed to be a lot stronger than he remembered, and he walked around some, admiring his newfound leg prowess. His time alone with his new legs was brought to a sudden end when one of the doctors entered the E.R.
He looked ethnically German, with tiny spectacles and oversized gloves complementing his long surgeon's gown. He was, in essence, the perfect German doctor stereotype.
"Ah, you're avake!"
"I guess you could say that."
"Good, good. You had quite ze procedure!"
"I can imagine."
"Yes, you should ve clear to exit ze hospital now, I vink we accidentally overdozed you with ze antizeptic, you slept for dayz."
"That would explain a lot." Nate said, already bored to death with this conversation.
The doctor laughed. "Vould it, now?" He turned to the door. "Iv you feel you can handle ze outside vorld again, veel free to leave." There was another small chuckle as he continued, "I vould imagine you vould be able to handle it by now."
Nate nodded and proceeded out back into the outside world.
At long last, Pie and Flyboy had returned to Blue base.
"So how's Bob?" Torn asked as Pie walked into the room.
"He's dead. No one really cared."
"That's always pleasant."
"Isn't it?"
Pie walked into his cabin, grabbing the latest issue of Playboy magazine as he closed his door. Flyboy sat in his usual chair, which creaked like a creaky chair. Torn sat on the base's tattered couch.
"Kinda boring without Bob here, eh?" Torn asked.
Flyboy nodded.
There was silence for a few moments as absolutely nothing particularly interesting at all happened. Then Torn spoke again.
"We should start a band."
Flyboy nodded, bored to death already.
"No, really! I'll be bass, you'll be drummer, and Pie could be lead guitar."
Flyboy glanced over at him. "None of us can sing."
"We'll all sing together!"
"Something tells me that's not going to happen, Torn."
"Alright, then Pie can sing."
"Pie can't sing."
"We'll be a rock and roll band. You don't need to be able to sing."
Flyboy considered this for a moment. "Yeah, you're right," he said finally before reclining in his chair once more.
There were a few more moments of silence.
"You know, the planets in this solar system are completely aligned tonight under the constellation Scorpio. Happens once every thousand years or so." Torn said.
"Are they, now?"
"Yep. They say that very improbable things happen when they align under Scorpio."
"If they only align once every thousand years, how can there be any reliable records of improbable events occurring? That would mean they haven't aligned since the 1500s, and back then they were obsessed over finding this new place called 'America' and weren't really too keen on determining probabilities."
Torn shrugged. "Kinda boring without Bob here."
"You said that already."
"Did I?"
Flyboy sighed.
Nate walked in the door of red base to see the Reds all lined up for battle, save Ducky, who was tied up in a corner, struggling as Inferno put more duct tape over his mouth.
"What's going on here?"
Inferno quickly flipped completely around and hid the duct tape behind his back. "Nothing, good 'ol friend of mine. Nope. Nada. Nothing at all."
"You guys were about to attack the blues without me?"
"Well…" Inferno started.
"Good idea. You all ready?"
Cake nodded feverishly, violent rage in his eyes, as if he would like to do nothing more than laugh as every member of blue died in anguish. This remotely disturbed Nate.
Inferno glanced around and dropped the duct tape, with nothing being particularly interesting about his expression due to the concealing mask of his ever-present helmet. "I guess so, 'ol bean."
"Good. We attack in an hour."
Cake seemed disappointed. "Can't we do it NOW?" A violently insane tone began to appear in his voice the way violently insane tones tend to do that from time to time before going back about their business.
Nate was surprised at Cake's enthusiasm; normally he couldn't even get the soldier to pick up a rifle unless he promised not to force them to do push-ups until their arms fell off. He glanced at Inferno.
"Don't look at me; I just had been talking to him about his family."
Nate's glance turned into a stare.
"Well, the subject of Pie was brought up, and he told me about how they had been rivals since birth…"
Nate continued his icy-cold stare.
"…And then he talked about how Pie stole his fiancé from him and married her before he was conscripted…"
It felt as if the temperature of the room had dropped a couple degrees.
"…And then he joined the other side just for vengeance, and… Well…" Inferno shrugged. "I only encouraged him a little tiny bit."
An hour later the reds began their march. There were many things they expected to see when they arrived at the blue base: the blues waving a white flag, or maybe Pie dressed up in war paint and .50 caliber machine turrets set up around the perimeter, or maybe, just possibly, the base somehow becoming completely replaced by a pot of petunias and an unlucky sperm whale.
Of all the increasingly-unlikely things the various members of red team were expecting, seeing the blues holding musical instruments on the roof of blue base was not one of them, for some strange reason.
Nate halted their advance. "What. The HELL. Are you doing up there?"
Torn took a tiny glance at the reds and turned to Pie.
"Pie," he said, "the red team's here."
"Good. Everyone in tune?"
The blues nodded.
"Hit it."
Flyboy, in the far back, banged his drum sticks together a few times and began to pound away.
The reds simply stared at the blues and dropped their weapons. Inferno himself immediately seemed to be lost in the beat and almost lost his normal homicidal edge.
Torn added a bass line to Flyboy's beat, and soon enough Pie began to shred on his electric guitar.
Nate stared at the (admittedly pretty good) band in stunned disbelief. The music got louder, and Pie was about to start screaming into the mike when sirens began to wail, followed by flashing red and blue lights.
"Ok, this entire thing is getting ridiculous." Puma said, above the roar of the police sirens. "Why are there police in an active warzone?"
"I wouldn't call this warzone exactly active." Nate added. "Although this whole scenario seems pretty unlikely. Personally, I think the whole world's simply gone to hell and back."
Puma nodded as the police began to surround the area.
One of the officers pulled out a megaphone and shouted into it, "HANDS UP. THIS IS THE MILITARY POLICE. WE HAVE RECEIVED A REPORT THAT THERE ARE ILLEGAL WEAPONS IN THIS VICINITY. I NOW TAKE THIS MOMENT TO INFORM YOU THAT ILLEGAL WEAPONS ARE, IN FACT, ILLEGAL." The megaphone was completely unnecessary, as the police cars had turned off their sirens.
As soon as one of the members of blue team opened his mouth, the sirens began to wail again.
"This is an active warzone, us having weapons is the entire reason why we're here!" Flyboy tried to yell back at him, but to no avail.
The officer had, in fact, heard him and thought that Flyboy made a legitimate point, but he was also having a particularly nasty day: his tea this morning spilled all over his lap when he was about to take a sip, sometimes he felt as if the world secretly was out to get him, he thought his cohorts were constantly trying to aim at him in hopes of "accidentally" shooting him, and it had been a while since he got a paycheck. He was in a sour mood in general, and arresting people, he thought, would be the best way to lighten his day.
A few moments later, every member of both teams was in handcuffs and were being escorted to the nearest police station.
He didn't feel any better.
They weren't the first in line at the station; they had to wait in line for a little bit while 3 other convicts had their mugshots taken.
"What's your name?" The officer asked the first one.
"Larry."
"What are you in for?"
"Blowing bubbles."
The officer shrugged and sent Larry on his way. "What's your name?" he asked the next person in line.
"Curly."
"What are you in for?"
"Blowing bubbles."
After Curly went on his way, the third convict walked up.
"Let me guess. You're name's Moe."
"No. My name's Bubbles."
It was finally their turn for mugshots. The security guard turned to Pie and said, "Please place all metal objects, pointy sticks, comedy disguises, trout, carps, haddocks and other fresh or salt water piscine in the tray or..."
Pie whipped open his coat and the security guard fainted. Flyboy coughed, and Pie realized he'd whipped off a little too much and quickly covered himself back up. Everyone else got through without incident.
After they had gone through the red tape of the penal system, the reds and the blues were all crammed into what seemed was the world's smallest jail cell. The bars were thick, there were little to no gaps inbetween, the floor was cold, and the toilet was clogged. Everyone save Inferno was shoved into bright orange jumpsuits.
Inferno was in a bright orange jumpsuit as well, but he got to hold on to his helmet, explaining to the officers that the helmet was a defect as part of a super-soldier experiment gone wrong and thus couldn't be removed.
The officers seemed to buy this story and allowed him to retain the helmet, quite improbably. His success was only temporary: Once inside, Ducky gave Inferno a rather forceful hug, and Inferno's helmet fell off, revealing quite feminine features and red hair cropped to the shoulder. Her face was dotted with freckles and her green eyes had the slightest tinge of insanity to them when admired closely, although not quite enough to detract from her overall beauty. Inferno's sex appeal went from "Ew, gross, I would never do it with a guy" to "HolycrapholycrapholycrapIwanther".
Inferno was a girl.
After this revelation, everyone was largely quiet inside the cell. Torn's jaw dropped open. Puma closed it for him.
Pie was the first to speak. "Well, hello there, Madame Cleavage."
Inferno responded by punching him in the face. "Yes, I'm a chick. Get used to it."
Nate opened his mouth to speak, but Inferno cut him off. "No, I will not go out with you."
Nate glared at her and flipped her off. Inferno pretended to cut off Nate's head by making a slicing motion with her fingers. Slowly, the members of both teams adjusted to the newfound double-x chromosome among their ranks.
Nate and Inferno were bonding by means of demonstrating how each would kill the other. Their gestures grew increasingly obscene, almost to the point where one would think they were flirting with one another. Cake and Pie were staring at one another in disgust. Torn was busy tattering up his jumpsuit. Flyboy and Puma began to discuss philosophy. Ducky, whom everyone had assumed would become Bob's replacement as a source of humor, was busy doing a terrifically bad job at generating humor, pumping out cringe-worthy joke after cringe-worthy joke.
A lot of people assumed that Ducky was related to the sick and twisted narrator of this story.
They were only half-right; Ducky was only related to me through a brother's sister's cousin's aunt's second marriage. As such, he was thus only my stepbrother and was therefore not directly blood-related to me.
Mother sent me off to narrating school (a horrifyingly boring experience overall) and Ducky off to the army; we haven't talked since, although I have become omniscient as a result of my experiences, while he is still delegated to having a first-person limited view of things.
A conversation was struck up among the captives in the prison cell about all of the increasingly improbable events which they had been going through as of late, and eventually they arrived at the conclusion that this story was getting completely ridiculous and they were all fictional characters contained within it. Soon after, they began to discuss how often they should try to break the fourth wall in their story.
Little did they know that an event was about to happen which not only was completely ridiculous (and what some scientists believe to be irrefutable proof that everything in the world is actually 100% fictional and is made up in some sick, twisted person's mind), but also was about to save their hides.
Almost everyone on the planet was planning for this moment. Each had come up with a plan should it actually happen. Entire websites were set up devoted to strategies should it happen. For over five hundred years, man had been devising new ways of holding out should something like it happen. Few believed that it would actually happen.
A single zombie suddenly mindlessly wandered into the door of the police station.
The smell of human waste filled the air. The police guarding the jail cell immediately gained new underwear stains and ran out of the station. As one particularly fat and unlucky officer ran, yellow liquid streaked down his leg and left a wet trail on the floor.
That poor officer's day had just achieved the impossible and had gotten worse.
Bob wandered up to the jail cell and waved at the familiar cowering figures on the other side. "Hi!"
Pie looked at him in stunned disbelief. "Fly, slap me."
Flyboy immediately obliged. The slap didn't help any, and Pie stared incredulously at Bob. "How did you…"
"I don't know. Probably military experiment, I tend to be the subject of a lot of those." Bob shrugged. "I guess this time they just decided to make a zombie out of someone who didn't have a brain to begin with."
Puma's jaw dropped open. Torn closed it for him.
"All who agree that we have officially jumped the shark, say 'Aye!'"
Everyone murmured in agreement.
"Who's the boobies? She looks vaguely familiar, as if she was from a dream I had once, long ago." Bob asked.
"Inferno. She was trying to kill you the other day." Nate said. He paused, before adding, "In the sexiest manner imaginable."
Inferno kicked him in the nuts, and Nate fell over onto the ground, crying out in pain.
"The past few hours have been the most improbable thing I have ever experienced." Puma said.
Flyboy glanced at Inferno, then Bob, and nodded.
"Any other zombies out there?" Torn asked.
Bob shrugged once more. "I don't think so. I haven't gotten hungry yet."
"Are we dead?" Nate asked, cringing on the floor still. "I think I took one too many sniper shots the other day. Maybe we're all dead and this insanity is what happens to someone after they die."
Flyboy looked at him. "No, I'm pretty sure we're all still alive."
Little did Nate know that the events which transpire after someone dies were only slightly more insane than the events which were currently unfolding within the teams' small jail cell.
"Open the gate. Press the big red button over there." Pie said impatiently.
"OK!" Bob began to wander over there, but suddenly stopped. "Wait a second, I know better now than to press big shiny red buttons! They promise you donuts but never give you any. Instead, all they give you lies. LIES."
"Please?"
"Alright, fine, I'll press the button."
The gate to the jail cell finally went up and both teams slowly wandered out.
"We've got to get to a vehicle." Pie said. Both teams (and Bob) nodded and slowly walked out of the police station. Bob wandered into the street, scaring the hell out of a limousine driver and thus granting the teams an improbable means of transport.
Cake turned to Torn. "Lots of exposition in this chapter, eh?"
Torn nodded.
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