| |
Leetville is story series, describing the ongoing
adventures of Twicer as he discovers the wondrous
world of Leetville! Special thanks to numerous
leets and adventurers as well as Nepentheia. No
leets were harmed in this production - Twicer,
on the other hand...
Chapter Seven
The city district of Omni-Entertainment was slowly flooded by the dim lights of the sun coming up over the horizon, its rays filtered through the thick smog filling the lungs of the city. The rays struggled through the smog slowly but surely. The rain outside wasn't helping any, falling like a thick curtain of water to further prevent the sunlight from reaching in to wake the city. In alleys across the housing blocks, the less than legal citizens retreated back into where they had came from, back from the light, back from the day. Except a few.
"Hold it steady!" the one with the eyepatch growled through yellow teeth. He was known to his brothers-in-crime only as Patch.
"I'm trying!" another whispered, the sort of whisper meant to be heard loud and clear. "You try holding it while someone is flicking you on the ear!" exhibit B, known as Bob the Mexican Mangler, continued.
The third one stopped, his fingers just behind Bobs ear.
"Sorry." he said, grinning.
"No you're not, Carlos!" Bob said. "You've been at it for thirty minutes! If it wasn't for the fact that I need to keep this powerdrill right on the lock, I'd whap you with it!"
"I still think we should have powered it on." Patch mumbled.
"Yeah? Well, you try to get powercells at 5am in the morning then! Every damned store is closed!"
These three criminal elements are known as the Indestructible Foursome. As the name implies, there used to be four of them, but when Burt the Renegade dropped down a six story building into a garbage disposal truck, it became clear that he hadn't been quite as indestructible as he had made himself out to be. The garbage disposal truck definately hadn't thought he was. However, Burt lived on in the others memories through his last words, which had been "Bugger, this roof is slippery!"
The trio is currently trying to break into a Nanodeck store. They have all the tools for the job, and all the expertise. However, what they are sadly lacking are the brains to combine the two. They are, in a sense, stupid. To be more precise, the trio are the sort of criminal element that when encountering a locked safe, and armed with enough sticks of dynamite to blow up a smaller country, you can safely bet on the fact that noone has the matches to light it.
There are other entities out at the break of dawn apart from the trio. One in particular is observing the three right now from a ledge across the road. There are reasons to why the trio has yet to know they are being spied on - one of them being that they haven't really looked, another being that the spy is indeed a very clever spy that is lurking in the shadows, and the third is .. well. You will notice the third reason in a short little bit.
"I think I got it!" Bob whispered.
"Yeah? Well, then op.." Patch began, but was cut short, as a brick hit him square in the face, whereupon he sagged backwards down into the street. Carlos flicked out a knife and turned around, facing the direction the brick had come from, only to end up with a face full of another airborn brick.
"Arghk!" Our little spy now enters the scene and is currently busy headbutting Carlos into unconsciousness, finishing what the brick started.
"What the bleeding hell?!" Bob exclaimed, but too late. Bob lifted up the powerdrill and flung it at the intruder, who nimbly somersaulted over it and kicked Bob first on the nose and then on the chin, sending Bob to join his companions in sleepy land.
"Pwned!" the little spy chirped. Now only one problem remained - namely dragging all three back to the village. He wasn't looking forwards to that bit at all. But then again, neither would the humans, which was a comforting thought. There would be lots of work for them to do in the muffin mines.
"What do you mean aliens?!" Twicer cried out. "What, like.. ALIEN aliens?"
"Yes, alien aliens" Kendrel sighed. Kendrel sat behind his desk and, as usual when dealing with Twicer, his top drawer was open for the reason that he had his antacid pills in there, frequently used when the bald nanomage metaphysicist tried to scive off from a job.
"But those things are dangerous!" Twicer whined. His experience with aliens thus far had involved several near-death experiences, often at the same time or at least with such a minimum lapse of time that it might just as well be the same time.
"We suspect these ones aren't." Kendrel said, reaching down into his drawer for the pills.
"Suspect how?" Twicer asked warily.
"Because..."
"Any aliens that aren't dangerous are a bit suspicious if you ask me - up to no good, I would say. Probably will involve a limbloss or two.." Twicer muttered.
"As I was saying - we suspect these aliens are, in fact, not dangerous - the reason being their ship crashed after being hit by sheer luck by the clondykian Notum Cannons and was scattered all over!"
"Oh."
"We will be dispatching several teams to various coordinates where we suspect the debris has landed. Your teams, that is - your, coordinates will be uploaded to your NCU at the reception. That will be all."
"What if there is danger? I should at least have an escort!" Twicer objected.
"Good grief, man! If there is danger and I send an escort, we run the risk of losing valuable men we actually need! Now off with you!"
Twicer backed out of the office and closed the door. Well then, perhaps it was about time he did get an assignment that didn't involve multiple gunshot wounds, a couple of spinal cord injuries and his bones broken. Maybe the Goddess Fortuna was finally smiling on him.
"I'm so dead." he said to himself.
"Beep" his HUD blinked with the coordinates and his heart shrank.
"Aw, crud." he moaned. He had seen those coordinates before. They were stamped on the back of a very well hidden copy of a photograph that he kept at home, an extreme closeup of a leets face, under which was scribbled "I remember you".
It was time to return. But first things first - a certain promise floated up through the cortex of the nanomage and with a resigned look on his face, he activated the comlink.
"Hello? Is this Mongol Meat? I would like to order 6000 chocolate chip muffins please."
 |
|
 |
Last updated 06. November 2007
|
|
