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The n00b invasion by SeverianofUrth
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The Invasion of the NOOBS (prologue)
Date: 13 July 2004, 3:01 AM
In the black void of space, a renegade fleet of Covenant battle ships, their names all devoid of capitalization or correct spelling and grammar, sailed the nethers of the galaxy, searching for somewhere to land...
Somewhere, where they might spread again the same scourge of ignorance and idiocy.
They were called, by their former Covenant brethren who were both vengeful and fearful of them, the NOOBS.
"Atten- shut! I am Career Ship's Sergeant Helljumper, your company commander. When you speak to me, you will say "sir." When you speak to your superiors, be it you like them or you feel a certain sense of hatred towards them, you will still, and always without failure say "sir." When you see these goddamn stripes, you shit-faced monkeys, you will shout "sir!" He looked around, at the cowering rows of recruits. He snorted, and shook his head. "How many men can a Pelican carry, soldier?" He looked around. "Is there anyone man enough to answer me?!"
A small, rat-faced boy, raised his hand. Sergeant Helljumper looked happy at this. "Yeah, you there!"
"Uh... 56, sir?"
"My sweet God! What the fuck were you doing in school, boy? Haven't you played your requisite time of battle simulations? Anyone else know the answer?" Silence reigned.
He sighed- "Fine, fine. What did I expect from a bunch of egg-faced, humpty-dumpty little kids anyways? A easy question now- what's a difference between a squad and a squadron?"
Silence stood out like a road sign, painted in garish red and lettered with big, black letters the word "FUCK!"
"A squadron- you damn attention-deprived idiots- is reserved for--"
A klaxon began to ring; the sound calling everyone to battle stations.
Pink vessels began entering the atmosphere of the planet HBO.
"Ah- it's about time you got here." mr.bill, Lt. Colonel of the HBOARMY, said as the various officers of the Camp Pariah entered the office. "We have a certain situation here, it seems."
"I got a fresh batch of kiddies, sir. All waiting outside, milling about like a bunch of civilian ants they are." Said Helljumper.
"Right, sergeant. I won't keep you here for a long time, be assured. Although by the time this is over we will all be wishing for more time." replied mr.bill.
"Right now, as of 0900, certain vessels numbering hundreds entered the atmospheres of our planet." said mr.bill. "Here's the message they sent us-" He turned, and turned on the small black recording device next to him.
"I SHALL DESTORY U FAGGS ALL N BECOME A RULER OF HBO!"
"Hey, brother, got a cigarette?" Asked Severian, a private of no relative worth. "Or rolling paper if you could spare..."
The man turned, and Severian gulped as he saw the man's stripes. "Isn't this supposed to be a no-smoking facility, private?"
"Aye, I mean, sorry, sir." Severian shuffled away, glad to get away without some kind of a punishment. I should watch out for that fucker, he thought. He took a quick peepette at the Corporal's nametag.
"C. Blooded."
OpeningAct, dressed in polychrome camouflage gear, crept through the forest with his S2AM rifle, and
took perch upon a limb of a giant tree, a behemoth of considerable age. He nestled himself comfortably on the limb, and carefully laid the rifle across his knees- awaiting his prey.
"Currently, orders have been made to stake the landing ground of their vessels with snipers and entrenchments of marines." Said mr.bill.
"Ah, sir? Wouldn't the enemy simply glass the landing zone to secure a safe landing?" asked Nick Kang, a gunnery sergeant.
"That would be the standard procedure, sergeant. However, their reputation has raced over already to our own intelligence operatives- they have, let's say, a certain reputation for... unorthodoxy. Their tactics simply involve, as the past actions have shown time and time again, simply overwhelming the opposition with massive numbers of brainwashed legions- quite effective, as idiots seem to be born every second of the day." Replied mr.bill.
"So what's the strategy then, sir?" Asked major STYDK.
"We simply wait- and pray that their scourge of stupidity does not crush us with their numbers."
"So, Opening Act, what's the news then?" Asked Private Ajax, over the comm. link.
"Well, they found the nude holomovies under the floorboard of my bunk, and so they took it- 'for perusal of evidence,' they said."
"Bullshit."
"Seriously, man! I mean, they took the "Cortana Files," too!"
"Hey, you bastard, you said you didn't have that!" yelled Ajax, still immobile in his sniper's nest.
"Well... I had to use it." replied OpeningAct. He quickly cut off the comm. link between him and Ajax.
"Here you go." Lone Wolf, a shady character who happened also to be a corporal, handed Severian, a drug-thirsty ex-junkie a small tablet wrapped in celophane. Severian took it gratefull, and handed him the credits. Lone Wolfe nodded, smiled, and walked away, humming "Riders of the Storm" as he counted the money.
Severian took the pill out of it's casing, and crouched near a dark corner, and examined the pill. It was yellow, dusty, old, and said 'LYXSD.' A potent hallucinogen, he knew. He popped it in his mouth, swallowed, and waited.
"Wow... I didn't know elves existed..."
Meanwhile, inside the NOOB fleet, aboard the flagship thebluemonkey stood a tall, hunchbaked figure named Twinkie.
"master they got our message!" said a small, nameless minion.
"Good... soon all of HBO shall know my wrath..."
(that was just the prologue! await for the awe-inspiring second part!)
The Invasion of the NOOBS (part 1)
Date: 16 July 2004, 12:07 AM
The exploits of C. Blooded, and the fate of Opening Act...
First, we'll start with... Corporal C. Blooded.
"So that's where all the n00bs come out from." Corporal C. Blooded said to the engineer.
"Aye, sir."
The machine... It was, by his visual estimate, at least a hundred feet tall, and two hundred feet wide. Various tubes portruded from it's boxlike-exterior, which was coated with white paint that looked like pigeon shit. A giant funnel stood on top of the machine, to which small, fleeting shapes jumped in... and at the bottom, from a small pipe came sliding out the nefarious undead n00bs.
"It looks like a sausage machine." A diabolical sausage machine, he added to himself. A instrument of tremendous evil...! "And I'm to scale that monstrosity?"
"Yes, sir." The civilian said. "That monster yonder is one of the n00b-lings, sir. They keep churning out all day long... Our last count stopped at two hundred thousand, sir."
"Shouldn't they just bomb it?"
"The Lt. Colonel wants to investigate this, sir."
"Ah. I see..." He looked down, and with a small scope took a quick recon of one of the n00bs. "A flood of n00bs..."
Opening Act slid from the shadows, his polychrome camouflage blurring as he lunged out, and stabbed a nearby n00b in the neck. The green, zombie-like being staggered back, green blood streaming out; it fell as Opening Act side-kicked it in the chest.
It fell with a thump. Opening Act stood over it, pulling his blade out... he happened to take a look at it's milky, green eyes. 'Maybe,' he thought, 'maybe he didn't want to come here... What if he was just a all-Am-!'
The thing spat in his face.
"Alright, Corporal! Jump!" The pilot screamed in his ear, as C. Blooded jumped out from the back of the Pelican. A micro-titanium cable, attached to his waist, streamed out with a hiss as he free-fell through the air, headed down to the top of the diabolical sausage machine.
He landed on the top. He detached the cable, and sent it back up. He unslung the shotgun from his back, and held it up, thumbing off the safety.
"Hmm..." Nothing. "That's weird..."
Then the things began climbing up the paint-chipped wall of the machine.
Opening Act wiped the spittle off his face as he gave the corpse another kick. He had ran out of ammo earliet, and had already buried the rifle itself in another of the n00b-horde's face. And so he was taking them down with his knife...
"Well, the Corporal seems to be hanging on to things still, sir." The engineer said, peeping through a set of binoculars.
"How do you know? It's too damn far for those antique binoculars." Sergeant Helljumper said.
"It's easy to tell, sir. There's alot of little black specks swarming around on the top of the machine, but the n00b-lings have a greenish tint to them, sir. Besides, if the Corporal fell, he'd probably be screaming bloody murder through his comm. link, so we'd know if he's dead."
He watched as another swarm of the speck fell toppling off the machine. "And he's giving them the best he's got, sir. At least, that's what it looks like."
Opening Act felt a slow glow of relief rising through his chest like some heilum-infused crystal balloon as his comm. link crackled back to life. He almost greedily turned it to the signal it was on previously- Private Ajax's.
"Hello?"
"Ajax? Hey, it's me, Opening Act! I'm currently stranded behind ene-"
"You fucking bastard! Because of your porn-hoarding ways, I'm gonna die without ever witnessing a subliminally erotic AI doing a-"
Opening Act cut the link with a sigh.
"He seems to be holding on, sir. The Corporal apparently ran out of ammo, seeing as there aren't anymore flashes issuing from one of the specks- but he seems to be doing quite well with just his hands."
Cold Blooded cursed as he threw off another one of the n00b-lings. He had ran out of ammo, and all he had left was his bare knuckles... something that he had been taught to avoid using if he can.
He punched another one on the jaws, felt the flesh give way. 'At least they don't have jawbones... I won't be breaking my knuckles on that.'
A moment later he punched another one, unluckily, on their teeth. His knuckles cracked.
"Sir, it seems like the Corporal fell down. All the n00b-lings are gatheirng in one gigantic swarm, sir, and forcing someone off the machine- oh, there he goes. You can hear him now over the comm. link, sir. He's finally talking now."
Sergeant Helljumper thumbed on the comm. link's earpiece. He flinched momentarily as he heard the Corporal's scream.
"FUUUCCCKKKK!!!!!!!!"
They say that one sees his or her life flash past their eyes before dying... This didn't happen to Corporal C. Blooded, mainly because he wasn't dead.
With a bloodcurdling scream he fell off the diabolical sausage machine... and landed on top of the heaps of n00b-ling corpses. The corpses were mostly soft, which was a blessing.
"Awww... my back..." The Corporal shifted his body, but stopped suddenly as the corpses... moved.
aboard teh ship BLUEMONKEY stud a tall hunchbaked figul named twinkie. he pased acros the floor as teh dur opened.
"ah my apprentice u hav returned."
"yes my lord"
"Spanish Spartan, my trustd aprentis, hav u forsin the outcum of dis conflict?"
"yes my lord we of the NOOBS shall reign teh planet of HBO forever my lord"
"muahahahaha!"
Opening Act ran desperately, trying to avoid the n00b-patrols. His knife was gone, left buried in a n00b's face; now he was being chased by the goons of NOOB.
He jumped over a fallen tree, rolled to avoid a falling tree, ducked to avoid a swinging tree, and shimmied up a tall tree. His hearted thumped as he peeked down.
The patrol seemed to be puzzled. They scratched their heads, hit each other a few times, then went away. Opening Act sighed in relief.
Then a pink-suited figure blurred into recognizable shape beside him on the limb of the tree...
"Spanish Spartan! You'll never take- argh..." Opening Act flailed around a little as Spanish Spartan unhiged a part of his helmet, and let out a putrid breath laced with euthanasia...
Opening Act woke up inside a dark room, tied to a chair. A figure clothed in black strode back and forth...
"Ah, a soldier of HBO. A new recruit?"
"You'll never fucking take me alive-"
Actually, we have." The figure chuckled. "You know, we know the perfect torture for you people... It doesn't involve testicles, hot irons, nor does it involve a spinal-tap. No. Let me demonstrate for you."
The figure put a earphone over Opening Act's head, and as he wondered what manner of foul deeds they would put him through, the figure turned the earphone on...
and somastercheif kiled several thousand grunts with his rifle and took out a sarge and turnelrjo over a ghost and killed a guy and took a guy and ate some burotios and bonked with cortana and whatnot-
"NOOOOO! STOP THIS MADNESS, PLEASE!"
Up Next: The Rescue Mission of Nick Kang, End of Opening Act, Escapades of C. Blooded, HEV-surfing by Helljumper, and more, more, more!
Invasion of the NOOBS:part 2, The Briefing
Date: 20 July 2004, 8:51 PM
Inside Camp Pariah, the Lt. Colonel's Office
"We are gathered here today, gentlemen and hopefully some ladies, to discuss the approaching threat of invading n00bs and ways to counter the aforementioned threat. However, there will be no such discussion, I'm afraid, mainly because we all know that the n00bs must be destroyed!. And I have prepared three plans that will be set in motion as soon as I have introduced them to you... the officers of HBO army." mr.bill said. He signaled to a nervous-looking aide, who immidiately turned off the lights and turned the holo-projector on.
mr.bill continued. "First, we have here the main fleet that are on orbit over our planet. And down below is the ground-space elevator that they are using to ferry supplies and units down... And to send prisoners and their dead back up."
The picture then flickered to a giant metal city, gleaming pink.
"This is the city right below the elevator... And the target of our first operation. Sergeant Kang?" mr. bill asked.
"Aye, sir?"
"Our first operation will involve you, Sergeant, infiltrating the n00b-city and rescuing a prisoner... by the name of Opening Act." The light was turned back on, the projector turned off by the aide.
"Um... Sir, I doubt that I would be able to get through the layers of n00b infantry alone, sir. To do so would require at least a regiment-" Sergeant N. Kang said.
"Ah, yes. I gave that matter some thought, Sergeant, and I have arrived at the most perfect answer." mr.bill said, and motioned forward someone that had been standing, previously unnoticed by any of the officers gathered, in a dark corner. "He is the most accomplished assasin we have... One who is so secret, so unknown to his victims, one who has never been seen before... He is so accomplished in the arts of sneaking and assasination that he is called... someone that you don't know."
"Hello!" Someone that you don't know said, waving cheerily.
"What's his real name, though?" Asked N. Kang.
"He doesn't know... Making him even more secret. You shall never know him, for even he, himself doesn't." mr.bill said. "Of course, you can call him this..." He produced a placard, and handed it to N. Kang.
"S-T-Y-D-K?"
"Yes. Or, you can just call him Steady-K. Right, fellow?"
"Of course!" STYDK, or Steady-K said, while producing half-a-dozen kunais from his arm.
"And now, here is another one of your companions, Sergeant. Corporal C. Blooded, formerly a prisoner of the n00bs." mr. bill waved over the Corporal.
"Ah, someone who is in the military-" N. Kang attempted to shake his hand, but mr. bill slapped it aside.
"Are you crazy, Sergeant?" mr. bill said.
"Wha- I just tried to shake his hand, sir, nothing bad-"
"The Corporal had been infected with the n00bius stereotypicos while in captivity." The aide said from the back, reading from a tattered report. "It makes the patient act in a way that fits with whatever n00bish stereotypes may produce... The Corporal, I'm sure, is a Canadian, which means that-"
"Eh?" Corporal said, staring mournfully into the ceiling. "Eh? That's what I have to say, always, after a sentence. Eh?" He scratched his head. "I'm just lucky I'm not Irish. Eh?"
"We do not currently know how the disease is transmitted, but the Corporal received it after being captured for three days. So don't touch him." mr. bill said.
"And... what is he supposed to do, sir?" Sergeant Kang asked.
"He is on a mission of his own, Sergeant. Finding a serum, a antidote for his disease. It's just that you two's goals are merely in the same place." mr. bill then waved over the last person...
"And here, then, is the last of your teammates, Sergeant. He is, as you can see, a clown..."
After Sergeant Kang and his cohorts left, mr. bill sighed, took a sip from a canteen by his side that smelled of cough syrups, and wiped his eyes. "Now, the second mission... Oh my, this is getting pretty damn boring."
"Everyone here, I assume, knows about the Spartan John-117's exploits aboard an unknown Covenant artifact, I presume?" Everyone nodded. mr.bill smiled, and opened the door... "Then I introduce you..."
"Oh my fucking God! It's Master Chief! You brought Master Chief! Ahhh! He's my hero-" The aide said, jumping up and down.
"Actually, I'm his cousin..." The green-suited figure said, scratching his helmet. "But I'm pretty damn good, I assure you."
"Yes. You don't need to know his name. He is MCC, Master Chief's Cousin, and he and his squad is to find and activate Halo-2... Provided we fail to eradicate the n00bs."
"The members of this expedition are: Russ-687-"
"Command Chief Master Sergeant Russ of HBO, serial number-68~"
"No, no, no. He is Russ-687. Nothing more." mr.bill said, and went on, oblivious to Russ's glares. "There are three more people..."
"Down here, sir." BlasTech said.
"Right. BlasTech, a civilian Demolitions Expert. And then, we have here-"
MCC bent over, and whispered in mr.bill's ear. With wide eyes, he whispered back to MCC, 'what? he's drunk off his ass from LCL?' MCC nodded.
Looking tired, mr.bill said, "And finally-"
"He's dead, or at least buried alive, sir." MCC said.
"Fine. Well, that is all for the second operation... Which I christen you all the Fellowship of the Ring!" The Lt. Colonel said, spreading his arms wide.
Everyone had left. Only the aide, mr.bill, and Sergeant Helljumper remained.
"And now, Sergeant, one last mission... Destroy the sausage machine out yonder, and defend us from the hordes of n00bs out there. I have contacted the Veteran's Army, but they haven't responded yet..."
This part blows, but it had to be done... the next parts will be better, I assure you all. And the formatting is pretty ugly...
Next Part: Saving Private Opening
The Invasion of the NOOBS:Groundworks 1/2
Date: 9 August 2004, 11:29 PM
The Invasion of the NOOBS: Groundworks::part 1/2.
A/N:The Saving Private Opening doesn't start here, I'm afraid... I'm just laying down the groundworks, for now. For future chapters, that is.
Warning: This chapter isn't good. Sorry, but I'm running on fumes here, whatever the hell that means.
En Route to the NOOB City
"Alright, we'll be there in thirty minutes, so get ready!" yelled the pilot over the comm. channels. Sergeant Nick Kang winced; his ears hurt like hell everytime the pilot yelled... Wiley had a voice like a foghorn, and it was annoying too.
But he was good at what he did, which wasn't ferrying troops on his Pelican. No, Wiley had only one purpose in life: destroying the enemy with his unusually lethal Pelican. Whether he deployed scatter-cluster napalm pellets to burn the poor wretched masses to crispy cinders or used his hellwhip missles to blow them all towards heaven then right down to hell, he made sure the bastards got what they deserved: a cold, hard steel-toed boot to the ass. A lethal boot, at that.
Which was why the Lt. Colonel had picked him, thought the pensive Sergeant. They didn't need a highly trained landing pilot with experience: they needed a homicidal game-simulation junkie who had a penchant against n00bs. And so far the scheme seemed to have worked: he and his squad was alive, and the occasional n00bs they passed by weren't.
Sergeant Kang looked over towards Major Steady-K, who was sharpening his shurikens. The Major was once one of the greatest tactical geniuses this side of the galaxy: but after a unfortunate blow to the head he turned into a, again, homicidal assasin who could not be seen, for he was Someone That You Don't Know. 'The Major will come in handy,' thought the Sergeant. 'He might not be a tactical genius anymore, but he's still good at killing...'
Next, Kang looked over towards Corporal C. Blooded, who was occasionally mumbling "eh?" to the wall. He was infected, Kang knew, with the disease noobius stereotypicos, which caused the victim to act in a stereotypically noobish way... and which was why the Corporal was going along for the ride: to find the antidote.
Finally, the Sergeant looked over towards the clown. 'Wait,' he thought. 'Hold it.' The Lt. Colonel had warned them not to look at Chuckles unless they wished for a severe emotional scarring similar to that of child-abuse... Nick Kang didn't know want to know what the Clown might have: as long as he hurt the noobs, it was fine by him.
"We're there, Sergeant. Give them hell!" A foghorn yelled.
--------------
The city in which the Private Opening was held in was small. Glistening purple and dripping with green, several cruisers hovered overhead like ugly little clouds while a shining thread of silver seemingly hung from the sky. The space elevator, thought Kang.
As they jumped from the Pelican, Sergeant Kang found himself staring face-to-face with Chuckles, who was doing a handstand. He quickly shut his eyes: Kang didn't want to risk emotional scarring... fighting the war was bad enough.
He heard the clown squeak away, his shoes, laced with tiny little bells jingling all the while. He opened his eyes: the clown was cartwheeling away, into enemy territory- but as the Lt. Colonel had warned, the clown worked best alone.
"Eh, Sergeant, permission to storm the goddamn-eh'ed city and take what I need, eh, to stop saying this humiliating little word, eh?" The Corporal asked.
Nick Kang shook his head. "We gotta wait for reinforcements, Corporal."
"I know what we can do with the reinforcements, Sergeant, eh? I can stuff it up the noob's a-eh?"
"Just unload the goddamn plane, Corporal."
Nick Kang then stared out to the noob city as the Corporal stalked away. 'Now,' he thought, 'just wait for the army to arrive, and as they raise hell we just slip in... although if the clown is as good as they say the war might just be won.' He chuckled: although he hadn't made a joke, he thought he did. He was a confusing little man.
------------------------
"So, I said, 'go stuff it up your ass, Corporal!'" shouted a drunken Private, as his temporary buddy laughed along.
"Goddamn that was funny... heh... hey, guess what?" The other asked. '
"Chickenbutt?"
"No, seriously. I'm getting away from this hellhole, heh-" CovieKilla said, as he swigged another gulp from the bottle of Bacardi they had gotten from a shady character-"to some place called Halo. Away from the n00bs and all that."
Private Severian was piqued. "Wha-what? What th' hell do you mean?"
CovieKilla laughed. "I'm a goddamn Spartan, or whatnot. I don't remember a thing- but the good stuff is that you don't need to do shit when your in one of those suits... wanna know the secret?" He asked, and then burped.
Private Severian was really piqued, now. "What do you mean? Don't you have to still fight and all that? You said you've killed a man with a cotton swab once!"
CovieKilla laughed. "Yup, I did that... but still, my suit does more that it should do, neh? It's controlled by this really scary AI called Solidus Snake... it's a bloodthirsty killing machine. It just takes control when enemies are near, and I just lay back and enjoy the show while the AI is ripping the things apart."
Severian was amazed. While he had to go fight a battle to take down the diabolical sausage machine, the Spartans were taking a vacation to this place called Halo? And this guy had a suit that did the fighting for him? "So where is it at, anyways?" Severian asked, a plan slowly forming in his mind. "I mean, where could it be at?"
CovieKilla farted as he took another swig. "Oh, it's in the -classfied-. The password for it is 'joybird'-"
There was a crack. CovieKilla slowly toppled out of his chair as Private Severian held in his hand a shattered bottle. The Private muttered a apology, and fled the room... making a beeline for that suit.
After all, what could be better than to pretend to be CovieKilla for a while, and just go to Halo for a nice vacation?
-end... of Part A.-
Note: Saving Private Opening doesn't start... yet.
Invasion of the NOOBS: An Elegy for Clowns
Date: 7 September 2006, 3:40 pm
It was too silent, this cell, with its stereotypically damp walls and darkness, and even the torturers had been of the routine sort: totally insane without a hint of mercy. Sergeant Kang pouted as he hung by his wrists from (very)rusty chains dangling off the ceiling, feet suspended a foot or so off the ground. Typical, he thought: n00bs are sooo typical. There should be some characterization for the torturers, damn it, and what about me? Nothing creative. Darn n00bs. Then he swung on the chain once more, to see if it had loosened a bit-- n00bs always left plot holes, and this should've been of no exception-- but nothing happened. Nick's wrists started to ache.
Blood ran off his scourged back as he tried to remember just what had happened. There had been that pinkish blur, but was that all? Just that blur, a hurtling black fist, and he had crumpled, blood leaking out in great globs from his shattered nose, his last thought but a whisper, a breeze, of: I don't want to die.
Then he had awakened in this dark cell, chained by his wrists to the ceiling. It was so over-dramatic, Nick thought, chortling. He wished that he could see himself on television. That'd be nice. Super-nice. It would be just awesome if the n00bling torturers dragged in a sixty-two inch plasma TV into a corner and turned on a vidtape of him being whipped, beaten, starved, and sponge-bathed. What would it be called? Masochists Daily?
The mind finds refuges in places where the body, in a very run-on sentence that will not employ those cowardly things called commas or periods or punctuation, suffers from physical torments to which the rigors of reading a non-formatted story posted by a unluckily English-deficient child of age eighteen who usually spends his time trolling on forums and trolling on the world and chortling in various comic stores in which he reads generic power fantasies that Scott McCloud would chortle repetitively at and thus the torments that the body suffers overwhelms the sensory perceptions to which the mind is narrowly subjected to and thus the mind escapes, usually, with much use of colons, with regal bearing and style, does converse with God.
Nick was going mad. He just didn't know it.
A day later, faceless n00bling goons had thrashed him, had tried to scare him with a rat (and when he did not react as they had expected, one of them had screamed, Thanks for the advice, Orwell!), and when both had no apparent effect on him, the goons had called for the clowns. The torturers, evil n00bling clowns with evil stamped into their very genetic code, so much so that the word EVIL was stamped in red on their foreheads, had come for him then. After a rather long session involving flesh rendered in several different diections, screams, and him thinking, man, I could do so much better then this, the clowns had tossed him back into the cell. Or hung him up, rather, like a half-used towel.
Is the Corporal alright? he wondered. Then Nick remembered again STYDK's shattered face, the pumpkin-yellow visage covered with too much blood. And what about the Clown, this time with a capitalized C? That... Chuckles? The torturer-clowns had been too akin to that Other. They all poured off the same miasma of frustration, humiliation, and juggling balls...
Swinging limply from the ceiling, Sergeant Nick Kang slowly, slowly slipped into sleep.
The Clown in question guts the last of the n00blings. He tastes slaughter, in the air, the globules of green blood reminiscent of sour apple, and when he draws back out his foot-long combat knife and stabs it back into the monster's face, his face, yellow and scarred and marred into something of horror, dimples into joy.
"So, Mista Kang, wanna tango you say?" The n00b sharpened his knife on the whet-stone as loudly as he could. Intimidation should be coming around soon, he thought.
But Kang was made of sterner stuff then that. No, instead of whimpering with insane fear from the torture that was soon to begin, Nick threw back his head and cried, FREEDOM!!!
"Shuttafugup," the n00b said sullenly. "You giving me trouble. Most people die, see? So why won't ya die?"
"For I am a scottish man, you--"
Then the n00b stabbed him in the thigh. The dirty n00bling blade-- more a dirk then a knife-- stabbed through flesh and cracked through bone. Kang spasmed on the operating table as pain wrecked its way through his nerves. Gasping, he spat out some blood. He had bitten his tongue.
"Shuttup!" The n00bling cried. "You giving me trouble. Just tell me whattafug you doing here!" Another stab, then more, deep shcink, shcink, shcink sounds of a steel blade burying through something soft, like tofu.
Nick choked out, even through the screaming pain, "FREEDOMMMMM!!!"
"Whattafug are you!"
"I am a scottish man," Kang whispered, struggling through the incredible (and fantastic, you can't forget fantastic) pain. "I am Ben the Pwner."
"Wha?"
"FREEDOMMMMMMMMM!!!"
The torture ended sometime around noon , when the torturer went to go get lunch. He left Nick strapped down to the operating table, blood running down his legs into the drain below. The n00bling, though, before going off, had promised Nick that when he was back (after getting a meatball sub), he'd cut off something-- but that something would be something that Nick would desperately need, would want, would mourn its loss forever. "Justa making sure you gotta it? Capisce?"
"Screw you," Kang had replied.
Now, as blood steadily seeped out of those stab-wounds on his thigh, Nick wondered-- for the first time-- if he should give up. The n00b had sounded like he was going to cut off his testicles. That didn't sound too good. In fact, it was faintly horrifying.
"Hey, enunch boy."
The Sergeant of the loyalist HBO army turned his head towards the voice. It was sibilant, hissing, serpentine; dark and damp and everything related to Sauron in Lord of the Rings. Nick screamed as that voice suddenly turned into a giant flaming eye, and it was looking at him, ohgodpleasehelpme--
The eye flickered out of existence. Then the voice-- that very same snake-- spoke again. "That was just a hologram, retard."
"By WETA?"
"Yeah."
Nick sighed. "No wonder. That terrified me."
"Really?"
"Oh, yes."
"Well, good," the figure replied. Nick could only see the hem of the man's dark cloak. "They're making the next Halo movie, and if they could make some imaginary burning eye scary, they gotta be able to capture Cortana's threatening femininity... Hey, nice cloak, huh?"
"Yeah," Nick replied weakly.
"It's fuligin, a shade that's darker then black. Awesome for killing n00bs in the dark."
"Great."
"In fact, with my DAUGHTER OVER MY BREAST, WITH MY CLEAVER BY MY SIDE, ATOP MY TRICYCLE, I HAVE TRIUMPHED. I AM HERE. I AM THE CLOWN."
Then there was the sound of footsteps, steps coming closer and closer, like they were trapped in a metaphysical closet full of things that came closer and closer. Something severed the straps that bound him to the table. Nick groggily moved his wrists, felt the blood pool back into his limbs.
And then the Clown reared over him-- and there Nick screamed, screamed harder then he had ever before. For it was not a man that stood over him: it was instead a demon. A Clown.
The n00b patters back to the torture chamber. The meatball sub had been some good stuff; now he thirsts for action. He wonders what he should cut off, first, however: though testicles had been on his mind since noon, it would be more... elegant if he cut off something a bit more subtle. Like the ears. Yes, he thought: the ears. I'll cut off the ears.
Then the prisoner starts screaming. Loud and clear, it rings through the halls. The n00b smiles, thinking that this Kang had simply snapped from stress. "I'll getya soon!" Cries he. Then he opens the door--
A great cleaver spins through the air and thuds into his chest. The n00b stares dumbly down at the wooden handle sticking from his ribs. Then death knocks on his brains, tells him that the game's up; you've kicked the bucket, ye bastard. Somewhere, dim in his mind, the n00b is still aware that Kang is still screaming. Then his eyes travel up-- slowly, surely-- sees a white polka dot suit soaked in blood, sees a pale mottled neck, sees the horrible yellow face painted with stinky greasepaint, those teeth, those eyes--
He dies. The Clown smiles. And he turns back to Kang.
"You're..." Kang said, still frightened, "you're the Clown. Chuckles. I saw you cartwheeling off..."
"OF COURSE. AND NOW I HAVE SAVED YOUR ASS." The Clown faced him: Nick closed his eyes, and bit his tongue to keep himself from screaming. God, that face had been satanic. And his voice was a low growl, not like that of a bear but of a undead bear, a bear crawling with rotting maggots and worms and skittering centipedes, who prowled through the winter night chomping down on Russian virgins and peasants... "WHERE IS HE?"
"Who?" Kang whimpered.
"THE ONE I HAVE SWORN TO KILL. THE ONE WHO KILLED MY DAUGHTER."
"You had a daughter? But..." Nick hoped Chuckles wouldn't be offended. "But you're a Clown."
"I WASN'T A CLOWN SINCE BIRTH. I WAS BORN A NORMAL MAN. I HAD A DAUGHTER, A FAMILY. A YELLOW HOUSE IN THE SUBURBS. A POOL IN THE BACK. EVERY NIGHT I'D VISIT MY DAUGHTER BEFORE GOING TO SLEEP, KISS HER ON THE FOREHEAD. YOU DO NOT KNOW; THE PAIN." The Clown paused, as if he was suffering from some great inner pain; but then, of course he was. After all, he was talking about his dead family.
THEN ONE DAY, THE NOOBS FILED IN... THE DIABOLICAL SAUSAGE MACHINE HAD SET UP IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD... AND THE NOOBS MARCHED THROUGH THE STREETS, KILLING AND NOOBIFYING EVERYTHING IN THEIR WAY. I HAD TO UNLEASH MY INNER SIDE TO PROTECT MY LOVED ONES. MY INNER CLOWN. I KILLED HUNDREDS OF THEM, THOUSANDS OF THEM. BUT THE HAXORS SIMPLY GATHERED UP THE SCRAPS OF CORPSES AND FED THEM THROUGH THE SAUSAGE MACHINE, OVER AND OVER, AND BY THE MILLIONTH SWING OF MY CLEAVER I... FAINTED."
"And that's when..."
"YES. HE CAME. THE ONE WHO SPEAKS IN SPANISH."
Then there was silence. Nick peeked out-- and saw to his surprise that the Clown was crying. Great fat drops of tears were running down his face, leaving clear trails through the thick greasepaint. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"OF COURSE. OF COURSE YOU ARE. ALL I HAVE LEFT OF HER IS THE PICTURE... THE PICTURE OVER MY HEART, ONE THAT BEATS STILL DESPITE THE PAIN, THE SORROW." He touched his right breast. "MY STILL-PUMPING HEART. MY BLACK HEART. MY CLOWN HEART."
"Isn't your heart on the left side of your chest?" Nick asked.
"NOT FOR US CLOWNS."
"Oh."
Then the Clown turned back to the door, to the fallen n00b, and pulled out his cleaver. "I WILL BE GOING. I WOULD SUGGEST TO YOU THAT YOU LEAVE OPENING ACT FOR DEAD. MAKE FOR THE NORTH; THERE WON'T BE ANY NOOBS LEFT THERE. NOT ALIVE, AT THE VERY LEAST."
"Why aren't there any n00blings left over there?"
"DO NOT QUESTION ME. JUST KNOW AND BE GRATEFUL. AND THAT I EXPENDED THREE THOUSAND, SIX HUNDRED AND NINETY SIX ROUNDS OF MY SPECIAL CLOWN-GAS MAGNUM SHOTS TO SAVE YOU. THAT EQUALS NINE THOUSAND, EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY EIGHT DEAD NOOBS."
Nick thought that over for a second, and said, "But that doesn't make sense."
"DO NOT QUESTION ME. I AM NOT TOO WELL AT MATH." As the Clown stepped out of the torture chamber, he said, "I HAVE CUT YOUR BONDS. FAREWELL."
Then he was gone: Nick stood up, shakily, blood still seeping down his legs. He limped over to the door. And he saw, with a flash of fear, the Clown still wheeling off on his little tricycle, his tricycle of doom. At that moment, Kang felt only pity for the Spanish Spartan. He was sure that the n00b's death was going to be slow, steady, and very unpleasant.
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