G-Bitez: Hangover

Stephen didn't want to wake up. The weather outside was typical Canada winter, all snow and frost and biting cold, and all he wanted to do was curl up in his big comfy bed and hibernate. The only problem was that Noodle wasn't there to share it, but he could take or leave that as long as it meant he didn't have to leave the bed. And, on top of that, he had a throbbing headache that, he suspected, might have had something to do with last night's celebrations.

But for some reason, breathing through his nose was a problem. So he had to get up to fix that, and that meant getting out of bed. For some reason, his antlers felt rather heavy, and it took a bit more effort to lift his head off of the pillow than it usually did, making him grunt as he hauled himself upright. As far as he knew, they'd never grown as heavy as this - in fact, as he pawed sleepily as his own face, he was pretty sure they didn't rustle, either...

And that was when the clown nose fell off.

"What?" he asked, still half-awake and very confused.

It was to be the start to a very long morning indeed. 

Dirkmas Presents

Eeeeeey baesephine,

Hope X-Mas dinner with the family goes well! I had to think pretty hard about what to get you this year aside from games and shit, but I think I hit the nail on the head with this one. It's called the Painkiller, and it's a combined razor fan and grappling hook. Doesn't make much of a bang, but it's great for forecasting Bloody with a Chance of Limbs :P

Oh, and btw, some of those parcels are marked "PRIVATE!", like that. You'll be needing them for when I come over later, wink wink.

Keep dat arse phat 4 me~

Dirky <3

-------

Broseph and Okuu,

Eeeeeey how goes the X-Mas? When am I gonna be an uncle? :P

LMAO, in all seriousness, though, I got you both a sunbed. I know, your girlfriend is the sun already so you don't really need one, but hey, if you ever want to head to Kuwahawi next year, you might as well get ready to prepare for that tan! Dunno where you guys can put it tho, unless you unplugged the filter on the shark tank, but I don't think that's such a good idea. So here's hoping you find a decent place for it!

Keep on rockin, bro!

Big D.

-------

Dawn,

Okay, so I called you a bitch one time, and to be fair, you did kinda make a massive screwup. But you're still a Kobber and I guess I can still call you my friend even if you do mess up a little - nowhere near as bad as your mom does, so there's that. Anyway, I got a few connections with some blokes up high, so I managed to get a little something forged for you. I think you'll appreciate it, after all the nonsense you've been through, and it'll be a great help in letting you put your feet up.

...yeah, it's a new casual chassis. It'll take some getting used to, since it's Olympian construction, but it's better than constantly walking around in bodies designed for computing or battle. After what went on in Vegas last year, you deserve it.

Also tell your mum I said hi and good luck with the family.

Love,

Dirk

-------

Cauren,

I know we haven't spoken much, so I thought now might be as good a time as any to have a chat. And let me start of by saying a dozen kids?!?!?! Jesus Christ, are you running some kind of benefits scam? :P

But all joking aside, I know raising them all must be hell for both you and your wives, so I went and bought you this big robot triceratops. It responds to voice commands, learns over time with multiple use and your kids can even ride on it. And it's plush, too, so there's no sharp edges or corners to get hurt on! It probably beats them messing around with those weird cube animals that Carol knocked together, who knows what kind of disasters those things have caused?

Oh, and I also got a NERF Gun set for Lucky. I figure if she wants to be like the Kobbers, the best step is to start with pretend guns before moving to real ones.

Hope everything's alright with you and yours, and have a happy Christmas!

Love,

Dirk

-------

Vince,

You poor, sad bastard. Have a laptop, and watch some stupid videos to ease the pain your dumb customers and pushy store cause you. Fun fact - this was my old Cré laptop, but it kicked the bucket so I fitted a whole new hard drive and shit and sent it over to you. Consider it penance for not going into your store at any point, although tbh that might be a blessing in disguise.

Oh, and it has a few games on it too - Darkest Dungeon, Civ 6, Bit Trip Runner, all that stuff. Enjoy.

Don't let the bastards get you down!

Dirk Angelos

-------

Jaws,

Didn't I see you doing stunt work for that shitty SyFy film about a two-headed shark? Whatevs, you're a brilliant actor and it's a shame you have to get stuck with crap like that. I was gonna send you tooth whitener, but that's a stupid idea and also you're a friggin' shark, you don't need tooth whitener when you constantly grow new ones. So I thought I'd send you a fine selection of port, since movie stars seem to like stuff like that. Try not to drink all of it at once, I saw you at Drown Yer Mates and lol you hilarious when drunk.

Keep doing what you do best!

Best Wishes,

Dirk Angelos

-------

setpehn,

hahahaha you shacked up with thle lgorillaz guitarist you sly motherfucker

have a ccoholatve fountain because i htave like fucking ten dof thoose

i'm svery drnufk

drik

-------

Melody and Co.,

Don't really know you guys much, but I wanna spread a little Christmas spirit to you guys since I have so much money. So I threw some your way - a whole bunch of  £100 gift vouchers, to be exact. Don't spend it all in one place, and be sure you buy something nice! :)

Btw Melody, are you and Beck a thing yet? Hurry up, I wanna find some outlandish wedding present I can send to the both of you XP

Love,

Dirk :)

-------

Clash,

Hey, haven't seen you around much. Shame we didn't talk, but I guess you had problems of your own, so we never really met. I know you like swords, tho, cause Cauren told me, so I got my connections to make you a bigger version of this thing. It slices, it dices and it cools you down on hot summer days! Wouldn't reccomend using it in the kitchen tho, unless you like soggy food.

Dirk

Fae Folk

Have you ever had a day where everything just seemed to go wrong?

Mine didn't start until last night, when I made the first mistake in a long line of mistakes - purchasing a replica sword from a booth at a games convention. I fully admit, it was a stupid desicion and I knew it at the time, but I make terrible purchasing desicions after a pint of Stowford Press, and a pewter mug or video game poster just didn't seem like appropriate souvenirs. The only major issue I had with the thing was that it didn't have any label describing the maker or what franchise it was based off, but it was small and fairly cheap, and the man running the booth seemed all too happy to get rid of it. And hey, it looked vaguely like the Master Sword, so there was that going for it.

This small victory was immediately crushed when I returned home and my mother flipped her lid at the sight of it. I'd spent years procrastinating on finding a job and wasting my university degree, so money was a touch and go subject, and as far as she was concerned the huge, impractical replica blade was close to the last straw. A lot of screamed words and accusations got thrown about, and threats to cut off the Internet or kick me out of the house got aimed my way, and we parted in a sour mood fuelled by mutual resentment and my own self-loathing. When we sat down at the television that night, we didn't banter or guess at plot points like we used to - our relationship had been severely strained by my frivolous purchase, and we both knew it.

I knew that in the morning the whole thing would have been smoothed over and life would probably proceed as normal, even if the atmosphere would be a little frosty at first. But as I placed the sword against the wall next to the games consoles and crawled into bed, I felt as though all of my internal organs had been transmuted into lumps of lead. As childish as this is going to seem, I honestly wished I was somewhere else instead of some backwater town in the arse end of England - somewhere more interesting, where I didn't have to put up with my parents or dodgy neighbours and the reek of 4am booze and vomit.

With all that considered, though, I slept like a log. Cider will do that to you.

-------

I was woken up next morning by a buzzing noise close to my ear.

I groaned - it had been a pretty hot Summer, so the explosion in the insect population was pretty much a given at this point. Despite my best efforts, things like craneflies, ladybugs and the occasional wasp would breach the flimsy defenses of my room's windows and make a scene until I could shift them or get them with the bug spray. But I was comfortable, and couldn't be bothered to drag myself out of bed just to deal with the one annoying insect. So I merely swatted at it with one hand, thinking nothing of it and merely wanting to lie in until I felt ready to face the world at large.

That was the second mistake. Because then the buzzing thing swooped down, landed on my shoulder and bit me on the ear.

"YEEEOOOW!" I shrieked, leaping about a foot into the air. Have you ever been bitten by a swarm of ants, or stung by nettles? Because this was like the two had fused together, Dragon Ball style, into some kind of super-sting whose sole purpose is to make your life an utter misery - a tingling, ice-cold spike of pain that radiates thorny roots into the rest of your skin just to drive the point home. It was the kind of bite, I figured as I clapped a free hand over my ear, that wasn't going to shift any time soon, and that made the whole experience worse.

But my agony became trivial when the thing alighted on my other shoulder and said:

"Ah've bin tryin' ta git yer bloody attenshun fer 'alf an hour, ye sod! Are all 'umans this bloody daft, or is ye a special case?"

Somehow, despite the pain in my neck, I managed to twist my head around to facew hat I had assumed was a talking insect. Except that instead of some miraculous discovery in the field of entomology, there was a very small, very naked woman standing there, with fiery red hair, deep green eyes and an expression like she was scolding a puppy for chewing the furniture. For someone about eight inches tall, she was built like a Roman gladiator - broad shoulders, thick limbs and muscles that looked like they could knead my blood right out of my own pasty body. That and the shiny, beetle-like wings folded up over her back should have been my first clue that this was not the thing that children's storybooks were written about.

But I was still half-asleep and still getting over the pain of the first bite. So I made my third mistake.

"Excuse me," I mumbled. "Are you a fairy?"

For reply, she leaned over and bit my other ear.

"Ah'm a bloody pixie, ye daft booger!" she snapped, once I'd stopped screaming and realized she was hovering just in front of my nose. "If I wuz a fairie, Ah'd be wearin' clothes, fer wun thing, an' doin' a lot warse tae ye reet noo! An' stop squallin', t'wern't nowt but a love bite!" The stranger's voice was surprisingly baritone, for such a small creature - despite being clearly a female voice, it sounded as though Barry White and that girl from Disney's Brave had some kind of horrific love-child.

"Give me one reason," I hissed, massaging my forever-ruined earlobes, "why I shouldn't just swat you into a pulp right now. Because even if I wasn't hallucinating this, I don't have any time for this shit right now."

"Ah'll give ye two," was the reply as the pixie - if that was what she was - folded her arms over her chest. "Wun- ye couldnae squish me if ye tried. Ah've got enuff strength in me body tae hoy yer sorry arse oot yonder winder, so a book or shoe wouldnae do shite tae me." Given the close-up of her muscles I was getting as she buzzed, humming-bird style, just a little too close for comfort, I was ready to believe her. I normally had no qualms about squashing bugs, but one look at those rippling abs and biceps left me ready to reconsider my options.

"Two," she added, pointing to the aformentioned window, "there's a knucker diggin' oop yer ma'am's garden."

It took all of two seconds for me to register that bit of information. Then, even more bewildered beyond belief, I leaped up out of bed and dashed to the window, peering past the glare of the morning sun and down into the garden below. Sure enough, there did seem to be something rooting about in the bushes at the foot of the lawn, kicking up dirt over the grass as it dug - something which, on first glance, could have been mistaken for next door's orange-and-white cat, with it's hunched back and front end hidden from view.

Except when I looked closer, it was clearly too big to be a cat.

-------

My fourth and stupidest mistake was thinking I could run downstairs, leap out of the double-doors that lead to the back garden and try to shoo the thing away.

Because the moment I got close, it whipped around to face me, and it dawned on me immediately just how woefully underequipped I was for this. The creature looked like somebody had taken a lizard and stretched it on a rack - all body, neck and tail, with equally-gangly limbs and sharp claws still covered with soil from the digging it had been doing. The eyes were too big for the horn-studded skull, rolling comically back-and-forth in their sockets, but the effect was ruined by the angry hissing noise that came from parted jaws, accompanied by glistening fangs and a stench like an upturned pig farm.

The knucker, if that was what it was called, was clearly not happy about being interrupted, and was also more than capable of killing me in various agonizing ways. And all I had on me was my dressing gown and two hands that were only good for either furious wanking or typing on a computer. For a brief moment, as the snake-like monster manouvered itself into position between me and the flowerbed, I wondered if this was some sort of horrible nightmare I hadn't properly woken up from, and if I should stop reading so much Tolkien before I went to bed.

But then the buzzing of the pixie's wings came cutting into my thoughts, and she shouted into my ear too loud for it to be a dream.

"Dinnae panic, laddie!" she yelled. "Joost mind oot when it lays it's ears back - that's when it spits venom at ye!"

"Spits what?" I said, my attention divided between her and the horrible thing.

Then I saw the creature's bat-like ears flatten back, and I leaped to one side just in time as the knucker lunged forward and coughed out a stream of something purple in my direction. The foul-smelling liquid missed me by a hair's breadth, but splattered over the paving stones, gravel and fence in great globs, and a sizzling sound like bacon on a frying pan ensued, accompanied by great clouds of fumes from where the substance had struck. I shuddered as my brain conjured images of dissolving flesh and liquifying bone, which I quickly pushed out because I wanted to eat breakfast, thank you very much.

"Git the sword, ya gutless fanny!" shrieked the pixie in tangible frustration. "Lop it's fackin' 'eed orf!"

"I can't!" I howled back, trying to put distance between me and the snarling knucker. "It's in my room!"

"Oh, fer fack's sake..."

The buzzing rapidly vanished, which meant the pixie had left me alone with the slavering snake-dragon thing. It wasn't a very comforting desicion, since the creature was still very cross at me and seemed to be inching forwards to get in range for another strike, which was precisely what I didn't want right now. Putting the clothesline between me and it would be a stupid idea - if it's venom was able to melt stone and wood like that, then what chance did a flimsy metal pole have? Precisely ten seconds of my life passed by where it really didn't seem as though I was going to walk away without some part of me missing.

Then something like a toothpick was hurridley pressed into my hand.

Everything happened fast after that.

For a moment, I caught a glimpse of the replica sword in the palm of my hand, before it suddenly grew back to it's usual size and weight, making me stumble with the sudden change. Reading my panicked flailing as an attack, the knucker lunged again, this time to bite - and a higher instinct kicked in that took control of my body and made me twirl aside, the teeth missing my thigh by milimetres. The head lashed around again, but met the blade coming the other way, and there wasn't anything I could do to stop what happened next with my arms acting on autopilot.

There was a crunch as bone disintergated like a biscuit liferaft, accompanied by a fountain of black, stinking blood.

And then it was over. I'd just killed a monstrous dragon in the back garden, with a magical size-changing sword, wearing my pyjamas and dressing gown, because a foul-mouthed naked pixie told me to. And nobody was there to congratulate me. No mayors or kings were offering me land, no princesses were kissing me on the cheek, no parties were being thrown with cake or pizza or booze. It was just as though I'd merely gone outside to mow the lawn or buy a paper for my grandmother, a mere footnote in the day's events, worth no more notice than an itchy nose.

Not a great start to the week.

As I stood there, heaving with terror and wondering how to wash the blood out of my clothes, the pixie alighted on my shoulder again. I could sense the satisfied grin on her face without having to look, and the vague impression that she was scoring my efforts on a scale of one to ten went through my mind. It occurred to me that I was probably not awake enough to make sound character judgements, but I still couldn't help the feeling that this tiny muscle-woman knew far more than she was letting on, and that made me uncomfortable. On top of terrified, confused and nauseated, I mean.

"Nut bad, laddie," she remarked, "Ah reck'n ye'll 'ave a knack fer this afore long!"

I blinked, resisiting the urge to vomit from the stench of knucker gore. Then I pocketed the sword - it shrank, of course - and headed down the garden path in the direction that, I knew, would ease my mind of these troubled events.

"Whoa, 'ang aboot!" cried the pixie woman. "Where'z ya gawn tae?"

"To the garage," I muttered thickly. "That's where I keep my cider."

"Ach, dinnae bovver wi' that! Thatcher's is piss in a bottle!"

 I turned, ready to snap back at her for talking shit about by beloved tipple, only to find her suddenly carrying a very large jug of what looked like melted gold, which sloshed heavily as I came to a stop just short of the garden gate. The fact that she was carrying it without a hint of a struggle - in one hand, no less - made me wonder where the hell she'd been when I needed to move my old bookshelf out for the council to collect. Would have saved me a lot of bother.

"Naah, this," she cackled, "is a proper bevvy!"

-------

Three swigs of pixie rock cider (which is fucking delicious, by the way), and I was calm enough to let my new house guest explain things. Which she started off by suddenly growing to about my size - which was a bit of shock, but honestly? After killing a dragon, I was just about ready for anything between a charging rhino and a meteorite strike, so a naked woman sitting next to me with a glass of fairie booze was hardly anything to get worked up about.

Her name was Belinda. And yes, she was a pixie. They're kind of like the value-brand, low-budget cousin to fairies, and the relationship bewteen the races is like that between the rich and the poor in the average Charles Dickens novel. She'd run away from home because she couldn't stand the prejudice and oppression any longer, and had pretty much blundered into this part of the country by accident - which made sense, because if she was being smart about it she would have come somewhere more exciting than here. And that, apparently, was when she felt the thaumic signal from my sword and made a beeline straight for me.

"So the sword actually is magic," I groused, unsure as whom I should be blaming.

"Aye," nodded Belinda as she knocked back another swig. "Faecaliburs be dead rare, mind. Only a few o' em left, and nae many livin' wot could forge anuvver. Yer bloody blessed ta get yer mitts on one, Ah'll tell ye - we wudnae be 'aving this chat reet noo, ovverwise."

I blinked. The pieces were starting to come together in my mind - all of this had happened after I'd got the sword, it didn't look like anything I recognized from nerd culture, it could inexplicably change size...

"...the sword is letting me see you."

"Och, yer noo' as daft as ye look!" The pixie slapped me on the back - which was like being hit with a sledgehammer, and made me jerk forward and spill cider on the carpet. "Dinnae fash yersel' aboot that, it vanishes in aboot a minute."

Then she told me the rest of the story - and guess what? All that stuff about fairies and dragons and all the folklore of the British Isles? It's all real. Don't ask me to explain how, but basically they decided to hide themselves with magic years ago, and now regular people can't see fae - that's the collective noun for all magical beings, by the way - because they explicitly don't want to be seen. It's only when a normal person interacts with something made by fae hands, or gets blisteringly drunk or high, that they can see them; and most just blame the alcohol since, as far as the real world is concerned, fairies simply don't exist. Weird shit, I know.

"So wait," I interrupted. "If I went to Derby right now, would I see that giant ram standing over the city?"

"Naa, that's 'is great-great-great grandkid noo. 'Ee's a reet arse'ole when the footie's on."

"And Nottingham?"

"Robin dinnae taak many visitors noowadays. But aye, 'ee's there."

"Scotland?"

"Och, best not tae, laddie. Nessie gits aal cranky durin' July - matin' season fer kelpies."

"...and why are you Scottish?" I asked, the question only just occurring to me. "I thought pixies were from Cornwall."

Belinda shrugged. "Me great grandpa moved oop there durin' the war, when bloody Nazi's looked like they wuz gonna invade. Ah wuz born and grown in a brownie neighborhood, an Ah reck'n Ah joost picked oop t'local flavour. Mind ye," she added, grinning widely, "at least Ah'm no' born Irish! Bloody money-grubbin' leprechauns can kiss me arse, bunch o' swanky fannies!"

I sipped my cider again, and made my fifth mistake.

"So," I summarised, "I have just brought a magical sword made of fae metal, which lets me see all the folkloric beings of the British Isles, made the acquaintance of a pixie, killed a dragon-"

"Knucker, laddie."

"-knucker, right, and now I've just learned that fairies are real and living among us. And I know I'm not dreaming any of this, because I'm not anywhere near smart enough to make up this kind of shit. So, the big fat question hanging over all of this right now is... what do I do with all this? Because if it means I'm now the Chosen One or something and have to save the world from some terrible evil, I'm not doing that."

Belinda looked at me when I finished that statement, as if judging me for a job interview. And her eyes were like polished emeralds boring through my body - I got the uncomfortable feeling that she was reading me like an open book. It made me squirm a little in the sofa, and it didn't help that I wasn't sure where to look, torn between not wanting to be rude and not staring at the naked woman sitting right next to me. This was something the pixie had clearly had experience in, wheras I had none of that at all.

"Weel, noo" she replied, "ye divvent need tae do any o' that. But Ah cannae lie to ye, laddie, it's nae aal roses an' clover. Ye'll nivvor see things the same agin, on accoont o' knowin' that yer boss might joost be a dragon or elf, or yer neighbour's got a barghest fer a dog. There's a lotta dangerous beasties an' beings oot there, warse than knuckers, and quite a few pricks wot'll taak an interest in ye fer ownin' a Faecalibur and bein' able tae see us. Ye could verra weel git hort or warse, if ye divvent knaa wut yer doin', an' folks wot cannae see us will taak ye fer mad, mebbe even try an' lock ye oop if yer try an gab any o' this tae anywun."

That statement wasn't very comforting to anyone, let alone a twenty-three year old nerd who's world had made complete sense until now. Never mind the fact that I'd be considered insane if I divulged this information to any other human being (as if I would), there was the distinct possibility that my drunken impulse purchase could lead to me ending up in a dragon's stomach or getting my head cut off by mad elves. For a moment, I wondered once more if I really was dreaming and was going to wake up at some point.

Once again, fate dealt me a bum hand when Belinda threw an arm around me, and my shoulders whined in protest.

"Ye'll joost stick wi' me, aye? Yer a canny lad, nivvor mind wakin' oop in the morns, and a promisin' 'and with that blade - ye'll sharp larn 'ow tae git bey in the Faelands. We's an odd and scattered folk, nae lyin' aboot it, but us Fae be a bonny lot when we's noo layin' doon curses or makin' heedlines in shite tabloids! Ye'll 'ave a gran' old time with us - whey, give ye a month or three, ye could verra weel pass fer one o' us, if ye keep a mind on wut Ah tells ye!

"Now, 'old still," she finished, letting me go. "Ah gots tae put this in yer lug'ole."

"...I beg your pardon?" I asked.

For answer, Belinda reached into thin air and pulled out something that looked like a failed experiment to crossbreed earwigs and blenders. It shrieked and snapped its six pairs of mandibles at my face, wiggling its stubby legs as though it severely wanted to get back at me for insulting it a mere sentence ago, and yet the pixie held onto it as thought it was a harmless earthworm. It was the kind of scenario where I wished that, between the size-changing faeries and the magical swords and the poison spitting dragons, I could find a box of Chicken McNuggets to reassure myself that I was still on Planet Earth.

I couldn't tell you the name of that insect - it's Gaelic and requires a pint of phlegm in the throat to pronounce properly. But I can tell you that having it crawl into your ear so you can understand the fae language hurts like a goddamn bitch.

-------

Three months later, I had learned a lot of things. 

I'd learned how to step between the world of humans and the Faelands just by thinking about it, and where the best places to do so are. I learned about fae currency and why it can't come into the human world, and that the leprechauns are in charge of the only fae bank in the whole world. I learned how to tell the different between an seal and a selkie, how to haggle with a cait sith for a pint of milk and some ham, where the best place to tickle a wyvern is and why you should never call Herne the Hunter a scrublord to his face. I lost a bunch of weight, won a wrestling match with some out-of-town pixies, killed an erkling preying on children in the New Forest and, as Belinda predicted, had a generally good time.

And yet, when the legendary giant Gogmagog called me a twat as he fished my hungover form out of the River Thames, I still felt completely clueless.

So, did you ever have a day like this?

Because I tell you straight - it can only get better afterwards.

Non-Canon AU: Ghosts

Beck was dead.

This must be clearly understood, or nothing that happens next will make sense.

It had happened last year - suddenly, and from a source that nobody had expected. The question of how Ivan of the Magpies got a hold of the weaponry he'd carted back to his superiors had been a lingering question in everyone's minds, and it was swiftly and horribly answered when Tremor of the Black Dragon appeared as if from nowhere and levelled half of South Vegas. In the resulting skirmish that followed, the Kobbers had been hideously beaten by the geomancer, whose powers had been slowly approaching those of a deity due to past events, and it seemed as though he could just not be brought down by anything that was thrown at him.

The sudden and awful twist ending came when Beck, spitting sparks and furious beyond measure, had leaped at Tremor just as he had been winding up to smash somebody around the head with a fist of solid granite.

The crunch of a shattering AI Core would forever be ingrained in the minds of the people present.

Tremor had then fled, leaving the others to realize what had happened. Then the panic had set in, and Beck's mangled body had been rushed back to the K.O.B. in what basically amounted to a spare wheelbarrow someone had conveniently found lying about. There was a mix of horrible tension and vague hope as the gadgeteers and scientists studied the remains of what had once been their former comrade and spunky, heroic ally. Surely, they reasoned, he could be restored? What were the Kobbers if they couldn't bring someone back from a fate as horrific as this - they'd come back from worse, hadn't they?

All hope died when Doctor Light turned to everyone assembled and shook his head.

There was nothing to recover. The AI Core had been pulverized, and the Xel system had no means of reconstructing the very thing that told them to form a body to begin with. Even if they could recover anything, there wouldn't be anything that was Beck to put in a new body or restore - the same personality, but none of the memory or experience. Doctor Light did not believe in keeping personality backups, as evidenced by his refusal to restore Rush two years ago, and he hadn't the hand-eye co-ordination anymore to recreate the systems he'd forged the body from.

For all intents and purposes... Beck Light was dead.

Permadead.

The realization settled in like sea-fog; slow, but cold and bitter, and everyone took it badly in one way or another. Jewel Man broke down into hysterical sobbing and had to be comforted by an equally tearful Rock, Crash and Splash Woman. Sarah had sobbed quietly, and the rest of her week had been spent in mournful silence, not even touching her pancakes at breakfast. Kevin and Jin had promised to pay tribute to him in a special episode, touched by how he had gone down fighting. And even David, who didn't give a shit about much else, poured himself a drink in memory of the robot - although he immediately forgot why after he'd downed it.

But none took it harder than Ash. Beck had been practically like a second child to him, and the moment he'd heard about what was essentially the murder of a close ally, something dark and shocking erupted from within the Godslayer. A kind of cold, silent rage enveloped him, and he'd turned and left the bar without so much as saying a word. The only news anyone had of him was at the end of that week, when news reports came of an entire army descending upon the south quadrant of Vegas where the Black Dragon made their lair.

There wasn't enough left of Tremor to fill a tuna can.

Ash had been banished to the couch for a month. Even Sam had to admit that it had been rather extreme.

They held a funeral on the next day. It had been so long since they had held a funeral, since barely anyone died amongst the Kobbers like this, that it felt strange and dark. Rock spoke of how proud he was to have a son like Beck, and that he would not wish for any other, not even as a replacement. Ash had quietly spoken of the boy's enthusiasm, willingness to learn and unyielding sense of justice. Melody - the doll - had begun to say something, then broken down and had to be escorted to a back room. Then the single pen drive that contained what remained of Beck's programming was lowered into the dusty earth of Nevada, as all present recited the traditional rites mechanically and dully.

It was going to be a long year. And one of their own wouldn't be around to help.

Non-Canon Silliness 4: Dirk Design Desicions

WARNING: The following contains large amounts of #Butts, and may not be suitable for certain readers. It is also not canon and extremely silly, and thus has no actual bearing on the Zoofights RP Timeline.

With that said, enjoy! 

-------

"I am uncertain about this new body design, Dirk."

There was a sentence that encapsulated Dirk Angelos in his entireity. A generally good soul overall, he nevertheless had an enthusiasm that somewhat overrode common sense, and a lot of his endeavours ran the gamut from 'unneccesary' to 'just plain crazy', fueled by the kind of testosterone that would make a rhinoceros cry foul. It was still uncertain of where on that scale starting his own robotics and clothing company would fit, and even as he began to put out ads and put together actual working models for purchase, it was a clear that more research was needed to determine how crazy this plan of his was.

However, Dawn Cosine, looking at the new body she'd ordered a week or two ago, was beginning to see a few telltale warning signs.

Original Art by zdemian

"Something seems... off," she explained, twisting around to look at the new chassis from many angles.

Predator (NSFW)

WARNING: The following post contains horror themes and material that certain readers may find upsetting. Reader discretion is advised.  

"Daddy...?"

The man stared from within the doorway of the freezer room, eyes wide with fear, rifle clutched in trembling hands.

"What the hell have you done...?" he gasped.

Stand By Me

WARNING: The following post contains material that certain readers may find upsetting. Reader discretion is advised.

~AUSTRALIA, EARTH ZF-02~

Approx. Twenty Years in the Future...

"Bee?"

"Yeah, Vee?"

The fire crackled, a badly-applied splat of scarlet and orange against the inky black canvas of the desert sand. The sky above was not quite dark, the last flickers of an evening sun daubing the edge of the horizon in duck-egg blue that faded to navy. Stars dotted the plane like the painter of this ongoing metaphor has lost all patience and was now just randomly flicking his brush at his own easel in frustration with the world in general. And, at the very edge of the splat, sat two figures - one blond, the other brunet, lazily draped within the back seat of a mud-splattered car of unidentifiable make.

The brunet, Vee, had turned open, honest green eyes towards his companion, Bee, as he spoke. His voice was the voice of the quiet, gentle European boy down the road who helped with the shopping, and should not have come from what looked like a wind-battered drifter, sand and grit stuck in his spiky brown hair. He looked too young - both did, somewhere in the awkward transition between teens and adulthood. And yet their dishevelled appearance granted them the look of people who had been dealt a bum hand in the great poker game of life, and had no choice but to keep plowing through the dirt to carry on.

"You ever wonder how long we've been doing this?" Vee continued.

Cubic

The following is a response to the story posted by FormerVengeance here, as well as the various follow-ups. Also, be warned that it may change with future installations.

-------

"You've been on a cube kick recently, Carol."

Carol grunted, but didn't turn around. Sine wasn't wrong, though - most of the things running around the TARDIS looked like they had been cut from cubes, or had been cube-shaped some time ago. A reddish, eagle-shaped creature whistled as it flew in circles around the central column, follwed closely by a white-and-black, angular tiger, whilst a yellow, squared-off lion and a boxy green elephant pushed against each other, trumpeting and snarling irritably. Some might have suspected the technopath had been foiled by a Rubik's Cube at some point, and this was her way of taking vengeance upon the obtuse nature of the puzzle.

The problem was, she'd been like this ever since the adventure to save Ceneric. And it was all too obvious why Carol was doing this.

Rule of Three: Escalation

It was a lovely, sunny April day in Las Vegas.

And it had started off with Kamen Rider OOO being tackled through a twenty-five-story window.

So, nothing out of the ordinary, then.

Morons vs Wild 2: The Wildening

WARNING: The following post contains material that certain readers may find upsetting. Reader discretion is advised.

-------ASH'S WORLD-------

The whole thing started when Sam, walking through the forest near Oriam, was pounced upon by a giant spider.

"AAARGH SHIT FUCK BALLS," he screamed as the thing tackled him off his feet, winding all eight legs tightly around his body and pinning his arms against his sides. The swearing continued as he hit the ground, and went on as he jerked his head this way and that, barely dodging the sharp, slavering fangs that kept missing his face by mere millimetres. Sheer panic prevented him from remembering he could have just set himself on fire to escape this predicament, and thus he spent a good half a minute writhing and kicking in the dirt, the spider's weight keeping from rolling upright.

Of course, his salior talk served as the perfect beacon to anyone close by.

"HOLD ON, SAM!"

Sam didn't even see who was approaching until Erdrick had already been driven through the spider's body, the point poking him in the chest by accident. The beast shrieked, convulsed for a moment, and then went limp, the legs losing their grip around the Uberman's body as the life rapidly went out of it. The moment he felt that happening, Sam flexed his arms, pushing the limbs away from him, and threw the corpse of the creature off as he scrambled to his feet, letting off one last torrent of expletives as he went.

Then something grabbed his arm, and he screamed, picturing some worse animal-

"Sam, SAM."

That was Ash's voice. Even in the midst of a heart attack, Sam would know it anywhere.

"It's fine, we're here. It's deader than dead."

And there was Erdrick - his mother's voice, of course, which was still weird, but soothing enough for Sam to get a grip on himself. Whilst he babbled to a stop, gasping for air and clutching his chest, the other man knelt down and produced something akin to a small towel as he began cleaning the foul, pale ichor off of Erdrick's blade. It took some time for the former Destined Hero to get his breath back and put the past events in proper seqence, so he could find the right questions to ask about what just happened.

Thankfully, only one came to mind.

"...what was that?!" he nearly shrieked, pointing at the dead spider.

Agent Two

~SOUTHERN QUARTER OF LAS VEGAS, 00:23AM~

I hate heroes.

A gloved hand lifted the barrel of the rifle, slotted it into the handguard and twisted it until it clicked. The sound echoed around the abandoned skyscraper like the gunshot that was to follow. 

I hate how they give themselves airs, and pretend that they're the only ones who really know how to solve a problem. I hate how they're so concerned with looking like the 'good guys' that they don't pay attention to the people they trample over in the process. And I especially hate how, when anyone tries to point this out, they stick their heads in the sand and shut the criticism out, pretend it's not valid because of whatever stupid armchair philosophy they just made up.

A scope was slid into place on the top of the reciever, clicking into place just as the barrel had done. Then two support legs were taken out of the case, fastened to the underside and swung out. 

But I think what I hate most of all... is that they're selfish. They only focus on the problems that matter to them, not to anyone else. Oh, sure, they'll kill a dragon or foil a mad scientist, but what about the smaller stuff that goes on under their feet? The stuff with the drug lords and the robbery and all that? And then, just to rub it in, they do the dumbest, most illogical shit and dare to call it "honour" - no killing, no guns, no actually trying to stop the bad things happening again. That's why Batman is such an idiot - he cares more about himself than actually stopping that clown.

No ammunition. Just a bottle-shaped canister, of clear plastic, with some pale green liquid sloshing about within it. Damn, only half full. Whatever shots had to be made, they would need to count, or it would be a complete waste. The cap was yanked off with a sharp tug, and then the whole thing was screwed into the assembly with rapid haste. The scraping of plastic was a small cause for alarm, but nothing came to investigate.
  
The Promethians? Bunch of holier-than-thou jackasses can go fuck themselves. They did a horrible job last year, and where are they now, when it actually matters? That Kamen Rider kid's alright, but he talks like he's on a constant sugar high, so his usefulness is vague at best. Dunno what the deal with that Paper Mario thing is, and I don't wanna dwell on that or I'll get a headache. And why are half the Kobbers on vacation when there's still problems in this sick city, festering away like a tumor that the doctor won't cut out because he's drunk and also an asshole?

The weapon, now completed, was gently lifted upwards and swung around, and the support legs were placed upon the windowsill to stabalize the whole thing. A golden-brown eye peered through the scope, seeing the street below as thought it's owner was standing in the midle of it. Hips wiggled back and forth as legs shuffled apart, bracing the body for the inevitable kickback of the rifle, and arms gently swivelled the weapon's sights along the road. This had to be the meeting-place, those drunkards in the face-paint couldn't have been-

Gotcha.

There they were, in an alleyway so conspicuous they might as well have painted bullseyes on their bodies. About three or four regular Black Dragon thugs leant against the pickup, some disinterestedly smoking whilst the other half kept an eye on the proceedings a little to the right. Obviously, something had gone wrong with the deal - a fifth man, black haired and with the dumbest bronze armour ever, was waving a plastic packet and saying something inaudible to the whimpering, pale, baldy-headed junkie in front of him. The latter looked as though he didn't want to be here at all, and rightly so - something was glinting dangerously at the leader's hip.

A pearly grin split across a face hidden by the bandana.

I'm not a hero. Heroes don't sneak out at midnight, when they should be sleeping. Heroes don't commit acts of long-ranged murder behind the backs of their best friends. Heroes, unless they're in comic books, don't have to put on a face at daytime to hide the reality of what they've seen.

It was easy enough now - had been since childhood. Hold your breath to steady yourself, get the crosshairs pointing just so, curl your finger around that trigger...

And heroes especially don't jailbreak a child's weapon to be lethal.

And pull. 

PLUTT

Non-Canon Silliness Shorts 1: Spell 'Me' (NSFW)

"Hey, Ash."

Ash didn't turn around. "Yes?"

"Spell 'Me'."

End of the Rainbow

WARNING: The following post contains material that may not be suitable for minors or work-based viewing. Reader discretion is advised.

~MASTERS FOUNDATION ARENA, MANHATTAN, USA~

 

"MI-KA! MI-KA! MI-KA!"

The chanting from the crowd shook the building almost to it's foundations, ringing through the steely air of the stadium. Beaming hugely, the masked, blonde-pigtailed wrestler bounced up and down where she stood over her fallen foe, waving her arms above her head in acknowledgement of the waves of hype pouring down over her. Her heart swelled with every repetition of her name, an almost childlike joy flowing through her as she took in the adoration from every man, woman and kid in the audience who were chanting along.

Now this, she thought to herself, is what I live for.

Why Subnautica Is Good (Short Review)

Do you like Minecraft?

Do you absolutely hate the Water Temple?

Then you will have an estranged love-hate relationship with Subnautica.

Subnautica is a Survival/Crafting game from developer Unknown Worlds, creators of the Natural Selection series. The premise, like most other games of the genre, is simple - survive. Scrounge up raw materials from the world around you to build things you need to get by, like food, water, and tools. Eventually, you'll be able to craft more complex things, set up a base of operations and be able to fight back against the cold, uncaring world you've been plonked in. And right now, you're probably drifting away, convinced that this is yet another Minecraft ripoff and there's nothing interesting to it.

Subnautica, however, proves you wrong in many ways. Firstly, there's more context - you're the survivor of a crashed research ship, and you need to get yourself equipped to go and fix the ship's engine before the radiation kills everything. There's a goal to work towards, rather than just meandering around looking for sheep to shear. Secondly, you're underwater, with no solid ground to be found and only sheer crushing depth as a constant reminder of how shit you are. Only miles and miles of ocean, which adds a big sense of isolation and trepidation to the experience - no other people, just you on your own against this strange, alien planet.

Thirdly - and this is the clincher - it is utterly evil and has no qualms about sending sea monsters to bite your arse out whilst you're trying to scan some wreckage. And what makes it worse is that it probably came from a bullshit angle you didn't anticipate, because you're floating in the fucking ocean.

This is what Subnautica has over games like Minecraft - it plays on the primal fear of the unknown. There's little that's scarier than floating in the middle of the open ocean, surrounded on all sides by shadowy that could be hiding literally anything. And it doesn't matter where you twist and turn, the monsters will still be able to come up behind you - or maybe even beneath you, because there's no floor underneath your feet to stop them doing that. You think your tiny little submersible will keep you safe from the sharks and sea lizards, but when the roars of some terrible leviathan are ringing in your ears as you skirt the shoreline, it feels like a plastic bubble. How big is it? How many teeth? How fast? You don't know, and that fear is what gives exploring in Subnautica that major edge.

What makes it worse is that the environment doesn't help you at all, and you have no real way to protect yourself. In Minecraft, you are at least on the same Y co-ordinates as the enemy, and can craft any number of bullshit weapons to insta-kill the skeletons, making monsters a minor annoyance. Subnautica's aquatic terrain actively hampers your movement, so juking and jumping is not an option, especially when the creatures can swim much faster than you can. And all you have to defend yourself is a knife, which does fuck all against most of the armoured creatures in the world, and the Concussion Rifle doesn't give you reprieve from the swaming piranhas or blood-sucking worms. It feels a lot more like a fight for survival than exploring caves or digging holes.

So when you do build that extra-special thing you wanted, it makes it all the more worth it. It feels satisfying, because you had to dive into kelp forests swarming with angry lizards and fight off giant electric eels to get the materials you needed. You lost a lot of blood and nearly starved to get the raw goods, and when you finally craft it all together and get your seabase up and running, it's like you're sticking a giant middle finger up at the deep, dark ocean. Fuck you, ocean, I have a submersile and can make endless amounts of torpedoes to shred your evil monsters. Bring it on, baby, I can take whetever you got!

And then a sea serpent comes along and eats your sub. Because no, you can't take it.

In short, play Subnatica. There's been a big update that adds farming, which is awesome. It's on Early Access right now, but it's worth forking out the extra money to experience this. Go buy it. Now.

Latest Update

Hold onto your tentacles, ladies and gentlemen, because it's time for...

INKOPOLIS LUNCHTIME NEWS! With your hosts, Callie aaaaaaand Marie!

"Helloooo, everyone! Hope you're having a good afternoon, viewers - we've decided to take this programme to the Salt-Tea Cafe as we sit down for coffee!"

"Which is what we do every day, but whatever."

"And we start off with the biggest thing to start the Lunchtime news with - the latest in Hero Watch! And whilst most of these brave, selfless types that call themselves the Kobbers are rather elusive and hard to capture on film, our ink-redible team-"

"Oh, my Cod, you actually went there."

"-managed to do what no other news corporation has done until now! That's right - we've finally got exclusive footage of that brave, dashing, very-obviously-handsome-"

"Stick to the script, Callie, jeez."

"...WE GOT FOOTAGE OF OOO!"

"Yes, after actual weeks of trawling around with our hidden cameras, we managed to catch that mystery masked man in action. About time too, I say."

"And this, viewers, is what we saw!"

Rule of Three

~LAS VEGAS, AT ABOUT LUNCHTIME~

It wasn't even Kobber season yet, and already there was trouble in Las Vegas.

It all began when a cafe exploded. This is not what cafe's ought to do, especially in the middle of the lunch hour, and thus the wave of panic that swept across the area was quite justifiable. It wasn't just the cafe itself that was evacuated, mind - every soul close enough to the buiding took to their heels with screams of terror, trying to put as much distance between them and the source of the explosion as they could before things got any worse. Because, in a world where superhumans regularly tangled with monsters, crime lords and otherworldly horrors, things were definitely going to get worse.

And they did, in short order, as the gangly insect monster emerged from the smoking shell of what was once a nice place to eat.

"Bah! Boredom and inspid stagnation!" thundered the mantis-like creature as he scraped his hooked talons other each other. "I was told this would be a city of excitement, where heroes came out of the woodwork every year!" And with a growl of effort, he swiped his forearms through the air, sending slices of purple energy sailing forwards to cut deep into the pillars that upheld part of a nearby bank. In a trice, the stone columns fell apart, bringing most of the overhang above with them in a shower of dust and rubble, and more screams emenated from the terrified pedestrians as they ducked under tables and into shop hallways, trying to find shelter from this unnatural event.

Not that the monster seemed to care very much at all. In fact, as he left the area of the care and turned to walk down the street, he seemed to be much more occupied with something else. His orange eyes, narrowed in a permenant sneer of haughty distaste, seemed to scan the panicking crowds in the same manner a cat eyes up a mouse just before the pounce, as if seeking something or other among them. Evidently, he was not finding whatever it was he sought, as growls of frustation left his mandibles at every other pass, until finally he seemed to give up and come to a dead stop in the middle of the street, blades and carapace glinting ominously in the sunlight.

"Where are they, then?" growled the monster at last, adressing the crowd at large. "Where are the mighty Kobbers, who effortlessly destroy every evil that goes up against them? Are they all too scared to try and stand against the all-powerful, all-destroying Kamakiri Majuu?! Come on out, you miserable wretches, and I shall-"

He was interrupted by a distant noise. A noise that was strange for not only having no apparent source to explain itself, but for being the sort of noise one does not expect to hear anywhere in the world. A noise that had seemingly no meaning by itself, and left the civillians, who had before been cowering in terror of the monster attacking them, as confused as their assailant was. A noise that was getting louder, as if it was approaching at a rapid pace, and was growing closer by the second as the source drew towards the chaotic scene taking place in the streets of Las Vegas.

And the noise went:

HAWK! TIGER! GRASSHOPPER!

Non-Canon Silliness 3: Morons vs Wild

WARNING: The following is not canon, and is also based on a dumb internet video. Don't read it if you don't care for anything that has no impact on ZFRP in any way :P

Also, watch this video first to understand the context.

~SOMEWHERE ON SAM'S WORLD...~

With a grunt of effort, the hilt of the Grandius was brought squarely down upon the tent peg with a clack, driving it further down into the soil. The action was repeated once, twice, thrice more, abiet with some difficulty, as the wielder's shoulder seemed to have become stiff and painful to move. But Sam - for it was nobody else - persisted despite the complication, until at last the peg was as far in as it could go, and the rope tied around it was as taut as it could be. Now the tent looked like a tent, and not like a jumbled pile of sticks and canvas someone had carelessly thrown aside.

"And that," he muttered, "is that." Then he stood up, and winced as the pain shot through his shoulder again, forcing him to grasp it with his free hand. Closer inspection revealed that the material of his jacket was torn open, and a series of long, ugly scratches - the terrible full-stroke of some animal's claws - decorated the skin. In fact, Sam overall did not look in very good condition, with badly ripped clothing, several bites upon his limbs, more scratches along his torso and a fine coating of dried mud over everything else.

Turning around, Sam recoiled as he saw a vision of awful horror. Then he calmed down as he realized that it was just Ash, sitting down by a fire of whittled branches and leaves. If anything, he seemed to be in an even worse comdition than Sam was - not only was he also covered in bites, but one side of his face was a swollen mass of lumpy, purplish-red blotches, like insect bites or something worse. And, most tellingly, he was hissing between his teeth as he applied the scabbard of the poison-sword Magnificence to his groin, looking to be in considerable pain.

"You alright?" Sam asked as he walked over. "That amphisbaena did a real number on you." The latter remark, judging from the glare shot at him by the other male, didn't seem to help at all.

"It's not the pain," grumbled Ash as the other man squatted close to him. "It's the swelling. I can have Magnificence draw the venom out, no trouble, but... dear Gods, it won't go down!"

"You should be happy," cut in Erdrick's voice, from where he was propped up against one of the tent struts. "It's not like it's ever going to be this big again."