Dirkmas 2 Part 1

Universe ZF-001

Sol System, Milky Way Galaxy

Earth Date 2013, December 24th 23:30

 

 

 The navigator was very nervous indeed.

This was something of a problem, for two reasons. Firstly, he was supposed to be guiding the spaceship on it's present course, and in this profession being nervous was likely to result in catastrophe. Secondly, he was a Vulturite, a native of Nibiru and species famed for brutality, depravity and various other unpleasant traits. They weren't supposed to be nervous, or even afraid of anything that the universe could throw at them - not even such wonderful threats as the Daleks or the Martians would make them bat an eyelid. Anything a race could do, a Vulturite would do better and then brag about it to his next door neighbour.

And yet this one was trembling in his seat, bile in his throat as his eyes darted back and forth across the screen, trying to focus on the information readouts and so on. His fingers twitched as he tapped away at on-screen buttons and dials, and a fine layer of sweat stood out on his feathered forehead. A sense of ominous dread was sitting in his chest like a block of ice, one that kep growing with every passing minute - most likely to do with the nature of the mission that he was undertaking, as well as the current destination he was guiding the ship towards. Whilst he was not a person to speak his mind, a quality that was probably instrumental in getting the job in the first place, he was more than ready to admit by now that he was ready to soil himself, had he not already done so twice.

For what seemed like the thousandth time that trip, he glanced over his wiry shoulder to observe the arrangement behind him. Most of the ship's command bridge was in shadow, as it's occupant was quite particular about light levels, so he could barely make out the outline of the throne and the person sitting in it. What little he could see, however, made him shudder - a large, heaped mass of something that lay about the footwell of the seat, catching what little light there was in periodic glints and sparkles and occasionally shifted with a dry rustling noise. Swallowing audibly, the Vulturite turned back to the screen, trying hard to look as though he hadn't lost track of his work and was just minding his own business.
 

Unfortunately, he tried too hard.
 

"What a beatifiul planet," came a silken purr, and the navigator's down feathers stood on end. "So much more colourful than home."
 

Too late did the Vulturite hear the scraping of scale on metal, and then something cold, dry and strong looped twice around his body and yanked him from his seat too fast for him to even cry out. Flailing madly for a moment in his panic, the navigator found himself drawn into the shadows towards the throne, then swung around to face the great window that made up an entire wall of the room and yawned outwards into space. His thin, dry eyes blinked once as he took in the view presented before him - a great orb of blue and green, frosted with swirls of white clouds and slowly growing larger within the window frame, filling the room with a dull glow.
 

Then he tensed as a claw, thin as a razor, drew itself along the side of his face. There was breath in his ear, and he winced at the icy chill of it.
 

"Tell me, navigator," came the voice. "What do they call this planet? Ee-Yarth?" The syllables of the last word came thickly, as if they were too big for the mouth forming them, but that tiny detail did noting to reassure the navigator, who was now aware that everyone else in the room was watching him. Most likely they were as frightened as he was. Some colleagues.
 

The Vulturite gulped. "I... I believe it's pronounced 'Earth', your grace," he croaked, well aware of how dry the inside of his beak was.
 

A frustrated huff blew bast his ear. "Really? But it has an 'A' in it. Oh, well," hissed the speaker, shifting in her seat a little, "I shall just keep on calling it Ee-Yarth anyway. Shan't I?"
 

"Y-y-yes, your grace." The navigator realised he was nodding furiously out of reflex, and managed to stop himself.
 

"And how much longer until we breach the atmosphere?" The claw had stopped at his neck. Not good...
 

"In ab-b-bout eleven Rels, your grace."
 

"Perfect."
 

And then there was a twist and a jerk, and the world span crazily for a brief moment before the unfortunate hand-for-hire impacted beak-first with his own console screen, squawking in pain as his body crumpled and slumped to the ground. Through vision blurred by his latest concussion, he espied a blue glint sliding back into the shadows, and reflexively scrabbled out of the prone position, head swimming with terror and possible brain damage as he returned to his station. Hunching over his screen, he heard a giggle from the corner of his ear, and grimaced.
 

"My dear," came the voice, low and dangerous. "Your unfortunate death shall soon be avenged. This Ee-yarth is soon about to have a new name..."
 

A scrape of claws on metal. A glint of fangs.
 

"Open buffet."

-------

Cue intro theme.
 

 

--------

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even-

"Fucking hell..."

...alright, with one exception. Dirk Angelos couldn't sleep.

And who could blame him? It was Christmas. Christmas! One of the greatest times of year in the history of anything! It had everything anyone could ever ask for - presents, food, presents, chocolate, presents and getting together with everyone you care about. Also, presents. Can't ever go wrong with any holiday that results in free presents, usually! Plus, it was yet another in one of the dark angel's long list of excuses to get drunk, and that was never a bad thing.

So yeah, Christmas. Which was why, at half-past eleven at night on Christmas Eve, Dirk Angelos was sitting in the shark tank of the Party Pavillion, a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand in the hopes of working up enough tiredness to get to sleep. He'd already had a can of cheap cider as a nightcap before going to bed, but it clearly hadn't worked out very well, because he was still awake when the clock rolled around to eleven at night. So with a sigh, and moving carefully to avoid disturbing his brother, he'd pottered down to solve the problem in the only way he knew how. With lots of alcohol.

Sipping from the bottle, the Dark Angel watched the sharks lazily swim in a half-awake stupor above him. The tank had suffered some losses over time - one or two sharks had passed away of old age, whilst others ended up being caught in the jaws of their larger comrades. But thanks to Pit being a billionaire and Dirk himself slowly becoming... well, a thousandare at least, buying replacements hadn't been a problem, and the tank had managed to remain stocked at a decent level. The most persistant relative had been the goblin shark, who's reputation for dunce behaviour lingered even now as he tried to swim through the glass in his sleep.

Sharks were far from Dirk's mind at the moment, however, as he glanced over his shoulder into the darkness of the living room. Beneath the shady branches of the Christmas tree glinted piles of wrapped packages, their cartoony santas and reindeers taunting the young author with the mystery of what cold possibly be lying beneath them. It brought a smile to his face to know that at least some, if not all, of the bargoers had been kind enough to send a package over, and that he had returned the favour by obtaining equally-lavish presents for them all.

Especially for Josephine.

He couldn't wait for Josephine to see what her present was.

A grin now plastered on his face, he turned back to the shark tank, lifted the Jack to his mouth and was promptly smacked in the back of a head with a nightstick.

-------

The Vulturite agent watched as his target slumped soundlessly to the floor, the beverage in his hand spilling onto the carpet. The resultant stains in the carpet would be more than proof of what had occured, of course, but by the time anything could be done it would be too late. The Lady's orders would be carried out to the letter. The celebrations would go as planned.

Kneeling down, the masked bird creature hooked both arms under the unconcious angel's body and heaved him up off the floor, slinging him over one shoulder. Barely registering the weight of his captive, he reached into one of his pockets with a free hand and produced a disc-like device from it, just large enough to fit within his claw-like hand and consisting mostly of a large button. Lifting the device to his beak, the Vulturite clicked the button down, a green light flashing as he did so, and waited patiently for a few seconds.

It isn't long before a static-laden confirmation comes from the speaker on the back of the communicator.

"This is Command Bridge to Scout Seven. Please report."

"Scout Seven to Command Bridge," hissed the Vulturite, keeping his voice as low as possible in order to avoid awakening anyone else in the house. "The target has been captured, as ordered, and I am awaiting transport back to the mothership."

"Confirmed," came the reply. "Preparing Transmat to recieve you and your captive. Stand by for transportation in five Nanorels."

"Confirmed."

Job done, Scout Seven pocketed the communicator and patiently wated for a few seconds. And he doesn't wait long - soon, the Vulturite was engulfed by a kind of yellowish light that seems to radiate from around him and fill the room with it's glow.

And when it dissapates, he is gone.

So is Dirk.

Only the sharks have witnessed this. And, being sharks, they have no idea what to do about it.

-------

Commander Varn wished, for the umpteenth time, that he didn't have to enter the throne room.

Really, nobody did. That was kind of why the rota was in place - so people could take turns to stammer out the latest news to Her Grace. But it didn't really work out, at least not in Varn's opinion, mostly because everyone was frightened of the Lady anyway. And small wonder - the poor navigator was still in the medical bay having his neck seen to for a bad case of wiplash. Just because Vulturites would work for anyone if the pay was good enough, didn't mean they have to enjoy it, and nobody on this ship really enjoyed working for a fickle, capricious female who would casually kill someone just for ruffling her dress.

 

But then again, they didn't really have that much of a choice. There was news to be told, and the punishment for keeping secrets... well, let's just say the last crew member who kept vital information hushed up had to be shampooed out of the carpet. And it cost a fortune.

 

Besides, he was already walking in. No point in complaining now.

 

"Your Grace?"

 

Varn braced himself, but the chair didn't swivel round - she was obviously more interested in her view of the planet below. He didn't know wherever to roll his eyes in exapseration or be extremely thankful for it.

 

"Well?" came a strident retort, cutting through the air like a knife. The Commander winced, but tried to keep his composure, standing tall and straight as an officer of his rank should. .

 

"The last of the marked targets has been captured," he croaked out. "Scout Seven is returning with him even as we speak."

 

"Excellent." Somewhere, in the darkness, a tail twitched. "Everything is coming together, all is on schedule and revenge is about to be served. Quite, literally, I might add," finished the figure with a dark chuckle. "Oh, but if only I could decide on what garnish..."

 

This remark was not conductive to Varn's constitution at all. In fact, despite the facade of professionalism he was keeping up, beads of sweat were starting to form on his feathered temple, tricking down the side of his face and neck and into the collar of his shirt. He suppressed the species instinct to wet himself - washing it out of expensive hypersilk like this was pure murder even when he didn't have to pay ridiculous prizes to use the communal washing machines.

 

He cleared his throat and continued as best he could. "Your Grace, Scout Seven is enquiring as to what to do with the prisoner. I understand he is of particular interest to you, among all the-"

 

"You have no idea, Commander Varn." The speaker's voice was dangerously low, tinged with a sort of delicate, knife-like hissing. The Vulturite's ears shrank down as the scrape of claw on steel came once more, like nails on a chalkboard.

 

"So... what is to be done? Is he to be put in a cell with the- AWK!"

 

A strong coil had fastened itself around the commander's neck before he could finish, and the next minute he'd been dragged towards the throne as it swiveled around like a ballet dancer that had been stung in the bottom. Eyes like burning coals glared at him with a maniacal hatred, the sort that comes from letting petty grievance stew for far too long. Fangs like polished marble glinted viciously. A forked tongue lashed the air.

 

"You blithering birdbrain. Bring him straight to me, I said, and he will be brought to me! I want to get a good look at the man who slaughtered my husband before I deal with him, so I can see the fear on his face! And I will not miss that opportunity because you let a direct order slip through that feather duster you call a head! Now bring him to me! Is that clear?!"

 

Varn's voice was a squeak of terror and asphyxiation. "Yes, your Grace."

 

And then the work span, and he was on his back at the door, eyes rolling in his head as he fought to get his breath back.

 

"Now, get out of my sight," snarled her Grace, and the poor Vulturite was quick to oblige.

 

Once past the door, he was most relieved by the person who came around the corner. Quickly fixing his uniform so as to avoid awkward questions, he did his best to put his Lady's grace out of his mind for now. She'd be appeased, soon enough - and a lot, if the new arrival was any indication.

 

"Ah, Scout Seven. Just who I was looking for!"

 

-------

 

At first, as Dirk came to, he thought he was in bed.

This was not a wholly incorrect assumption to make. After all, he had apparently transitioned from drinking Jack at the shark tank to a vertical position, wrapped up in something warm and soft. So it was natural of him to assume that he'd simply fallen unconcious from all the alcohol and that Pit had simply found him and carried him to bed. Or that maybe he'd crawled back to his comfy covers himself and simply forgot about making the journey there. Easy explanation.

So imagine his surprise when his sheets unfurled and dumped him onto the floor.

"OW! Fucking hell!" he howled as he curled on the ground, now completely wide awake, hands instinctively curling up around his stomach and chest. He was quite sure that some ribs had been bruised from that particular drop - not only had he fallen quite a distance, but the floor he'd landed on had been surprisingly hard, for something that was supposed to be just plain old polished floorboards. He was probably gonna have to talk to Pit about getting a carpet to-

Wait.

He blinked, now registering the steely chill of the surface against his skin. And now, come to think of it, he was sure he could hear some kind of electronic instrument humming away in the distance - one that didn't sound like an automatic shark feeder built by Wes Weasley. His vision was still blurry, mostly from what little whiskey was still sloshing around up there, but the outlines forming in from of him did not look much like the cosy objects in his room, but instead the clinical grey walls and computer banks of... something else. He certainly didn't remember asking for a supercomputer to put into his-

This wasn't his room.

"Well, well," purred a voice above him. "Handsome figure, aren't you, Dirk?"

At the sound of the hissing voice, like a gas main intent on murder, Dirk made the mistake of looking up.



Art by Carolina-Eade

"It's a shame you're not as tall as I imagined," the thing continued as it slithered down into the command throne, scales flashing. "But we all know the best stories have a little lie in them, don't we?"

Dirk blinked again, trying to figure out why he was on a spaceship being spoken down to by a giant snake-woman. Had he really hit the Christmas Jack that hard?

"Um, no offence," he tried, mouth feeling full of fluff. "But who the fuck are you?"

"You will watch your language in the presence of-!" screeched a voice from the shadows, and Dirk almost jumped out of his skin. But at the same time, he found his hackles rising with an in-bred genetic hatred - the speaker had the grackled, throaty tones of a-

"Oh, hush, Commander Varn," the snake-thing responded, idly scraping it's talons along the arm of the throne. "It is my fault, after all - forgot to introduce myself, in all this excitement." It's eyes gazed down at Dirk with a sort of idle detatchment, as a lion might look upon an ant, and the angel couldn't help but shudder as a chill he couldn't explain ran down his spine. There was just something about this thing that didn't sit well with him at all.

"My name," it continued, with a thin sort of smile, "is Lady Glacia. Princess of the Seventh Continent, Daughter of Nibiru and, as of now, your master."

Nibiru. That was enough to get Dirk interested - no, more than interested, fired up. Ever since the incident last Christmas, where he fought in mortal combat with a rather genocidal Annunaki, the mere mention of the planet's name was enough to put the dark angel on edge. And now here he was, a prisoner of yet another megalomaniacal somebody from that same planet! With a surge of energy born of righteous annoyance he staggered to his feet, clenching his fists, anger etched across his face as he faced down his serpentine enemy.

"If you're looking to start a fight," he snarled, wings twitching, "then bring it, bitch. I took down Fyros, and I'll just as easily-"

To his surprise, the Nibirian laughed. It was oddly musical and chiming, in stark contrast to the thin speech she'd used to address him, and that only served to derail his train of thought and make his down feathers rise in reflexive fear. And in the shadows, all around him, he was quite certain that others were laughing at him as well, in cackling tones that echoes around the room like a flock of birds trapped in a storm drain. Their mere presence unnerved him even further - he swore he could remember what they were...

"Bless you, no!" exlaimed Glacia as she shifted in her throne, her coils sliding along the floor in great folds. "Fighting is the last thing I want! Messy business, hat is - never gets you anywhere!"

"But..." Dirk lowered his arms, confused. "Then why yank me out of my house like that? What's the point?"

"The point," came the retort, low and icy, "is that I have a score to settle with you, Dirk Angelos. A score that began a year ago, on the surface of the tiny yet powerful living planet of Lauplas. A score that, in a few Macrorels' time, I shall settle once and for all, as befitting of my status as a Princess of the Nibirian race. You will pay," Glacia hissed, lips drawn back to expose cruel fangs, "for the callous muder of my husband one year to this day, Low Angel, I swear it!"

Dirk opened his mouth to reply that no, he'd killed Fyros on Lapulas, and he was pretty sure that Annunaki and native Nibirians weren't exactly the same thing. The last time he checked, that had been the case, anyway - it wasn't hard to mistake a flaming dragon for a giant snake-person, unless you were drunk. But he got halfway through formulating that thought when another one shouldered it's way in, like a rhino forcing open it's cage door, and the resulting mental pictures made his brain scream with horror and disgust, the angel nearly falling down from the shock.

"Fyros was your husband?!" he hollered, eyes wide.

"Move to the top of the class," trilled Glacia, a little too enthusiastically.

It was some time before Dirk could splutter out some more words. "But... Since when did Annunaki start mingling with Nibirians?!"

"Oh, about a thousand years ago." The native Nibiran's tone grew wistful as she idly curled her tail into a small spiral. "And besides, it was an arranged marriage - money, power, putting our families in good standing, blah blah blah..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes vacantly staring into the distance.

Dirk was quick to put two and two together. "I take it you didn't actually like him that much."

Glacia huffed through both nostrils. "Oh, of course not! The man was such a frightful bore - always going on about his plans for conquest and subjugation! Almost never at home, fighting some wretched war on the other side of the universe - never even a birthday card! On top of that," and here an almost rebellious smile curved across the Princess' features, "he was, I believe the saying goes, a genocidal prick."

"You got that right!" Dirk couldn't restrain a small laugh at the innapropriate language, feeling slightly more relaxed now that the reptillian princess seemed calmer and more genial. In fact, it seemed to him that, despite holding a very obvious grudge against him, seemed far more reasonable and willing to talk it out than Fyros had been. Perhaps this wasn't going to be so bad - after all, if an Anunnaki's wife was this much more friendly than the Anunnaki himself, they couldn't hate him that much.

He was proved wrong very quickly.

"But he was still my husband!"

Before Dirk could react accordingly, the Nibirian suddenly shot out like a whip, and sharp claws flashed through the air like scimitars. The angel gasped with pain as his face was suddenly struck, staggering backwards from the force of the blow as his stomach lurched sickeningly. As he swiveled on the spot, clutching his stinging cheek, Glacia rose up into the air on the great length of her tail, eyes shimmering with both the dim lighting and a rage that could melt ice caps, before diving down to glare at him from eye level.

"You murdered him," she snarled, practically shouted. "Humiliated him and robbed him of his dignity, and then vaporised him as if he were no more than a common lowlife! By killing him, you have impugned my honour as his wife, insulted my name as much as you insulted his own! And no-one insults a Nibirian, native or Anunnaki, and walks away free! You will suffer for this, angel, and I will personally ensure you are suitably punished!"

Despite the shock of being attacked and the fright caused by his hostess' change of demenaour, Dirk remained defiant. He didn't believe much in honour - to him, it was a dumb concept that let people get away with really dumb shit, or stopped them doing the right thing out of sheer stupidity. So no, Glacia's motivation didn't impress him in the least. And despite the fact she was practically shrieking in his face, not to mention that she'd just sliced him open, he refused to let himself back down for a second.

"So, what are ya gonna do?" he growled, ignoring the feeling of blood tricking down his face. "Line me up in front of a firing squad? Rip me limb from limb? Fry me with some kind of death ray?"

"As fun as those sound," hissed Glacia, scales scraping on the metal floor, "I have something far better in mind. You Ee-Yarth people have a celebration as this time of year, do you not? Well, so do we Nibirians - and I have special preparations to make for them this year. And I brought you aboard especially for them - not that you'll be able to appreciate it in any way, of course."

Dirk blinked, bewildered. "Okay, firstly, it's pronounced Earth. Secondly, the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

A toothy grin spread across the Daughter of Nibiru's face.

"You shall see, very soon."

Then she snapped her claws, and figures emerged from the shadows - tall, gangly things covered in feathers, with cruel, hooked beaks and blank, staring eyes. As one, they assembled in a ring around the low angel, blocking off escapes of any kind as they slowly advanced on him, brandishing truncheons, knobbled clubs and other assorted implements. At the sight of them, Dirk felt anger flare in his mind, and he looked upon each one of the uniform-clad soldiers with disgust and hatred.

"Vulturites," he snarled, teeth and fists clenched. "You hired fucking Vulturites."

"Oh, they are merely hired help," crooned Glacia as she slowly backed awat. "Not that it was diffucult, you understand - show them money and food and you'll have them eating out of your hand." And with a dignified movement that hardly belied her earlier seething rage and possible mental complexes, she resumed her seat in the throne, smirking with palpable triumph.

"Now you can throw him in a holding cell."

-------

"Oof!"

That is the sound of a Dark Angel impacting with the far wall of a large holding cell, for those of you who are interested. As Dirk slumped to the floor, holding his ribs, the Vulturites loomed in the doorway, derisives sneers on their beaks.

"You're not getting out of this one, Angel," hissed one, elicting a cackle from his companion. And then the door swished shut, the magnetic lock sealing with a decided "click", and whatever witty retort Dirk has in his throat died away as his tormentors laughed away down the corridor. And it occured to him that it was going to be another one of those days, where things had gone slightly out of control and there wasn't much he could do to stop it just yet.

"Well," he grumbled as he picked himself up. "What a lot of bollocks."

"You can say that again," said a voice like silver bells.

Dirk froze.

Then he turned around, and laid eyes on a familiar face, decked in a very familiar green outfit with an equally familiar jingle to the bells.

"Merry Elf?" he gasped.

The small, brown-haired figure looked up sheepishly at him. "Not just me, Mister Dirk. I've brought friends as well." And from behind him came two other familiar faces - a somewhat taller figure, solidly built and with enormous hands like cinder blocks, and a petite young girl with chocolate-brown locks and a distressed twinkle to her eye. All three of the elves regarded him with mized expressions of relief and sorrow, and Dirk didn't know wherever to be amazed or horrified at their presence.

There was a long silence.

"Some reunion, huh," rumbled Punchy after a while.

Dirk nodded. "So ol' Ice Queen caught you guys as well, huh? Figures she'd want to get back at you guys as well."

"She's quite mad," muttered Merry, head lowered. "Madder than her monstrous husband was, I fear. Kringle knows what terrible plans she's got in store for us."

"Hey, don't worry, guys!" Dirk knelt down to meet the elves at eye level, smiling as encouragingly as he could. "I saved you guys once, and I can do it again, right? No crazy snake-lady is gonna get the best of us, if I have anything to say about it!"

On hearing this, Punchy gave a little whoop of joy. "That's our Dirk! Fightin' talk, all the way!"

"But remember," trilled Maisy, batting her eyelashes, "you still owe me a kiss!"

It was Dirk's turn to grin sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah, about that-"

"This conversation is irrelevant."

Dirk froze.

Then he looked to his left.

Dalek 2002 render by Rob Semenoff

"OH, JESUS CHRIST," he screamed, "IT'S A FUCKING DALEK!" And he promptly back-pedalled to the opposite wall of the cell, pressing himself against it in a vain attempt to merge with it and vanish.

"Cease your hysterical screaming," grated the Dalek as it rumbled towards him, head lights flashing with each syllable. "I am incapable of harm."

"Incapable of-?!" Dirk's terrified rant immediately stopped as a glint of metal caught his eye. Looking reflexively down, the angel noticed that the Dalek's gunstalk was crooked and buckled, the glass focusing lens shattered beyond repair and the main barrel a sorry, crumpled mess. Relief washed over him, although it was a small relief considering he was still locked in a small room with a member of the most genocidal race ever.

"They broke his weapon, Mr. Dirk," Maisy chimed in, simultaneously reassuring yet nervous. "He can't do anything to hurt us."

"Yeah, right," hissed Dirk, wings still crossed low behind his back in fear. "The fuck is he doing here, anyway?!"

"I am a prisoner, like yourself," came the reply. "I was abducted from my station and brought abord this vessel. My subspace-communicator is damaged - I cannot send out a distress signal to my superiors."

"Probably best you didn't." The idea of a whole fleet of Daleks swooping down to raze the entire planet at Christmastime did not settle well in Dirk's mind. And the unblinking stare from the alien's eyestalk aimed right at him wasn't helping him to stay calm, either.

"But why would Glacia capture you?" enquired Merry, tilting his head to the side. "That doesn't make sense - you haven't done anything to offend her, surely?"

"Negative." The Dalek's eyestalk swivled down to observe the tiny elf. "Daleks do not intrude in Nibirian space - the distance between our planets is too great."

"Wait a moment..." Dirk's voice was hesitant as he spoke. "If that's the case, then why would she go out of her way to abduct you?"

The Dalek turned to stare at him, but gave no answers. The elves were staring uo at him too, just as confused, and Dirk realised a rather nasty idea was creeping into his head, bit by bit. He took a deep breath, figuring this would need some explaining - it was just the ghost of an idea at the moment, but the implications were not pretty at all.

"See, Glacia can't just be after us. Me and the Elves, I mean," he added hastily. "If she's caught a Dalek as well, then that could mean she's got other species as well, from different planets, galaxies or maybe even universes. All of them locked up in this dungeon of hers. And she mentioned something about a special celebration, when she was interrogating me - some kind of freakish parallel to Earth's Christmas that she's apparently making big preparations for, and I'm supposed to be a big part in it.

"So, what I want to know is... where do you lot fit in?"

There was a long, tense silence as angel, Dalek and elf tried to figure out the mystery.

 

Fortunately, the tension was broken by an announcement on the tannoy, crackling over the speakers in the corner of the room. As one, the prisoners turned to look at it, wondering what sort of an announcement it would be.

 

Unfortunately, the voice coming over the tannoy was that of Lady Glacia.

 

And, as Dirk listened to what was being said, his face slowly went paler and paler with horror.

 

-------

 

"Good evening, loyal subjects!

"This is your Lady speaking - Lady Glacia of Nibiru, Princess of the Seventh Continent, with an important announcement! As you're aware, the celebration dinner for this year's Independance Festival takes place in about three Macrorels, and attendance is mandatory for all crew and staff - failure to attend is punishable by execution. Unless you're one of the three-hundred current sufferers of the Jovian flu, in which case the cost of your portion is being docked from your pay. I didn't put this together so you could let it go cold, you ingrates.

 

"Anyway, I have some very good news to impart - the menu has now been completed! A copy has all been sent to your personal data pads for your perusal, and you are expected to make your selection of food and send it back to our main computer so we can prepare it for you. Don't want to end up like last year where we couldn't make enough chocolate pudding so some of you ended up with the custard instead! Honestly, how was I supposed to know you'd all froth at the mouth and die? Your fault for not mentioning your allergies on your CV's...

 

"So, this year's looking to be the biggest Independance Feast so far! We've got a wide range of dishes and delicacies from across the galaxy, including:

• Dalek tentacle soup with fresh bread!
• Korath gizzard a la carte!
• Lapulas Elf fricassee with salad garnish and Spiridonian mint sauce!
• Chocolate and diced dryad pudding topped with marzipan and nutmeg!
• Imported Plesioth liver creme brulee!
• And our centerpiece for tonight - Low Angel rump roast with parsnips, roast potatoes and Spicy Angel Wings!

"This has been your Lady and master, saying... Happy Frosttime!"

Click.

-------

"She... she wants to eat us..."

A long, awful silence filled the cell. The Dalek hadn't moved from it's position, but it's eyestalk was staring intently at the speaker. Merry and the other elves, by contrast had taken to hiding behind Dirk's legs, trembling in fear and hugging each other to try and keep each other calm. The Dark Angel himself, meanwhile, could only stand there, wings twitching in horror as he tried to digest this latest bit of news concerning his predicament. Not only was Lady Glacia, the alien who'd taken him onto her ship, extremely angry with him for killing Fyros, her husband by arranged marriage...

...but she wanted to eat him! As pert of her race's annual celebrations, no less!

He was beginning to understand how a turkey feels.

"Guess I was right," muttered Merry from somewhere behind him. "She's even worse than her husband, after all."

"As if being burnt alive wasn't bad enough," sobbed Maisy, ger voice laden with hysterical fear. "But now we're going to be roasted and eaten instead!"

"Well, she's not roasting my rump," burst out Dirk, "and that's for fucking certain! I'm getting out of here before that happens!" At this determined shout, the elves looked up at him, eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and hope.

"But how?" Punchy emerged from his hiding place to look at Dirk properly, eyebrows high with bewilderment. "This place is locked up tighter than a Boxing Day moneybank! And they've probably got guards on patrol as well - what if they catch us?"

Dirk turned to look down at the elf, eyes set with classic Kobber determination and righteous anger. "Don't worry about that," he growled. "Vulturites might be foul, disgusting and a whole lot of other rude names I could use right now, they're also dumb as shit. If there's an excuse to get drunk, they'll drop everything to do so - they're probably getting pissed right now, not even paying attention to us."

Also stepping out from behind Dirk's legs, Merry fixed both of his eyes on the door. "But what about that?" he enquired.

Dirk blinked, realising he'd hit something of a snag. In his enthusiasm to defy yet another Christmas-ruining villain, he'd completely forgotten one of the most basic steps of a prison break - figuring out how to break out in the first place. And it was going to be tricky - the door was completely smooth, with no evidence of handles or locks on it, or even any buttons that would give a clue as to how to open it. It was also probably made of some fancy material that repelled magic, as well, so that was out of the question, and nobody in the cell had any explosives or cutting implements on them as far as he knew. Looking at the souleless, grey lump of metal that stood between him and freedom, the Dark Angel was not omly completely stumped, but also felt a little hopeless.

And then the Dalek, silent until now, swivelled to face the angel. "I have been performing preliminary scans of the ship's structure since my capture," it growled in it's trademark staccato tones. "The technology is Nibirian in origin, but includes facillities borrowed from vessels of other races."

Dirk sighed in irritation. "Very bloody useful, mate. Now tell us something that would help us escape."

"This prison is Dalek design. The doors use magnetic locks manufactured on Skaro."

Magnetic locks. At those words, something clicked in Dirk's head, and a memory popped up like a duck at a shooting range. A few days ago, bored and not in the mood to wrap presents, the dark angel had slumped onto the couch and endeavoured to watch the first thing that came on TV, no matter how rubbish. By sheer coincidence Daleks Invasion Earth 2150 A.D. had been on BBC2, and although the film wasn't bad, he'd still found himself falling asleep during parts of it. But one time, when he was awake, he remembered Peter Cushing opening the doors of a cell by...

Quickly, he turned to Merry and the other elves. "You guys got anything plastic on you?" he asked. "I think I got an idea on how to bust out."

"I don't think so, Mr. Dirk," said Merry, and Punchy also shook his head likewise. But Maisy was already digging through her pockets, and before Dirk could blink she'd produced a large, flat comb from sonewhere on her person. The tiny elf held it out between thumb and forefinger, just high enough so Dirk could take it without bending down.

"I always carry one with me," she explained as the angel took it from her, examining it closely. "Just in case I need to fix up my hair."

But Dirk was already running towards the door, kneeling down as he reached it and examining the bottom of it. From what he remembered, there would be a certain lump in the door that indicated the presence of the magnetic- ah-hah, there it was! Now, all he had to do was force the comb, point-wise, through the- Yes!

With a click and a swoosh, the door opened, and both angels and elves scrambled out of the cell, nearly falling over each other in their haste to get into the corridor that formed the prison bay. As a bunch they all collapsed against the opposite wall and flattened themselves against it, fully expecting alarms to start blaring and patrols of armed guards to come stampeding around the corner with guns loaded and blugeons drawn. But after half a minute or so, waiting with baited breath, the four were shocked to see that absolutely nothing of the sort was happening, and didn't seem likely to happen in the near future. Not a single Vulturite showed up, and there wasn;t even so much as a flashing red light to mark their escape.

There was a long, awkward pause, in which the Dalek  glided slowly out of the cell, seemingly non-plussed by the other's brief moment of panic

"...but why-?" Punchy began to say, but trailed off.

"That's probably how the door works," Merry tried, staring at the cold, square room he was in just a moment ago. "They probably just cut the power to the lock every time they open it, so there's no way to tell if-"

"Are we escaping or not?" cut in Maisy, sharply.

"Actually," muttered Dirk after a while, "I've been thinking - why do we have to just escape? I mean, assuming we manage to sneak past the gaurds and, I dunno, find drop pods back to earth or something. Assuming we succeed in all that. What's gonna stop Glacia from hunting us down when she finds out we've flown the coop and bringing us back in?"

"...So what do we do, Mr. Dirk?" piped up Maisy, after a moment to mull this over.

"Well," replied the angel, "if we're gonna dick a Nibirian over, then we gotta go all the way." Picking himself up from the floor, he turned to the Dalek, who had been amusing itself by counting the rivets in the walls. "Oi, tinpot - please tell me you downloaded a map of the ship during those fancy scans of yours."

"Correct," boomed the Dalek, the volume of it's voice making the evles jump to their feet out of shock. "I was successful in downloading the schematics of the ship via remote hacking."

"Fucking ace." Dirk clapped his hands together, grinning. "Can you display them holographically?"

"I obey."

The travel machine's manipulator arm tilted upwards, the outer edges of the plunger glowing blue with light. There was a brief flash of light and, before the eyes of the other four, a large replica of the ship materialised above the plunger, spinning gently in the way of all holograms. Leaning over, Dirk  beckoned the elves over, who crowded around him with fascination as he began to modify the hologram, pushing and pulling to enlarge it and cutting parts away into cross section with a casual flick of the wrist.

"Guys," chuckled the angel, "we're going to steal Frosttime.

"And this is how we're gonna do it..."

TO BE CONTINUED...

Monster Mash: Round 2 Fight 1 - Giant Octopus vs. Mega Python

Boys and girls, ladies and other- Okay, fine we'll get to the point. It's The Monster Mash 199X, everybody.

So we procrastinated. Sue us. But really, it was the Japanese's fault. They said they'd have Daidako ready by the week, but then a whole two months passed by and fuck all happened. So yeah, blame those procrastinating fucks. Can't trust them to do anything. Also, blame those superstitious Indians for not letting their god-emperor out of his holy temple on time - they had to wait for all these wierd mystical signs and have the planets be all perfectly aligned before they even thought of sending out their massive snake to do remotely anything. Wackos.

So yeah, here it is. The one you've all been waiting for. The one we've had to bribe and threaten and even *gulp* coerce people into staging on the shores of Ibiza, by the newly created Vishnu power plant, for the sake of your entertainment. The one we call...

Connor Hardy here, and right now I'm circling above the New Tethys Ocean, hoping to get a glimpse of- JESUS CHRIST, THAT WAS A TENTACLE!

--------

Yeah, we kind of arrived in the middle of something, didn't we? Barely have the cameras been trained onto the potential battlefield than the water explodes in a churning, frothing mass of pain and rage - it seems either the contenders have been released slightly early from their confinement or we arrived slightly late. In any case, Raja and Daidako have wasted no time in lunging at each other the moment they entered the ring, and the spectator boats forming a circle around the water are being tossed this way and that by the furious wakes both contendors create in their struggle to kill each other. The spectators don't seem to care that much, however, hopped up on tequila and coconut milk and whooping with every lurch their conveyances take.

As of now, it seems Daidako has the advantage over his ophidavian opponent. Despite being part anaconda, Raja is still mostly a land animal, and these strange, salty waters without any ground to keep anchored on have proven detrimental to his swimming ability. The much swifter, evolved Kraken has taken advantage of this, ambushing him from the side and winding several tentacles about his upper section and trying to pull him in closer to bite through to his spine and cripple him. But as anyone who's tried to hold a bar of soap in the bathtub will know, it's not an easy task - his suckers can't grip easily on the smooth scales, and the python is thrashing around like a devish, trying to throw his oppressor off of him. It's a battle of attrition - who will tire of this struggle first?

As it turns out, neither. The sacred serpent, his lungs burning from lack of air, knows full well what will happen if he keeps up this pointless struggle, and he's also realised the multi-tentacled menace has forgotten about the rest of his tail. With a muffled growl of effort, spraying bubbles from his mouth, Mega Python manages to twist the good remainded of his tail around in the water, winding several loops of his 69-foot-long body around the Kraken's cranium and tail and squeezing down. Startled, Japan's mascot monster boggles his eyes at the crushing grip, and several of his tentacles inadvertently release their captive in a spasmodic reflex.

Feeling his adversary release his hold on him, Raja whips his head around in the deadly return-stroke, but not to bite. Not just yet, anyway - he first takes the opportunity to clear the surface of the water, gasping in fresh oxygen as the startled squid flails in his grasp, failing to bring it's advanced mental faculties into play to regain control. Only once it's lungs are full of air does the serpent dive again, this time sinking his teeth into the puply flesh of his Japanese enemy. He doesn't even know where the windpipe of his captive is, let alone if it has one, but he's not about to relinquish any sort of hold that he has on his foe.

Daidako's eyes roll madly in their sockets as pain racks through it's body. The hybrid horror's brain is frantically racking itself for a solution to this conundrum - an opponent that's pretty much everywhere at once, causing pain from every direction. His tentacles alone won't be able to reach it, the grip is too strong to be dislodged by ramming into corals and capsising the ships around him is not an option. The Kraken's arms flail about like ribbons in the wind, slapping at the sea floor in a desperate attempt to find something to get the tenacious Mega Python off of him.

Then a tentacle grips something that isn't corals. It's covered in slimy weed, but it's made of wood, and juts out of the seabed at an awkward angle. A memory flashes through the cephalopod's genetically-bolstered braincells - accounts of old longships, passing through the straits of Gibraltr, capsising due to unknown and presumably extraordinary circumstances. In desperation, Japan's finest fisherman tightens his grip on the mystery object and yanks as hard as he can.

His hearing muffled by the water, Raja doesn't even register the rotted hulk of a sunken Viking warship arcing towards him until it's too late. There is an almighty thump as at least a tonne of rotten wood and overgrown corals impacts with the back of his skull. Dust and debris go flying, clouding his already-starry vision with a smokescreen, and as the ship splinters apart the jagged edges piece and rip at his skin, opening fresh cuts. Jarred by the vicious blow, the provoked python reflexively releases his grip on Daidako, floating in the water with jaw hanging open.

Silently, but clearly relieved that his gambit has worked, Daidako carefully eases himself out of the looping coils and jettisons himself a little distance away from India's god-emperor to appraise the situation. The stunned Mega Python is suspened in the briny waters of the Mediterranean, completely limp and immobile - obviously unconcious and completely unaware of his situation. In this state, it would be completely trivial to finish him off, which is why the mighty mollusc isn't going to be taking any chances on this. Brandishing the remains of the ship like a drunk brandishes a broken bottle, the Kraken moves in for the kill.

And that's when Raja strikes. There is a blur of golden scales, and then pain racks Daidako's mind once again as teeth clamp into his armed appendage with vice-like force. Then a twist, a jerk and a ripping of flesh, and now the arm is singing to the bottom of the ocean, trailing blood as it spasmodically twitches and jerks, still clinging onto the broken boat. A flash of cold, cunning eye in the water tells all - the sacred serpent was only shamming, and now is ready to take advantage of the squid's shock and dish out an even bigger counterattack. With lightning speed barely hampered by the water, the hallowed horror twists and flexes in the water, his entire body lashing out like a whip and slamming the still-reeling Kraken through the water.

Only by a supreme effort does Japan's Finest stall himself in the water, preventing himself from smashing into the sharp corals below, but now he has to contend with a massive snake zooming towards him like a battering ram. With one arm missing and bleeding profusely, Daidako realise he's in no condition to take a head-on assault anymore, and needs to change up his tactics. With that thought in mind, the demon of the deep opens his beak wide, belching out a thick cloud of oily ink as he simultaneously jettisons away from his pursuer. The ruse works - Raja screeches to a halt, blinded by the ink and thrashing about to try and clear his murky vision.

By the time the ink has dissapated, Kraken is a very long way away, and the God of India just manages to catch a glimpse of his tentacles vanishing down a long tunnel, just in the distance. With a muffled hiss of anger, the Mega Python gives chase, sinuous body weaving through the brine of the Mediterranean as he pursues his adversary. Eager to retalliate further for the mollusc's blasphemous desecration of his holy form, he slides down the tunnel after his opponent, vanishing from the view of the underwater cameras placed by Gaiacorp around the arena for this purpose.
 

What neither Daidako knows nor Raja cares is that the tunnel is not a natural construct. It is the waste outlet pipe for a massive hydroelectric power plant, dedicated to providing energy to the entire west coast of Italy as the war takes it's toll on imports of oil from the British-owned North Sea Territories. On the side, it also gives life to the production of the terrible war machines that rampage across all of Eastern Europe. Raja himself was present at the ribbon-cutting ceremony, although right now he could care less about that detail. And as the crowd on their ships turn to their television sets, the security cameras within the facility flicker on, beaming their signals to every vessel on the waters.

The fight is going indoors.

--------
 

It isn't long before Daidako realises he's lost.

Going into the tunnel seemed like a smart idea at the time. After all, it's an octopus' natual reaction to slip through small spaces when pursued by a predator. But the cave that the tunnel has opened up into... feels wrong. It's too big, and there are so many twisting, featureless channels that taper this way and that, it's near-impossible to tell if he's somewhere new or just going in circles. He can hear the hum and clank of machinery above him, vaguely aware that each metallic report is the work of something man-made, and the confusing mass of noise is upsetting his sense of direction even further. Now he's trapped in a big, circular pool overhung with walkways - part of the water-based cooling system used to keep the production machines running optimally.

The mammoth mollusc, in desperation, tries running his tentacles along the walls, looking to memorize bumps and imperfections in the smooth metal. But the scouring action of the water and the chemicals within it have eroded the walls into near-perfect flatness, and the Kraken soon realises that no potential landmarks exist with which to map his way around the facility. With all the identical channels stretching away into the distance, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that this is a perfect place for an ambush, and Daidako shudders imperceptibly as he turns, looking to head off to somewhere that isn't here.

And meets Raja coming the other way.

The Mega Python knows the facility like the back of his tail, having examined the blueprints thoroughly before attending the ribbon-cutting ceremony. In the end, tracking and cornering the giant squid through the water treatment canals was a piece of cake, and the ophidavian ogilarch's patience is rewarded with another ripped off limb. Blood pours into the water from the stump once again, and Daidako writhes in agony as he is divested of yet another major limb, cursing mentally at being caught off-guard a second time. Another smack of the tail sends him jettisoning out of the water and into a lare support column, shattering it in an explosion of ceramic and steel. A jagged edge tears a gill flap as the stunned octopus flops back into the water with a mighty splash, dazed and bewildered.

But Raja is not yet finished with his attack - he is quick to capitalise on his foe's shock again. Rather than simply trying to constrict his enemy, the supersized snake wheels around in the water, dropping the severed tentacle from his mouth as he goes, and latches onto the octopoid's side. His fangs manage to close over one of the Kraken's gill apetures, puncturing the delicate flesh and shutting off the vital breathing tube from the water that the transgenic terror needs to breathe. At the same time, a loop of coil sweeps through the water and slings itself around Daidako's head, squeezing down upon-

aaaaaaagh

With his brain being compressed like air in a deoderant can and unable to breathe, Daidako goes a little bit mental. Instantly, his siphon is jettisoning water like a frat boy jettisons his stomach contents after a weekend bender, causing him to rocket around the water treatment pool and bounce off the walls like a fleshy pinball in a very creepy arcade. Steel bends and buckles from the assault, and delicate systems hidden behind the panels are flattened and wrecked by the squid's weight, setting off alarms across the facility. But the tenacious python doesn't let go, continuing to dig his fangs in deeper instead.

Eyes rolling, tentacles flailing, rapidly running out of breath because brething just through one nostril is a bad idea, the Kraken knows that things are pretty grim for him. If he can't shake off Raja soon, then he's going to suffocate or bleed out into the water, and the Indians will be sailing towards the Monster Mash championship. His vision, blurring with pain and fear, is briefly filled with visions of dissapointed men in white coats, with chefs eagerly sharpening their knives, of children sobbing into their shirts as their mascot fails to uphold their dreams and expectations. Panic sets in briefly as the mammoth mascot desperately tries to think of what to do.
 

Then his lower tentacles brush against something cold and smooth.

Neurons and synapes planted deep within his brain, a brain that pulses with cold and rutheless intelligence, fire into action.

The next thing Raja knows, he's smacking head-first into a wall, splintering the metal, before being dragged upwards by a powerful, iron-clad grip. His form breaks the surface, but it's barely any relief to his lungs, because now the world is spinning around him as if he's stuck in an oversized tumble-dryer, cold air whistling past his ear canals. Daidako may have lost his two major limbs, but his genius mind has reminded him that he has at least eight more, and it's two of these that have clutched hold of the Mega Python's tail, swinging him around the room like a hammer at the Scottish Olympics (before they disbanded several years ago) and crashing him into walls, smashing him through catwalks...

...and into the broken pillar from earlier.

For the first time since we've seen him, Daidako makes a noise - a horrific screech of triumph, wheezing out of his torn and bitten gill apetures, that echoes around the empty facility. Dropping the brusied carcass of the once-mighty Raja into the sea, the Kraken turns and begins the long swim back to his native Osaka waters, unaware and uncaring of the reactions his victory has caused. As the Japanese bay with glee for their champion's success and the Indians mourn the death of their once glorious god, the headless corpse of the Mega Python slowly sinks to the bottom of the flooded factory, trailing blood  as it does so.

No sooner has it touched the metallic floor of the water treatment than the first hagfish, lurking in the recesses of the water filtration system, slither from the gloom.

THE KRAKEN WINS!

And there you have it, folks! The Japanese are heading straight into the Semi-Finals of the Monster Mash, and with a victory they've rightly earned! But the fun and excitement isn't over yet, sports fans, for next up comes a battle that's sure to match this one in proportion and ferocity! With an entire country's worth of smuggled diamonds on the line, it all comes down to a battle between military might and steroid-enhanced strength in THE ENCOUNTER IN THE EVERGLADES! Coming soon to The Monster Mash 199X!

Oh, and don't forget to collect your winnings from your local betting booths! You'll need them for your Black Friday rush!
 

-----

And now for something completely different.
 

-----

The navigator was very nervous indeed.

This was something of a problem, for two reasons. Firstly, he was supposed to be guiding the spaceship on it's present course, and in this profession being nervous was likely to result in catastrophe. Secondly, he was a Vulturite, a native of Nibiru and species famed for brutality, depravity and various other unpleasant traits. They weren't supposed to be nervous, or even afraid of anything that the universe could throw at them - not even such wonderful threats as the Daleks or the Martians would make them bat an eyelid. Anything a race could do, a Vulturite would do better and then brag about it to his next door neighbour.

And yet this one was trembling in his seat, bile in his throat as his eyes darted back and forth across the screen, trying to focus on the information readouts and so on. His fingers twitched as he tapped away at on-screen buttons and dials, and a fine layer of sweat stood out on his feathered forehead. A sense of ominous dread was sitting in his chest like a block of ice, one that kep growing with every passing minute - most likely to do with the nature of the mission that he was undertaking, as well as the current destination he was guiding the ship towards. Whilst he was not a person to speak his mind, a quality that was probably instrumental in getting the job in the first place, he was more than ready to admit by now that he was ready to soil himself, had he not already done so twice.

For what seemed like the thousandth time that trip, he glanced over his wiry shoulder to observe the arrangement behind him. Most of the ship's command bridge was in shadow, as it's occupant was quite particular about light levels, so he could barely make out the outline of the throne and the person sitting in it. What little he could see, however, made him shudder - a large, heaped mass of something that lay about the footwell of the seat, catching what little light there was in periodic glints and sparkles and occasionally shifted with a dry rustling noise. Swallowing audibly, the Vulturite turned back to the screen, trying hard to look as though he hadn't lost track of his work and was just minding his own business.

Unfortunately, he tried too hard.

"What a beatifiul planet," came a silken purr, and the navigator's down feathers stood on end. "So much more colourful than home."

Too late did the Vulturite hear the scraping of scale on metal, and then something cold, dry and strong looped twice around his body and yanked him from his seat too fast for him to even cry out. Flailing madly for a moment in his panic, the navigator found himself drawn into the shadows towards the throne, then swung around to face the great window that made up an entire wall of the room and yawned outwards into space. His thin, dry eyes blinked once as he took in the view presented before him - a great orb of blue and green, frosted with swirls of white clouds and slowly growing larger within the window frame, filling the room with a dull glow.

Then he tensed as a claw, thin as a razor, drew itself along the side of his face. There was breath in his ear, and he winced at the icy chill of it.

"Tell me, navigator," came the voice. "What do they call this planet? Ee-yarth?" The syllables of the last word came thickly, as if they were too big for the mouth forming them, but that tiny detail did noting to reassure the navigator, who was now aware that everyone else in the room was watching him. Most likely they were as frightened as he was. Some colleagues.

The Vulturite gulped. "I... I believe it's pronounced 'Earth', your grace," he croaked, well aware of how dry the inside of his beak was.

A frustrated huff blew bast his ear. "Really? But it has an 'A' in it. Oh, well," hissed the speaker, shifting in her seat a little, "I shall just keep on calling it Ee-yarth anyway. Shan't I?"

"Y-y-yes, your grace." The navigator realised he was nodding furiously out of reflex, and managed to stop himself.

"And how much longer until we breach the atmosphere?" The claw had stopped at his neck. Not good...

"In ab-b-bout eleven Rels, your grace."

"Perfect."

And then there was a twist and a jerk, and the world span crazily for a brief moment before the unfortunate hand-for-hire impacted beak-first with his own console screen, squawking in pain as his body crumpled and slumped to the ground. Through vision blurred by his latest concussion, he espied a blue glint sliding back into the shadows, and reflexively scrabbled out of the prone position, head swimming with terror and possible brain damage as he returned to his station. Hunching over his screen, he heard a giggle from the corner of his ear, and grimaced.

"My dear," came the voice, low and dangerous. "Your unfortunate death shall soon be avenged. This Ee-yarth is soon about to have a new name..."

A scrape of claws on metal. A glint of fangs.

"Open buffet."

DIRKMAS 2013

COMING SOON...

Pitsgiving 2

"So yeah, I'm with my family right now, in Ireland. It's... bigger than I thought it was.

"Yeah, I've been supporting them with the money I make from my films and games and stuff, and this year they decided to spend it on a big Thanksgiving thing at this great hall somewhere. And it turns out angel families can get quite extensive. The tables are full of 'em right now.

"...Oh, you'll love them, I promise! Well, not so much my dad, he's kind of- pfffft, yeah, a stick-in-the-mud. But Mom's really nice and hospitable, Grandad Reggie's a laugh - and I've got like loads of aunts and uncles and nephews and cousins as well! Like my Great Uncle Kain, who's - no joke - about seven and a half feet tall and bends iron bars over his knee! Yeah, not joking!

"Well, it's pretty much turned into a great big piss-up now, all traditional Greco-Irish, if that's a thing. People are lounging around on cushions and eating with their fingers, but there's great big cups of mead and spit-roasted meat and- yeah, not Dad. Saddo's got a table by himself because Reggie got table manners confused with military drilling. Pffffft.

"...yeah, I know. I miss you too. Look, someday, I'm gonna save up all my pennies and book a flight to Gensokyo or something, and I'll come over and see you. Or heck, maybe I'll buy you a ticket so you can come over! You can say hi to the family and see all Manhattan's got to offer, and check out the Zoofights history. You'll love it, I promise."

And that's when a somewhat tipsy Dirk leans over and taps him upon the shoulder.

"Yo, bro," he hollers a little too loudly. "They're setting the disco up soon, and Godfather Rafferty's gonna give out presents!"

"...Disco?" Pit looks incredulous. "Nobody said anything about a-"

"Cousin Monroe made it~!"

"...Figures. Right, I'll be there soon."

Dirk turns and heads back, veering only slightly, as Pit sighs and turns back to his phone.

"Sorry, I need to go. The family's expecting me. Big dance-off of some kind, I need to make a speech of a sort... Yeah, lots to do.

 

"Love you too, Okuu. Byeee~"

And so, Pit clicks off his mobile phone, stows it into his pocket and walks back down the corridor towards the Great Hall, where a lot of drunken singing is being heard.

Bear Accessories - A Killer Instinct Song

So Maximillian recently posted a silly video where he sings about Chief Thunder's bear costume parts in the new Killer Instinct, to the tune of Bare Necessities from Disney's Jungle Book, and you can find it here. Anyway, after watching it, I suddenly started making up extra lyrics for it, and now suddenly this is here. So get playing the video linked below and prepare to sing along.

Look for the Bear Accessories,
The simple Bear Accessories.
Forget about that ninja and his knife.

I mean the Bear Accessories!
The bear is dead, but he agrees
That brings the Bear Accessories to life!

Wherever you're playing,
Chief Thunder's your main.
So use those two axes
To bring the pain!

You can't do damage from afar,
So get in close and let us spar.
And when you're stomping on noobs like ants
Then take a glance at the fancy pants
And maybe buy a few!

The Bear Accessories of life will come to you!
They'll come to you!

Look for the Bear Accessories,
The simple Bear Accessories.
Forget about that werewolf's shitty life.

You need the Bear Accessories,
So bust those combos out with ease
To bring the Bear Accessories to life!

Now when you drop a Triplax
Cause you stood over there,
And your face Orchid's fist smacks,
Well, next time, beware!

Don't pop your ultra when you jump in!
When you pop your ultra, do it from the spin!
But you don't need to use the spin
For the Call of the Earth, you can just jump in!

Have I given you a clue?
The Bear Accessories of life will come to you!
They'll come to you!

So just try to relax, yeah?
Cool it, fall apart in Thunder's yard.
Because if you're like Glacius, playing keepaway...
Uh-uh. You're trying too hard.

And don't spend your time in the Dojo
Just messing around.
Trying for combos that can't be found.

When you find out you look swag with them on,
And play along climbing ranks with them on,
I'll tell you something true:
The Bear Accessories of life will come to you!

Look for the Bear Accessories,
The simple Bear Accessories.
Forget about that ninja and his knife.

I mean the Bear Accessories!
The bear is dead, but he agrees
That brings the Bear Accessories to life!

That brings the Bear Accessories to life!
 

100 Post Special: SK's Cutting Room Floor 2013

So, this is it. RP for 2013 is finally over, and we're off into the golden age of next year. And the best way to enter next year, as always, is arse first with eyes drunken gazing back on the events that have passed. Pairings have formed, controversies were had and jokes were laughed at, but as always there are hidden secrets - things that were considered to occur in RP but never panned out, for one reason or another. And depending on the number of characters involved, the amount of unused stuff varies.

And so, in post-RP tradition, and also in celebration of this being my 100th post on this blog, I would like to present the Steel Komodo Season 3 Cutting Room Floor, full of ideas and stuff that never got used for one reason or another. Hey, it's not Monster Mash, but at least it's something!

1) Section Zero refers to a place in Rutledge where the worst mutants are kept. In pain, insane and dangerous to themselves and others, they're hidden away in padded cells until a cure can be found for their condition. Robbie actually came from Section Zero - his psychic powers are actually quite deadly, despite being a shadow of what the Observer could do, and his cell was specially designed to dampen them in case he went as crazy as the others did. How did Daniel and Carol get him out? He's the only one allowed out for a few hours every day, so he can have a walk and stuff. Also, they give him Sparkle, which is a kind of depressant that some residents began making out of the wild mushrooms that grow outside Rutledge. Sometimes they give it to Section Zero inmates to stop them braining themselves against their cell walls.

There was also a sequence planned where, via UTG or sifter or whatever, some guys would have visteted Rutledge, probably because Robbie got kidnapped. You'd have learned a bit about how things worked there, and met the priest guy and stuff. Also, there was going to be a parody of this song when the mutants of Section Zero tell the Kobbers to take Robbie and GTFO.

2) The guy who runs Rutledge is a priestly guy who is partly based on Gill from Street Fighter 3. He's hoping that, somehow, he can find a way to make the mutants he has in his asylum to rebuild society, which is why I mentioned the activities Carol and Daniel did. His power is twofold - with one hand, he can awaken dormant memories or implant knowledge in a person's mind, and with the other he can either delete meories or edit current ones to make people forget. That second power is the most dangerous one, and he knew it, so he always gave people the choice, when it came to it. He didn't want to risk doing something he'd regret, with powers like that.

And yes, that power was themed on the Truth vs. Ideals thing Reshiram and Zekrom had going on.

3) I was gonna showcase Crusoe's "true" form at some point, but the best I could do was make a shitty recolour of Bills from Battle of Gods. So I said "fuck it" and never used it, because with Daniel's appearance being based on fanart of Bardock we already had enough DBZ.

4) Three Fears that never turned up due to the change in setting where the Plague Doctor, an eccentric old spirit of disease and plague who cared more about alien biology than winning the Grand Game, the Grotesque, a living embodiment of nightmares that would have most likely attacked someone in their sleep in the form of a nightmarish carnival, and the Deep, the Father of Fears who is actually either Poseidon or Jormungand. There was going to be an amusing scene with him where he invited visitors for tea and scones.

There was also going to be an appearance by the Quiet, the Fear of Nothing that is fated to wipe out all life on Earth after the War of the Fears occurs. There was going to be an end-game sequence after defeating Slender Man, where the Quiet turns up and thanks the Kobbers for preventing what was basically Armageddon. But I was so tired after doing the final battle I just said "fuck it" and didn't bother.

5) Swain and Mr. Scars were going to have bigger roles, but that didn't pan out due to time constraints.

6) Originally, the Killer Instinct character was going to be Sabrewulf, searching for a cure to his lycanthropy. I had been looking forward to writing scenes with him interacting with Lyall, and he would have eventually acquired the cybernetic arms from KI2 at some point.

7) While not mentioned in the Mega Post, Firebrand and Persolus spent some time recuperating on the ZFS before returning to Earth. They were also waiting for the heat to die down after Gorr'Rylaehotep and Barghest got so soundly trounced - the Fears would have been mighty suspicious after that.

8) I was originally also going to have a go at the Red Cap, but if you looked her up you'll know why I didn't do it. I also felt it would have been trying too hard to recapture the essence Dirk pre-taming - there isn't much that can capture that particular spark.

9) Concerning Dirk's book plot, it was actually going to be longer. Richard Longshore would have sued Dirk for attempted libel, and it would have lead to a courtroom scene that would have properly cemented the centaur author as a dick and a money-hungry egotist - a kind of mirror-universe Dirk mixed with General Cleft. This was also an opportunity for Dirk to call him out (i.e. quote more Nostalgia Critic) and end the plot on a more desicive finale instead of the off-hand newspaper review I had to do.

10) "Barghest" was an extremely last-minute name for Black Dog's entry into the Halloween Brawl. I could have used the names given in those documents, but I wanted to be a bit more creative. Also, those documents on Fears (at least, Black Dog's and Slender Man's) were actually written a long time ago out of boredom - I didn't anticipate CW and Harpy would actively go looking them up.

11) On the subject of those documents, there was a heavily encoded .zip file in there labelled "HABIT". I'm kinda glad you guys didn't open that one.

Basically, it refers to the character of HABIT from EverymanHYRBID. In ZFRP, Habit would have been one of Slender Man's servants, but not a Proxy - he was a guy with serial killer tendancies possessed by a Jigsaw/Hannibal Lecter-ish demon thing. Collectively known as Habit, they were a wild card in the Collective, and what hints I would give in the files lead to the conclusion that they are either dead for some reason or missing. One certain thing was that he was exiled from the Collective for... some reason or other.

12) There was a sequence planned where the Monster Hunters would have faced of against Dire Miralis. Who is basically the Monster Hunter equivalent of Satan. Alatreon was gonna play a bigger role as well, but then Stan got tied too much to the Society and the plot.

13) The plot point about Rock suffering a memory overload from absorbing weapon data from living beings was gonna be bigger, but there were so many plot things on my hands right now that I didn't want to do it. Also, I was totally going to pull a "Babe the Sheep Pig" and have Rock ask Sine if it was okay for him to call her mom. But I didn't do it because... I didn't want to.

14) Jewel Man was the only Robot Master I was sure of sending up on the outset. Guts Man and Plug Man were the result of a lucky Random.org roll. On the subject of Jewel Man, I was going to defy the stereotype and make him just flamboyant but straight, using his girlish mannerisms to mess with people's heads. But then I lost some brain cells to cider and now he's a horrible characature.

15) There was a bit after Chaosplot where Stan idly mentions tasting copper. If you paid attention in school, you'd know that's one of the first symptoms of an impending heart attack. I was gonna put Stan in peril, for once, so Gemma could be the one saving the day, but then I completely forgot all about the plot. No excuses of tiredness or alcohol here, I just completely forgot it was going to be a thing.

16) Also, to clarify, Robbie is a future version of the Observer, rendered powerless and amnesiac by the Cleansing - the event where the Quiet wipes out life to stop the Fears from fucking everything up. By being exposed to Robbie, the Observer became aware of what was going to happen and the change in timeline that was to occur. He had a plan to pull a Starscream and gain Gorr'Rylaehotep's powers for himself, to try and prevent the War of the Fears, but of course that didn't pan out.

And so there you go. Stuff that didn't make it into ZFRP, or was pushed aside for something else. Hope you enjoyed reading this, and if not then you can simply chase the memories away with a stiff drink. Kind of like what I'm doing right now :U

Rebooting Primal Rage: A Thesis

Those of you regular Chatzygoers may have had to endure me gushing about the new Killer Instinct, the reboot of the 90's fighting game series that most people don't really remember. Reboots as a thing are becoming increasingly popular nowadays - seems there's a big market for nostalgia, and one could indeed argue that Mighty No. 9 (which broke it's funding target in 24 hours holy shit) could be considered a reboot of Mega Man, since Capcom have no interest in the property anymore. With this in mind, I'm going to conduct a thesis on rebooting an intellectual property, one that hasn't seen much action since the halcyon days of the 1990's and probably deserves, out of all the ones I could think of, to get the modern upgrade treatment.

That property, predictably, is a fighting game. And that fighting game is...

...Primal Rage.

What?!
Primal Rage is an arcade fighting game developed by Atari Games and released in 1994. In it, one controlled not human fighters, but giant dinosaur gods struggling for control of a post-apoaclyptic "Urth" after a meteorite strikes the planet and wipes out modern civilization. With the seven characters divided into the "Virtuous Beasts" and the "Destructive Dinos", each one features it's own selection of unique special moves, as well as three gruesome fatalities to perform on defeated opponents. Another notable feature was the troupe of worshippers that followed your dinosaurs about, and occasionally could be eaten to regain health.

Whilst many point to Mortal Kombat as the sole progenitor of the Violent Games Controversy of the 90's, they forget that Primal Rage also had a large hand in the cause of the outcry and it's results. The gore in the game was frankly ridiculous - characters lost gallons of blood with every hit, the life meter was a heart that exploded when you lost and the fatalities themselves were often borderline tasteless. It was Chaos' Golden Shower finisher, where he dissolved the enemy to bones with his acidic urine, that resulted in many of the console ports becoming heavily censored, as well as the formation of the ESRB. To this day, nobody has been able to perfectly emulate the original arcade experience, due to unusual copy protection that has yet to be cracked.

Why?
The thing about Primal Rage was that despite being a clone of Mortal Kombat, it really took off. Atari had high hopes for making a franchise out of the property and pushed it as hard as they could with hundreds of home console ports, a trading card game and even tie-in action figures, which to this day are highly-regared and extremely saught-after collector's items. And while it didn't exactly gain mainstream popularity, the fact that it managed to carve out such a niche on it's own merits is certainly impressive and a sign that an audience for a remake certainly exists.

However, it simply wasn't to last. In the end, Atari simply gave up on the property, as it was deemed unprofitable due to the controversy surrounding it. This resulted in the cancellation of an update that would have outfitted the game with Necrosan, a skeletal alien dragon and the intended final boss, and the sequel, which featured Killer Instinct-style visuals, a new character called Slashfang and human warriors that could transform into the animal gods from the previous game. While the sequel was adapted into a novel, it was clear that Primal Rage had been abandoned as a future franchise.

Also, Killer Instinct got rebooted. If that game can, so can this one.

How?
Rebooting something like Primal Rage is no small task, so we're going to have to get straight to the bone of the matter and talk about the game mechanics first of all. A lot of the game was created in a mad attempt to distance itself from it's inspirations, Mortal Kombat and Street Fighter, and as such the system is a bit of a mess that requires something of an overhaul. Let's begin, shall we?

• Special Moves: This was the major thing that kept Primal Rage down. The commands for the Special Moves often required more than one button, and instead of traditional SF or MK controls, one had to hold down the attack buttons before performing the joystick motion. While this was remedied in later versions, and also indirectly lead to the creation of Negative Edge (look it up), the fact one needed to press multiple buttons made combos hard to remember and too complicated. In the reboot, Special Moves shoul be performed Street Fighter style, with the properites of the move changing depending on what button is pressed.
• Combos: Combos, while quite fast, tended to suffer due to the wonky nature of the Special Moves affecting the timing of Links. At best, Sauron could only pull off a maximum of 8 hits per combo, and while that's a lot in those days you couldn't get away with it in today's high-octane fighting-game market, unless you're Netherrealm. The introduction of String Combos akin to MK9 or Tekken would solve this issue, as this would allow characters to perform bigger and better combos whilst still feeling similar to the original game. Links would remain in as well, of course.
• Returning Mechanics: Several mechanics from the original Primal Rage would be kept in for prosperity, and also because of their use in the game. The short hop would remain, as it was vital for pulling of combos that required use of jumping attacks, and the Stun Bar, represented by a brain in the original game, would remain as well. The return of the edible worshippers would have to be considered deeply, as that could afford players too many advantages by recovering health.
• Super Bar: Like Killer Instinct and MK9, Primal Rage would benefit from include some sort of super meter into the mechanics. Not only would this encourage a more agressive playstyle in order to build it, but it would add an extra layer to the game's complexity that the original game sorely lacked. What it would be used for, besides the obligatory super attack, I am not sure of. That would be for more talented people to decide.
• Fatalities: It wouldn't be Primal Rage without the Fatalities. And just as MK9 got creative with it's Fatalities, so should Primal Rage. Sauron doesn't just eat you, he tears out your throat, then pins you down and rips out your beating heart. Armadon doesn't just electrocute you, he zaps your arms off and then takes off your head with his tail club as well. Diablo should burn opponents down to the bone, Blizzard should pummel foes to a pulp. Of course, classic Fatalities could make a comeback if there is enough interest.

But the mechanics are nothing if one has boring characters, and Primal Rage's cast of beasts were indeed the main draw of the game. Just like Killer Instinct, a reboot of Primal Rage should consider refining the characters into designated roles and removing the more over-the-top moves to prevent them playing alike. New characters would have to be created to buff up the roster, but here's a brief summary of the how first playable eight should be redesigned and updated.

• Blizzard: Include bracelets and armlets with mystical runes, ice-covered hands and feet akin to Sub-Zero. Very balanced character, has a move for any situation and can implement it easily. Shouldn't excell at one thing.
• Armadon: Cover him in dirt and moss, as if he's been sleeping under the ground for aeons. Make his design smoother and less cluttered, but still recognizably bulky. A grappler who excells at close range, can use electricity as a weak projectile.
• Talon: If we have to give a badass animal like Talon feathers, then make them big and flashy. He should have the feel of a Native American chief about him. A fast, nippy rushdown character with lots of mixups. Possibly a wall jump?
• Sauron: Base him on a stockier dinosaur than Allosaurus, make him somewhat bloated to reflect his role as God of Hunger. A zoning character that uses his sonic scream and weight to keep opponents away from him.
• Diablo: Make him look demonic, all horns and spikes and horrid outgrowths. Glowy eyes are a must. Another zoning character, this time utilizing teleports and different projectiles to confuse enemies.
• Chaos: Dress him in typical voodoo attire - bone necklaces, etc. Another grappler who also uses various status effects to curse others or bless himself. Whilst he should remain filthy and disgusting, this should be toned down massively from the original game.
• Vertigo: A more alien design would suffice, based on HR Geiger's works - more sleek and unnerving. A mixup character who has various tools to keep enemies on their tones. Should bring to mind Quan Chi from MK9.
• Slashfang: A bipedal smilodon who was going to appear in Primal Rage 2, but never did. A bulkier rushdown than Talon, Slashfang should excell at shoving opponents about and basically being a massive bully.

That's all I got for now. This post may be updated with more info in the future, so keep an eye on it. I may also create in-depth documents of how the characters should work and what moves and Fatalities they should have, if people are interested enough. Until then, feel free to discuss this in the comments!

Non-Canon Silliness 2: Llamas with Hats

"Caaaaarl, what have you done now?"

"Whatever it was, you can't pin it on me."

"You just took down the entire Society, Carl!"

"That wasn't me, that- that was robot me."

"I watched you do it, Carl!"

"Robot me looks like me. It's like the Terminator."

"It was definitely the real you!"

"Wow, really? Then I have accomplished in ten minutes what the Kobbers are taking three whole months to do. I should get a medal."

"Carl, I watched you drop a Starburst nuke into the reactor!"

"Honest mistake, I thought that was a trash can."

"How- You pushed the Table into the resulting explosion!"

"They kept whining about me taking the Starbust nuke!"

"And then you doused the barracks with gasoline and left it to burn!"

"I was hungy, gimme a break! I like my superhumans well-done."

"Uh, Carl... What's that?"

"What's what?"

"That thing. There, on your back. What is it?"

"Would you believe me if I said... it's a papier machie modern art project?"

"Not this again, Carl!"

"Fine. It's that Stanley kid and his girlfriend."

"Caaaaaaarl!"

"They- they attacked me first! It was self-defense!"

"You know you're not allowed to kill couples!"

"Hey, I kicked plenty off that cruise ship last year. You're only just telling me this now?"

"They had a puppy, Carl!"

"Emphasis on had."

"Uuuh... Carl, shouldn't there be escape pods?"

"Hmm. you're right. Place looks empty without them."

"What did you do, Carl?"

"Probably shot them all down with that rocket launcher I found in the hold. And I loaded it with the puppies I found in the room with the cages."

"...Why does that not surprise me?"

"Well, when you're out of ammo- woah, that was a hand. Did I swallow an entire person again?"

"That would probably be that Lamont guy."

"No wonder I feel bloated."

"You are just- Why did I even consider bringing you along for this holiday?!"

"In my defence, I was planning for this before we even booked the tickets."

"I- I don't understand you, Carl!"

"Well, I have a penchant for violence and extreme sociopathy."

"...Oh."

"I don't get how you haven't figured me out by now."