SHORT STORY VOTING THREAD WITH PRIZES!!!!

[Bad City Blue]

Wotcher creeps, geeks and freaks,

I've been a little busy lately, but that didn't stop the rest of you delivering some scrotnig short stories based on the lesser characters of Thargs Mighty organ (fnaaaar).

So the usual drill is in order: Pick three, list them in order and sit back with a satisfied smirk on your pimply face.

the WINNER will get a 2000AD Graphic Novel, as will one RANDOM VOTER. Thanks as ever to the lazy arsed driods at Rebellion for sorting this and encouraging upcoming talent.

That's enough of me - over to the entries...

BCB

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BOLT 01

Kid Knee- The morning after.

The first thing that I notice, even before the smell, is the pain. It is always there and nothing shifts it. Even the blinding headache from the hangover I'm waking up to is just an extra notch in symphony of agony I live with.

But the smell is pretty bad so I decide to open my eyes and find out where on the station I am.

The glorious blue sky above me can only mean one thing- I'm not actually on the station any more. Which means I must've blacked out- which means- I don't know where I am.

Last I remember is Butch telling me he wanted me to hand over my blaster- collateral on my tab... and that was about half nine Doghouse time so assuming this is the following day I must be on Earth? But the smell? What is that?

I'm on a bench, looks to be about mid-morning and... Sunday, it's Sunday. I've still got my ID, so it's not the worst situation I've been in but I've not got my comm... what did I do with that?

I need a drink. Take the edge off this pain. And what the hell is that smell?

I don't recognise anything around me, so did I come here on my own? How? Was I with Maginty? I remember talking to him at one point- he was mooching drinks off some newbies...

Okay, I'm getting nowhere here. I need a drink and I think I might be about to be sick- this smell is making me feel even worse. For me being sick is a bit of a big deal- my plumbing is all messed up, comes from having my head on my right leg.

When I stand up the full horror of my headache sets in- I'm staggering up the path to the mall and why am I wet..? Oh, no- I've pissed myself. Which means I've got last nights beer piss dribbling down my leg towards my head. That's something norms don't have to deal with- sneckers. And that'll be the smell. Ah sneck...

Nothing I can do about it now- need to get back to the Doghouse, find a comm and get a drink- really don't care which comes first now.

The headache is really bad this morning- Dr Bob told me it was going to be getting worse, when she wasn't trying to lecture me about the drink, but she's got no idea how bad it really is. After all no-one else has got arthritis in their skull...

The mall is shut- Sunday- but I thought these places were all seven days a week opening- what time 'is' it?

Okay- I'm going back to my bench and get my head up for a bit- when this place opens I'll be able to get back, but I just wish I could remember where I was...

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TIMOTHY

Thought for the Day with Bishop Desmond Snodgrass


You know, although Grud is all around us every day, too often he is not where he should be in our lives. The name of Grud seems to be in our every curse and oath, but we are all called to serve him with our hearts, our minds and above all our creds. It saddens me that while the mouths of the foulest citizens are full of Grud's name, his church is often empty and unable to fund the humblest of research trips for its senior clergy.

It was with this in mind that some months ago I approached one of our judicial representatives with a simple suggestion of a modest tax on those who take Grud's name in vain. I had expected more empathy and less flippancy from a senior Psi Judge, but her response - "Grud on a greenie" - set me thinking. Although she was dismissive I saw that this was no Cassandra, no prophet of doom, but rather a sign from Grud himself. Surely the people of this forsaken city were crying out for something with which to wipe up their greenies, and who better than the church to aid them in their need.

So I am pleased to announce an exciting new range of holy handkerchiefs which will be on sale in the church gift shop before, after, during or even instead of any of our services. These are quality mock-silk sheets tastefully emblazoned with the face of Grud and the words "bless you" in a variety of colours. They really are something special and each one has been personally folded by one of Grud's children so you can be sure of the church's wholehearted approval of every sneeze.

Of course the modern church is nothing if not inclusive, so for those who can't afford such luxuries we are also offering a range of tissues. Ideal for those on welfare who nonetheless want to help Grud's kingdom. They are available in man-size 4 ply, or Snork-size 8 ply for the grander conk. Because we can all play our part in Grud's plan, and with your help each atishoo in the city can trumpet his glory.

There were some naysayers in the focus group who felt that these products might be put to a more earthly purpose, and more than one of my brothers-in-Grud has felt uncomfortable about these holy products being used to mop up naughty spendings. Yet does Grud not bless the work of human hands? And is the coming of Grud not devoutly to be wished? With a holy product such as this sordid guilt can be a thing of the past.

So please, do your part to support Grud's work in this city, and treat yourself to a selection of handkerchiefs and tissues today. Just think, every tickle nose could be a cred closer to our fundraising goal and a step closer to my tour of the mega-cities of the world.

May Grud bless you, and all of your discharges.

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BRIAN COCCORAN

Bad Boys...

The cry from a waking Sand-screech marked the first rays of the rising sun breaking the jagged horizon. It was colder here than homeworld, but the mork generated enough body heat through his saddle to keep the edge off as it thundered along the desert floor. He was thinking about his mate as his fur stirred pleasantly in the wind, but he was aroused from his reverie by the familiar frosty aches of age in the joints on his bare arms.

His blaster bounced in its holster on his hip. It felt good. A fine weight to it, even the slight gravity difference here did little more than make the gun feel more powerful, more 'definite'. A good weapon. Passed on to him by his brood-father, and his father before him.

Now he had taken the gun and his loyal boys to this new world. It had seemed a good place to keep a low profile for a while, far enough off the main track to not attract too much attention, and with plenty of rich pickings to be had. He liked it here. The atmosphere wasn't too different from home, smelled a bit strange, that's all. The light though, the light was different, more...blue. Played havoc with distance vision. It had meant a small change in tactics. Now they hit hard, hit fast, ambushed their targets where possible, and got out long before reinforcements could arrive.  Seemed to be working ok so far.  He and the boys had a lot of valuables stored all over, ready for transport off-planet.

Only downside was the food. The meat was good alright, there was plenty of it, and easy to catch too. Just maybe too easy. He and his boys liked a long hunt, to work up an appetite. These beasts are too easy to catch, no fight in them. There's no satisfaction in it, he thought, but he reckoned it was a small price to pay for such a succesful venture.

These last few days though, he'd come to realise the time was coming when they'd have to move on. Soon the authorities would seek outside help, someone tougher than these local farmers-turned-deputies.  Someone who knew how to shoot, and who wasn't dropping their droppings at the first sight of him and his boys coming at them, guns blazing. He hadn't gotten this far in life by not knowing when to move on from a good thing.

Just these two more jobs then, and he would put it to the boys that it was time to find a new place to hunt.

The day was brightening quickly as the Esmeralda supply caravan slowly came into view from the canyon below. As he and his boys crested the ridge on their morks, and began their charge down the steep hill towards the wagons, Bubo ran his tongue over the points of his fangs. He was hungry. He'd have to remember to keep one alive for afterwards.

"Ride, boys! ZAP THE SAPS!"

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NAPALMKEV

All Of This

A Visitor! In this most blighted of places, come sit, rest here awhile. You are not put off by my appearance? Good, there is much I would speak of and it is rare that someone chances by. In fact you would be the first in what?... 10,000 years? Maybe more, it's hard to keep track... my last visitor was the most curious thing, pink and fluffy with a nose like an Anteater. It appeared right in front of me, I tried to say hello but it ran screaming into the forest... My Forest! All of it!...

Oh, you're still here? Forgive me, my mind wanders. I try to forget the pain but without distractions... well, you can imagine. So tell me, why are you here? You can't be hoping to confront Him, surely? It doesn't pay to get on his bad side as you can plainly see... When everyone else returned to Earth, I remained! Murderers, Rapists, Genocidal Dictators! Every dark and twisted individual that had ever lived... and yet I remain here! An eternity of pain and torment just for playing my part in his Grand Plan... someone had to betray him so that he could make the ultimate sacrifice! For the salvation of those who are ultimately beyond help and redemption... Mindless apes... CATTLE!...

My apologies, I did it again. No don't go, you must understand what you are dealing with if you traverse any further. Vengeance can last forever in these parts... and it can be a bitter and painful affair... as you can see. And besides, I don't want you traipsing through my forest... It's twisted beauty stretching far into the beyond. Elegant and brutal all at once! And it's all mine! All of this... For just thirty pieces of Silver!

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[Bad City Blue]

HEATH C ACKLEY

The Sorrow In The Stars

He could hear them. They knew he could hear them. Barron had hard-wired Marko's audio sensors so that the pilot would always hear what they were doing. The intimate, organic sounds of their coupling shamed him. He was their unwilling voyeur. Beneath the metal and circuits, his heart and mind were still active, still raw.

'It's just a matter of patience.'Cora had once said as they waited for the intrusion-link to produce the combination to a max vault. 'All hell and shit might be coming down around you but you've got to keep cool and take the time to get it right.'

Forty years had passed since Marko and his lover had been caught stealing a ship.To exploit his piloting skills, the authorities had integrated his mind into the system of a patrol cruiser. Fate was to punish him further. Poisonous memories stung the encased pulp of his brain. The target had been a smuggler's freighter. Marko used his cannons with deadly precision. Cora had been the freighter pilot. The sound of her last breath haunted his systems.

Sickened by consequences and sorrow, Marko felt that regret and hate were all that remained of his human self.

A crescendo of voices came from the living quarters. They were done and would soon be asleep. Marko stared out of the view screen. The beauty of the velvet void and the coloured stars meant little to him. His sensors were fixed on the white burning disc of Vuvouna.

The authorities had sold the cruiser as redundant stock. The sale did not retire or free Marko. How could it? His body had been harvested for organs decades ago. He had been sold along with the ship, like a damned optional extra. Barron and his moxian whore had bought the cruiser and started a lousy haulage business in the ass-pit of the galaxy.

'The worst thing is Barron - ' Marko whispered static. ' - is that you remind me of what I used to be.'

It had taken years. Through endless hours of silently exploring the parameters of the ship's mainframe, Marko discovered a back-door. He reached cautiously with his mind, disabling alarms and signals in miniscule increments. As Barron went about his shit-heeled business, a revolution was going on beneath that metallic hide. Piece by piece, byte by byte, Marko gained control of the ship.

Marko set course and speed. The engines silently pushed the cruiser on towards the sun. The panel before him flashed red. He had disabled the alarms but promised himself to switch them back on once they were close. It would not be fair to let Barron and Adrixa sleep through such a wondrous experience. The steel carcass would ensure that he would be the last to die. The light of Vuvouna filled the cockpit.

Laughter buzzed through his communicator. It was a glorious day - the end of sorrow, the end of suffering.

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EAMONN CLARKE

The Interview

"First of all I'd like to thank you for giving me this interview."

"Not at all. Just happy to spread the word again."

"Perhaps I could begin by asking how long you have been here?

"In publishing limbo? Well, since the merger I guess. That was 1979, so it's 38 years now."

"Goodness, that long? You don't appear to have aged a day."

"Those are the rules, Super-heroes never age. Not unless some hot-shot, maverick writer wants to write an 'Old man's dark knight returns to his kingdom come' epic. And even then all we get is a mustache and some grey hair at the temples."

"You look great though, love the costume, especially the cape."

"Looks good doesn't it, but just wait until the publishers want a photo-shoot on the roof and the damned wind tries to turn you into a human kite. I did think it might make a good title for my memoirs though. Something like 'The Great E's Cape.' Pretty catchy, eh?"

"You mentioned the merger, I wondered what were your memories of it, did the bosses warn you what was coming?"

"No, the suits said nothing, but we could all see where things were headed. And you can't fool the readers. Doesn't matter if you write 'Great news for all readers inside', everybody knows that just means great stories being dumped and your comic's assets being raided like the city fighting over a dying business."

"What about the role of editor, were you ever in contention for the position?"

"Oh, I was in contention all right, but they'd already sent one alien super-being back off into space. I guess they thought that if they did it again they might be accused of being alienist or something. So old Thargie got the gig, and I was out in the cold with nothing, and I found myself here, twiddling my thumbs with the likes of Misty and Ghastly McNasty."

"Did you resent the Mighty One for carrying on without you?"

""No, I've got no hard feelings against his mightiness. He's done a good job, even if two of his biggest hits have been characters I gave him."

"So, Mr ..."

"Don't say that. All sorts of copyright issues, and it sounds very corny."

"Sorry, Mr Big. What's next for you?"

"I want a story, not just a one off in a summer special or an annual, I want something ongoing, something modern, a story that redefines the genre. With a really good writer, maybe Grant Morrison could do it. He brought back the Red Bee for Grud's sake."

"It's comeback time then?"

"Yes, I'm back and ready to carry a series on these super shoulders. And I want a cover drawn by one of the masters, Bolland or Gibbons. They owe me that at the very least."

"Well, it's been an absolute pleasure chatting to you, sir. I will pass on your comments to the doctors, sorry, the management. Now I think it's time for that injection."

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NAPALM KEV

Late Night Phone In

With a Gun in one hand and a phone in the other, he weighed his options.

"It's everywhere! Don't you see? It's everywhere and it eats. And eats, and EATS AND EATSAND-

"And I'm afraid we'll have to cut you off and hope that you get yourself some help. Let's take another call - What's your name and what's on your mind?"

Name! Not his real one that's for certain. He looked towards his muted TV for inspiration and saw 'Only Fools and Horses', Boom!

"Uh, Hello.. my name's um, Rodney. Yeah, that'll do. Rodney. And the thing is I need to get something of my chest."

"Talk away, Rodney. What's your bother?"

He paused. The Guy's tone, he didn't like it.

"Well, you see..." - Gun in one hand phone in the other - "...I've been Horrible! In the most offensive and inappropriate ways. An all round Bastard! But recently... something's happened."

"Go on, Rod; get it off your chest."

"Yeah, right then." -  Condescending Prick - "I was beating some bloke the other day, different Football team and such, and I had what you might call an "Epiffipy!"

"Do you mean an 'Epiphany', Rod?"

"That's what I said!" - Is he taking the piss? - "Anyhow, I was beating him and I realised to myself that this had been my whole life. Hurting people just because they were different. They didn't think the same things that I did so they got a Slap, you know?... This guy, I had him off the ground, by his throat so to speak, and he was struggling to talk. I loosened up a bit just to hear what he had to say, thought it might be a laugh." - Gun in one hand - "He's spluttering, coughing blood and he says 'My son! He's only little, I have to find him!' -Gun- "I dropped the Guy and legged it..."

"Go on, Rod."

"Yeah." - That's better. A more sombre, respectful tone. But in the end does it really matter? - "As soon as the Match finished we charged outside and waited for the Away fans to exit... Then we rushed them, No quarter given. Thing is they weren't like us, seasoned thugs waving a banner for 'Her Maj', They were families and proper fans, as I've now come to understand, through the News and what have you, the Guy I was choking... his son..." -The decision is made - "I knew then, none of my Bullshit ever mattered. In fact, my Bullshit was not only a waste of my life but also a waste of that Poor FUCKING CHI-

"And I'm afraid we'll have to cut you off and hope that you get yourself some help. Let's take another call - What's your name and what's on your mind?"

Gun.

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THE LEGENDARY SHARK

The Mission

There is no greater responsibility than serving Justice Department. This is what I tell the judges under my command every day. They scoff. They scoff because they think our Department is irrelevant. They scoff because they think what we do is irrelevant. They scoff because they think I am irrelevant.

They are wrong and in the weeks and months ahead I will prove this to them without a shadow of doubt.

I enter the office more poised than usual, shoulders back, chest out, a Dreddish set to my jaw. I've spent extra time oiling my sleathers, polishing my boots and buffing my badge. The other judges notice.

"Who got you ready?" Judge Snyder's lip curls, the insolence in her eyes flashing like green razors.

"He's either getting a commendation or a rocket," Judge Snere says through a gurgling chuckle.

Judge Cilious opens his mouth to add one of his passively aggressive observations but I raise my hand in an imperious manner, a manner I've been practising for ages, and cut him off.

"That's enough," I say, and the steel in my voice surprises all three of them. If I'm honest, and I am, it surprises even me. "Today marks the end of this Division being treated like a joke."

Snere laughs but the sound is uncertain. The other two judges feign mild interest.

"I have been given a mission," I say, "a mission of of vital importance to the future of Mega City One which will put our Division on the map once and for all."

"Rubbish," Snyder waves a dismissive hand. "You said the same thing last month and that was about nothing but changing our helmet polish supplier."

I grind my teeth, forcing myself to remain calm. "Be that as it may, I depart for Texas City within the hour to join Judge Dredd."

The silence is gratifying. For the first time in, well, ever, they are impressed. I can't suppress a small grin of triumph. If only I could inspire such respect all the time this Division would run a lot more smoothly and engender a lot more respect.

I nod. "Good. Right. Snyder, I'm putting you in charge until I get back."

She scowls. "Oh, come on – why me?"

I sigh. The respect didn't last long. "Because I...  Look, just do as you're told, okay?"

She puffs out her cheeks and folds her arms, slumping back in her chair like a petulant juve but says nothing.

"Good. Right. I'm going now. You know your jobs so just get on with them while I'm away and be on your best behaviour because with me on this important mission the eyes of the whole of Justice Department will be on you. Don't let me down."

"Oh, sling your hook, Winslow," Snere says under his breath.

My teeth grind but I don't rise to the bait. Once we've found the Judge Child, nobody will ever speak to me like that again...

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And that's yer lovely lot - VOTE NOW or be a grexnuix

[Eamonn Clarke]

1. Bolt-01
2. The Legendary Shark
3. Brian Coccoran

good work, guys

[Brian Corcoran]

1) Eamonn Clarke 'The Interview'
2) The Legendary Shark 'The Mission'
3) Bolt 01 'Kid Knee - The Morning After'

Well done all!

[Lobo Baggins]

1) Bolt 01

2) Brian Corcoran

3) Eamonn Clarke

Nice one, everyone!

[Albion]

1.  Eamonn Clarke
2.  Timothy
3.  Bolt01

[Bolt-01]

1. Eamonn.
2. The Legendary Shark.
3. Napalm Kev.

[Heath C Ackley]

Great entries this month. Well done all!

1 Bolt 01
2 Eamonn
3 Timothy

[Timothy]

1. Legendary Shark.
2. Eamonn Clarke.
3. Bolt -01.

A good bunch. Thanks, all.

[Echidna]

1st: The Legendary Shark
2nd: Bolt-01
3rd: Heath C Ackley

Really enjoyed reading them all.

[NapalmKev]

1. Timothy

2. Bolt-01

3. Eamonn Clarke


Great stuff!

Cheers

[Bad City Blue]

Oh man there's a few crackers in there.

1 - Timothy, "Thought For The Day" - very funny, original and well written

2 - Eamonn Clarke, "The Interview" - made me laugh, poor old Big E (could have wrung another laugh out of the fact Gibbons played him I thought)

3 - The Legendary Shark, "The Mission" - Wonderful stuff, great reveal at the end.

HM - Don't usually give em, but I really enjoyed Brian Coccoran's "Bad Boys...", a similar feel to Sharky's one, being as it is a preview to an established story.

Voting CLOSES Monday, so spread the word

[Andy Lambert]

1st: Eamonn Clarke - The Interview
2nd: Bolt 01 'Kid Knee - The Morning After
3rd: The Legendary Shark - The Mission

Best of luck, guys!

[The Legendary Shark]

1 - Kid Knee- The morning after -  Bolt-01
2 - Thought for the Day with Bishop Desmond Snodgrass
- Timothy
3 - The IntervieweE - Eamonn Clarke

Great stuff, everyone!

[james newell]

1 Bolt-01
2 Brian Coccoran
2 The Legendary Shark