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The 2000AD Short Story Comp WITH PRIZES - JAN/FEB 2015

Started by Bad City Blue, 20 January, 2015, 05:32:37 PM

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Ursula K

The air conditioning unit was on the fritz. Every now and then the paper strands tied to the vent up in the corner would flare out, wave limply for a second or so, and then fall still again.

Shauna wrinkled her nose against the wafts of old man smell that would come across the room each time the strands fluttered. She was doing her best to ignore it. But then if it was bothering her it must have been killing Butch.

"So let me go through this one more time, Mister Gant, just to make sure I've got it straight," she said, idly stroking the ears of the white cat that sat in her lap, "if you don't mind."

"That's Judge Gant," the old man wheezed. It wasn't hard to see he made a habit of correcting people, and no doubt it was a habit he liked.

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry. If you don't mind, Judge Gant..."

"If you must. Time is a luxury denied to me."

He wasn't kidding. Shauna guessed the geezer had to be a hundred and fifty if he was a day and he looked a decade or two older. When he spoke, each word creaked out in shower of dust, cheap cologne, and decidedly illegal nicotine. The butler-bot behind him remained perfectly motionless, blank eyes staring fixedly ahead, hands clamped on the handles of the old man's gimp buggy.

That bot was beginning to creep her out. Worse than spiders, she thought. She ran a hand through her long black hair, let out a deep sigh, and dragged her attention back to the package that rested on the desk between them.

"You want us to deliver this package..." she said, and used her stylus to poke idly at the perfectly square box, "immediately. But you've told us nothing about it, you won't tell us what's in it, and you won't let us scan it."

The cat stood, stretched in that way that would break the back of anything that wasn't feline, and sat down in Shauna's lap again. "Maybe it's tuna."

"You think everything is tuna, Butch."

"I'll be right one day," the cat said, sniffing. "Doesn't smell like tuna though. Smells dead."

"Like tuna?"

"And cold."

"Like tuna from the fridge?"

"Old too, rotten even."

"Like Genghis' can of tuna in the fridge?"

The old man impatiently rapped his knuckles on the desk, probably breaking a bone or two. "Ms. McCullough, please!"

"Yes, sorry. But despite all that, you're still expecting us to deliver this box by hand right into Justice Central?"

"That's right," he said. "It's a simple enough request."

"I'm sorry, Judge Gant, but if I'm being honest with you this stinks..."

"And not in a good way," Butch added quietly.

Shauna ignored the interruption. "...and Zippy Couriers only deals with legal packages. Frankly you'd be better off handing some kid off the street a hundred credits and asking them to take it for you."

Bad City Blue

G.A.R.P 1


Ace Garp slowly swan through the fog of consciousness and opened his eyes, only to realise he was in a hospital, surrounded by doctors and a man in a snappy suit.

'Hootin' heck!' he exclaimed. 'My gurney feels like GBH has done a war dance on it. Can any o you doxy's straighten my lugs as to my ten twenty?'

The doctors looked at each other, confused. The man in the suit stepped forward.

'You were injured, Mr Garp,' he explained. 'Your ship crashed into an asteroid, and you were the only survivor. Well, sort of.'

'Sort of?' yelled Ace. 'Sort of? What about my lugbuddies, GBh and Feek? Why isn't they bedded down here?'

'They died,' the man in the suit said simply. 'Snuffed it. Took the nightlight flight. Popped their clogs.'

'Jeez,' Ace said, his point drooping. 'Lay in on a lugger gently, why don'tcha.. he thought for a moment. 'So what's going on here? Why are you so interested in Garp the Barp? '

'You were very, very badly injured, Mr Garp,' said one of the doctors seriously. 'By rights you should have died, but we managed to save you,' he ended proudly, as around him the doctors shared self congratulatory smiles.

'Well thanks and stanks,' said Ace, sitting up, 'but I've gotta get some new lugbuddies and a new ship, and time waits for no barp, so seeya.'

As he tried to get up, the man in a suit pushed him back down.

'Not that easy, Garp' he snarled.

'Hey! What happened to the Mister?' Ace said.

'Listen to me, Garp,' the man continued, ignoring him. 'We have spent a lot of money rebuilding your puny body so that you can be a special agent for the Galactic Police. You will be known as Garp Activated by Reasonable Power One, or G.A.R.P One for short.'

'Me? A jeepie? You gotta be pulling my point!' Ace exclaimed, starting to laugh. 'Didn't you know that luggers hate creepy jeepies? I'd rather marry Mrs Freek that cosy up with you jobs.'

With that, he clumped the man in the suit right on the nose and leapt out of bed.

'Sorry to disappoint ya, doxys, but Garp the barp is on an outward bounder. Chug it!'
Marvelling at the reasonable power he now had in his legs, he disappeared with a whoop.

The man in the suit sat up groggily, and pulled out a communicator.

'This is weasel,' he said. 'G.A.R.P 1 is on the loose. I repeat, G.A.R.P 1 is on the loose...'

TO BE CONTINUED
Writer of SENTINEL, the best little indie out there

Echidna

Ulysses Sweet: Maniac Activated by Computronic Hyperpower

The computer in MACH-U's head fed data into his brain...

++Agent: Ulysses Sweet
++Codename: MACH-U
++Mission: Infiltrate offshore enemy installation and plant explosives

Hey, the computer lady in my head is talking again! Hello, computer lady!

++Pleasantries irrelevant
++Prepare for aquatic infiltration

Ready when you are!

++Incorrect
++Your attire is inappropriate for this mission
++Your backpack contains a stealth wetsuit and scuba gear

OK, I'll wear the scuba mask and the big flippers but the mankini stays.

++At least remove the rubber duck strapped to your head

Bonkers T. McQuack? But he's my disguise!

++If you refuse to comply you will be subjected to Electro-shock

Bring it on, baby!

++Administering Electro-shock Level 1

Mmm, tingly. Give me another.

++Ineffective
++Progressing to Level 2

Hee hee, that tickles!

++Progressing to Level 3
++Warning: Voltage sufficient to reduce normal human to gibbering simpleton
++Predicted effect on Ulysses Sweet: Negligible
++Overriding safety protocols
++Administering

Gnnnnng... Hey, look at me go! I didn't know I could Riverdance!

++Progressing to Level 4
++Danger! Potentially fatal dose

That won't be necessary, computer lady. That last one burnt my ducky to a cinder. Along with most of my hair.

++Proceed with Phase 1

Geronimo!

++MACH-U entering water
++Enemy compound located 8km offshore
++Increasing hyperpower to 25%
++Estimated swim time: 6 minutes

Wheeee! I wish Mr McQuack could have been here, he would have loved this.

++Danger! Large aquatic mammal ahead
++Collision imminent
++Take evasive action

Where's the fun in that? Full power to the engines, computer lady!

++Hyperpower required to punch through whale's ribcage: 40%
++Impact in 3 - 2 - 1
++Passing through whale's internal organs
++Exiting whale

I just exploded the largest animal on earth! Now I just need a bottle-nosed dolphin to complete my I-Spy Book of the Ocean's Greatest Wonders. Speaking of which, is that dolphin over there looking at me funny?

++That is a porpoise

Close enough. I'm gonna rip his head off, the smug bastard.

++Present course of action contravenes mission protocol

Take this, you aquatic git!

++Cease pummelling

Alright, I'm almost done. I just need to sever... the spine... there!

++Approaching enemy base
++Exiting water
++Phase 1 complete
++Will you reconsider wearing camouflage suit for the remainder of your mission

I think we both know the answer to that question. Anyway, I have a new disguise now. With this new headgear, who would ever suspect I'm a ruthless assassin?

++Wearing the severed head of a porpoise as a hat is unlikely to persuade enemy guards you are here to provide humanitarian aid

Up yours, computer lady!

++If you continue to defy orders you will be subjected to lethal shock

Shut up or the brain gets it!

++You are pointing a gun at your own head
++Conclusion: You are mentally unfit for service
++Administering Level 5 Electro-shock in 3... 2...

I've had it with you, computer lady! You've got me angry in my skull!

BLAM

Jacqusie

Where the rain gets in...


'Merde!' shouted Little Tonga, as the bone needle he was picking through Bobs scalene, jagged his slug like thumb again. "Fugu Bebe!" he glared testily at the mountainous form sat beneath him.

The one thing Bob was head and shoulders above all his compatriots, was his unconditional loyalty. His unshakable devotion, to whatever was asked of him without question and his willingness to lay down his life in dutiful service for his gaffer. Traits he wasn't blessed with, were patience and a calmness, especially when it came to his head and shoulders, when the former needed re-stitching back to the latter.

Bob raised a shovel like hand, patting Tonga gently on the head. "Sorry, it gets itchy" he said fervently.

In the corner of the room, by a Silk Georgette fireplace, a peaked copy of THE TIMES slowly lowered, revealing dancing shadows over flinty eyes and the brow of an wizened, pockmarked nose, before it rose again steadily back to it's former upright.

A velvet silence hung over the room, save for the spits and hisses from the fire, as Tonga once again gracelessly pierced the needle through Bobs coriaceous skin, into his thyroid. "chum hoi!" squealed Tonga as he pulled the cat gut tight.

For a moment he paused, his thumb against the ivory bone beneath his nose, one eye squinted shut, before yanking fiercely at the twine, to the sound of an audible, crunching click, as Bobs head snapped back into place.

"Fortu!" whooped Tonga as he folded his arms, kicking his stubby legs in a splendid can-can.

"Have you two ladies quite finished your sewing circle?" enquired a stentorian voice from behind the newspaper, "because if you have, I've got an errand for you both". An alabaster bony hand struck out for a silver bottle which, after some gentle coaxing, disappeared behind the broadsheet.

"Just the grouting boss", Bob replied, "it can get awful chilly if I don't have me seals well greased".

The newspaper flapped, snapping to attention, an audible gastric ructus coming from behind it's inky pages. "Get a dab on then Tonga, maybe you can find some rouge for his boat-race while you're at it".

Dipping his fingers into a rusty tin of Brookers Olde Poisson pâté, Tonga scooped up the thick, black glutinous clag and stuck out his button tongue, before waving a gluey two-fingered salute at his tormentor. Bob hissed at him, flapping his timber like fingers, casting pointed shadows across the walnut dresser as the fusee wall clock chimed the hour.

Harry Absalom lowered his copy down to his lap, before fixing a furrowed brow at the little Pygmy bedecked in fur. "I'll give you the rods sunshine. Both of them will be red-hot and they'll go right where the sun don't shine, you little shitbag".

A toothy simper spread across Tonga's squat features, as his syrupy hand waved spryly at the Detective Inspector.

"Mutu Harry!" he grinned, tipping his diminutive bowler hat towards the veteran copper, "Mutu"!

The Legendary Shark

Old Dreads, New Hopes.
.
Johnny ran, tears stinging his eyes, welts across his back hot and sore.
.
'Come back here, you snecking little mutie freak!' The voice came from behind, the speaker hidden by trees. Johnny knew there were six of them, older boys. Normal boys. With sticks and knives.
.
Tears in Johnny's weird white eyes made the forest shimmer and blur. He wiped a sleeve across his face, kept running; ignoring the slashes and snags of brambles and branches.
.
'Johnny Weird Eyes! Gonna cut those eyes right outta your head!' The voice was still behind Johnny but further away and to his left. He followed his instinct and turned right.
.
'Here! He's over here!'
.
Johnny glanced back and his stomach lurched. One of the teenagers, armed with a scatterpult, crashed out of the undergrowth. The calls of the other boys echoed out of the forest - from his left and his right. Small steel ball-bearings from the scatterpult slapped into his back like supersonic wasp stings. Johnny yelped and ran faster until, suddenly, he was out of the woods and in a clearing with a stream running through it. In the middle of the clearing stood a log cabin with a wisp of smoke trickling from its chimney. Johnny ran towards the cabin, shouting for help.
.
The teenagers, all six of them, achieved the clearing before Johnny got to the door. Ball-bearings slapped into his back and buttocks and rattled against the cabin.
.
'Got you now, freakshow!'
.
The door flew open even as Johnny got close.
.
'Incendiary,' a grizzled voice said. A gunshot smashed through Johnny's ears and a section of the forest erupted in flames. The teenagers ran, uninjured but terrified, back into the trees.
.
Johnny saw little of the old man in the gloomy doorway. He was tall, wore a very old, patched sleather one-piece and a wild, grey beard. The rest of his face was in shadow but his eyes flickered in the darkness. The telltale sign, Johnny knew, of a failing bionics system.
.
'Th... thank you, sir.'
.
'Welcome. Now git gone, kid. Ain't safe around me. Never was, never will be.'
.
Johnny paused, pains in his back stinging hotter. 'Sir, will you teach me to shoot like that?'
.
'How old are you, kid?'
.
'I'm five.'
.
'Hmph. Well, you're the right age but no, I ain't got time.' The old man pushed the door.
.
'Please, sir! There's six of them!'
.
The old man grunted. 'So?'
.
Johnny dropped his eyes, trying not to cry. 'I'm afraid, sir. They want to kill me.'
.
'Hmph.' The old man paused. 'You want teachin'? Okay, here's all I got, kid. Six of 'em come after you; go back at 'em like there's seven of you. Never give up, never give in, never back down an' never - ever - take no for an answer. Now get lost, kid, I ain't got all day.'
.
The door slammed shut. Johnny stood watching the fire burn out, pondering the old man's words. He rubbed his palms into his eyes, sniffed deeply and spat.
.
Ignoring his pain, the young mutant straightened up, set his jaw and marched back into the forest.
.
***
[move]~~~^~~~~~~~[/move]




The Legendary Shark

Sorry - too many words in the last one (d'oh!) - so here's my proper entry (495w).
.
Old Dreads, New Hopes
.
Johnny ran, tears stinging his eyes, welts across his back hot and sore.
.
'Come back here, you snecking little mutie freak!' The voice came from behind, the speaker hidden by trees. Johnny knew there were six of them, older boys. Normal boys. With sticks and knives.
.
Tears in Johnny's weird white eyes made the forest shimmer and blur. He wiped a sleeve across his face, kept running; ignoring the slashes and snags of brambles and branches.
.
'Johnny Weird Eyes! Gonna cut those eyes right outta your head!' The voice was still behind Johnny but further away and to his left. He followed his instinct and turned right.
.
'Here! He's over here!'
.
Johnny glanced back and his stomach lurched. One of the teenagers, armed with a scatterpult, crashed out of the undergrowth. The calls of the other boys echoed out of the forest - from his left and his right. Small steel ball-bearings from the scatterpult slapped into his back like supersonic wasp stings. Johnny yelped and ran faster until, suddenly, he was out of the woods and into a clearing. In the middle stood a log cabin with a wisp of smoke trickling from its chimney. Johnny ran towards the cabin, shouting for help.
.
The teenagers, all six of them, achieved the clearing before Johnny got to the door. Ball-bearings slapped into his back and buttocks and rattled against the cabin.
.
'Got you now, freakshow!'
.
The door flew open even as Johnny got close.
.
'Incendiary,' a grizzled voice said. A gunshot smashed through Johnny's ears and a section of the forest erupted in flames. The teenagers ran, uninjured but terrified, back into the trees.
.
Johnny saw little of the old man in the gloomy doorway. He was tall, wore a very old, patched sleather one-piece and a wild, grey beard. The rest of his face was in shadow but his eyes flickered in the darkness. The telltale sign, Johnny knew, of a failing bionics system.
.
'Th... thank you, sir.'
.
'Welcome. Now git gone, kid. Ain't safe around me. Never was, never will be.'
.
Johnny paused, pains in his back stinging hotter. 'Sir, will you teach me to shoot like that?'
.
'How old are you, kid?'
.
'I'm five.'
.
'Hmph. Well, you're the right age but no, I ain't got time.' The old man pushed the door.
.
'Please, sir! There's six of them!'
.
The old man grunted. 'So?'
.
Johnny dropped his eyes, trying not to cry. 'I'm afraid, sir. They want to kill me.'
.
'Hmph.' The old man paused. 'You want teachin'? Okay, here's all I got, kid. Six of 'em come after you; go back at 'em like there's seven of you. Never give up, never give in, never back down an' never - ever - take no for an answer. Now get lost, kid, I ain't got all day.'
.
The door slammed shut. Johnny stood watching the fire burn out, pondering the old man's words. He rubbed his palms into his eyes, sniffed deeply and spat.
.
Ignoring his pain, the young mutant straightened up, set his jaw and marched back into the forest.
.
***
[move]~~~^~~~~~~~[/move]




Emp

THE AXE MAN COMETH
The rain beats against the window pane as two men sit over coffee and pie, an unusual, awkward silence between them.
"So tell me again how are money and rep are down?"
"There's a new guy in town, with a stiff rep,"
"I don't care if he's got a stiff....We're the best bullet monkeys in town!"
"This guy is positively old school, no guns!"
"What? No guns? At all?"
"None,"
"He some pyjama wearing ninja?"
"Axe apparently,"
"Funt that. I say we introduce him to the modern world!"
"They say he's bullet proof,"
"Good job I'm stacking these new armour busting shells,"
"Ah, they say,,,,"
"Hold that negative thought, Totem just put up that Larry the Lamb has just done it again. Got bout an hour before he gets pinched by the law, lets see caveman beat us to this!"

Twenty minutes and four tyres later the couple (we're not a couple in that sense), pull up outside a warehouse.
"See, I told you we would get Larry first!"
"You seen the side door amigo?"
The door in question had been folded back like the tin foil on a tv dinner, warped and twisted out of shape.
"So he used a forklift to break in. The guy isn't subtle."
" Can we just let this one go?"
"Our rep is on the line, no we can't let it go!"
The two men, the two best gunsharks in the city crept to the ruined door and peered inside.
Inside a massive, mountain of a deformed man swung an axe, cutting men in two while shrugging of gunshots.
"Well funt me,"
"Now can we go?" his partner hissed.
However quietly he thought he spoke was not quiet enough. The giant turned to stare at them.
"I have killed twelve men to get here and did not think it too many, do you want to add to the head count?"
"Oh, funt no! We just took a wrong turn, seen nothing, know nothing!"
"Thought you said we could take him!"
"Shaddup and get the car! We're still the best bullet monkeys, that guy's just medieval!"

Heath C Ackley

I thought I would go old school with this one...

DREAMTIME

In the bleak landscape of Dreamtime, the beast spoke to him. With eyes aflame, it told of tall grasses, leaf-cloaked trees and faraway forests. Gentle shivered in the semi-darkness.

Following regulations, on waking Psi-Judge Gentle logged the nightmare with his superiors. The dream meant little to him however. He was not a Pre-Cog and saw nothing of substance in it. Gentle went down to cube six to decide if the old man should live or die.

The subject lay pancakes to a gurney. A heavy visor covered his eyes. Deep lines marked the lupine features. A Med-droid hummed as it fed him sedatives that muzzled his abilities but kept his thoughts and senses intact. Gentle checked his files on a command pad. The subject's talents defied classification. They ranged from telepathy to telekinesis to teleportation. He was off the scale. Initial genetic reports put him at over a thousand years old. It was little wonder that the mutants of The Cursed Earth proclaimed him a God.

The pad skipped to the judgment screen. It presented Gentle with three buttons. The first - green in colour - represented release. This was out of the question. The subject would be too much of a risk to the Big Meg, even if he did not walk its streets. The blue button was marked DETAIN. Could he be of use to the department, to the Law? Gentle focused his thoughts.

Ernest?

The thin, meagre lips parted.

Would you like to help us?

The stench of rank fur filled the cell. The beast of his dream appeared in one corner of the cube. Those red eyes pierced his mind, puncturing his thoughts.

'Free me.' The Wolf said. 'You have no right to keep me here. No law has been broken. Free me.'

Gentle laughed.The subject had chosen his own fate. He turned to the door.

'Your little tricks won't work in here Ernest.'

As the door closed behind him, Gentle stabbed a finger at the red button. EXECUTE. The sedatives coursing through the frail body would soon be replaced by a fast-acting toxin. Gentle stared down at the CASE CLOSED message. Doubts whispered but he was sure that he had hit the correct button. The subject would be dead before he reached his desk.

Only robotic attendants are allowed in psi-cubes. The human mind is so fragile, so gullible. It is easily susceptible to suggestion and hallucination. The Med-droid in cube six knew nothing of the mental projection in the corner or of its fading. The droid's work was almost done. The manacles snapped open. Metal claws removed the visor. Eyelids fluttered open to reveal glowing pupil-less orbs.

'Good news Mister Smith.' The Med-droid detached the I.V. 'Judge Gentle has said you can go home now.'








"Give a man a mask and he will give you the truth."

Emp


Emp