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Topics - Alski

Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 6
1
Greetings, thrill seekers.

Mutants... the poor relations of good, decent humans. Uppity freaks with their daft names, usually a bad pun on their particular grotesque mutation (I mean, "Kid Knee"? Seriously?).

At least they're good for one thing: writing stories about.

Yeah, we dragged in some of the top norm scriptwriters to pen a short tale about some of the losers in life's genetic lottery. Good for a laugh, we thought - it's not like they can sue us.

So here they are in all their glory. please vote for your TOP THREE in order, and the most popular will win a 2000AD Ancient History Textbook. Just to encourage you lazy snekkers to vote, one of the voters will be picked at random to also win a coveted 2000AD Ancient History Textbook (I think they use to call the "Graphic Novels", sneck knows why).

Go for it, and may the best Norms win.

Harvey (Guest comp host)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

miffy

“The Mutaint”

“Sand, sand, sand—and more sand.”

She then strode off across the dead lake and he waddled and clacked after her.

“Wait for me,” he said and was surprised when she did.

“We’d best check our weapons before we get there,” she said, wiping her goggles clean with a sleeve. “Sand is getting everywhere.”

He released the magazine from his blaster, hit it against his head, and re-loaded it. He looked up at her and waggled his eyebrows. “Don’t worry—my gun’s ship-shape and Bristol fashion.”

She flinched, adjusted the bandolier that ran across her third breast, and strode off once more, heading for the giant, rusting carcass of a crashed freighter on the horizon.

“Wait, wait,” he shouted and was again surprised when she did. Then, once he’d hobbled up to her, he said, simply, “I’m sorry.”

She cleaned her goggles again and said, “Apology accepted.” Then: “And I’m sorry I didn’t land closer. I didn’t think. How’re your feet?”

“Oh, they’d bleed if they had a blood flow.” He rocked back onto the heels of his twisted, skeleton feet. “But we’re nearly there now. Job’s nearly done.”

“Let’s get on with it,” she said and they set off again. Across the red sand, the setting sun threw long shadows towards them from the freighter. “The quarry’s in there.”

He pulled out a small computer and tapped its screen. “Howie Ramsden: The Mutaint—wanted dead or alive”

“Why do you think he does it?”

“Does what—kill people or pretend to be a mutant?”

“Both.” Pause. “But, well, why would a norm pretend to be a mutant? If he knew what it was really like, he’d… not wear that mask.”

He scrolled his finger down the screen. “His parents run a mutel in Milton Keynes. Maybe he feels guilty about the way we’re ripped off in places like that? Or, uhm, he’s a rich kid who fancied slumming it?”

“Norm guilt?”

“Exactly: he fancied trying out someone else’s chip on his shoulder, which he can just hand back when he’s done playing with it.”

“Or he’s a neo-Kreelmanist who wants to stir up trouble by killing norms while disguised as a mutant?”

“Or he’s just a psycho?”

“Yes, let’s not over-think the quarry.”

“Quite.” He scrolled through the Mutaint’s charge sheet and rechecked his blaster, nervously, once he’d finished. “He’s not going to surrender. He’s a—”

“Psycho?”

“Exactly.”

She unslung her rifle as they neared tailfin debris from the freighter. “I hope he’s not wearing the mask.”

“Oh?”

“I’d rather shoot who he is rather than who he isn’t.”

He nodded and checked his blaster again as he peered into a dark tear in the hull. “Usual wager—lunch for the killing shot?”

“Of course.”

“Beef marrow sumsum for me,” he said, tapping his toes on the ground. “And for you, if you get the Mutaint?”

“Baps,” she said, smiling, and disappeared inside the freighter.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



Eamonn 1961

“Barfly”

The bar was empty and Billings relaxed as he walked through the door. No need to watch his back in here.

"What can I get you?" asked the barmaid.

"Saturn ale and a shot of Black. Quiet night?"

"Won't get busy until the off-world transport gets here tomorrow."

A transport that was likely to be carrying bounty hunters. He would need to be gone by the time they arrived. Still, no reason why he couldn't have a little fun tonight.

"Anyone ever tell you that you have lovely eyes?" he asked.

"Yeah, but not usually guys on their first drink of the night," she replied with a smile.

Pretty nice smile too, thought Billings. "Have a drink with me?"

"Well as it's quiet I'll have a small Janx spirit. Thank you."

As she poured her drink the bar door opened and a man wearing a wide brimmed hat and dark glasses walked in.

"Beer" he said as he took a seat in a booth.

Billings watched closely in the bar mirror as the barmaid served the newcomer a beer and walked back to the bar.

"I'm Anansi. Thanks for the drink." She held out her hand.

"Name's Kelso. Nice to meet you." Her hand felt cool to the touch. This was looking very promising, if he could just keep an eye on that guy in the booth.

"So what brings you to Zamora, Kelso?"

"I'm on ... "
What was his cover story again? The man in the booth had removed his hat but still wore the glasses. What was he hiding?

"I'm on business. I sell skimmer parts." Time for a bit more of that legendary Billings charm,
"That's a very pretty broach you're wearing."

"Thank you, Kelso. And when you're not selling? What do you do for fun?"

Billings wiped sweat from his forehead. Why couldn't he think clearly?

"Fun? I don't know. Err... do you get many mutants in here?"

"Mutants? Not many. They bother you?"

"No bother at all. Not when they're dead. That's what I call fun. Robbing and killing those weird looking scum. That's why they call me Kelso 'the killing' Billings."

Why was he telling her this?

"Mutant killer. I guess that must make you a wanted man?"

"I'm wanted for multiple counts of murder. I'm guilty as hell and there's a 100,000 credit bounty on my head."
He couldn't stop himself, the words were just tumbling out.

"I think that should be enough," Anansi smiled and touched a button on her broach. The letters SD swam before Billings' eyes as she clicked the cuffs onto his wrists.

"You've been messing with my mind. You're one of them, but you look so ... so normal?"

Her eyes flashed red, "That's right, creep. Some of us are just different on the inside. And that means it’s last orders for you."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Lobo Baggins

“Too Many Stixes”

The Doghouse Docking Bay, sometime during 'The Killing'

Across the bay, the door of the shuttle hummed open and a ramp descended to the ground.  She grabbed hold of the railing and leaned over the gantry to get a better view, wondering if it was anyone she knew arriving.

A familiar shape stepped out of the shadows.  He wore his idiosyncratic old brown rad-duster and a wide brimmed hat.  He had shoulder-length, almost colourless hair and his unmoving, perpetually scowling face looked like old, weather-beaten leather.  But his eyes… they were the worst.  Even under the shade of his hat, and from right across the shuttle bay, she could feel the intensity of his icy black stare.  Once, years ago now, she’d been drinking in the Kennel when he’d come in.  She’d made some sarcastic remark about this newcomer’s vaguely ridiculous hat.  The usually rowdy room, occupied by professional killers and bounty hunters, had fallen abruptly silent.  People had quietly backed away from her – even Boris and Jackobaglai.  The man with the dead black eyes hadn’t said a word; he’d just looked at her.  She’d met his gaze and hadn’t been able to look away.  She’d never frozen like that before or since, and despite the thirteen macmacs she’d consumed she’d suddenly felt the most sober she’d been in her life.  Only the arrival of a very drunken Middenface McNulty in the bar had broken the spell.  He’d swept off in a moody silence and she’d been left shaking, literally shaking, by the encounter.  The others in the bar had been impressed; he’d killed people for much less.  Sometimes he killed people for no reason at all.  That was Stix and he wasn’t someone you wanted to annoy.  She apparently held the record for out-staring him.  The endless eye contact had lasted all of three seconds.  But she’d heard that Stix was dead…

She realised she’d been holding her breath and made a conscious effort to breathe normally.  Stix, or his look-a-like or whatever it was, glared round the docking bay at nothing in particular and glided slowly down the stairs.  ‘You’ve got to be snecking kidding!’ she breathed as another, identical figure appeared from the shadows and glared around the docking bay at nothing in particular before gliding down the stairs.  The two figures met at the bottom of the stairway and strode away in eerie unison towards the gravity lock that led to the main briefing hall.  Her mind raced.  Stix had died on a time job, hadn’t he?  Yes, it had been that messy one that had got Slabhead and Big Cynthia chucked out of the Agency.  Maybe Stix had been somehow temporally duplicated or something.  Or maybe he split in two whenever you killed him.  Her eyes widened at the thought.

‘Vhot is beink dis?’ barked Boris, ‘Boris is thinkink dat hafink Stix lookink-likes convention is beink ver bad idea.  Two Stixes is beink too many Stixes by at least two.’

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



Alski

“Freaks!”

In The orbiting Doghouse space station, Harvey was not pleased.

“Listen up, freaks – one of you scummy stronts has been nosing through my stuff again, and a very personal item has been stolen. You got 24 hours to put it back or I start to give all the best bounties to the worst hunters.”

“Like who?” shouted Knee High Neville. “I'm pretty bad. Ain't had a bounty in six months.”

“That ain't fair!” shouted Jimmy no neck. “You ain't got no right to do that, Harvey!”

“I got the right to do whatever I damn well want!” shouted Harvey. “As the only norm is this stinkin' place I am your snecking king, and don't you forget it. Hell, maybe I'll just give all the best bounties to Alpha – at least he'll get the job done.”

At the back of the room, Johnny Alpha said nothing. Around him things just got worse. If there was anything most bounty hunters hated more than a failure it was a stone cold success. His partner Wulf (who was also a norm but Harvey liked to conveniently forget this) was not so stoic.

“Hah!” he said “Der voorms are jealous enough of you already, old cucumber. This will just be causing trouble.”

“That's Harvey all over,” agreed Alpha. “Why on earth they put such an anti mutant loser in charge of this place is beyond me.”

“Ach! Is probably der joke. Somehow Wulf does not find it at all amusing.”

“You and me both, big fella,” agreed Alpha. “I think we might be wise to give him a little hand finding whatever it is, though. There's no money in fighting amongst ourselves, right?”

“You are right, Johnny veerd eyes,” Wulf agreed. “Time for der happy stick to crack a few skulls.” With this, he happily hefted his fearsome weapon.

“Maybe they'll just give whatever it is back anyway after this commotion.” suggested Alpha.

“Ja! Unt maybe the pigs, they will fly” snorted Wulf as they moved away from the crowd.



Within thirteen hours, thanks to a well placed threat from Johnny and Wulf, the item was back in Harvey's quarters. It hadn't been hard to track down Slimer Smith, a man who was as slippery and sneaky as his name (and mutation) suggested. Apparently, Harvey had been on his case so he had decided to pinch something as a small act of rebellion.

After installing new security on his door, Harvey allowed himself to relax. The job was too stressful some days, but at least he had his item back. He sat in his favourite chair and examined it: it was a metal rod with a sort of clamp on one end, allowing something to be grabbed between velveteen teeth, with the shaft itself a curiously curved beast with a neat hand grip at one end. Removing his trousers, Harvey allowed his prehensile tail to swing free, then used the tail groomer to massage and scratch it, which was sheer bliss. He knew all the freaks wondered why he had got the job, but he hoped they never found out, because who better to keep all the freaks under control than a freak...

2
General / Posting character limit heLp please!
« on: 03 May, 2014, 03:40:58 PM »
Hi


Trying to put the short story comp voting thread on, but such is the multitude of stories I am over the 20000 character limit

Any way to circumvent this?

Chrz

3
General / One Week To Win A 2000AD Graphic Novel!
« on: 22 April, 2014, 12:26:56 PM »
http://forums.2000adonline.com/index.php/topic,40184.0.html

have a bash at our short story comp, only 500 words.

"Tales From The Doghouse".

Thanks for reading, and the more entries the merrier

4
General / Why did "Inferno" Finish so badly?
« on: 16 March, 2014, 01:25:36 AM »
Standard question...

It was a good strip, we had the intrigue, the mystery antagonist, and THEN...

The bad guy won, and was never unmasked.


5
Books & Comics / "Starlight" - Mark Millar
« on: 15 March, 2014, 01:28:32 PM »
just read issue~1 of this, and I really love it so far.

An Air Force Captain goes through a wormhole, visits another planet, saves said planet from evil tyrant (very Flash Gordon), declines offer of ruling with sexy alien queen to go back through the wormhole and be with his wife.

thing is, no one believes him, so he retires and lives out his life with his family.

We join him many years later after his wife has died and his sons grown up. A kid in a grocery store asks if the aliens "put a probe up Uranus" - he's used to this.

the alien stuff is done in brief flashbacks, it's all aboy the now, and the end really makes you want to see what happens next. Goran Parlov's art suits the whole thing perfectly with a clear, minimalist style.

yeah, Millar has his haters, but he can sure come up with some good ideas.

6
General / March/April Short Story Comp - Win a 2000AD Graphic Novel
« on: 05 March, 2014, 11:23:09 AM »
(Can someone sticky this, please)

I was personally very impressed with the quality of the last comp, so it's time for another one.

The winning entry will receive a 2000AD Graphic Novel, as will one lucky voter, courtesy of the lovely droids in the Nerve Centre.

Your topic for a story of no more than 500 words is... (drumroll)...

TALES FROM THE DOGHOUSE

Remember those quirky little stronty dog stories we got when they killed Johnny Alpha off (It'll never last)?

EVERYONE knows Johnny Alpha, but what about all those other Stronts?

Where's THEIR stories?

Right here, my friends, in 500 words or less, by the end of April.

Have fun, be creative, win stuff.

Alski

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

7
General / JAN/FEB SHORT STORY COMP - RESULTS & GN WINNERS!
« on: 03 March, 2014, 02:32:12 PM »
A nice comp with some great stories, hopefully we can build on this and get the comp going strong again.

In Reverse Order...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

3RD PLACE

the Amazing, Talented, Devastatingly Handsome and Magnificently Modest...

ALSKI

We Can Rebuild Him

Roger both hated and loved channel 25874. In every City Block it was reserved for the Citi Def forces, and in Stan Lee Block Citi Def was a very serious business.

“Stan Lee Citi Def Needs YOU!” bellowed the voice over, as images of heroic citizens scrolled across the screen. Hand to hand combat, ludicrously powerful weapons, glamorous uniforms… Stan Lee Citi Def had it all, and Roger wanted a part of it, if only it were possible.

Roger, you see, was a wimp. There really is no other way to describe him, because where other people had muscles, Roger had none, where they had a six pack, Roger had a nice cup of tea. He was five foot two, wore the sort of glasses Juves just loved to steal off of him (before putting them on and going “Whoa!!! How bad’s yer eyes, wimp?”), and lived with his mother. The only job he’d ever got was a practise dummy for the Jessica Fletcher Block Eldsters Self Defence Class. He couldn’t keep it, though, as he couldn’t even stand up when the padding had been put on him.

But today was going to be different. Roger knew in his heart that his big break was coming, and this was to be the day when he walked into the Citi Def recruitment office and wasn’t laughed right back out again, all thanks to Dr Einstein.

Roger knocked tentatively on the door, which was almost immediately opened by Dr Einstein, who looked every inch the mad scientist.
“Are you alone?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Roger. “Just like you asked.”
“And no one knows you are here?”
“No. You said you have enemies, right?”
“Oh yes,” conformed Dr Einstsin, a manic glint in his eyes. “If the Jays find out what I am doing they will take me away and force me to work for them. Come in, please.”

Roger entered the apartment and did a double take. Everywhere there was scientific equipment, from bubbling beakers to a large, lighting generator, like something out of the old 2d vids his Ma liked to watch.

“On the table, please, quick smart,” ordered Dr Einstein. “Time waits for no man, and neither does Citi Def glory, eh?”
“Um…” said Roger, eying the very large needle the doctor was now holding. “this IS safe, isn’t it? I mean, you will make me into a, um…”
“Super soldier.”
“Yes, a super soldier. It won’t, well… it won’t hurt much, will it?”
“Tch!” Exclaimed Dr Einstein. “Just a little prick, is all, then when you wake up it will be all muscles and things like that. You will be a captain of Citi Def, they will call you Captain Stan Lee or somesuch. Now hurry, no time to waste!”

Five minutes later, it was all over. Dr Einstein had injected Roger Stevenson with his “Super Serum”, in reality an invention of his own that killed the brain stone dead whilst preserving the internal organs perfectly. Thanking Grud for gullible idiots, he took out his scalpel and got to work, for as the saying goes: “Be careful in Mega City, or your stupidity just might cost you an arm and a leg (and a kidney, and your eyes, and a liver, heart and probably testicles as well).


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2ND PLACE

The Wonderfully Witty and Devastatingly Dark...

EAMONN 1961

The Girl from 14B

We are a tight unit, the Monty James Citi-Def. Not like those drokkers from Sue Hill block. We had the right training, the right kit, and we have a code. We’re the good guys who did the right thing, and didn't go in for the petty squabbles that wrecked other units on chaos day.

The Hall of Justice gave us just one Jay and one cadet. We worked through the block floor by floor and on each level the Judge read the riot act, or the warning to the furious as old Miller called it. Then we started our sweep: terminating the sick, testing the healthy, and tipping the bodies over the balconies into the catch nets. It was rough.

We were on level 27 and Judge Straub had stopped us for a 5 minute break. I heard Miller call out “Hey, Miss. You shouldn't be out here”.
I turned around and saw a young girl of about 12 wearing pyjamas. The hallway was filled with blood, smoke and broken glass. It was not a safe place for a child to be wandering around barefoot. Miller moved towards her with his hands open and empty. As he stepped in front of me I lost sight of her.

Miller stopped, “Huh! Where did she go?” The corridor was empty again. We checked the corners and the stairwells but found nothing. Straub pulled us back on track, “Can’t waste time looking for one child. We've got a job to do.”

Two floors up and she was there again, standing and pointing silently upwards. Straub waved his gun and told her to stay where she was, but then the light must have tricked me or some smoke covered her because she just faded from view.

It was on level 30 that we finally tracked her down. She was standing outside the door to 14B, and for the first and only time she spoke, “He’s behind the door and knows you are coming. He’s so angry.”

And then she was gone again. The Jay spoke briefly to his cadet and they used a shaped charge which hurled the door back into the apartment. Straub was fast but the red eye was still a handful, the cornered ones always were. I managed to grab the guy from behind and then the Cadet finished the job with a single shot..

Amidst the wreckage were the signs that a happy family had once lived here. We found the wife in one bedroom, and in the other the little girl. The crazed red eye had killed them both.

“That’s her.” I said. Straub reckoned we were just confusing one child with another but all the MJs knew the truth.

We still see her from time to time. A glimpse in the corner of an eye, a fleeting reflection in a window. She doesn't mean us any harm, in fact she’s a sort of mascot now, but not one that we like to talk about.


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AND THE WINNER IS, BY A VERITABLE LANDSLIDE!

Sexy! Saucy! Seriously Splendiferous!

It's............

SMIFFY!!!

The Carousel

(Set during the Apocalypse war)

“The last bullet?”

“Yes,” he said.

“But you said you’d save that for me,” she replied. “Big romantic gesture, remember, sir?”

“I know but—”

“—but we’ve a job to do, right?”

“Right.” He had tried to kill her a week earlier but now the former shuggy hall waitress in the Richard Widmark Citi-Def helmet was the only person he knew who was still alive. He patted his pockets for more bullets even though there weren’t any there before looking through the sight of his rifle.

“I used to batglide from here when I was a girl, sir. Bad crosswind over there, above the pedway. And I’d land in the playground next to the Bedford Square parkarama”—she zoomed her scope in, focussing a mile and a half down—“where those Sovs are.”

“Four Sovs, one bullet—who gets it?”

“The one on the left—the tall one—the one who’s standing right where I used to stand, sir, when I was waiting for my daddy to collect me after I’d landed.”

“So this is personal, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Consider it done.”

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Try not to blow his brains out over the carousel. Juves’ll never play there again if there’s been brains on the carousel.”

“Are you serious?”

“Never been more serious, sir. That’s why I joined Citi-Def—to protect the city.”

“One moment. My eyes are tired.” He rubbed his eyes with his palms. He’d only joined Sidney Poitier Citi-Def because he liked holozines featuring women with big bazookas. But to be confronted by real women with big bazookas when his platoon stormed the foyer of Widmark was a different matter—it was all a blur—screams, explosions, the wet, slapping sound that half of his corporal made as he landed next to him, the churning in his stomach and the dryness in his throat when he realised that he was the only one who retreated when he gave the order, the stench like rotten Munce when he skidded on someone’s spilt intestines—and what made it worse was that he couldn’t remember why they’d attacked in the first place.

“And,” she went on, “I know the cavalry aren’t coming—we’ve not seen a Judge in two days—but we can’t give up; not now, not ever. It’s our city down there. Citi-Def’s all that left, sir. We clear the playground first, then—” She shrugged. “We have to hold out until the Texans or Brits get here—and they will, trust me, because we’d do the same for them.”

“We’re fighting a war with one bullet between us.”

“I know, sir.”

He looked back through the sights. “Call the shot.”

“Wind speed: eight knots. Distance: 2,657 yards. High humidity. Aim high and to the left. No, farther to the left.”

“We run for cover as soon as I fire”.

She nodded.

He pulled the trigger.

He was running before the Sov fell but she waited to check that there was no blood on the carousel.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Brilliant stuff all round, and the Smiffster wins a 2000AD Graphic Novel for his trouble and talent, which will be sent from Rebellion HQ. (PM me your details please)

he can ALSO pick a theme for the next comp, so go for it matey, the more entry friendly the better!

PLUS - one lucky voter ALSO gets a GN, and the random draw picked....

AMINES2058

Please PM me your details and I will pass them on.


Thanks to all for entering and voting, long may it continue.

 :D

8
Books & Comics / Free 2000AD Graphic Novel
« on: 26 February, 2014, 02:54:36 PM »
For one person who votes in this month's short story comp.

Please give it a go, there's some great stuff there.

http://forums.2000adonline.com/index.php/topic,40150.0.html

9
PLEASE LIST YOUR TOP 3 STORIES!

ONE lucky voter will receive a 2000AD Graphic novel, courtesy of the nice people at Rebellion. The winning script droid will win one as well.

So here goes... The title this month was "TALES FROM CITI DEF:"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

eamonn 1961

The Girl from 14B

We are a tight unit, the Monty James Citi-Def. Not like those drokkers from Sue Hill block. We had the right training, the right kit, and we have a code. We’re the good guys who did the right thing, and didn't go in for the petty squabbles that wrecked other units on chaos day.

The Hall of Justice gave us just one Jay and one cadet. We worked through the block floor by floor and on each level the Judge read the riot act, or the warning to the furious as old Miller called it. Then we started our sweep: terminating the sick, testing the healthy, and tipping the bodies over the balconies into the catch nets. It was rough.

We were on level 27 and Judge Straub had stopped us for a 5 minute break. I heard Miller call out “Hey, Miss. You shouldn't be out here”.
I turned around and saw a young girl of about 12 wearing pyjamas. The hallway was filled with blood, smoke and broken glass. It was not a safe place for a child to be wandering around barefoot. Miller moved towards her with his hands open and empty. As he stepped in front of me I lost sight of her.

Miller stopped, “Huh! Where did she go?” The corridor was empty again. We checked the corners and the stairwells but found nothing. Straub pulled us back on track, “Can’t waste time looking for one child. We've got a job to do.”

Two floors up and she was there again, standing and pointing silently upwards. Straub waved his gun and told her to stay where she was, but then the light must have tricked me or some smoke covered her because she just faded from view.

It was on level 30 that we finally tracked her down. She was standing outside the door to 14B, and for the first and only time she spoke, “He’s behind the door and knows you are coming. He’s so angry.”

And then she was gone again. The Jay spoke briefly to his cadet and they used a shaped charge which hurled the door back into the apartment. Straub was fast but the red eye was still a handful, the cornered ones always were. I managed to grab the guy from behind and then the Cadet finished the job with a single shot..

Amidst the wreckage were the signs that a happy family had once lived here. We found the wife in one bedroom, and in the other the little girl. The crazed red eye had killed them both.

“That’s her.” I said. Straub reckoned we were just confusing one child with another but all the MJs knew the truth.

We still see her from time to time. A glimpse in the corner of an eye, a fleeting reflection in a window. She doesn't mean us any harm, in fact she’s a sort of mascot now, but not one that we like to talk about.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alski

We Can Rebuild Him

Roger both hated and loved channel 25874. In every City Block it was reserved for the Citi Def forces, and in Stan Lee Block Citi Def was a very serious business.

“Stan Lee Citi Def Needs YOU!” bellowed the voice over, as images of heroic citizens scrolled across the screen. Hand to hand combat, ludicrously powerful weapons, glamorous uniforms… Stan Lee Citi Def had it all, and Roger wanted a part of it, if only it were possible.

Roger, you see, was a wimp. There really is no other way to describe him, because where other people had muscles, Roger had none, where they had a six pack, Roger had a nice cup of tea. He was five foot two, wore the sort of glasses Juves just loved to steal off of him (before putting them on and going “Whoa!!! How bad’s yer eyes, wimp?”), and lived with his mother. The only job he’d ever got was a practise dummy for the Jessica Fletcher Block Eldsters Self Defence Class. He couldn’t keep it, though, as he couldn’t even stand up when the padding had been put on him.

But today was going to be different. Roger knew in his heart that his big break was coming, and this was to be the day when he walked into the Citi Def recruitment office and wasn’t laughed right back out again, all thanks to Dr Einstein.

Roger knocked tentatively on the door, which was almost immediately opened by Dr Einstein, who looked every inch the mad scientist.
“Are you alone?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Roger. “Just like you asked.”
“And no one knows you are here?”
“No. You said you have enemies, right?”
“Oh yes,” conformed Dr Einstsin, a manic glint in his eyes. “If the Jays find out what I am doing they will take me away and force me to work for them. Come in, please.”

Roger entered the apartment and did a double take. Everywhere there was scientific equipment, from bubbling beakers to a large, lighting generator, like something out of the old 2d vids his Ma liked to watch.

“On the table, please, quick smart,” ordered Dr Einstein. “Time waits for no man, and neither does Citi Def glory, eh?”
“Um…” said Roger, eying the very large needle the doctor was now holding. “this IS safe, isn’t it? I mean, you will make me into a, um…”
“Super soldier.”
“Yes, a super soldier. It won’t, well… it won’t hurt much, will it?”
“Tch!” Exclaimed Dr Einstein. “Just a little prick, is all, then when you wake up it will be all muscles and things like that. You will be a captain of Citi Def, they will call you Captain Stan Lee or somesuch. Now hurry, no time to waste!”

Five minutes later, it was all over. Dr Einstein had injected Roger Stevenson with his “Super Serum”, in reality an invention of his own that killed the brain stone dead whilst preserving the internal organs perfectly. Thanking Grud for gullible idiots, he took out his scalpel and got to work, for as the saying goes: “Be careful in Mega City, or your stupidity just might cost you an arm and a leg (and a kidney, and your eyes, and a liver, heart and probably testicles as well).

--------------------------------------------------------------

Bolt 01

The Wall.

Tradition, commitment, responsibility. All of these were in Grey Scuffles mind when he arrived at the block departure gate. Fifteen minutes to prep before the latest shift. At least the sun was shining.

The light from the recently repaired windows showed the ruined skyline of Mega-City One stretching from horizon to horizon. In the distance the eastern wall was the only thing protecting this sector from the pounding of the Black Atlantic. Since Chaos day Grey and his team were all that stood between the polluted filth outside the wall and the festering remains of the sector inside. It was getting pretty difficult to determine which would suffer the most pollution if the wall broke.

The Citi-def of Noah Vosen were old hands at maintaining the city wall in this sector. They had first been called upon in the aftermath of the Apocalypse war, back when Ralph Wojniak was chief. The entire unit had rebuilt, repaired and generally maintained a two mile stretch ever since. They had even gotten a commendation from Chief Judge Silver just two weeks before the Necropolis kicked off.

The main kit Grey was going to need today was the Moc-syn Crete web-spray and spreader. The spreader was still half blocked from the last time it was used, but it would be another two shifts before the contract droid from Moc-syn extrusions arrived to service it. “It would have to do,” as Grey’s father was fond of saying.

It was his father’s wish that Grey take up a spot in the Citi-Def, forever removing Grey from the preferred option of Munce washer down at the local processing plant. The plant was the largest employer in the tri-block area, with 6 humans on staff covering shifts lasting all of 3 hours a month. It was a well regarded and highly sought after position, but Dad had other plans.

Grey first saw action in the second robot war, and was actually there to bear witness when the Judges stormed the block plaza. That was a long day, the citi-def lost almost a third of their total man-power in that one day. The wall suffered for month after till the new block tenants arrived and replenished their strength.

The servo lift up to the wall repair crawler was out again, so Grey had to climb the fifteen flights up to the wall section closest to the latest leaks, luckily the crete-spreader was mobile enough to be able to make its own way. These days, Grey didn’t have the man-power left to carry the gear.

From out here on the wall, with the sun shining in the haze over the polluted wastes of the Black Atlantic, the city almost looked normal, the towers of the inner sectors shone brightly with potential. Even dear old Noah Vosen looked good from here.

Time to get started- the wall won’t look after itself after all. Grey Scuffle turned and activated the spreader. The loneliest Citi-def in the sector, only twelve hours till shift change...

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Smiffy

The Carousel

(Set during the Apocalypse war)

“The last bullet?”

“Yes,” he said.

“But you said you’d save that for me,” she replied. “Big romantic gesture, remember, sir?”

“I know but—”

“—but we’ve a job to do, right?”

“Right.” He had tried to kill her a week earlier but now the former shuggy hall waitress in the Richard Widmark Citi-Def helmet was the only person he knew who was still alive. He patted his pockets for more bullets even though there weren’t any there before looking through the sight of his rifle.

“I used to batglide from here when I was a girl, sir. Bad crosswind over there, above the pedway. And I’d land in the playground next to the Bedford Square parkarama”—she zoomed her scope in, focussing a mile and a half down—“where those Sovs are.”

“Four Sovs, one bullet—who gets it?”

“The one on the left—the tall one—the one who’s standing right where I used to stand, sir, when I was waiting for my daddy to collect me after I’d landed.”

“So this is personal, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Consider it done.”

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Try not to blow his brains out over the carousel. Juves’ll never play there again if there’s been brains on the carousel.”

“Are you serious?”

“Never been more serious, sir. That’s why I joined Citi-Def—to protect the city.”

“One moment. My eyes are tired.” He rubbed his eyes with his palms. He’d only joined Sidney Poitier Citi-Def because he liked holozines featuring women with big bazookas. But to be confronted by real women with big bazookas when his platoon stormed the foyer of Widmark was a different matter—it was all a blur—screams, explosions, the wet, slapping sound that half of his corporal made as he landed next to him, the churning in his stomach and the dryness in his throat when he realised that he was the only one who retreated when he gave the order, the stench like rotten Munce when he skidded on someone’s spilt intestines—and what made it worse was that he couldn’t remember why they’d attacked in the first place.

“And,” she went on, “I know the cavalry aren’t coming—we’ve not seen a Judge in two days—but we can’t give up; not now, not ever. It’s our city down there. Citi-Def’s all that left, sir. We clear the playground first, then—” She shrugged. “We have to hold out until the Texans or Brits get here—and they will, trust me, because we’d do the same for them.”

“We’re fighting a war with one bullet between us.”

“I know, sir.”

He looked back through the sights. “Call the shot.”

“Wind speed: eight knots. Distance: 2,657 yards. High humidity. Aim high and to the left. No, farther to the left.”

“We run for cover as soon as I fire”.

She nodded.

He pulled the trigger.

He was running before the Sov fell but she waited to check that there was no blood on the carousel.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Beeks

I Hate You Butler

Blakey had never been the most popular of Citi-Def Commanders, but then he never wanted the role in the first place..I mean who would? An unruly, uncouth ill disciplined rabble is the only way he could describe the citizens of the Olive Rudge Block and although he had resigned himself to this life since he failed at the academy of law..it was still a bitter pill to swallow

He perused the latest judge report on the crime figures in his sector and frowned..it was up..0.38736% since the last quarter and coincidentally since Butler Bartholomew and his family of fatties had moved into level 347

Food crime, communal damage, unexplained citizen flattenings, castor wheel theft..it all pointed to Butler..he just had to catch him in the act..

It wasn't just crime that Butler seemed interested in..a steady stream of street juve girls were always round his apartment.,it made Blakey's skin crawl at the thought

'I think it's time I paid you a visit Butler..' He whispered to himself..

10 minutes later he was rapping at the door with his holo torch

The door slid open and Butler rolled into view, 800lbs of fat propelled by a mechanical belly wheel

'Whachew want Blakey? Shouldn't you be out hunting chump dumpers?'

Butler grinned mischievously..a twinkle in his pudgy eye..

'I'm onto you Butler'

The comically gaunt figure of Blakey retorted

The door slid shut in his face leaving the City-Def man staring at bare metal..

The  fat man in the apartment turned his attention back to the Umpty he had secreted in the wall compartment..He made a guttural noise from his throat.  He pushed his belly in and out from the  diaphragm

Near him the young juve girl looked out of the barred window..already delirious from the effects of the candy..

She threw her head back..looking from  the periphery at the headphones the fat man wore on his  ears.   It  wasn't the headphones but the streamers  from  them of all colors- the kind of thing her youngest brother might  stick on the handle bars of his  bike.

Then she heard what sounded like a voice. She was  not  preoccupied  at the moment but soon enough would be and until that time became fascinated by the  fact  that  the  fat man was mumbling to himself  or  she  believed  it  to  be  mumbling- a  distinct  mumble   without  words  or several words  hunched  together  like oversexed  perps..frozen in a voyeurs camera.   A  small grin crossed her pretty,  oval face.   It was  unpainted and pretty, early exotic but plain too as  though  she  had tried many things but had  finally  given  up out of failure to live up to  a  fleeting image of herself years before.   She dropped to the floor..

The fat  man  turned..The words were forming at his lips hobbling..he swallowed the Umpty..His eyes shut  and  he  seemed  to  grip  inside  himself with  a  kind  of  frenetic  tension that was unnoticed unless  they  looked up closely and for a long time,  looking  at his neck  quiver and bulge..

He took out the cleaver and began the dismemberment..

On the other side of the door Blakey turned to walk away..just another humiliation in a line that stretched all the way to his youth and the hall of justice..but just as he made the first footfall a sound..

An unhinged yelp of glee eminating from Butlers residence..followed by a hack hack hacking sound..

Blakey pressed his ear to the door..something wasn't quite right..he rapped on the door once more..

'Butler! What you up to you orrible little fattie?!'

*silence*

'Butler I've got a security pass..I'm coming in if you don't open your door immedia...'

*Swish*

The door slid open and Butler buried the cleaver into Blakey's neck severing it virtually clean through..crimson patterned the air..he fell forward into the welcoming arms of the fattie..

'I ate you Butler' Blakey sighed in his last breath..

'No Blakey..I ate you'

The door slid shut

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Karl_A_Russell

Merchantable Services

We all knew something went on in 3615, but not what.

Whenever you were on the main desk, day or night, you'd see a stream of visitors stopping on 36. Rosakis, my CitiDef commander, thought it was just regular slab walkers, making a few credits without having to worry about Weather Control screwing up again. The client demographic seemed off to me, too constant and diverse for a couple of walkers in one small apartment, but he got annoyed whenever I said anything. I guess demographic is pretty fancy talk for an unemployed robot repairbot repairman.

Still, I was curious. When we heard about an upcoming inspection, I volunteered to go and evict them, at least temporarily. Rosakis just shrugged and returned to his sandwich.

I met a few of the regular clientele on the way, but they didn't seem embarrassed. One juve even waved as he passed.

I found the door to 3615 wide open and walked in. The main room was empty.

"Hello? Anyone home?"

"In the bedroom."

She sounded a lot older than I expected, even for a specialist, and I wondered if I'd got the wrong apartment.

"Ma'am?"

"It's fifty credits for ten minutes dear. Come through when you're ready."

That settled it. I pushed open the bedroom door and walked in, steeling myself for whatever obscenity might be waiting.

It turned out to be an old lady, sitting on a floral couch, her knitting on her lap. When she looked up and smiled at me, I felt like a child.

"Would you like a cup of tea dear?"

She patted the seat beside her and I found myself sitting automatically.

"Um. No. Thank you. Ma'am, I'm with Gideon Osbourne Block CitiDef."

She clapped her hands, beaming.

"Wonderful! I hoped you'd come and see me - You boys must have such a terribly hard time."

I tried to think of an answer, but before I could, she slipped her arms around me and pulled me to her meager bosom.

"There there, it's alright. Granma loves you."

I wanted to speak but all I managed was a strangled sob. I couldn't remember ever being held by someone who didn't want anything in return, someone who would hold me like a baby and love me just as I was. If this was what she offered to the citizens of Gideon Osbourne then no wonder she was doing such a roaring trade; basic human tenderness was the rarest commodity in the place.

Tears streamed down my face as she sang a half remembered lullaby and stroked my hair, and I clumsily folded my arms around her tiny form, holding on for dear life.

Half an hour later, I made my way back to the main desk and checked in.

"Gone already?"

Rosakis frowned at me.

"Yeah, guess they got word too. Place is deserted."

He shrugged.

"Fair enough. Quitting time then. Another heavy night of book learnin'?"

I shook my head.

"Not tonight. I've got my granma staying at mine."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

So there it is - get voting and two people will win a 2000AD Graphic novel at the end.

Voting ends when I can be arsed to add it up.

10
General / FREE 2000AD Graphic Novel
« on: 06 February, 2014, 04:00:51 PM »
For the winner of our current short story comp.

Anything up to 500 words, the theme is "Tales From Citi Def.

Doesn't matter how good or bad you think you are, use your loaf and have a go, and you might win a graphic novel.

Top of the General Forum, go take a look, creeps.

11
Can someone sticky this? Thanks. :P

okay, I have taken this particular bull by the horns, and our friends at Rebellion HQ have agreed to give a graphic novel to the winner. PLUS, I will draw the name of a random VOTER to also receive one!

SO... there is actual impetus to have a go, and to vote as well, as we all love FREE STUFF  :D

This month's comp will run until the 25th of February.

Each story (or poem if you like) must be NO LONGER THAN 500 WORDS, so edit carefully.

The title is: "TALES FROM CITI DEF"

Good luck, and may your Grud go with you...

12
General / Talk About CLASSIC Thrill Power!!!
« on: 28 December, 2013, 10:13:19 AM »
Just picked up 2000AD (and Starlord) Issue 100, in amongst some second hand comics.

My thrill circuits nearly exploded!

Thrill one: Ro Busters (Terra meks)
Thrill two: Judge Dredd (The Day The Law Died)
Thrill three: Robo Hunter (Verdus)
Thrill four: Dan Dare (returning from being frozen in space)

Artists = Dave Gibbons (twice), Mick McMahon and Ian Gibson.

Holy shit - now THAT'S Thrill Power Overload. I think I need a lie down...

13
General / VOTING THREAD - "Jumping On": The 33rd Short Story Comp
« on: 16 November, 2013, 03:28:46 PM »
We're a weeny bit behind on this one, so I thought I'd take the mecha-bull by the horns and sort out a voting thread. Hope that doesn't tread on any toes...

As usual, vote for your top 3 and bung in any other you think worth of an honorable mention. Only five stories so no excuses!

That is all, citizens.

Mrs Joyce's Boys

"Listen, Ma, I've really got to go now ...

No, Ma, of course I love you but I'm incredibly busy just now. If Dredd knew I was talking to you he'd have my guts for garters. No, Ma, you can't speak to him. That wouldn't help.

Wait a minute...

Hurrufh

No, Ma, I didn't say 'hurrufh' at you. I was jumping.

Yes, jumping. I'm at work right now, Ma.

Yes, I did get the parcel. Thank you, Ma. What? No, I'm not wearing them now, they wouldn't go with the uniform. Yes, of course I liked them. I wear them when I'm off duty, Ma.

Excuse ... huff... me just a sec, Ma.

Grunt.

No, Ma, I'm not being rude. I'm running.

What's that? Yes, of course I'm wearing clean underwear. Yes, I know I could get in an accident and have to go to the hospital. No, I'm sure they won't think that, Ma.

Wait ...hurrughh ... Got it! Thank Grud for that. Give me that control stick.

Sorry, Ma. Yes I know I shouldn't take his name in vain. But I jumped onto an out of control flier and I ...what? Yes, I will, Ma. Yes, this Sunday I promise.Yes, twice.

Oh, Ma, don't be like that. Look I'm landing on the ramp now, Ma. Dredd and Pax are waiting for me ...
Yes, you do know Pax. She's that East Meg Judge I told you about.

No, Ma, I don't think she's the one. She's a colleague, Ma. I work with her and they are very strict about that stuff here. Yes, Ma, I'm sure she is very clean.

Ok, I'm going to sign off, Ma. I'll call you tonight. I've got to report to Dredd now.
No, I won't tell him that, Ma. Goodbye now."

"Quite finished, Joyce?"

"Yes, Sir"

"Unconventional aerial approach but effective. Next time use your safety line, that's what it's for. Sentencing?"

"Well they're just a couple of lads, Sir. Just larking about really. I'd say a couple of months juve community service."

"Hmmm. Pax?"

"Piloting a poorly maintained flier. Reckless endangerment. Four months juve cubes. Adjusted to three months with DOC correction factor."

"Appropriate.
Joyce, you will retake the sentencing module when you get off duty tonight. No more stunts like that without the safety line. Can't afford to lose any more Judges."

"Yes, Sir"

"And instruct control not to put any more personal calls through while you're on assessment."

"I already did that, Sir. She still gets through. You know what mothers are like."

"No, Joyce. No I don't."


"Forn Devil"

The bar was called Joyce’s, so Joyce couldn’t in good conscience walk past without sampling a little of what Mega City had to offer. Back in the Emerald Isle, Judges were encouraged to stimulate the local economy, at least the brewery part of it, so he didn’t see what harm it would do. After all, it was his night off to get acclimatised before Dredd turned him into a Mega City judge.

Mindful of his new status, he contented himself with a sythi-beer, (as non alcoholic as a leprechaun’s fart), mainly because he had a feeling that Dredd was watching his every move. He supposed all Mega City judges felt that way, and it tasted pretty good so what the feck.

“What the sneck’s THAT?”, snarled a voice, accompanied by a rough tap on the shoulder.

“Huh?” replied Joyce. “What the what’s what?”

“Your tatt. Looks a bit foreign, buddy,” said the large, drunk cit, forcing the words through teeth filed into points.

Joyce realized he meant the green tattoo on the back of his neck.

“Oh, that’s me lucky shamrock, so it is,” he replied genially. “Keeps me safe and sound as a Brit Cit pound it does.”

The cit digested the information, the process quite slow.

“So I was right!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “You’re not from round here, are ya boy?”

“You’ve got me there, sir,” admitted Joyce. “I’m over from the old Emerald isle, Grud’s own country.”

“We don’t take kindly to foreigners in mega City,” said the cit, pronouncing it ‘Forners’. “If ya ain’t noticed, boy, we done had a little plague problem caused by foreigners.”

“Oh yes,” agreed Joyce. “Terrible business, so it was. I can’t blame you for not liking foreigners. Good luck to you, Sir.”

With that, he turned back to the bar and sipped his synthi-beer. Nice fella, he thought. Next thing he knew, instead of a tap on the shoulder he got a proper shove in the back, hard enough to make him spill his pint. The knowledgable amongst you should be aware that this is a VERY serious crime in the Emerald Isle, often punishable by a good kick in the knackers.

Joyce turned round again to find the pointy toothed cit, joined by six of his friends, all of similar appearance and disposition. He noticed one had a patch on the front of his jacket, proudly stating his membership of the “Mike Tyson Block Biters Association”.

“Good evening, fellas,” he said with a smile. “I’m guessing you don’t like foreigners either?”

“Damn straight,” growled one.

“Then why the feck are you in an Irish bar?” Joyce asked, genuinely curious.

As confusion spread over their faces, Joyce got his retaliation in first, and as his elbows, knees and head flew left right and centre, the Mike Tyson Block Biters Association went down for the count.

“Jeez, mister,” the barman said afterwards. “You’d better split, else the judges will cube you for sure.”

“No worries,” said Joyce. “I’m a judge meself, off duty as it were.” He finished his pint. “When they wake up tell ‘em to be a little more tolerant in the future.” With that he left the bar, a smile on his face.

Watching on the spy in the sky, Dredd was both impressed and doubtful about his new recruit. Those cits should be in the cubes by now, not let off with a beating. “Joyce's knowledge of Mega-City One Law is poor but he displays considerable courage" he thought. "I can work with that… "



THE FREEFALL TYGER

Fintan, Fintan, falling free,
Past the windows of the Mega-City;
Can your mortal hand co-ordinate with your eye,
To grab that frame as that car flies by?

As you tumble through the skies,
Watched by cold bionic eyes,
Without wings you must aspire,
Because if you miss, you’ll have to seize that tire.

Twist your shoulder, it’s like an art,
Ignore the hammer of your heart,
The H-wagon has dropped a rope,
But it’s by Dredd’s hand, it’s near Dredd’s feet.

Like a hammer, like a train,
Adrenalin pulses through your brain.
If you miss, you’ll be just a stain,
No hope of rescue, beyond Dredd’s grasp.

Like a spear, you must fly straight,
Everything must co-ordinate.
If this works, Pax might crack a smile,
It’s just you who must choke back bile.

Fintan, Fintan, falling free,
Past the windows of the Mega-City;
Can your mortal hand co-ordinate with your eye,
To grab that frame as that car flies by?


Burger Queen

The window shattered as Joyce leapt through, emerging from the searing heat and thick black smoke.  Actually, the window shattered due to the exceptionally well placed shot from Judge Pax shortly before Joyce leapt through, but that’s not important.

The Jude Law Orphans Home was now a towering inferno and Joyce felt grateful for the degree of protection that his Judge’s uniform had given him.  He looked down at the two juves under his arms and allowed himself a moment of pride. 

It all started as a harmless incident.  Initial reports indicate that a malfunction with the computer system had led to a 5 minute service outage at the Burger Queen restaurant.  Not a problem for your normal citizen but a lifetime for a fattie and things had quickly gotten out of hand.  Combine this with vats of boiling hot fat and it soon went up in flames.

According to the medics, the high calorie diet of your average fattie combined with their tendency to sweat meant that their clothing had basically become wicks which once set alight, would continue to burn for some time, feeding off the immense fuel source.  Joyce recalled when he first arrived that it would have been funny if it weren’t so tragic, watching the fatties charging around whilst alight. 

There was nothing that could be done for them but there was still a chance for the juves of the orphans home housed above.  Dredd and Pax opened the locked fire escape and most of the juves got out into safety.  Joyce’s heart sank when he saw two little faces at the window with flames dancing around behind them.

Without pausing, Joyce rushed past the others up the fire escape and into the thick black smoke.  The respirator on his helmet provided a small amount of oxygen but he knew time was most definitely limited.  He worked through to where he saw the faces but the window was now empty.

Scanning around the room his eyes fell to below the bed where those familiar faces were now peering from.  “Thank feck for that” he thought to himself as he quickly scooped the juves up and turned around just in time to see the doorway collapse.

The only escape route left was the window so Joyce bounded forward and leapt at it, trying his best to shield the juves that were under his arms.  The window shattered, fire crackled and smoke bellowed out as the room caved in behind them. 

Despite feeling pretty good, Joyce knew he missed an opportunity when reviewing the situation.  The Burger Queen incident was an accident but Pax pointed out that the locked fire exit and lack of suitable fire protection in the orphans home was grossly negligent.  The owner was now spending the next three years in a cube and Joyce had been assigned to extra building regulations classes. 

Still, when he thought of the two juves hugging him after their great escape, he didn’t mind so much.



Almost Joyces Wake



but he displays considerable courage


Dredd steadfastly, stoic and assured as the fiery shuttle fell forlornly past the crash and burn of the flaming screaming city. Allabrokenandanbeatingheartspumping boom boom boom in his chest Joyce was back to the landing pad. Boom. Boom. Boom. So good to get his feet on dry rockcrete. Crockreat.


Boom. Boom. Booooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.


Did I ever tell ye I was cadet jumping champion of 2129?


Smoke rising and an element of truth in his words examined by 2 sets of bionic eyes though through words all lain out alien tidy neat anawl so typedoncomputerina bubble to sea. All lame and spidery. Seen Cyrillic, Brave and lyric their Giodelic charm.

Champion.



They were all nations united by disaster into one flowing stream of consciousness. Caught in a labyrinth on the hunt for the baneful bairn. With intentions fair and smiling eyes awl their journey had so far found no result. Sometimes the ending come to you though. Sometimes in stories and songs and sickness the end comes hurtling into your arms.



Then the Goblin King came down all ZowieBowie makeup shut and lovelorn darts. Dark. From skyward shuttling, strutting and wayward and hurtling at them. Hurting them. Then Joyce jumped up. Boom. Alla fire yan flaming shuttle come though zooming pasts too fast, Boom, and Joyce a heartbeating jumped on. Boom. Missed.  Landed. Safe.


I can’t believe ye let fellers drive like so in the Big Meg!



Joyce’s knowledge of Mega-City One law is poor,

There ya go - not too many so get readin' and get votin'

15
General / Dredd Vs Predator - How Much???
« on: 23 May, 2013, 09:40:54 AM »
I run a bookshop, and was putting out my copy of the awful Dredd/Predator crossover (which I got for a few quid) and thought I'd check the price..

Not less than £100 through online bookstores, including Amazon.

£90 on Ebay (from America)

Have I missed something here? When did this become so bleedin valuable?

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