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...
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...