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JUMPING ON - The 33rd 2000AD Forum Story Comp

Started by Lady Festina, 13 October, 2013, 12:41:41 PM

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Lady Festina

A different kind of challenge this time round, set by our last winner bluemeanie (who will also be taking over comp admin for a while - no, that wasn't his prize!).

The meanie said:

Thought it might be fun to see who can make the best story when you all have to start and end at roughly the same place. So this one will be about making the most of an assigned story situation. You know, like the real 2000AD writers do

2000AD Prog 1850. The jumping on prog. You all have a copy.

There's one panel "Joyce's knowledge of Mega-City One Law is poor but he displays considerable courage". This panel shows a snapshot of another call the three of them took. Tell the rest of that panel's story.

If you haven't got a copy, the panel is http://2000ad.files.wordpress.com/2013/10/joyce-panel.jpg

Equally, if you haven't got a copy, you absolutely need to get one. Right now. OK?

No more than 500 words; closing date: Sunday 10th November. That's four weeks away, but means we get a good shot at a Christmas comp too :-)

hippynumber1

This is going to make me look really stupid now but I don't understand. What are our start and end points? Do you mean this panel is our start, end or both? Can I have some clarification please?

Skullmo

It's a joke. I was joking.

Eamonn Clarke

Dredd, Pax and Joyce are out on the assessment. The panel shows an incident that happened before the Goblin
King story. Tell the story of that incident.

At least that's what I think the assignment is

Skullmo

Not having the Prog I have no idea what any of this means . . .

The Goblin King?
It's a joke. I was joking.

Greg M.

Quote from: Skullmo on 14 October, 2013, 09:45:49 PM
The Goblin King?

Dredd is currently trying to arrest David Bowie. The Thin White Duke's excessively clingy tights have mesmerised Joe, but Anderson is about to run in and exclaim "You have no power over me!"

This is not my entry.

Eamonn Clarke

Honestly you don't need to know about the Goblin King storyline or what Bowie was smuggling in his tights.

After day of chaos the depleted Justice department is recruiting Judges from other cities.
Judge Caterina Pax defected from East Meg. She has bionic eyes that can target anything she sees.
Judge Fintan Joyce is the son of a character Dredd met in the Emerald Isle story. He comes from the more relaxed city of Murphyville. He has Irish eyes which are smiling.
Before they are cleared as full MC1 Judges they have to pass an assessment by Dredd out on the streets.
There's a Manta ray flier thing, and another crashy burny thing, and Joyce may be braver than his brains.
That's it.
Write on!

Lady Festina

OK, my interpretation....

You don't need to know anything other than what is shown on the panel. And you can use the panel as a Start, Middle or End of a story. Don't worry if you haven't got the prog, just look at the image and respond to it as a stand-alone thing.

Does that help?

If not, we can wait for bluemeanie to be back off his hols (Thursday) and clarify with him then, or ask him to choose something else!

Lady F

Skullmo

Start middle or end makes sense. i thought you had to make it some kind of time loop so that it started and ended in the same place.
It's a joke. I was joking.

Simon Beigh

With holidays and jobs occurring, I won't find time for this one, sadly. Look forward to reading the stories, and perhaps not understanding the theme will produce some interesting entries :)

bluemeanie

Ok. Sorry if it was unclear
Basically in prog 1850 that one panel was basically "what they did Tuesday"
A snapshot of a call taken, a crime stopped or a crisis averted
So expand on that. Think of it as as the one illustration to go with your prose story

That make more sense?

hippynumber1


Skullmo

It's a joke. I was joking.

Eamonn Clarke

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."

Lobo Baggins

ONE FOR SORROW

The power board whooshed over Provisional Judge Fintan Joyce's head, almost skimming the top of his helmet.  A wake of displaced air tugged at his uniform as he brought his Lawgiver to bear at the hurtling target, but the kid had managed to pull an impressive loop and was lost among a web of overhead walkways – pedways, they called them here, he reminded himself.  Too many people about, he decided, better not risk a shot.  There were other more immediate problems anyway.  The sky surfer was just one among many, and the one with the submachine gun was proving to be a bigger pain in the proverbial.

He ducked back, crouching down behind what had once been an ornamental fountain that must have been broken and dry since long before Chaos Day as the submachine gun – spit carbine, he reminded himself, got to use the right lingo – stammered out its distinctive retort.  The fountain centrepiece became less ornamental as high velocity shells chewed it into a new configuration.  The sky surfer banked away, awkwardly rolling around for another pass.  The other fella who'd buzzed him had made sky surfing look effortless, this bloke looked like... well, a rather overweight punk awkwardly fecking about on a flying plank.  There was probably a knack to it, Joyce decided, taking careful aim.

A red hole abruptly appeared in the overweight punk's forehead and a mist of black and red briefly haloed his head as the back of his skull exploded.  The punk looked surprised, just for a moment, then toppled backwards, dropping the spit carbine from nerveless fingers just before he himself dropped from the board.  Neither actually fell very far; the gun was attached to his wrist with a lanyard and the surfer was attached to the board with a billycord.  The board automatically cut to hover mode and the three dangled together some five metres above the ground.

Joyce frowned in irritation, turning and glaring across the plaza at the still, poised figure of Provisional Judge Caterina my-name-is-not-Cat Pax, who seemed to have decided, once again, to demonstrate her ability to get two or three utterly accurate shots off before he'd had the time to finish aiming.  It didn't seem particularly fair; she had cybernetically jacked-up reactions, after all.

'Aw, c'mon now!  I had him!' he called, grinning.  She spared him a brief scowl.  She looked at him like he was nothing, an utterly worthless piece of dirt, but she always looked at him like that.  She always looked at everyone like that so he wasn't taking it personally.  He grinned some more.  Pax wasn't what you'd call a people person.

'Focus on the job in hand,' commanded a terse voice.  Joyce found himself obeying; it wasn't a voice that you disobeyed lightly.  His dad knew Dredd; Joyce knew that if Joyce Senior's claim about the last time they'd 'worked together' was remotely accurate, Joyce Senior would have died long before young Fintan was even thought of.  Joyce Senior told a lot of stories, but the truth about the Zombie War tended to emerge only when he'd drunk enough to remember it in terrifying detail, but wasn't yet drunk enough to have blotted it out.  Young Fintan had learned the real story of how his dad had been knocked unconscious and his place taken on the suicide mission by 'that bloody Brit' in the brief gap between finishing the Guinness and starting on the Scotch.  He owed 'that bloody Brit' a big one, he was sure.  But Johnny Alpha hadn't even been born yet.  It was a... complicated situation.

He looked up, just as yet another powerboard started to plunge in his direction.  This one was a girl, long ponytail flailing behind her, mad eyes glinting from a frozen, doll-like face.  It was the face of that pop singer with the squeaky voice; it was the third time he'd seen it today.  There must be a knock off face change operation working from a back street somewhere around here.  He made a mental note to check it out.  She was clad entirely in pink and seemed to be armed only with what appeared to be a carving knife tied to a broom handle.

Joyce almost casually leaned back, avoiding the charge.  The girl was better than the fat fella, but nowhere near as good as the first bloke.  He watched as she pulled up and looped around, turning towards him again.  He pointed the Lawgiver at her; she hurled the improvised spear right at him.  Fortunately, a carving knife tied to a broom handle has all the aerodynamic qualities of a carving knife tied to a broom handle, so it missed.  The frozen face didn't change; the eyes flared some more madness.  Joyce pulled the trigger.

The girl was already manoeuvring away, so the shell missed the knee he'd been aiming at, instead smacking right into the other one.  The kneecap shattered under the impact, the girl shrieking in rage, the face still expressionless.  She dropped from the board like a stone, her fall arrested by the billycord.  The rage filled yell turned to an abrupt, primal wail of agony, as the shattered knee was suddenly required to bear the entire weight of her body.  Joyce found himself grimacing, but fortunately for the girl the pain seemed to override whatever drugs she was filled with and she passed out.  Her hands dangled down, seeming to reach towards Joyce.

He turned, seeking the other sky surfers.  The remaining three had decided that enough was enough, all turning as one and starting to swoop towards the wide entrance on the far side of the plaza, Dredd and Pax sprinting after them.  Joyce stood, reaching over to pick up the fallen spear.  He'd catch up with the other two in a moment.

'H-wagon summoned and is on intercept course,' intoned Pax.  She'd evidently determined that her Sov accent unnerved the citizens and had very nearly managed to eliminate it, except sometimes when she pronounced 'u' as 'oo'.  It didn't seem to have occurred to her to replace the accent with another one, so she spoke technically perfect English in a droning monotone that freaked people out more than the Sov voice ever did.  Really not a people person.  Joyce usually ended up doing the talking.  It seemed the Yanks liked the old Emerald Isle blarney anyway.  He hoped he wasn't overdoing it, it felt like he was sounding more Irish with every passing day.

He reached up with the spear, carefully hooking the floating powerboard and drawing it towards him.  He cradled the form of the girl and carefully laid her on the ground, then spent a few moments puzzling over the billycord.  He eventually decided to begin sawing through it with the carving knife; there didn't seem to be any other easy way of getting it off.  He checked the silent girl's vital signs and then carefully cuffed her hands behind her back, laying her down next to the fountain in the recovery position.  He was supposed to cuff her to something, he knew, but there was nothing appropriate nearby and he was pretty sure she wasn't going anywhere on that knee.  It was a mess.

He stood up and looked around again.  The plaza had been reasonably crowded a few minutes ago, but the throng of citizens had silently and quickly evaporated when the shooting had started.  This was Mega-City One, after all, they probably got a lot of practice at that sort of thing.  They'd all be back as though nothing had happened in a minute.  He gazed at the entranceway, considering chasing after the other two.  No, there was another way – if he went up those stairs there, then into that anti-grav chute and along that pedway, he might even be able to overtake them...

He set off at a sprint, taking the stairs two at a time before launching himself into the transparent anti-gravity tube.  They didn't have these at home, it was still a novelty.  He found himself grinning, it was almost like flying.  But the ride was over quickly, and his boots were thumping along the pedway in a regular rhythm before he knew it.  The pedway became a tunnel as he continued his run.  No lights, he noticed, apart from that big one up ahead.  It turned out to be the diffused brightness of the sun, filtering through the surrounding city blocks.  He skidded to a halt, grabbing hold of a low railing to steady himself.

There was a sudden twinge of vertigo as he realised exactly where he was.  It was some sort of observation platform or something, maybe a launching place.  He'd been mistaken; he couldn't get to where the others were heading by going in this direction.  Not without flying, anyway.  He leaned on the railing and peered over the edge.  Everything was a long way down from here, except when he was looking up; in which case everything was a long way up.  Mega-City One was a confusing place.  He realised he had a really good view and could make out the dark shapes of Dredd and Pax emerging onto another, larger platform lower down.  He decided he'd claim this had been the plan all along.  He'd found a better vantage point, that's what he was doing.

He turned his head up, taking note of the surroundings.  No sign of the sky surfers... wait, there they were, banking back towards him, moving fast.  A great, black and white striped shape appeared around the corner of the block.  The H-wagon Pax had summoned had arrived.

It was an old one; he wouldn't be surprised if they'd pulled it out of a museum.  The Justice Department wasn't just short of people; even retired vehicles had been called back to duty.  He seemed to recall they called that particular model a 'black and white' here; they were so obsolete that they'd sold a small fleet of them to the folks back home in the Emerald Isle.  They were probably the best ships they had available there, but they only saw use in the direst emergencies.  They called the distinctive black and white striped craft 'magpies' back home.  It was really bad luck to see one.

'Morning, mister Magpie!' he found himself saying, touching the side of his helmet in a semi-serious salute.  The two figures below turned in unison, both faces fixed in near identical expressions of annoyed disapproval.  He grinned at them both, suspecting that neither had any idea about what he was on about.  Pay attention, Joyce...

'Pay attention, Joyce,' the terse voice of Dredd snapped over his helmet radio, echoing his internal dialogue.  He rolled his eyes and stared towards the sky surfers, who were desperately trying to weave away from the approaching magpie.  One, apparently realising he had no chance of escaping, slowed, raising a hand, a small weapon flaring.  Joyce knew that he really had no chance whatsoever of shooting an H-wagon down with a handgun – no one had that much luck – but he kind of admired his nerve.  Something abruptly flared at the front of the magpie, and just for the briefest moment he thought that the punk had got inconceivably lucky.

No luck whatsoever, it was the magpie's main laser firing.  The skysurfer with the handgun was suddenly not there anymore, burned away to nothing in an instant.  There seemed to be a small, punk-shaped cloud of dust hanging in the air... no, Joyce was pretty sure he'd imagined that.  He was grimacing again.

The final pair seemed to be frantic now, weaving away at a speed that was difficult to track.  He leaned over the rail and attempted the aim his Lawgiver at the fleeing perps, knowing he was unlikely to make the shot.  Maybe a heatseeker... no, there was another vehicle coming into view around the opposite corner, a small white hover taxi seemed to trundle onto the scene.  Right, no heatseeker, he could see a woman in white seated in the back behind the smartly suited driver.  He'd let the magpie take down the last two, or let one of the others take them down.  Both of them were much better shots than he was.

One of the sky surfers – a tall, thin guy wearing an ill fitting but probably antique leather biker jacket – seemed to spot the hover taxi approaching and swooped towards it with lightening speed.  Joyce noted that the final skysurfer was the moonfaced kid who'd buzzed him in the plaza.  Joyce felt oddly relieved he was still alive, the kid had real talent.  Seemed a shame to waste it all hanging round with a poxy surf gang.  His eyes turned back to the tall fella, who was reaching into his jacket as he flew dangerously close to the hover taxi.  Joyce mentally added another dangerous flying activity to the list of crimes in his head.  He'd need to remember all this for sentencing; he was always in trouble for forgetting things.  They had so many laws here...

The tall perp hurled something at the hover taxi's windscreen and something orange seemed to burst inside the cab.  Fire bomb... of course, it was this guy chucking fire bombs about that had started the chase in the first place.  Joyce pointed his Lawgiver at him, but the pyromaniac had already jinked away and was plunging away at an alarming rate.  The hover taxi was almost right beneath him, he could see flames swelling inside the cab, engulfing the driver, the woman in the back seat screaming.  If he leaped right now, maybe...

Don't think.  Just do it.

Joyce pulled himself up onto the railing and launched himself into space.  Just for a second, he felt like he'd been trapped forever in a snapshot; he was acutely aware of his surroundings, the magpie coming towards him, the now smoking hover taxi underneath him, the figures of Dredd and Pax somewhere to his right.  Wow, time really did seem to freeze sometimes, he'd always thought it was just an expression.  Fortunately, everything seemed to speed up again pretty quickly.  He didn't fancy being stuck there forever.

Wind tore at his exposed face as he plummeted downwards.  He estimated that he'd have to jump about fifteen metres to get from the bay to the passing hover taxi, but even that felt like an awfully long way to be falling.  Not falling, he was jumping.  That's definitely what he was doing.  He would only be falling if he missed, which wasn't an eventuality he wanted to consider.  Right, now... grab at that bit, swing your legs forward, twist...

TO BE CONTINUED...
The wages of sin are death, but the hours are good and the perks are fantastic.