PURE PSYCHIC AUTOMATISM - The 22nd 2000AD Forum Story Competition

[mogzilla]

picture a

nigel knelt prostate in front of his fisher price piano his hat with the unfeasibly large peak resting nonchalantly on the collected works of bosch,as he struggled to find his other garter perhaps it was in the carnage of the killer big black dog in  apartment "b" downstairs .
   he prepared himself for the second time last week for his upcoming interview. the job had been long in coming but despite a heady breakfast of kippers he was ubiquitouslly conceited in his mannerisms.
  he readied himself and entered the office, to which security tut tutted and asked him not to do that or they'd have to ask him to leave again he perched his buttock in its cradle annd smiled a thin quiet smile ,the sort that you would quickly take your children and sit elsewhere on the bus ...

   "so,nigel" the man behind the desk begins "how is one big arse cheek going to aid you in your chosen career as a stontium dog?"

[clavell]

Pictures B and C.

Slipslider.

He'd met the dealer in the usual place, looking for the hot new thing everyone was talking about. "Got any sliders ?"

"Sure, buddy, sure." And the dealer took out two rainbow colored capsules. "These are usually twenty-five apiece, but for my regulars it's half price. You buy one, you get one free. And grud help you if you get caught with them."

He'd heard the lawmaster on the way back home, tried to keep cool and ignore it. Then it pulled right in front of him, the judge shouting an order, and there was nowhere to ditch the capsules. "What the sneck." he thought, and swallowed them both. The judge

striding towards

him

sounds of silence in the dazzling dark. loathing selves loiter. mountain of light from the ground become sky. demon bureaucrats sort and assess. sifting paper. work. our citadel of trivia. their senses prickle. meta ears flourish in ethereal brine. feral juves scouring the sands. grouping. squadrons forming orders barking war is coming. demons form defenses. half-dog Benji wiggles his nose. so cute. fighting now with sandballs hitting hard and killing dead falling wounded walking. some sleep eternal. half-dog Benji caught in the crossfire. "I just wanted to go for a walk". and so did i Benji, so did i. So did I. SO. DID. I. the lawman points to myself as a blur. "hold it, creep". grim granite face pushed to mine. stern stare through the visor. i can see his eyes. oh, no. I CAN SEE HIS EYES. "what's your name, creep". there are no words. no words. only fear and itself. "dredd to control". two control. when one isn't enough. "another slider user". "junction of Bosch and Escher underpass". "med wagon on its way". the rabbit hole warps through the looking glass splintering psychic shards. weft with threads of the meta-text. slipknot tightens across the wonder land. village of liddells sails under a white flag. none can with stand. holistic sofa rotating onscreen. split level synonyms in unison on velvet. in my minds eye. no melting clocks. "give him two months for use". "six for possession". half-dog Benji looked sad. "who's gonna feed me when you're in the cubes ?"

[Lady Festina]

The Long Walk

"Well, Haines, you made it." Judge Revis clapped him on the shoulder.

"Never thought I'd get through rookie year," Haines smiled, "let alone all the way to retirement."

Outside the city gates, the light was harsh. The honour guard squinted as they held their weapons high. So many young faces. Yet another ceremony for yet another old, forgettable Judge. Someone he'd never met read the standard words like he was reading Haines his rights. The thought made him smile: when was the last time someone had was read their rights? When was the last time someone had some rights?

Retirement had come at the right time, he thought. Revis had laughed at his "twenty-first century thinking". The Council hadn't taken it so lightly. There were more disciplinary marks on his record than commendations; they'd even threatened him with a desk job back in '35. But he was a good Judge; he knew the streets, took their pulse like he worked a med-wagon, knew where someone would squeeze if they wanted to choke the city to death.

With a smile all for himself, Haines started the Long Walk. He wondered what the world would look like out here, how much had been destroyed. It was strange to be alone when he'd been in the city so long. Strange not to have Revis or Carter or DeWalt alongside him on patrol. Strange to see the stars glowing and to watch the green mists lying on the desert ground and to miss the sound of sirens and to hear the silence of the dead.

It was a week before he saw them – muties fighting muties, killing time by killing each other. He'd almost forgotten what it was to be a Judge; it took him a while to figure out that he wasn't supposed to run. Haines took a deep breath, started in with his fists, old school, remembering his training. Give him twenty, thirty minutes and the place would be clear.

He was so caught up in the fight he didn't notice it until the last mutie lay prone at his feet. A dog. A big dog. A dog the size of a city block and then some. Its great tongue lolled out of its mouth, slobber like summer rain splashed down around him. Haines looked as closely as he dared. Around the dog's neck was a collar with a tag. He reached up and grabbed hold of the tag, read the message written on it:

"To my old partner Haines.  To keep you company in your retirement. No point going on a Long Walk without a dog. All the best, Revis. PS. I don't know what sort of dog they might get you out in the Cursed Earth. Hope he's a good one."

[Lady Festina]

Story comp deadline is almost upon us - you have until the end of the weekend to submit (submit, damn you!).

[Greg M.]

More dogged antics for Picture B:

A Hard Day's Bite

"Vell, Johnny," murmured Wulf Sternhammer, an undeniable hint of admiration in his voice, "Is vun big dog."

"Yup," Johnny Alpha agreed, with characteristic terseness. There wasn't much else he could add.

The S/D duo had been hard on the trail of two rival gangs of paramilitary palaeontologists. One misanthropic group detested modern civilisation and worshipped the bones of extinct creatures as venerable elders. The other more pragmatic band were devoted to resurrecting extinct life-forms from fossils, and enlisting these clonosaurs in campaigns of looting, piracy and general mayhem. When both had struck and slaughtered legitimate academics at a dig on Alvarez IV, their bounties had only grown, and when an interstellar dogfight between the two had resulted in both crashlanding on Woodhouse's World, things had really taken a turn. For this particular planet, though at a prehistoric stage of development, was home to mega-dogs and colossal canines, including a particularly impressive specimen of Canisaurus Rex who had been quick to snatch and then bury the tasty, spilled, skeletal cargo of the crashed ships.

By the time the S/D agents arrived on the scene, the two gangs were still in open conflict over who should reclaim their prize. Between these warring weirdoes, the baffled Canisaurus Rex sat, paws outstretched, chaos erupting around it. Though it snapped a little if any of the combatants got too close, it was largely passive, devoted only to guarding its new treasure.

"Der sure are a lot of 'em", Wulf remarked from their vantage point atop a nearby hill. "Shame der Canisaur doesn't get involved - could make things a whole lot easier."

"I've got an idea about that," Johnny informed Wulf. "We'll make a working dog of him yet."

Using what rocky cover was available, Johnny stealthily descended, out of sight of the palaeontologists, whose attention was still focused on each other. Circling around to the rear of the action, Johnny sneaked up behind the Canisaur until he was in sight of the target: the pair of big, furry, dangling orbs that hung between the hound's back legs.

"Sorry, Rex," murmured Johnny, activating his electronux. And with that, he launched his sparking fist hard into the para-pooch's proverbial plumbs.

The effect was, inevitably, electric.

Taking cover in a nearby ditch, Johnny was almost sorry to miss the ensuing action, though Wulf later described it to him as "like something from der Ragnarok legends of my people, but vith floppier ears." When Johnny finally arose, dismembered gang-members lay twitching in pools of their own viscera and the Canisaurus was padding dolefully away, pausing occasionally to lick its still-smarting scrotum and whine in outrage.

Wulf joined Johnny at the scene of the carnage, and looked around, strangely impressed.

"Worked out better than I thought," Johnny decided. "Minimum effort, maximum bounty, and everyone's happy. Well, except for those guys."

"Ja," agreed his partner, a wry smile playing across his lips. "Far as Wulf is concerned... this job vas definitely der dog's bollocks."

[Lady Festina]

And that's that, folks - end of comp. I'll put up a voting thread as soon as... Twas a tough challenge....!

[Lady Festina]

Arse... just realised I haven't done the voting thread... give me half an hour...

[locustsofdeath!]

Arse... just realised I haven't done the voting thread... give me half an hour...

As long as you weren't wondering why no one was voting...