05-18-2015, 08:29 PM
Karl let out a sigh as he surveyed the crime scene. All across the room, the once white surfaces were stained red with blood, and although the crews had already given it the once-over, there was still a few more hours left of cleaning to do before the place could host any more meetings. The only silver lining in the whole situation was that Karl didn’t miss the dead executives one bit, and the fact that most of them had died horrible deaths did a little to alleviate the grief the producer felt over having to gut one of his favorite rooms.
And to think… just a half hour ago Karl had been exchanging pleasantries with that lovely piece of man in the spandex.
Before he could get utterly lost in his emotions, the intercom in front of his seat buzzed at him, prompting him to lean forward to click on the talk button. “Who is it?” Karl sighed as he scooped up his nearby clipboard and glanced over the list of tasks he had left to do before the contestants got funneled into the barracks.
“Uh… we have a situation down here, Mr. Jak…” It was another one of his assistants—a dime-a-dozen blonde intern with large breasts and small self-esteem.
“Did you not have the crew take care of Mr. Voorhees properly?” Karl groaned as he leaned back in the chair.
“That’s not it, Sir! The stuff the Empire sent us worked like a charm, and Mr. Voorhees is sealed away in his barrack’s room.”
Ahhh, splendid. Karl thought as he leaned forward and scratched off one of the items on the list. Glad to know that carbonite crap they sent us actually worked. Karl had half-expected the stuff to be defective, but the fact that it worked gave him a little faith in the imperial bureaucracy running Coruscant. “Then what is it?” The producer asked as he started to wonder could be more exciting than a serial killer slaughtering a bunch of bureaucrats.
“We’ve got one of those terrorists from the Vasty Deep shooting up the Lobby… He has machineguns.”
Karl chuckled. “That’s exciting. Is he someone we hired?”
“Umm, I don’t think so... He’s kind of killing people and fighting with the other contestants. There are a lot of guns down here.”
…Well fuck my ass and call me a bitch. With a smirk, Karl stood up out of the chair. “Okay, I’ll be down there in a little bit.” Despite the severity of the situation, the man couldn’t help but grin a little wider as he made his way out of the blood-stained boardroom.
People were screaming all around.
At the center of the chaos was a four foot, anthropomorphic turtle with a pair of assault rifles. All around Wartortle, the bystanders who hadn’t been mowed down in the initial onslaught were in a panic to try and escape. As the secondaries fled, they left behind a small group of individuals who hadn’t moved from their positions amongst the throng of panicked civilians.
At the far back of the Lobby, a preteen machine popped into existence and broke into a mad dash at the terrorist. From somewhere in the crowd, a dark-haired man in a red coat lifted an oversized sidearm and opened fire on the turtle. After having a pair of rounds deflecting painfully off of his carapace, the Turtle Pokémon spun and fired a pair of grenades at Vincent, who backflipped away as the explosions tore through the ground and turned the nearby corpses into a vibrant assortment of free-flying body parts.
Turning around, Wartortle grimaced as the boy machine’s fist slammed into his jaw. The impact staggered the turtle but didn’t prevent him from swinging his weapons to bear on his target and squeezing off another pair of grenades from point-blank range. Proto Man, caught unaware and with little in the means of defending himself, was thrown backwards into the wall like the heavy metal ragdoll that he was.
On the other hand, the turtle simply pulled into his shell as the concussive blast threw the two into separate directions. After a few skips, the shell came to a stop, and the terrorist popped out with his guns trained on the giant hulk of metal and rotting meat that stood in front of him.
“You’re an ugly son of a bitch,” Wartortle sneered as he opened fire on the armored corpse.
Much to Wartortle’s chagrin, the hulking human was just staggered by the attacks, rather than torn in half like most fleshbags.
Fortunately for the Turtle Pokémon, Okor was just as startled by the fact that the force from the rifle fire was impeding his forward motion. With a hollow groan, the infantryman took a lumbering step forward and swung his diseased blade down at his opponent’s neck. Rather than deal with whatever pestilence festered upon the rusted blade, the leader of the PLF laid off his triggers and leapt backwards, his eyes watching as the sword slammed into the ground and smashed through the concrete floor of the facility.
With a scowl, Wartortle pressed a button somewhere on the stock of his rifles, and with an almost pleasant clink, both of the guns now had a bayonet. Stepping forward, Okor swung low with his diseased blade, but this time the Turtle Pokémon dove over the giant chunk of steel. The reptile’s padded feet hit the ground, and he ground his teeth together as he stabbed one of the blades through the side of the man’s knee. Feeling no pain but aware of the metal jabbed through his body, Okor twisted his torso and moved to chop apart his foe’s head. Before his opponent could finish the motion, Wartortle thrust up with his other gun and jammed the bayonet blade through Okor’s sword-wielding forearm, halting the movement of the sword a few inches above the turtle’s skull.
“Resilient.” Okor muttered as his other hand swung in and closed around the Pokémon’s neck. It didn’t take the terrorist long to feel his skin start to bubble.
“Fuck. You.” Wartortle rasped as he opened his mouth and released a blast of concentrated bubbles into Okor’s face. Despite the ridiculousness of the attack, the translucent spheres packed more of a punch than they had any right to, and after the first salvo, even the zombie had to relinquish his grip. Now that he had a little breathing room, the turtle wrenched his guns free, and ignoring the tower of festering, iron-clad humanity, Wartortle dashed to the right. Although he was focused on the robot, his eyes caught a quick glimpse of the red mercenary and his gingerbread friend standing against the wall.
“So are you just going to stand there… or you going to do something productive?” Gingy asked as Proto Man missed with a blaster shot and bashed with the flat end of the reptile’s rifle.
“Me?” Deadpool asked after glancing around and pointing a hand at his chest. “Nah. I’ll just let Alex sort this one out. Plus, I don’t have any Pokéballs on me.”
A few yards away, Wartortle batted away Proto Man just in time to turn and duck as Captain Jak Mar opened fire on the Pokémon with a pair of his own guns. “How many of you are there?” The reptile inquired as he scattered the pair of Jak and Daxter with a pair of forty-millimeter shells. Before he could receive a proper response, the preteen machine jumped on his back and tried to lock him into a full nelson. In front of Wartortle, Okor was lumbering toward him, and all the other gun-toting primes were advancing toward him.
“Yield,” Proto Man rasped as he squeezed at the turtle’s arms, causing the terrorist to flinch and lose his grip on his rifles. Unfortunately for the robot, the moment he took to glance at the falling weapons was all the time Wartortle needed to smash the back of his skull into Proto Man’s jaw. With the Prototype Robot Master stunned, the turtle took a step forward and hurtled the child-sized machine at Okor, who stumbled out of the way.
“Like I need guns,” Wartortle rasped as he threw his hands at Jak and Vincent. The pair of primes found their aim, but before they could find their triggers they were both hit by a wall of water that seemed to form from thin air in front of their intended target.
Before he could follow up on the fact that most of his attackers were flat on their backs, Wartortle spotted the detachment of armed soldiers jogging at him. “More lambs?” He shouted as bent down to collect his guns. As he did, the group of soldiers that had emerged from the dozens of registrations booths opened fire on him with their shock rifles. Behind the soldiers, a startled woman with red hair watched as the thoroughly electrocuted turtle toppled over but continued to reach for his weapons.
“Fuck… you…” The Pokémon managed before a second round of bursts stole his consciousness from him.
“Everyone calm down!” The primes collected in the now water-soaked and bullet-riddled Lobby all turned to see a skinny man in a fancy suit come sauntering up to the scene. “I assure you, this was all a stunt, and this… individual here is just one of our many contractually obligated contestants. I apologize that he may have been a little exuberant with his stunts, but I assure you that no secondaries were harmed in the making of his production.” Before anyone could call bullshit on Karl’s remarks, the group of soldiers swarmed forward. They collected the unconscious Pokémon and vanished with their leader into the other end of the Lobby.
And to think… just a half hour ago Karl had been exchanging pleasantries with that lovely piece of man in the spandex.
Before he could get utterly lost in his emotions, the intercom in front of his seat buzzed at him, prompting him to lean forward to click on the talk button. “Who is it?” Karl sighed as he scooped up his nearby clipboard and glanced over the list of tasks he had left to do before the contestants got funneled into the barracks.
“Uh… we have a situation down here, Mr. Jak…” It was another one of his assistants—a dime-a-dozen blonde intern with large breasts and small self-esteem.
“Did you not have the crew take care of Mr. Voorhees properly?” Karl groaned as he leaned back in the chair.
“That’s not it, Sir! The stuff the Empire sent us worked like a charm, and Mr. Voorhees is sealed away in his barrack’s room.”
Ahhh, splendid. Karl thought as he leaned forward and scratched off one of the items on the list. Glad to know that carbonite crap they sent us actually worked. Karl had half-expected the stuff to be defective, but the fact that it worked gave him a little faith in the imperial bureaucracy running Coruscant. “Then what is it?” The producer asked as he started to wonder could be more exciting than a serial killer slaughtering a bunch of bureaucrats.
“We’ve got one of those terrorists from the Vasty Deep shooting up the Lobby… He has machineguns.”
Karl chuckled. “That’s exciting. Is he someone we hired?”
“Umm, I don’t think so... He’s kind of killing people and fighting with the other contestants. There are a lot of guns down here.”
…Well fuck my ass and call me a bitch. With a smirk, Karl stood up out of the chair. “Okay, I’ll be down there in a little bit.” Despite the severity of the situation, the man couldn’t help but grin a little wider as he made his way out of the blood-stained boardroom.
***
People were screaming all around.
At the center of the chaos was a four foot, anthropomorphic turtle with a pair of assault rifles. All around Wartortle, the bystanders who hadn’t been mowed down in the initial onslaught were in a panic to try and escape. As the secondaries fled, they left behind a small group of individuals who hadn’t moved from their positions amongst the throng of panicked civilians.
At the far back of the Lobby, a preteen machine popped into existence and broke into a mad dash at the terrorist. From somewhere in the crowd, a dark-haired man in a red coat lifted an oversized sidearm and opened fire on the turtle. After having a pair of rounds deflecting painfully off of his carapace, the Turtle Pokémon spun and fired a pair of grenades at Vincent, who backflipped away as the explosions tore through the ground and turned the nearby corpses into a vibrant assortment of free-flying body parts.
Turning around, Wartortle grimaced as the boy machine’s fist slammed into his jaw. The impact staggered the turtle but didn’t prevent him from swinging his weapons to bear on his target and squeezing off another pair of grenades from point-blank range. Proto Man, caught unaware and with little in the means of defending himself, was thrown backwards into the wall like the heavy metal ragdoll that he was.
On the other hand, the turtle simply pulled into his shell as the concussive blast threw the two into separate directions. After a few skips, the shell came to a stop, and the terrorist popped out with his guns trained on the giant hulk of metal and rotting meat that stood in front of him.
“You’re an ugly son of a bitch,” Wartortle sneered as he opened fire on the armored corpse.
Much to Wartortle’s chagrin, the hulking human was just staggered by the attacks, rather than torn in half like most fleshbags.
Fortunately for the Turtle Pokémon, Okor was just as startled by the fact that the force from the rifle fire was impeding his forward motion. With a hollow groan, the infantryman took a lumbering step forward and swung his diseased blade down at his opponent’s neck. Rather than deal with whatever pestilence festered upon the rusted blade, the leader of the PLF laid off his triggers and leapt backwards, his eyes watching as the sword slammed into the ground and smashed through the concrete floor of the facility.
With a scowl, Wartortle pressed a button somewhere on the stock of his rifles, and with an almost pleasant clink, both of the guns now had a bayonet. Stepping forward, Okor swung low with his diseased blade, but this time the Turtle Pokémon dove over the giant chunk of steel. The reptile’s padded feet hit the ground, and he ground his teeth together as he stabbed one of the blades through the side of the man’s knee. Feeling no pain but aware of the metal jabbed through his body, Okor twisted his torso and moved to chop apart his foe’s head. Before his opponent could finish the motion, Wartortle thrust up with his other gun and jammed the bayonet blade through Okor’s sword-wielding forearm, halting the movement of the sword a few inches above the turtle’s skull.
“Resilient.” Okor muttered as his other hand swung in and closed around the Pokémon’s neck. It didn’t take the terrorist long to feel his skin start to bubble.
“Fuck. You.” Wartortle rasped as he opened his mouth and released a blast of concentrated bubbles into Okor’s face. Despite the ridiculousness of the attack, the translucent spheres packed more of a punch than they had any right to, and after the first salvo, even the zombie had to relinquish his grip. Now that he had a little breathing room, the turtle wrenched his guns free, and ignoring the tower of festering, iron-clad humanity, Wartortle dashed to the right. Although he was focused on the robot, his eyes caught a quick glimpse of the red mercenary and his gingerbread friend standing against the wall.
“So are you just going to stand there… or you going to do something productive?” Gingy asked as Proto Man missed with a blaster shot and bashed with the flat end of the reptile’s rifle.
“Me?” Deadpool asked after glancing around and pointing a hand at his chest. “Nah. I’ll just let Alex sort this one out. Plus, I don’t have any Pokéballs on me.”
A few yards away, Wartortle batted away Proto Man just in time to turn and duck as Captain Jak Mar opened fire on the Pokémon with a pair of his own guns. “How many of you are there?” The reptile inquired as he scattered the pair of Jak and Daxter with a pair of forty-millimeter shells. Before he could receive a proper response, the preteen machine jumped on his back and tried to lock him into a full nelson. In front of Wartortle, Okor was lumbering toward him, and all the other gun-toting primes were advancing toward him.
“Yield,” Proto Man rasped as he squeezed at the turtle’s arms, causing the terrorist to flinch and lose his grip on his rifles. Unfortunately for the robot, the moment he took to glance at the falling weapons was all the time Wartortle needed to smash the back of his skull into Proto Man’s jaw. With the Prototype Robot Master stunned, the turtle took a step forward and hurtled the child-sized machine at Okor, who stumbled out of the way.
“Like I need guns,” Wartortle rasped as he threw his hands at Jak and Vincent. The pair of primes found their aim, but before they could find their triggers they were both hit by a wall of water that seemed to form from thin air in front of their intended target.
Before he could follow up on the fact that most of his attackers were flat on their backs, Wartortle spotted the detachment of armed soldiers jogging at him. “More lambs?” He shouted as bent down to collect his guns. As he did, the group of soldiers that had emerged from the dozens of registrations booths opened fire on him with their shock rifles. Behind the soldiers, a startled woman with red hair watched as the thoroughly electrocuted turtle toppled over but continued to reach for his weapons.
“Fuck… you…” The Pokémon managed before a second round of bursts stole his consciousness from him.
“Everyone calm down!” The primes collected in the now water-soaked and bullet-riddled Lobby all turned to see a skinny man in a fancy suit come sauntering up to the scene. “I assure you, this was all a stunt, and this… individual here is just one of our many contractually obligated contestants. I apologize that he may have been a little exuberant with his stunts, but I assure you that no secondaries were harmed in the making of his production.” Before anyone could call bullshit on Karl’s remarks, the group of soldiers swarmed forward. They collected the unconscious Pokémon and vanished with their leader into the other end of the Lobby.
![[Image: KarlSig.jpg]](http://omniverse-rpg.com/images/KarlSig.jpg)