As I walk up the trail, I have my machete swinging in one
hand, my laser pistol in the other. Jungle had grown across the trail and it
was being a particular bitch to get through. Finally, after sweating through my
nav suit, I reach the slightly rusted door that heads into the side of the
ridge. The com link/keypad was on the right with a dull, green glow over the
panel.
“Oy, open up you geezers!”
I wait about ten seconds then thumb the intercom again.
“HEY! Wake up out of your nasty, funk filled slumber and
someone come answer the door!”
Again, nothing except the rustles of the Jungle around me.
After the next 10 seconds, I type in the old passcode into
the keypad and hit enter. Red light.
“Frakking derpterds, never home when you need them.”
I open up my old manual to see if I can find the “Back Door
Code” which I had purloined from Patrick’s diary the year before.
Ate675309! *green
light, click*
The door opened up and the smell of foul, stale air came
wafting out. Shortly after, I could hear electronics powering up inside and
vent blowers kicking in.
I sat down, loaded, and smoked a pipe for a bit, letting the
scrubbers clear out the old atmosphere and let the internal systems power up
and start doing their system checks.
Finally, after ten more minutes, I knocked out the pipe and
went inside to see just what sort of disrepair and funk was in the old G.G.
Headquarters.
Old pizza boxes, check, Chow Mein spilled on the floor,
check. Tons of Lager cans and liquor bottles, definitely check.
I check Patrick’s old room and it was sealed up and fairly
clean like I remember it. Things in a semi order, his dolls (excuse me, collectibles) lined up on his council, papers
in place (I’ll go over those later), so pretty much good to go.
Next, I check my room. Sealed, close to the condition of
Patrick’s only the dank smell of something familiar. I look through my desk
drawer and find an opened bag of Vupinian Stench Spice that I distinctly
remember as being sealed, and in a different location for that matter. Mental
Note: Throw McCallum’s bunk into the swamp for a couple days then put it back.
Finally as I went down the hall, I get the whiff of
something dreadful. David McCallum’s door is wide open. Worse than that, there
is what appears to be an Ambershard nest made up of pizza boxes and beer cans
in the middle of the floor.
I pull out my laser pistol so as to be ready if “mommy”
comes back in for a looksee.At the bottom of the pile, I find a foot. Ew… Just. Ew. As I try to pull the foot from the debris, a low, guttural
growl comes from the pile.
“Dear Prophet, we have a live one.”
As I dig into the nest, I start to realize that there aren’t
any eggs. Odd. Then the rubbish heap talks at me!
"Oy! Get off me ya wanker!”“DAVID!!”
“And quit shouting, frakk…”
As David sat up, I try asking questions as to just what the
hell happened.
“Writer’s Block mate. Plain ‘ole writer’s block. But now
you’re hear so we can get this heap up and running again. Grab a broom!”“No, YOU grab a broom you nasty misfit, I have writing to do as I haven’t been under a pile of rubbish for three months.”
“Not yet boy, not yet…”
