Post by Starlong on Apr 19, 2009 19:18:55 GMT
Since the third and final installment will be posted here due to having been evicted from it's rightful place at a Tuesday meeting, I'll put up the first two parts for some fantastic archived reading. Comments are welcome, both to do with the writing and also if I did/didn't nail your own persona as a character correctly. Apologies for those of you left out or not even mentioned, there are too many characters as it stands, so many may be brutally killed off in part three for an easier flowing finalé.
But I digress, here's the first part:
It was another Tuesday afternoon, almost 5pm. Outside it snowed gently as Winter continued to molester Spring, while inside the sinister looking St Paul’s Annex building, next to the Strathclyde Union, an evil plot was about to hatch.
“There’s still! Not enough! Seats!” Emma yelled in fury as the few writers that had already arrived cowered before her wrath.
“Well then the solution is simple…” Jenna said with a hint of suggestion.
“Erm… I hope it’s not going to be bad for the new guy…” Andy said nervously.
“No, it will be bad for the one responsible for all this!” Rebecca aggressively stated.
“Yeah…” Stewart said, “we all know who is responsible…”
“And he still hasn’t found out about the hoodies!” Emma snapped.
“He still hasn’t given me his hoody!” Rob added resentfully.
“Well, the path is clear then!” Euan declared as they all dug into their backpacks to reveal an assortment of deadly weapons.
“We must kill him… Not only so there are enough seats, but so we can check out his hoody and finally order our own!”
“Yes, he must die…”
Our hero walked down a corridor of the Royal College building, aiming for the exit that would take him towards the Writers’ Society meeting. He wore his trademark red hoody (he still hadn’t admitted that his flat had burnt down months earlier than that was his only piece of clothing as a result) and a pair of semi-faded jeans with enough pockets to hide Belgium in. As he walked he flicked his yoyo repeatedly down, not quite ready to try the amazingly awesome tricks quite yet. He reached the stairs near the exit and enthusiastically jumped down them. He was really looking forward to this meeting, as for the third time in existence he had attempted to write a poem as a piece. His last two attempts hadn’t ended too well, memories of ambulances and dismembered Students littering the streets still haunted his dreams every time he went to bed drunk. Never again would her stick a 17 syllable line after an 8 syllable line; too many lives were at stake with that kind of butchery. Still, “Ode to the most exciting boring moment ever witnessed by a dying flower” had promise, he eagerly awaited some thoughts and critique.
Inside the Annex, the writer’s were waiting either side of the door, mostly with pointy sticks. Rebecca however had retained her pickaxe from Dave’s story, Dave had somehow brought along a small army of penguins, and Emma waited impatiently with her whip, ready to strike.
A few minutes passed. A couple more followed. One more trickled by with all the excitement of a soap opera.
“It’s just rude!” Peter eventually exclaimed. “I mean, he could at least be on time to be ambushed and hacked to death!”
“He always wanders in late…” Jenna muttered. “Bastard!”
“Well we might as well read some pieces until he gets here.” Rob suggested. Everyone else shrugged and shuffled over to fill up all the seats and the pieces were passed around.
A few seconds later, Tom wandered around the doorway, totally failing to flick his yoyo properly.
“Hey guys!” He chirpily greeted the room.
“There he is!” A yell came back.
“Get him!” Several voices shouted in unison. There was a sudden scramble as they all rushed to their feet and started charging towards the doorway with blood thirsty looks in their eyes, screaming war cries of fury.
“Shit!” Tom remarked in surprise as he promptly bolted back the way he came. He only got to the exit of the stairs when –
“Look out Tom!” CRACK! The foot connected with the side of Tom’s face and he was thrown sideways down the concrete stairs, rolling over and landing hard on his back. Euan landed his flying kick and laughed victoriously, looking down at his fallen foe.
Tom coughed in agony before looking up at his attacker. ‘That came out of nowhere!’ he thought, before he then thought about how his face and spine felt like they had both been to a bone crushing convention. ‘Owwwww…’
The other writers emerged from the doorway to see Tom lying at the bottom of the steps.
“Alright!” Andy congratulated Euan on some fine fly kicking. “Who gets to finish him off?”
“Best let Emma decide that.” Euan replied, still admiring his own sneak attack. When Emma appeared she gazed down the steps at Tom who was trying and failing to get to his feet. “Arghh… I think I wedged a can of Irn Bru in my back…” he muttered as he rolled over off his squashed backpack. He looked up at the writers above him and between winced breaths uttered one word. “Why?”
“For too long you have not done anything about the lack of chairs, and you were supposed to find out about hoodies months ago!” Emma stated sternly. “So now we’ll get rid of you, and then we’ll infiltrate the Union with our own treasurer and steal all the funding to get ourselves gold plated hoodies and massage chairs!”
“What?!” Tom gasped. “But what about the other clubs! They need to have their end of semester parties! Who would fund them!”
“They’re not important! All that matters is that you are out of the picture and then comfortable seating will be ours!”
Tom dragged himself to his feet, gently dabbing his hurt cheek and trying not to think about how much his back hurt. “You…” he stammered in disbelief, “You mean you’re going to deny Students funding for alcohol!? You’re going to force them to stay sober for more than a few hours?”
“For an opener…” Emma replied deviously.
“NEVER!” Tom cried in defiance. “Student’s have the right to be pissed without EVER sobering up! You’ll take their drunkness away over my dead body!” And then he suddenly paused and slapped his forehead. “I actually just said that, didn’t I?”
“Yep, stupid thing to say in your situation.” Jenna said, almost laughing.
“You suck, dood.”
“Moron.”
“Can we kill him now?”
Tom looked at all the writers he was facing. He was desperately outnumbered and injured, but the Union wasn’t far away. ‘If I can get to the clubs office...’ He started thinking.
“He’s started thinking of a plan! Get him!” Dave yelled and a dozen penguins poured out of the door.
“Mr Flibble?” Tom gawked in bewilderment before promptly turning to run again. He got to the door of the Union in no time, and luckily it was one of the bouncers that he knew so he kept running straight past. The writers, however, all had to get out their student card before the bouncer let them through. Oddly though he didn’t seem to notice the crazed murderous look in their eyes or the shiny, deadly weapons they wielded.
Ding, Level 1, Exit Level. Tom sighed as he got into the lift and pressed the level 6 button. Lift is going up. He made a rude gesture with his hands to the writers who were moments too slow to catch the lift. They all started running up the stairs instead.
‘Please don’t stop at the fucking Gamezone…’ Tom silently worried as the lift ascended towards the Clubs and Societies domain on level 7. The doors opened onto a deserted level 6 and Tom could hear a lot of running feet coming up from the stairwell. He really didn’t have much time. He launched himself into level 7 and closed the doors behind him.
“Aha!” He yelled in triumph. “Let’s see how you like a four digit code locking system bitches!” Catching his breath, he walked over to the Clubs office to see the Convenor Claire sitting there.
“Hey Tom, don’t you have your writers’ group tonight?”
“Hey… Umm… Kinda. There isn’t anything in the Club’s byelaws that states a club can get disaffiliated if it tries to kill anyone on the Exec is there?”
Claire frowned in thought for a couple of seconds before answering “The Union exec yes, but not the clubs exec.”
“Son of a- ” Tom started to complain but then he heard the door code being entered successfully and all of the writers poured in to confront him.
“What! That’s not fair! How did you-” Tom was about to ask in bewilderment until he stopped abruptly and slapped his forehead again.
“That’s right Tom!” Emma mocked him. “When you let me keep my bag up here a few weeks back it was all just a ploy to get the code so we could finish you off!”
The writers advanced towards Tom to massacre him when Claire stood up and yelled “HALT!” with a voice of authority so powerful that the writers froze mid step and Rebecca lost her balance, falling to the ground and taking Hazel with her.
“Just what do you think you’re doing!?” Claire barked. “There’s a no alcohol policy on level 7!”
Rob, who had quickly gone to the Barony to grab a drink grumbled as he took it back outside. Claire turned to the rest of them and said. “You can all stay. You about to murder Tom or something?”
“Uh… pretty much yeah.” Stewart replied.
“Oh cool!” Claire chirped excitedly before pulling out a revolver.
“God dammit!” Tom shouted in exasperation before making a quick break for the fire exit through the back of level seven. Claire fired a few shots at him but missed and the writers gave chase once more.
They reached the stairwell but didn’t know which way Tom had legged it.
“Alright! Split up!” Jenna ordered fiercely. “And make sure all the exits are guarded, we can’t let him escape!”
They all split up, heading in different directions while Claire stayed in the clubs office to work on her budget report. She kept a sharp look out for her treasurer though, ready to gun him down should he try to sneak back through the Clubs domain.
Tom gasped as he caught his breath once more. Using the fire exit stairwells he had managed to reach the far side of level eight without being seen.
‘Alright!’ he thought optimistically, ‘I think I lost them for a –’
“Look out Tom!” THUD! Tom landed a few feet from where Euan’s foot struck him on the back.
“God dammit! Stop doing that!” Tom yelled angrily as he arched his back in agony. He quickly reached into his hoodie pouch and brought out a can of Irn Bru, popped the cap and downed it in one. “Right Bitch! I’m brewed up now!” Tom angrily said as he jumped to his feet ready to fight.
“That’s what SHE said!” Euan exclaimed, also taking up a fighting stance.
“ARGH! DIE!” Tom yelled in fury as he lunged forwards to attack. What ensued was a fight scene that the Matrix would have wet its trousers at, with walls crumbling, doors shattering, and random objects being turned into improvised projectiles.
At one point Tom thought he had Euan beaten but Euan swiped his hair across Tom’s line of attack, almost slicing his arm clean off.
‘It’s no good!’ Tom thought in anguish, ‘That was too close! His hair is just too powerful!’ But then he saw a cleaners bucket full of horrible floor mop water. Siezing his only chance, he did a triple backwards flip, scooped the bucket up and poured it over Euan’s hair.
“No! Not the spikes!” He cried in horror. Distracted, Tom had his chance to go for Euan’s other weak spot. “NO! Not the Nip-ARRRRRGHHH!!!!!”
Tom watched in horror as Euan melted away into a puddle of green slime which bubbled in a creepy fashion. “I don’t get it…” He frowned, before turning away. He somehow had to escape the building, then he could try and convince the writers to not kill him by posting funny Bash.org quotes on the forum. It was a flawless plan but only if he could sneak or fight past the rest of the writers. He’d learned something by obliterating Euan however… He could beat them if he zeroed in on their weaknesses, their distractions. He’d have to call upon everything he’d learned about them in order to succeed.
“Dammit!” He uttered a few seconds later… “I need to start paying attention to those kind of details…”
“What kind of details?” A sinister voice echoed from the doorway exit of Vertigo.
“Don’t even try it Joe! I know how to beat you!” Tom bluffed, poorly.
“I think not!” Joe uttered before blowing out a lungful of the smoke. He was carrying a cigarette in each hand and was drawing on them both heavily at the same time.
“Passive *cough* smoking *wheeze* attack!”
The smoke billowed towards Tom like a foggy claw of death reaching out to enclose him. He considered turning and running down the other stairs, but he thought he heard footsteps coming up them. Instead he took a deep breath before the smoke engulfed him and with all his might exhaled into the event horizon of the airborne cancer. He stepped forwards as his breath blasted a pathway through Joe’s death cloud until he had cleared a safe passage through.
“You thought you could beat me with your hampered lung capacity against my reasonably healthy, moderately exercise enhanced lungs! You were WRONG!”
WRONG
Wrong
Wrong… Wrong… Wrong…
The words echoed through Joe’s mind and he fell to the ground, crippled by insanity. “No…” he muttered in despair, “No!!!”
Tom sighed in relief and prepared to head downstairs when he was suddenly grappled from behind. Strong arms wrapped around his own, but he was able to turn his head around enough to see who it was.
“Oh crap! Not the Rob stubble!!”
“Ohhh yeah!” Rob replied as his impossibly sharp stubble started drilling into Tom’s head.
“Argghhh, the rugged, manly caused pain is unbearable!” Tom cried for mercy as he desperately tried to think of a way to escape Rob’s beard in training.
“That’s what she said!” Rob exclaimed.
“God damn you people!” Tom shouted furiously before he remembered something. “Of course!” He cried. “My Gillette Mach 4 I keep in my hoody pouch!” He sharply brought out the razor and managed to reach over his head enough to get one good swipe at Rob’s chin.
“No!” Rob cried in horror, “I feel like I’ve lost such an important part of me!” He stumbled backwards as he felt his chin. “Though that is sexy smooth!” He admitted.
The threat neutralised, Tom hurriedly ran onwards before he could be ambushed again. He made a mad dash down the main stairwell. Somehow he though it would be the last thing they expected. It was all going well until he reached level 3 when –
“Foot of Justice!” Stewart cried as he fly kicked into an unsuspecting Tom. “Ahhh crap!” Tom cried, quickly getting to his feet to face his new foe. They exchanged Punches of Piety and Elbow Crunches of Crucifixion until Tom was able to get in a lucky Overhead Throw of Tenacity which hurled Stewart through the stairwell bars and down the pit to an un-ceremonial splattered death.
A few moments later, Stewart appeared afresh from the ceiling and dropped down to face Tom once more but with a full health bar.
“Dammit! You have three lives?” Tom asked in irritation
“And three continues! Myah!” Stewart replied.
‘I can’t beat him this way. But we’re on level three...’ thought Tom.
“Catch me if you can!” Tom challenged Stewart before running towards the Gamezone.
“That’s what she-”
“SHUT UP!!!”
Tom quickly reached the Gamezone bar. “Can I get those cues if you’re returning them?” He politely asked the guy standing next to him, handing over his student card.
“Sure, no problem.” The dude replied, swapping them for Tom’s ID.
“Thanks.” Tom then proceeded to throw one cue to Stewart and they started fighting with them as staffs, slowly edging towards a pool table. Upon nearing the coin slot, Tom inserted a token while blocking Stewart’s attacks. The coin counter didn’t accept it so he tried it again.
“Dammit! You got a coin dude? It won’t take mine…” Tom asked as he rolled backwards to avoid a powerful downwards attack.
“Sure” Stewart replied, bringing out his own coin and inserting it while deflecting Tom’s counter attacks. The continued to clash cues until the balls had been set up at which point Tom narrowed his gaze and uttered “Now the real battle begins…”
It was an intense match, with Stewart getting a four ball lead at the start but Tom coming back until they were both on one coloured ball each. At this point Andy and Rebecca appeared and watched the game like vultures, ready to swoop in on Tom upon his defeat. Stewart lined up his shot. It went in! Now all that remained was the black ball, and the pressure was on. The cue collided with the white which struck with a click of destiny into the black which rolled right towards the centre pocket, until the 7° gradient on the table caused the ball to swerve off slightly to the right. Stewart watched on in sheer terror as Tom potted first his remaining colour, then the black.
“NoooooOOOooooooOOOooooooOOO!” He wailed out in defeat, throwing himself on his cue to shorten the pain. Andy and Rebecca however loomed nearby and approached.
“Oh no!” Tom exclaimed in horror. “Andy, you might well destroy me at pool! My days are surely numbered! But wait…” His tone lessened to a somewhat mocking variation of his normal voice. “You can’t defeat me, because you gave up pool for lent! You are powerless in this room! Muhahaha!”
Andy just cursed under his breath.
“I’ll defeat you though!” Rebecca boldly claimed.
“No Rebecca, you shall not, for I know your greatest weakness without doubt.” Tom calmly stated before he nudged her slightly. Rebecca, with her legendary sense of balance, toppled to the ground like an axe murdered tree.
“Well it was fun dudes, but I need to get the hell out of here before the rest of them find me!” Tom said before jogging towards the exit. His hopes of escape were cut short when he saw Emma, Jenna, and Hazel guarding the exit. Peter, Dave, Cat, Dave’s penguin army, and the rest of the semi regular crew had blocked off the fire escape. Tom was well and truly trapped, and he sighed, exhausted, seeing no immediately obvious way of escape and no hope of overpowering everyone at once.
“Look guys...” He attempted negotiation, “I know there aren’t any new seats, but they’ll be enough for this week! You see, Rebecca’s concussed, Stewart skewered himself with a pool cue, Rob’s gone off to get a barber shop shave, Joe’s gone insane and Euan sort of melted… As for the hoodies, could we not just mug some Sports Union guys? They have tonnes of them!”
The remaining writers didn’t looked convinced, and Tom prepared to pull out his last desperate trick, but before anyone made a move several people pushed past the writers blocking the door and came up to Tom.
“Tom!” One of them said, “Its happening! What we always feared is happening!”
“Which scenario is it? Zombies? Aliens? The Irish?” Tom asked worriedly. “Oh, by the way,” He added to the three people who had just came in “These are writers’ society people who want to kill me” motioning to the groups that blocked both exits, “writers’ society who want to kill me, these are course mates.”
Everyone muttered awkward ‘hi’s before one of the course mates went back to explaining the situation. “It’s worse…”
“No… not the -”
“Velociraptors, yes.” They replied.
“Oh crap… Well we need to get to the royal college then! We should be safe for a while, unless they’ve figured out how to pick locks…”
“Yeah, they can use key cards too.”
“Guys!” Tom desperately announced to the writers surrounding them, “you’re going to have to kill me later, right now we need to move if we’re going to survive:
Coming soon!”
But I digress, here's the first part:
It was another Tuesday afternoon, almost 5pm. Outside it snowed gently as Winter continued to molester Spring, while inside the sinister looking St Paul’s Annex building, next to the Strathclyde Union, an evil plot was about to hatch.
“There’s still! Not enough! Seats!” Emma yelled in fury as the few writers that had already arrived cowered before her wrath.
“Well then the solution is simple…” Jenna said with a hint of suggestion.
“Erm… I hope it’s not going to be bad for the new guy…” Andy said nervously.
“No, it will be bad for the one responsible for all this!” Rebecca aggressively stated.
“Yeah…” Stewart said, “we all know who is responsible…”
“And he still hasn’t found out about the hoodies!” Emma snapped.
“He still hasn’t given me his hoody!” Rob added resentfully.
“Well, the path is clear then!” Euan declared as they all dug into their backpacks to reveal an assortment of deadly weapons.
“We must kill him… Not only so there are enough seats, but so we can check out his hoody and finally order our own!”
“Yes, he must die…”
Parody Reality Pictures Presents:
A Writers’ Society Fable:
[glow=red,7,800]LOOK OUT TOM!!![/glow]
And thankfully Chuck Norris is nowhere to be seen…
A Writers’ Society Fable:
[glow=red,7,800]LOOK OUT TOM!!![/glow]
And thankfully Chuck Norris is nowhere to be seen…
Our hero walked down a corridor of the Royal College building, aiming for the exit that would take him towards the Writers’ Society meeting. He wore his trademark red hoody (he still hadn’t admitted that his flat had burnt down months earlier than that was his only piece of clothing as a result) and a pair of semi-faded jeans with enough pockets to hide Belgium in. As he walked he flicked his yoyo repeatedly down, not quite ready to try the amazingly awesome tricks quite yet. He reached the stairs near the exit and enthusiastically jumped down them. He was really looking forward to this meeting, as for the third time in existence he had attempted to write a poem as a piece. His last two attempts hadn’t ended too well, memories of ambulances and dismembered Students littering the streets still haunted his dreams every time he went to bed drunk. Never again would her stick a 17 syllable line after an 8 syllable line; too many lives were at stake with that kind of butchery. Still, “Ode to the most exciting boring moment ever witnessed by a dying flower” had promise, he eagerly awaited some thoughts and critique.
Inside the Annex, the writer’s were waiting either side of the door, mostly with pointy sticks. Rebecca however had retained her pickaxe from Dave’s story, Dave had somehow brought along a small army of penguins, and Emma waited impatiently with her whip, ready to strike.
A few minutes passed. A couple more followed. One more trickled by with all the excitement of a soap opera.
“It’s just rude!” Peter eventually exclaimed. “I mean, he could at least be on time to be ambushed and hacked to death!”
“He always wanders in late…” Jenna muttered. “Bastard!”
“Well we might as well read some pieces until he gets here.” Rob suggested. Everyone else shrugged and shuffled over to fill up all the seats and the pieces were passed around.
A few seconds later, Tom wandered around the doorway, totally failing to flick his yoyo properly.
“Hey guys!” He chirpily greeted the room.
“There he is!” A yell came back.
“Get him!” Several voices shouted in unison. There was a sudden scramble as they all rushed to their feet and started charging towards the doorway with blood thirsty looks in their eyes, screaming war cries of fury.
“Shit!” Tom remarked in surprise as he promptly bolted back the way he came. He only got to the exit of the stairs when –
“Look out Tom!” CRACK! The foot connected with the side of Tom’s face and he was thrown sideways down the concrete stairs, rolling over and landing hard on his back. Euan landed his flying kick and laughed victoriously, looking down at his fallen foe.
Tom coughed in agony before looking up at his attacker. ‘That came out of nowhere!’ he thought, before he then thought about how his face and spine felt like they had both been to a bone crushing convention. ‘Owwwww…’
The other writers emerged from the doorway to see Tom lying at the bottom of the steps.
“Alright!” Andy congratulated Euan on some fine fly kicking. “Who gets to finish him off?”
“Best let Emma decide that.” Euan replied, still admiring his own sneak attack. When Emma appeared she gazed down the steps at Tom who was trying and failing to get to his feet. “Arghh… I think I wedged a can of Irn Bru in my back…” he muttered as he rolled over off his squashed backpack. He looked up at the writers above him and between winced breaths uttered one word. “Why?”
“For too long you have not done anything about the lack of chairs, and you were supposed to find out about hoodies months ago!” Emma stated sternly. “So now we’ll get rid of you, and then we’ll infiltrate the Union with our own treasurer and steal all the funding to get ourselves gold plated hoodies and massage chairs!”
“What?!” Tom gasped. “But what about the other clubs! They need to have their end of semester parties! Who would fund them!”
“They’re not important! All that matters is that you are out of the picture and then comfortable seating will be ours!”
Tom dragged himself to his feet, gently dabbing his hurt cheek and trying not to think about how much his back hurt. “You…” he stammered in disbelief, “You mean you’re going to deny Students funding for alcohol!? You’re going to force them to stay sober for more than a few hours?”
“For an opener…” Emma replied deviously.
“NEVER!” Tom cried in defiance. “Student’s have the right to be pissed without EVER sobering up! You’ll take their drunkness away over my dead body!” And then he suddenly paused and slapped his forehead. “I actually just said that, didn’t I?”
“Yep, stupid thing to say in your situation.” Jenna said, almost laughing.
“You suck, dood.”
“Moron.”
“Can we kill him now?”
Tom looked at all the writers he was facing. He was desperately outnumbered and injured, but the Union wasn’t far away. ‘If I can get to the clubs office...’ He started thinking.
“He’s started thinking of a plan! Get him!” Dave yelled and a dozen penguins poured out of the door.
“Mr Flibble?” Tom gawked in bewilderment before promptly turning to run again. He got to the door of the Union in no time, and luckily it was one of the bouncers that he knew so he kept running straight past. The writers, however, all had to get out their student card before the bouncer let them through. Oddly though he didn’t seem to notice the crazed murderous look in their eyes or the shiny, deadly weapons they wielded.
Ding, Level 1, Exit Level. Tom sighed as he got into the lift and pressed the level 6 button. Lift is going up. He made a rude gesture with his hands to the writers who were moments too slow to catch the lift. They all started running up the stairs instead.
‘Please don’t stop at the fucking Gamezone…’ Tom silently worried as the lift ascended towards the Clubs and Societies domain on level 7. The doors opened onto a deserted level 6 and Tom could hear a lot of running feet coming up from the stairwell. He really didn’t have much time. He launched himself into level 7 and closed the doors behind him.
“Aha!” He yelled in triumph. “Let’s see how you like a four digit code locking system bitches!” Catching his breath, he walked over to the Clubs office to see the Convenor Claire sitting there.
“Hey Tom, don’t you have your writers’ group tonight?”
“Hey… Umm… Kinda. There isn’t anything in the Club’s byelaws that states a club can get disaffiliated if it tries to kill anyone on the Exec is there?”
Claire frowned in thought for a couple of seconds before answering “The Union exec yes, but not the clubs exec.”
“Son of a- ” Tom started to complain but then he heard the door code being entered successfully and all of the writers poured in to confront him.
“What! That’s not fair! How did you-” Tom was about to ask in bewilderment until he stopped abruptly and slapped his forehead again.
“That’s right Tom!” Emma mocked him. “When you let me keep my bag up here a few weeks back it was all just a ploy to get the code so we could finish you off!”
The writers advanced towards Tom to massacre him when Claire stood up and yelled “HALT!” with a voice of authority so powerful that the writers froze mid step and Rebecca lost her balance, falling to the ground and taking Hazel with her.
“Just what do you think you’re doing!?” Claire barked. “There’s a no alcohol policy on level 7!”
Rob, who had quickly gone to the Barony to grab a drink grumbled as he took it back outside. Claire turned to the rest of them and said. “You can all stay. You about to murder Tom or something?”
“Uh… pretty much yeah.” Stewart replied.
“Oh cool!” Claire chirped excitedly before pulling out a revolver.
“God dammit!” Tom shouted in exasperation before making a quick break for the fire exit through the back of level seven. Claire fired a few shots at him but missed and the writers gave chase once more.
They reached the stairwell but didn’t know which way Tom had legged it.
“Alright! Split up!” Jenna ordered fiercely. “And make sure all the exits are guarded, we can’t let him escape!”
They all split up, heading in different directions while Claire stayed in the clubs office to work on her budget report. She kept a sharp look out for her treasurer though, ready to gun him down should he try to sneak back through the Clubs domain.
Tom gasped as he caught his breath once more. Using the fire exit stairwells he had managed to reach the far side of level eight without being seen.
‘Alright!’ he thought optimistically, ‘I think I lost them for a –’
“Look out Tom!” THUD! Tom landed a few feet from where Euan’s foot struck him on the back.
“God dammit! Stop doing that!” Tom yelled angrily as he arched his back in agony. He quickly reached into his hoodie pouch and brought out a can of Irn Bru, popped the cap and downed it in one. “Right Bitch! I’m brewed up now!” Tom angrily said as he jumped to his feet ready to fight.
“That’s what SHE said!” Euan exclaimed, also taking up a fighting stance.
“ARGH! DIE!” Tom yelled in fury as he lunged forwards to attack. What ensued was a fight scene that the Matrix would have wet its trousers at, with walls crumbling, doors shattering, and random objects being turned into improvised projectiles.
At one point Tom thought he had Euan beaten but Euan swiped his hair across Tom’s line of attack, almost slicing his arm clean off.
‘It’s no good!’ Tom thought in anguish, ‘That was too close! His hair is just too powerful!’ But then he saw a cleaners bucket full of horrible floor mop water. Siezing his only chance, he did a triple backwards flip, scooped the bucket up and poured it over Euan’s hair.
“No! Not the spikes!” He cried in horror. Distracted, Tom had his chance to go for Euan’s other weak spot. “NO! Not the Nip-ARRRRRGHHH!!!!!”
Tom watched in horror as Euan melted away into a puddle of green slime which bubbled in a creepy fashion. “I don’t get it…” He frowned, before turning away. He somehow had to escape the building, then he could try and convince the writers to not kill him by posting funny Bash.org quotes on the forum. It was a flawless plan but only if he could sneak or fight past the rest of the writers. He’d learned something by obliterating Euan however… He could beat them if he zeroed in on their weaknesses, their distractions. He’d have to call upon everything he’d learned about them in order to succeed.
“Dammit!” He uttered a few seconds later… “I need to start paying attention to those kind of details…”
“What kind of details?” A sinister voice echoed from the doorway exit of Vertigo.
“Don’t even try it Joe! I know how to beat you!” Tom bluffed, poorly.
“I think not!” Joe uttered before blowing out a lungful of the smoke. He was carrying a cigarette in each hand and was drawing on them both heavily at the same time.
“Passive *cough* smoking *wheeze* attack!”
The smoke billowed towards Tom like a foggy claw of death reaching out to enclose him. He considered turning and running down the other stairs, but he thought he heard footsteps coming up them. Instead he took a deep breath before the smoke engulfed him and with all his might exhaled into the event horizon of the airborne cancer. He stepped forwards as his breath blasted a pathway through Joe’s death cloud until he had cleared a safe passage through.
“You thought you could beat me with your hampered lung capacity against my reasonably healthy, moderately exercise enhanced lungs! You were WRONG!”
WRONG
Wrong
Wrong… Wrong… Wrong…
The words echoed through Joe’s mind and he fell to the ground, crippled by insanity. “No…” he muttered in despair, “No!!!”
Tom sighed in relief and prepared to head downstairs when he was suddenly grappled from behind. Strong arms wrapped around his own, but he was able to turn his head around enough to see who it was.
“Oh crap! Not the Rob stubble!!”
“Ohhh yeah!” Rob replied as his impossibly sharp stubble started drilling into Tom’s head.
“Argghhh, the rugged, manly caused pain is unbearable!” Tom cried for mercy as he desperately tried to think of a way to escape Rob’s beard in training.
“That’s what she said!” Rob exclaimed.
“God damn you people!” Tom shouted furiously before he remembered something. “Of course!” He cried. “My Gillette Mach 4 I keep in my hoody pouch!” He sharply brought out the razor and managed to reach over his head enough to get one good swipe at Rob’s chin.
“No!” Rob cried in horror, “I feel like I’ve lost such an important part of me!” He stumbled backwards as he felt his chin. “Though that is sexy smooth!” He admitted.
The threat neutralised, Tom hurriedly ran onwards before he could be ambushed again. He made a mad dash down the main stairwell. Somehow he though it would be the last thing they expected. It was all going well until he reached level 3 when –
“Foot of Justice!” Stewart cried as he fly kicked into an unsuspecting Tom. “Ahhh crap!” Tom cried, quickly getting to his feet to face his new foe. They exchanged Punches of Piety and Elbow Crunches of Crucifixion until Tom was able to get in a lucky Overhead Throw of Tenacity which hurled Stewart through the stairwell bars and down the pit to an un-ceremonial splattered death.
A few moments later, Stewart appeared afresh from the ceiling and dropped down to face Tom once more but with a full health bar.
“Dammit! You have three lives?” Tom asked in irritation
“And three continues! Myah!” Stewart replied.
‘I can’t beat him this way. But we’re on level three...’ thought Tom.
“Catch me if you can!” Tom challenged Stewart before running towards the Gamezone.
“That’s what she-”
“SHUT UP!!!”
Tom quickly reached the Gamezone bar. “Can I get those cues if you’re returning them?” He politely asked the guy standing next to him, handing over his student card.
“Sure, no problem.” The dude replied, swapping them for Tom’s ID.
“Thanks.” Tom then proceeded to throw one cue to Stewart and they started fighting with them as staffs, slowly edging towards a pool table. Upon nearing the coin slot, Tom inserted a token while blocking Stewart’s attacks. The coin counter didn’t accept it so he tried it again.
“Dammit! You got a coin dude? It won’t take mine…” Tom asked as he rolled backwards to avoid a powerful downwards attack.
“Sure” Stewart replied, bringing out his own coin and inserting it while deflecting Tom’s counter attacks. The continued to clash cues until the balls had been set up at which point Tom narrowed his gaze and uttered “Now the real battle begins…”
It was an intense match, with Stewart getting a four ball lead at the start but Tom coming back until they were both on one coloured ball each. At this point Andy and Rebecca appeared and watched the game like vultures, ready to swoop in on Tom upon his defeat. Stewart lined up his shot. It went in! Now all that remained was the black ball, and the pressure was on. The cue collided with the white which struck with a click of destiny into the black which rolled right towards the centre pocket, until the 7° gradient on the table caused the ball to swerve off slightly to the right. Stewart watched on in sheer terror as Tom potted first his remaining colour, then the black.
“NoooooOOOooooooOOOooooooOOO!” He wailed out in defeat, throwing himself on his cue to shorten the pain. Andy and Rebecca however loomed nearby and approached.
“Oh no!” Tom exclaimed in horror. “Andy, you might well destroy me at pool! My days are surely numbered! But wait…” His tone lessened to a somewhat mocking variation of his normal voice. “You can’t defeat me, because you gave up pool for lent! You are powerless in this room! Muhahaha!”
Andy just cursed under his breath.
“I’ll defeat you though!” Rebecca boldly claimed.
“No Rebecca, you shall not, for I know your greatest weakness without doubt.” Tom calmly stated before he nudged her slightly. Rebecca, with her legendary sense of balance, toppled to the ground like an axe murdered tree.
“Well it was fun dudes, but I need to get the hell out of here before the rest of them find me!” Tom said before jogging towards the exit. His hopes of escape were cut short when he saw Emma, Jenna, and Hazel guarding the exit. Peter, Dave, Cat, Dave’s penguin army, and the rest of the semi regular crew had blocked off the fire escape. Tom was well and truly trapped, and he sighed, exhausted, seeing no immediately obvious way of escape and no hope of overpowering everyone at once.
“Look guys...” He attempted negotiation, “I know there aren’t any new seats, but they’ll be enough for this week! You see, Rebecca’s concussed, Stewart skewered himself with a pool cue, Rob’s gone off to get a barber shop shave, Joe’s gone insane and Euan sort of melted… As for the hoodies, could we not just mug some Sports Union guys? They have tonnes of them!”
The remaining writers didn’t looked convinced, and Tom prepared to pull out his last desperate trick, but before anyone made a move several people pushed past the writers blocking the door and came up to Tom.
“Tom!” One of them said, “Its happening! What we always feared is happening!”
“Which scenario is it? Zombies? Aliens? The Irish?” Tom asked worriedly. “Oh, by the way,” He added to the three people who had just came in “These are writers’ society people who want to kill me” motioning to the groups that blocked both exits, “writers’ society who want to kill me, these are course mates.”
Everyone muttered awkward ‘hi’s before one of the course mates went back to explaining the situation. “It’s worse…”
“No… not the -”
“Velociraptors, yes.” They replied.
“Oh crap… Well we need to get to the royal college then! We should be safe for a while, unless they’ve figured out how to pick locks…”
“Yeah, they can use key cards too.”
“Guys!” Tom desperately announced to the writers surrounding them, “you’re going to have to kill me later, right now we need to move if we’re going to survive:
‘LOOK OUT TOM!!!: Part II
Watch out for those Velociraptors!!#*^%$”!!’
Watch out for those Velociraptors!!#*^%$”!!’
Coming soon!”