[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] muffin man one Haha that made my day! I approve of this thread.[/quote]

Holy sh-

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] squirrel dude I finally added this to the library. Happy now, Tartan?[/quote] As long as it gets more people reading it, yes.

I finally added this to the library. Happy now, Tartan?

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] X 10000 Fists X Wow, Tartan... Still at it? I remember when you first started these parodies.[/quote] Yes, but fortunately for both me and my fans, by lack of recognition has not dented my ambition: I have a 300 parody to post and am currently writing a BioShock spoof.

ARE YOU GONNA FLIPPIN PUBLISH THIS!?!

Wow, Tartan... Still at it? I remember when you first started these parodies.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Colonel Corbec [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Str1k3rForce This is way to long to read.. im going to wait intill its put into a movie.[/quote] It's absolute scum like you that make life so hard to live. Don't ever say anything like that to anyone ever again. In the meantime; Tartan, my congratulations on your hard work and consolations for having been struck by the lowest echelons of the already wretched online society. Better luck next time, perhaps.[/quote] Yes, maybe Hola 2 will have some mild success. Then again, maybe it'll just sink without a trace. Heck, there's always publication in the summer. ;)

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Str1k3rForce This is way to long to read.. im going to wait intill its put into a movie.[/quote] Its absolute scum like you that make life so hard to live. Don't ever say anything like that to anyone ever again. In the meantime; Tartan, my congratulations on your hard work and consolations for having been struck by the lowest echelons of the already wretched online society. Better luck next time, perhaps.

Master Chef will return in.... HOLA " I mean 2. HOLA 2 But you probably gathered that, so let me narrow it down to June.

Epilogue Love and Fire A few minutes earlier, as the fire in the heart of the Caterpillar of Springtime grew to devour the whole ship, Sergeant ENTER GENERIC NAME HERE stood outside the ship, struggling with a L33t over a Blaster Gun. “Gimme that weapon, ma nizzle!” he shouted. As the fire spread outwards from the ship and over the plain, both of them stopped fighting, and stared at the ship. The L33t turned to look at ENTER GENERIC NAME HERE, and opened its arms in invitation of a hug. “No!” said ENTER GENERIC NAME HERE, “You forfeited that right when you fizzled with that Groan nizzle!” The L33t hung its…let’s assume/hope it’s a female, her head in sorrow, and watched as ENTER GENERIC NAME HERE turned his back on her. Then, in the intensifying heat and light, she ran forwards and embraced him from the back. As the explosion consumed the nearest Energon™ Station, it once again ballooned with titanic force, and a lone projector flew out and into space, became trapped in the nearby planet’s gravity well, and started falling towards it.

“Sorry buddy, we need to borrow this.” “No-a you don’t!” the alien shouted, running at Chef with his scoop held in a threatening manner. Chef grabbed the alien and threw him out of the window through which the ice-cream was served, the alien screaming “Mama mia!”, and got back to the business of shoving the accelerator forward with all his might. The ship flew backwards and crashed into a wall. “Oops,” Chef said. “Had the thing in reverse. Here we go…” He moved the gear stick into first gear and guided the craft out of the Caterpillar’s exterior, then flew away as fast as possible. As small fires appeared along the hull of the Caterpillar, the very structure of Hola itself and the air shook, and the explosions ballooned until the entire ship was an orange fireball, and cracks began to appear in the surface of Hola, fissures the size of motorways ripping through the surface, devouring anything that got in their way. As Chef kept the accelerator held forward, the ship started to slow down. A terrified Chef shoved the lever until it started cracking, then let go and manically checked the fuel gauge. The arrow pointed to the red area. “Oh God!!!!” he screamed. The surface cracks that had appeared in the…surface widened, becoming thick black lines, where, as a huge CRRRCK!!!!!! echoed through the atmosphere, stars winked through, as the huge chunk on which the broken Caterpillar laid became separate from the rest of the disc. Chef stayed facing front, and braced against the chassis of the ship’s dashboard and the seat as the force of the explosion rattled through space and his teeth. “Shall we take a look?” asked Cort. “I didn’t get it when we landed, but I can get it now, I’m sure.” Chef turned around in his seat and walked over to the window, looking back at the shattered world. The section with the Caterpillar on drifted away from the main disc like a giant slice of pizza being removed from the rest. “It looks like a giant pizza,” said Chef, reading the previous line. “Well,” said Cort, “that’s that…how the hell are we going to get home?!” she suddenly asked. “I have absolutely no idea,” Chef answered. “We’ll just have to wait for L.U.N.A.T.I.C.S. ship or something,” said Cort, “You’re right,” agreed Chef, walking back to the driver’s seat. “Well,” sighed Cort. “I guess it’s all over then.” “Oh, I don’t know,” replied Chef, removing his helmet. “I have a feeling this will be so well received by critics and the public alike, there will be a sequel…wait, isn’t the window in here open?” He started choking and had to replace his helmet, clipping in the conveniently-placed oxygen tank on the passenger’s seat.

“Disclaimer, by activating the Platform, you will destroy these hideous beasts! Why will you not do it?!” “As an American president once told me,” answered Chef, killing the last zombie again, “I’m not gonna sacrifice our generation for the benefit of future generations.” “Ah, yes, the Bush dynasty had very conservative views on fuels.” Chef opened the hatch, took aim from above, and fired at the reactor casing. “Well,” he said, “it isn’t hard to distract you, is it?” Clippit, annoyed, turned to a few nearby Sent-‘n’-alls. “Destroy him! Do not let him jeopardise the Platform’s future! I will keep watch to ensure you can actually implement it this time.” The Sent-‘n’-alls’ lights blinked and they turned to Chef. “Farewell, Disclaimer,” hummed Clippit, “At least,” he turned to the Sent-‘n’-alls, “I hope.” “One more reactor casing to go,” said Cort. “Get inside now, else you’ll be killed. Go around to get to that last panel.” Chef saw it ahead of him. “I’ve got a better idea,” he said. Taking a running jump, he landed on the back of one of the Sent-‘n’-alls, which started spinning and bucking, trying to shake him off. “Do not fire!” Clippit screamed. “I do not wish for one of you to be destroyed.” Chef stuck his hand into the top of the robot, pulled out what looked like a small analogue control joystick, and started pushing it in different directions, watching in amusement as the robot moved in the direction he pushed. He steered it over to the last control panel and jumped off, opened the last hatch, and pushed down on the stick. As it clicked, the robot plummeted to the floor, landing on a group of L33ts fighting a Fatty Bom Bom. “We’re almost done,” Cort said, sounding very happy. “Only one more to go, Chef!” “One more?” repeated Chef, “Then you won’t mind if I jump?” “Don’t, Chef!” Cort screamed. “NOOOOOO…” THHD! “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it, Cort?…Cort?” He climbed up to the raised side opposite the last hatch, and started jumping around and shaking his head, trying to shake Cortredhanded back into position, and, by sheer luck avoiding the melee attacks of a Mud zombie behind him. “…Woah…ah! Stop shaking! I’m back!” “Glad to hear it,” replied Chef as the zombie was vapourised by a Sent-‘n’-all laser beam. “One last casing,” said Cort, “and then we have to get out of here.” “Aiming…” A swarm of Sent-‘n’-alls suddenly swooped to block off the casing. “Do not let him destroy it!” screeched Clippit. “No worries,” Chef told Cort. He fired a rocket into the group and, as one, they fell to the floor in a pile of smouldering metal. He then fired another at the reactor casing, which exploded in a flame of red and yellow. Yes. “That’s it!” cried Cort. “The reactors will detonate in about 15 minutes. Now we need to leave. There’s an elevator on the top floor. Go!” Chef hoofed it through the corridors and up to the uppermost floor, up top, only to have the lift descend, filled with Spec Cops Groans and one Spec Cops L33t, quite hilariously wearing spectacles that made it look like Timmy Mallet. “The Chequered One is destroying the Sacred Disc!” it screeched. “Slay him!!” “I haven’t got the time for this,” Chef sighed. He picked up his rocket launcher, stood back, and blew them all to hell. “I really don’t.” “Sledgehammer?! Can you read me?” “Loud and clear, Cortredhanded,” said the pilot, with a slight edge in her voice. “Requesting immediate extraction from the Caterpillar of Springtime, IMMEDIATE extraction!!!!” (Excessive exclamation marks!!!!) “Roger,” came the reply, as if through gritted teeth. The line went dead. “We need to get to an extraction point, ASAP!” “I’m guessing we take one of these conveniently placed Gas Guzzlers,” Chef replied, “It’ll be a lot quicker.” “Fine, just hurry.” Chef hopped into the driver’s seat of the nearest vehicle and set off down the top of the ship, which, had the ship been a girl, would have been quite smutty. “Don’t stop! Don’t worry about the Coverup, Mud or Sent-‘n’-alls,” Cort shouted over the increasingly loud noise of the reactors beginning to heat up, “Just DRIVE!!” Hmm…one of those little smart tags has come up. It thinks Just Drive is a street name. Ha. And again. Dodging the increasingly irritatingly placed pillars, ramps, walls, and dips, Chef slammed on the accelerator with all his strength, the Gas Guzzler pounding down the tarmac (is it? Or would it be concrete or something else?) and the aliens, zombies and robots that got in its way. That’s right, stereotypical baddies from every sci-fi/horror movie/game/book/any other media that that applies to. Concentrating on keeping the accelerator held firmly down, Chef failed to see a major obstacle approach. Well, actually, [i]he[/i] approached [i]it[/i], but you get the idea. “Toll booth!” “What?!” “TOLL BOOTH!!” “A toll booth?! What the hell is a toll booth doing on the top of a ship?!” “No idea!” screeched Cort, “Why don’t you ask the people who decided to NAME this ship!?!” “How much do I have to pay?” asked Chef, reaching for his wallet. “You’re actually gonna STOP?!!!” “If we don’t pay this, the Spec Cops are gonna be onto me!!” “This ship is about to explode!!” Cort screamed over the increasing cacophony of the reactors going into overdrive. “FORGET IT!!!!” She forced Chef’s foot onto the accelerator, and the Guzzler speeded through the booth, which, quite unsurprisingly, was unoccupied. Chef turned as his foot would allow him, and looked back at the broken wooden barrier. “You’re paying for that!” “Cortredhanded, Master Chef, I can see you now,” said the Sledgehammer pilot over the comm. line, “But I am not picking you up.” Chef had stopped the Gas Guzzler on a platform in the open air, and had his accelerator foot twitching so that they could get the hell out of there as quickly as humanly possible, or, if Cort, decided to do it, as fast as computably possible. “What?!” he screamed. “[i]WHY?![/i]” The Turkey dropship appeared above them and started to lower onto the platform. “I discovered a forgetton, or erased memory at the back of my mind,” called the pilot, “about your assistant sleeping with my boyfriend.” “For God’s sake!” Cort shouted over the link, “We have just saved humankind! I think we deserve a little break! Forget about it, woman!!” “Nope,” the pilot replied. “And anyways…I…uh, can’t pick you up. Yep, being attacked by two Banscreens! Argh.” she added not-very-enthusiastically. The Turkey suddenly did a 180 degree turn and flew away. “SLEDGEHAMMER!!!” screamed Cort. “No…” she sobbed, “…she’s gone…” “And so will we be if we don’t get the hell out of here!” shouted Chef. “And as for that -blam!-, she’ll burn in Hell!!" Slamming on the accelerator as if his life depended on it, which, ironically, it did, Chef sped off the platform, over a small gap, and continued along the top of the ship. “I have an idea,” he said, having calmed down. “Can you take care of driving while I lean out of the side?” “Why?” Cort asked cautiously as they ran over a L33t. “What are you going to do?” “You’ll see…” replied Chef as he leaned out. Cort took over Chef’s feet, accelerating and braking at the appropriate moments to continue down the “road”. Chef was about to…enact his plan (you thought I was going to tell you then, didn’t you?), when a Groan waddled into view, though not on the “road”, and looked Chef straight in the eye…I mean visor, its eyes shining with tears. Time seemed to slow as the Groan continued to cry, and, deep down in his heart, Chef had to admit he thought they were cute. That is until it suddenly and rather randomly said, “Mmmm…you have big strong chest! Lots of nipple food in there, me hope!” Then Chef shot it. “So what exactly is this plan of yours?” Cort asked as the floor started to shake violently, “Because you might want to think about doing it. The reactors will explode any minute.” “It’s really original,” replied Chef. “All I need is a ship. Ah!” He leaned back in momentarily to steer the Gas Guzzler to the ship he had seen, what appeared to be an ice-cream van…I mean ship. As they got closer, Chef got ready to jump into the back of the craft which was conveniently open, and, unsurprisingly, jumped into it. The floor shook even more violently (if that was possible) as the disc’s apocalypse was reaching its climax, and Chef slammed himself into the driver’s seat and was about to shove the accelerator forward with all his might, when a voice said, “Hey, what-are you a-doing?” Chef turned around to see an angry Italian-looking alien staring at him with an ice-cream scoop in his hand.

ripping out shards of metal. That’s right, I’m getting descriptive. “Right, which way to the Engineering Area?” After passing through the armoury and wasting a good ten minutes searching the place for any weapons or ammo, Chef came out into a corridor where Munters stood their ground against the zombies leaping towards them. “Why wouldn’t an armoury contain weapons?” the Tartan-II asked in complete disbelief, taking down the nearest Mud zombie. “It defies belief!” “I reckon all the Mud must have taken the weapons,” said Cort, as Chef killed the last Munter. “I mean, look: That one has a shotgun, and those two have SMGs…oh, wait, they aren’t in this one are they?” “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” replied Chef, “So I’m just going to assume you’re going on the RAMPAGE!!!!®.” Continuing their journey to the Engineering Area, they reached yet another battle being fought, this one between Sent-‘n’-alls and Mud zombies. Just as Chef was about to charge in, Cort told him to stop. “Wait until they have whittled each other down first,” she advised, “and then go in and finish the survivors off.” “Hmm…” sighed Chef, flexing his trigger finger, “I really want to kill something, though.” “Just sit and wait. If you think about it, it will conserve your ammo.” “That’s true,” said Chef, watching the last zombie be struck down by a laser. “Can I go in now?” “Yeah, knock yourself out,” answered Cort. “Well, actually, knock the Sent-‘n’-all out.” Chef laughed. “Good times.” One of the zombies, however, spotted Chef lingering in the corner, and ran at him, clenching a muffin in its right root. “RFFHLLRDF!” it roared, and, despite being an inhuman onomatopoeia, Chef could have sworn it had a slight camp edge to it. “Hey, you want me, big boy?” he called to it. “RLL RF!” the monster replied. It shambled over and whipped its root to touch Chef’s bum. “AARGH!” Chef screamed in response, “It wants to eat my ass!” He promptly shot it in the face, and then resumed waiting in the corner until the fight further down the hall was over. “Well, the elevator isn’t working, so we’ll have to use the Cryo Area.” “How?” “Well,” replied Cort, “Do you remember that room you were first in? When the Coverup kept trying to board?” “Oh, that room! Yes.” “Well,” she continued, sounding like she was talking to a five year old, “you remember how that room was really high?” Chef stayed silent, frowning. “Well, the top bit of that floor…” “I do understand you, you know!” “Oh…well…sorry…” Chef sighed. “To the Cryo Area,” he mumbled. After dropping down and dealing with the Sent-‘n’-alls hovering around what he could only describe as a “doowhacky”, he continued out of the door, following the signs to the Engineering Area, both on the floor and the walls. After clearing the next corridor of L33ts and Groans, Chef spotted something leaning against a wall. “Couldn’t I just…?” “No.” “There’s no Roadrunner in here!” “No,” Cort said firmly. “You’re in close-quarters combat here. It would be too dangerous.” “Harumph!” “What?” “I moaned.” “Oh…well, the Engineering Area is just down here.” “Question:” started Chef. “If I have no grenades on me with which to blow up the reactors…” one, by one, he took all the grenades off his belt, removed the pins and threw them away, “wouldn’t I have to take in this rocket launcher?” “Fine,” sighed Cort. “Haha!” Chef laughed, heaving the weapon onto his shoulder, “Finally, I can unleash you upon the world! I hope you’re hungry!” Opening the door to the Engineering Area, a rather intimidating sight confronted Master Chef. It screamed at him too. And shook him. It was a huge hall filled with battling Coverup, Mud and Sent-‘n’-alls, with raised sides, like the one Chef stood on, with a grey square at each end… “Those grey squares are the access points to the reactors,” Cort said. I wasn’t finished. “Sorry.” The two raised sides were connected by a series of walkways, via which the access points could be…accessed. Above the battle, a series of walkways snaked around the top of the room, hanging from the ceiling allowing access…no, already used that…just checked the synonyms and none will work in this situation…allowing you to get to the control panels that… “Those control panels open the hatches.” Excuse me! Cort fell silent once again. Right…ah, yes. Is that all? Oh and there were doors coming from the raised sides, leading up to the walkways above. And above it all hovered Clippit, humming insanely about the activation of the Platform, as per usual. “…you finished?” Yes. “Right, firstly you need to get up to those walkways and open the access hatches, then…” “Fire a rocket into the hatches,” finished Chef. “Got it.” Moving into one of the side doors, he fought his way between a Mud/Coverup fight with the Sent-‘n’-alls trying to get a look in. When he reached the top walkways, he asked: “Which one do I do first?” “Any,” came the reply. “But I would hurry because some Sent-‘n’-alls are firing their lasers at you.” “Right you are,” replied Chef, whipping out his Blaster Gun and filling both the air and the Sent-‘n’-alls with lead. “That’s one way…” Cort remarked. “Now open the hatch.” “Done,” said Chef, tapping the “Open Access Hatch” button. You don’t tap buttons, you press them. Sounds so much better. And punching them sounds ridiculous. Sounds like they’re gonna break! “Now to the hatch,” said Cort. “Disclaimer,” hummed its voice, “You are here again? I requested your destruction, why was it not implemented?” “‘Cos I shot your flying bastards out of the sky,” Chef returned, “And I’ll do the same to you.” “Chef, he’s…” BOOM! The cloud disappeared and Clippit hovered there, still grinning like a freak. “Oh, how your ignorance deceives you, Disclaimer. This is but a hologram…” Chef span…spun 90 degrees and fired at the projector, but it had already turned off by the time the rocket hit it, and would definitely not be able to turn itself on again after it had hit it. “Damn! Could have got rid of that annoying paperclip once and for all!” He decided to take a chance (against Cort’s will) and jumped all the way down to the bits between the raised sides. Chef then aimed the rocket launcher at the open hatch. “Aim,” said Cort, “Fire!” “I’m afraid I cannot allow you to do that, Disclaimer,” said Clippit, appearing in front of the hatch. “Too bad,” shrugged Chef. The rocket whizzed straight through Clippit and the internal…stuff (not the reactor) subsequently exploded. Ooh, it could be the reactor’s casing! Yes, that’s good. “It appears your ignorance deceives you as well,” chimed Chef, imitating Clippit. “Curse you, Disclaimer, why do you continue to ignore your destiny?” “Because I decide my destiny, not you.” He jumped back over to the raised side and gave Clippit the finger. “Shall I give you medical care? Would that explain your irrational behaviour?” Chef ignored the hovering hologram (oh, the alliteration!), and made his way back up to the top of the room. Fending off hordes of L33ts, he managed to open another hatch, and was just about to jump down when Cort said: “Don’t jump.” “Why not? It’s quicker and easier than having to fight through loads of Mud and Coverup troops.” “Last time you did it, it sort of knocked me around a bit,” replied Cort. “I’m fine now, but don’t do it because I might become destabilised in here.” “Fine,” sighed Chef, shooting a Sent-‘n’-all out of the air. “I’ll go back.” Unfortunately, when he went back down, several sods of Mud had found their way into the L33ts’ mouths and reanimated the corpses in the form of zombies. “Say hello to my little friend,” Chef said, pumping the zombies full of lead. Unfortunately, he had nothing to actually destroy the bodies with, so, when he had shot at the second reactor’s casing, the zombies had gotten back up and attacked Chef as he came through again to open the third access hatch, causing him to pump them with twice the amount of lead that he had done before. Clippit, watching this situation despairingly, decided to put its…not foot…end of wire in.

Chapter 10 The Awe…some ending. As the Banscreen drifted over the desert, a huge mass came into view. A massive mass, in fact. “Is that…the Caterpillar?” asked Chef, leaning out of the vehicle and once again pulling a muscle. “Ouch!” “Unfortunately,” replied Cort, “yes.” A few moments later, Chef expected to touch down on the docking bay of the ship. Nothing happened. Leaning out the side, he saw that he had drifted right over the ship, and immediately turned around and flew back the other way, only to realise he had passed the ship again. Alternating his position between looking out of the Banscreen and adjusting it, he managed to land in the docking bay, only just getting over the lip of the as he struggled to keep adjusting his position. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Cort said sardonically. “No!” insisted a rather confused Chef. “What would make you say that?” “I didn’t mean to,” Cort answered, sounding upset. “It just sort of slipped out!” “Well, let’s get going,” sighed Chef. “Where to?” “The bridge.” Moving through the lifeboat area, Chef spotted the maintenance tunnel. “Ah, good times,” he reminisced. “Not particularly,” remarked Cort, “You tripped over and lost that UnderShield. I wonder if that’s still in there?” she added. “Let’s have a look,” said Chef, approaching the tunnel. “I’ve got a new flashlight.” Moving into the tunnel, he discovered the red lowlights (is that the right term?) were switched on, and switched his own light off. “Where exactly did it go?” he asked. “Can you remember?” “I think somewhere along here…oh.” “You mean down that hole with Mud sods poring out of it?” “Yeah…hopefully not though.” “Why not?” “Because of the Mud (?)” (Does that work? It was supposed to be like a sarcastic question. Do the brackets show that?) “OH GOD, NOT AGAIN!!!!” Chef screamed. He fired at the sods with whatever weapon he had picked up in the lifeboat area, in this picture it looks like an Assault…I mean, it was a Blaster Gun. Screaming like the suicidal maniac that he was(n’t), he jumped down the hole, only to land in the middle of a Sent-‘n’-all/Fatty Bom Bom fight. After letting the Fatty Bom Boms explode at the flying robots and then taking out the resulting sods, he continued down to a set of doors. “The cafeteria is through this door, Chef,” Cort said. “After that, it’s a short set of corridors to the bridge.” “Good,” he replied, “But I think some sort of iconic image will be set in my mind when I open this door.” As he approached it, the light on the door blinked and the door opened. Out poured a snarling swarm of Mud monsters, the sods bouncing out first, leading the way, with the zombies stumbling forward behind them, just as eager to Mudify Chef as their sod brothers were. “AAARGH!!!” roared Chef, trying to get into angry come-and-‘ave-a-go-if-you-think-you’re-‘ard-enough mode, and pulling the trigger on his gun like there was no tomorrow. The Mud host fell back into the room, allowing Chef to sandwich it/them in between the battling Coverup and Sent-‘n’-alls. “Through here, you say?” he asked, finishing off the last of the Groans. “Yep, just through th…” A pair of Munters burst through a door, which was, funnily enough, the door Chef needed to go through. “I guess it’s the old bait-turn-blam!- technique,” Chef grinned nostalgically. "Why the extra hyphen after blam?" Cort asked. "Dunno. Just felt like it." As the Munters dived at him, Chef rolled to the side and shot them on their orange patches in the small of their backs. That’s right! Both at the same time! Yes, this was one screwed-up weapon. Having dealt with them, he moved into the cafeteria, relieved that there was only a small group of L33ts and Groans, and dispatched of them. No, that’s not right is it? Should that be “was relieved”, and “dispatched them”? I’m not sure. Oh well… “Chef, we’re here! On the bridge!” Chef moved forwards with some caution, as he could see some Groans standing and staring out the front window. No, not standing outside the window, they were inside the ship, looking to the outside! “Haha!” giggled one, “He doesn’t have a clue!” “What?” said Chef. The Groans spun round, revealing sparkling silver armour that was normally not wasted on Groans, and a couple of rather large yellow shoulder-mounted cannons. They also all appeared to be wearing glasses or special night/heat/both/neither-vision goggles. “Fuel Cod Cannons…” started Cort. “We are the Spec Cops,” squeaked the one with a monocle, “and we’re here to deal with you, Chequered One. That’s right, we…” The Groan fell over as several Blaster Gun bullets perforated its shiny armour, splattering blue blood all over the beautiful, shiny metal. Oh, and you can’t stick metal in the machine, either. No, this metal was now permanently ruined. “Cop 123 has been killed!” screeched the one with Splinter Cell-esque goggles on. You know, the green ones in a triangle that Sam Fisher wears? “RUN AWAY!!” “They’re so damn cute when they’re scared,” sighed Chef. “Oh well, they’ll only get turned into Mud creatures.” BLAM! “Stick me in…that’s right.” Cort’s hologram appeared on the control dashboard, and she breathed deeply and looked around, smiling. “It’s good to be home,” she beamed, “but it’s gone downhill a bit.” “It did go through a crash landing,” Chef pointed out. “Right, the codes…” she shut her eyes. “…4…8…15…16…23…42.” A countdown appeared on the main computer screen. 00:02 “Wait, that’s…” BING! Chef and Cort turned to see a small microwave in the corner. “Quays liked his Micro-Chips,” said Cort, breathing a sigh of relief. How? She’s a computer program? “Right….” She shut her eyes again. “Here’s the real countdown…” Numbers again flashed on the screen. 30:00 “We’d better get moving,” said Chef, who had removed his helmet and was eating the Micro-Chips. Then something caught his eye, or the other way around. Basically, he saw something. A projector starting up. “Uh-oh.” “Well, if it isn’t my favourite Disclaimer and his programmed assistant,” hummed the insanely irritating voice of Clippit. “And just as I was beginning to think we would do this without a hitch…” groaned Cort. “What do you want, Wire Boy?” “I would much desire you to end your quest to destroy the Platform,” replied Clippit. “It ain’t gonna happen,” Cort shot back. “No? Well I shall simply do it myself…” The countdown on the screen stopped and vanished. “How the hell…?” “Well, I have been accessing this vessel for quite some time now, and have learnt to manipulate various applications. And I have been slowly learning about our history. Of course,” it added, “I see you two as a rather large blot on this log. Oh, how good it will be when there are no records of your existences on here. “Why do you resist, Disclaimer? Can you not accept that it is your destiny to activate this Platform? Come, give me the program, and I shall not spare your life.” It frowned. “Curse this honesty algorithm…” It disappeared. “I still have power to fight back,” laughed Cort. “Is he still in there?” asked Chef, pointing to the projector. “No,” Cort replied, “He’s moved down to the Engineering Area, he’s trying to disable the reactors…and succeeding.” She frowned. “I can’t get in…he’s constructed a firewall…I could begin the countdown, but with that firewall up I can’t link it to the reactors…” she trailed off, obviously sensing that all hope was lost. “What if I manually destroyed the engine?” “What?” “Think about it,” replied Chef. “If you can’t get through that firewall, I could get to the engines and just blow them up…oh, but we’d need to be a fair distance away when they blow up…” “Oh, I can take care of that,” said Cort reassuringly. “I’ll just alter the firewall to ensure the result of the explosions do not affect the reactors until we’re far enough away.” “Right then,” grinned Chef, “It’s off to work!” “Erm…Chef?” “What?” “Look behind you.” Chef slowly turned around. A group of Sent-‘n’-alls hovered outside the front of the ship and started to move round his sides (that sounded weird), their lasers sweeping over his armour. He fired at each one in turn, the bullets from his Blaster Gun spraying into them and

“Did you just say “Damn”? Do you want Quays to become a Mud monster? To be made” (the word’s “Mudified”, love) “into one of those…?” “No,” replied Chef quietly looking at the floor, and spotting several zombies spotting him spotting them spotting…you get the idea. Ad infinitum. Ad nauseum. Ad hoc. Probably. “No? Good. You’d better…” “Cort, shut up.” Chef backed slowly away from the edge. “Men! They think they…What?!” “Be quiet.” “What?! Why?!!” “RFLRH!!” “That’s why.” A zombie ran to directly underneath the edge and attempted to jump to the top floor. “Oh dear.” The zombie fell a bit short, about twenty odd metres, but turned around to its fellow undead, and waffled (yes, that’s right, “waffled”): “RF FL R LFG FF!” The Mud rambled over, then, much to Chef and Cort’s horror, built a sort of tower of Mud, reaching to the top floor. As the tower stood wavering level with Chef’s floor, he approached after it stood for a few seconds. “Fancy a game of Jenga?” He poked the tower, the top zombie replying with a whip of its root. “No? Okay…” He legged it. “I had no idea the Mud played Jenga.” Chef made this rather random comment while blasting through yet another cluster of Mud and Coverup zombies and troops. So repetitive. Well, it is a game. I suppose it wouldn’t be much good if an FPS was just standing around talking. It would be easy to write a story or parody of, but not much fun to play. Oblivion’s like that. Maybe I should do a parody of that. I’ll call it The Eldest Rolls: Oblivious. Err…back to the story. And remind me never to bring that up again. Atrocious name. OK… Slowly but surely following the endless corridors around the ship, Chef came across a hole in the…was it in the ceiling or floor? The floor? Yes, Chef encountered a hole in the floor, which, despite the floor itself being only a foot or two thick, probably less than a foot come to think of it, was still impenetrably black. “Let me guess,” started Chef, “Down the hole?” “Actually, I think…” Chef jumped, passed through the random layer of black, and came down on the other side. That didn’t sound right, did it? “Side” suggests a vertical division. This is a horizontal division. What is the word for horizontal division? “Don’t know.” “What?” “Err…forward?” “Through that group of Fatty Bom Boms? Yes.” Chef aimed down the barrel of his…weapon and fired at the grotesque zombies (fat zombies, mind, not the thin, athletic ones that the actual zombies are), the explosion from one of them taking out the other two, so the sound BLAMPOP! POPPOP! was made. That was fun to type. “Chef, we’re getting closer!” said Cort. “Quays’s signal is getting stronger!” “Don’t you mean “Quays’” signal”?” replied Chef, shooting the sods that had burst out of the Fatty Bom Boms. “What?” “You said “Quays’s”. The correct way of saying it would be “Quays’”.” “Whatever. His signal is getting nearer.” Chef fought his way out of the corridor, only to come across the second floor of the hangar the Jenga Mud were in. Funnily enough, the tower was still there, with zombies crawling up to the top as if there was no tomorrow. Chef approached the tower with the expected level of apprehension. The zombie on his level was looking up at the ceiling. Wait, no, make that the crotch of the zombie above it. Necrophile. Chef poked the zombie. Its “head” moved to “look” at “Chef”…Chef, sorry, and it waved a root at him, gesturing him to go away. “Oh, I don’t think so,” said Chef. He kicked the zombie in the “midriff” and the whole tower starting “swaying”…oops, swaying, and eventually fell. “JENGA!” “Right,” sighed Cort, “Now they’re gonna be even angrier than they were before. Good going, Chef!” “Err…right, to Quays!” Going through yet another series of random corridors and Mud-Coverup battles, Chef reached the third floor of the hangar. Or was that the one he started on? This level is so confusing! Right, he’s on one of the floors of the hangar… “The bridge is on the other side of the hangar,” Cort informed Chef. “Bridge?” said Chef, taking down a few L33ts, “You said nothing about a bridge.” “That’s where the captain is being held.” “I would have thought it would be a holding cell of sorts.” “Me too. The Mud must have a special idea for him.” “Go no further,” shivered Chef, thinking that Cort was making an innuendo. “We have to! We need those codes!” “Which way?” “Straight ahead and through that corri…” Chef started screaming and holding his head, running straight to the corridor, knocking over all the Mud and Coverup in his way, and sending one rather unfortunate Groan to an early grave. “Chef! Through that door on the left!” “AAARGH!!!” replied Chef, running into the door and onto the bridge. “Are we there yet?” “Yes,” responded Cort. “Can you not tell by the general bridge-ness of it?” “No, I can only see a big pile of mud over th…” he stopped midsyllable. Ooh, that’s a good word! Oh, apparently it’s not one, according to the spell checker. Should I change it? I’ve just seen it at the end of ([i]Halo:[/i]) [i]First Strike[/i], when Tartarus is speaking to Truth. Ah, well… “Uh-oh,” Chef finished, after my little invent-a-word session. He approached the pile of Mud, leaning down to see an impression of Quays’ face in it, contorted as if he was saying “daarh!” “I…can’t get any human lifeform” (that’s not a word either) “life form readings in the area…Chef, Quays has become…” WUMPH! “There was a bug on his face,” said Chef, brushing soil of his hand. “Well, for his sake,” started Cort, sounding all emotional and profound, “we must destroy the Mud, prevent them from leaving Hola, for him! For Quays! For…” “Question:” Chef interrupted, “Where would Quays’ pocket be? The one with the code in?” “He told me he kept it in his back pocket, because no-one had ever touched him there,” said Cort. “Stand up, let me look.” Chef stood up and back, or back and up, it’s the same thing, and let Cort get a good look at the 3 metre high pile. “Well, if his head was there…then his torso was there…and his waist was there…so there.” A small marker appeared on Chef’s visor. He stuck his hand in and fished for the…oh, wait, I forgot to tell you, the code is on a USB stick, and winced as he realised he was groping Quays’ arse. “Gotcha!” he cried, pulling the object out. It was a lighter with the L.U.N.A.T.I.C.S. logo on the side. “And…again!” This one was a chewing gum dispenser, though it was wrong to call it chewing gum, when it was actually that papery stuff you stick on your tongue that tastes like mint and just melts. “Please…I don’t wanna…” Chef pulled out a USB stick with “Self-Destruct Codes” written on it. “Yes!” He stuck the stick into his head, and after a second Cort said, “Got the codes!” “Now, how do we get out of here?” “RFLHRDFR!” suggested a zombie. “That’s a great idea!” replied Chef, “I…AARGH!” He span around to face the zombie, which leapt over to him, but went to far, landing in the Quays-Mud thing and not being able to get out. “RUN!!” shouted Cort. “How the hell are we gonna get out of here?!” Chef screamed, running along the path I mentioned earlier. You know, the one overlooking the hangar. “Not sure,” panted Cort, even though she wasn’t running. “Let’s hope the Banscreen Genie smiles on us again!” “Cort, couldn’t we just teleport to the Caterpillar?” “No, it wouldn’t work. I can only teleport things onto the structure’s surface.” “But we got in h…” “Chef, look! Banscreens!” “May the Banscreen Genie be praised!” cried Chef in relief, and without realising it was fictional. “How are we going to get down there?” asked Cort. “I’m sure the Mud will be only too willing to help,” said Chef, skidding to a halt. “Hey! Guys!” The zombies scattered on the hangar floor looked around and “saw” Chef. “Could we have a little help here? Could you do your Jenga tower again?” “RFLHHRD!!” the lead zombie replied, obviously ravenous with hunger. It crouched as other zombies jumped on top of it, eager to Mudify Chef. “Cheers, guys,” Chef shouted kind-heartedly, “Cheers.” The tower reached Chef’s level, and the top zombie leapt up onto the walkway. “Thanks, dude!” said Chef, going to high-five the zombie but ending up knocking it over instead. “Whoops! Anyway, we need to go. Thanks again!” Furious, the zombie jumped up, then jumped down (that sounded silly) onto the hangar floor, chasing Chef as he approached the Banscreen. “RRFLHRRD!!” “I’m sorry! I can’t stay! I’ve got a huge, freaky planet thing to blow up! I’ll see if I can pop by later, alright?” The zombie’s grip on the Banscreen loosened, and it fell back onto the hangar floor, watching as the Banscreen flew into the night. “RR FRDR FRF FRFF!!” Again with the incomprehensible gobbledee-blam!-. No-one understands you, you.. you... ah, can't think of any big, long words for "mud monster". Is "-blam!-" a racist term? This isn't part of the chapter, I'm just curious. I've never heard it as an insult.

Chapter 9 “Daarh-hoo-haarh!” The words of a great man. The familiar ripples passed over Master Chef’s armour as he was teleported to The Pie in the Sky. “Right,” Cort said, “I’m new to this teleportation thing so you’ll have to excuse me if I…” The surroundings materialised around him, and Chef fell head first into a Coverup toilet. “Urgh!” he moaned, attempting to pull himself free. Unfortunately, these were the Groan toilets and, err…well…let’s just say Groans are a lot smaller than humans. “This looks like a dog collar,” Chef groaned as he pulled the lavatory off his head. “Makes you look dashing,” commented Cort. “Hmm, I wonder if they do holographic liposuction…?” “If I could harm you I would,” said Cort through gritted (holographic) teeth. “Oh, wait, I nearly forgot…” Chef punched himself in the face. “OK, point proven." “We need to get to Quays,” said Cort as Chef kicked down the cubicle door, squashing a Groan. “You don’t say,” replied Chef, barging open the door, and killing another Groan in the process. “Get…get off me…” “I’m not touching you,” said Chef. “That was Quays!” Cort informed him. “He’s nearby!” Chef spotted a window through to the bridge and glanced through. Several Mud zombies were gathered around him, trying to hold him still, as a Fatty Bom Bom approached, slowed by the slope on which Quays stood on. “Captain!” Chef screamed trying to break the glass. It was Energon™-proof. Which is the Coverup equivalent of bullet-proof. Because the Coverup weapons fire Energon™ and human weapons fire bull…but you knew that. “Chef!” he called. “Wha’…wha’ aarh you doin’ ‘ere?” “Coming to save you, sir!” Chef replied. “Damn this unbreakable glass!” “No…oi can save moiself!” “We’re not leaving here without you, captain!” Cort chipped in. “You’ll ‘ave to…get off!” The view of Quays was blocked out by the Fatty Bom Bom’s form approached him. “We can’t leave him here!” cried Chef. “I know,” breathed Cort. “Let’s get going.” After dispatching of a group of Groans and Mud zombies, Chef walked into the hangar, only to find someone had carelessly left a large hole in the middle of the floor. Chef looked at the edges by they were far too narrow to walk along, let alone edge along like some sort of Indiana Jones/Lara Croft hybrid. “There’s only one way we can go,” said Cort, “Vertically.” “But I can’t jump that high!” Chef moaned, looking at a platform hanging from the roof. “No, I mean down through the hole!” “Are you sure?” asked Chef. “It doesn’t look very solid.” “What? It’s a hole! I… Never mind! It’s the only way!” “Okay,” said Chef, shaking his limbs. “Let me just prepare myself…” Cort moved his right leg forward and they plunged into the darkness, even though the ship wasn’t that high off the ground or that big. I guess the hole was kept dark so that no-one knew what they were jumping into. Chef wouldn’t have wanted to. The Tartan’s eyes opened. Just as he realised he was sitting on a bed with some boys his eyes opened. Okay, that sounded bad. He woke up. Yes, that’s better. All around him was a thick brown liquid which smelt absolutely disgusting. “I hope this is gravy,” he said as he was about to stand up. “Wait!” Cort warned. “There’s a big battle above. Stay down for a while.” “I’ll try,” replied Chef, attempting to keep his breakfast down. After a few moments, the sound of fighting was as non-existent as before, Chef being in the liquid, and, not being able to keep the vomit down, jumped out of the “liquid” and ran to a corner, ripped off his helmet and vomited onto a dead L33t’s body, bending over so that no-one could see his face. Unforunately, at the same time, a Mud sod bounced along and conveniently landed in the L33t’s mouth, and the L33t’s skin subsequently became brown and…muddy. “Hmmm…brown puke,” mused Chef, not noticing the roots sprouting from the body’s arms. “RFLRHD!” replied the body. “AAARGH!” screamed Chef as the zombie sprang up, giving him a mouthful of Mud. “RFL…HFLRD!” grunted the zombie trying to force itself out of Chef’s mouth. “MMMMMMMMMMMM!” screamed Chef, louder than ever. “RFLHRDD!” moaned the zombie, holding where the L33t’s ears would have been. “HFFDPLEH!” breathed Chef, pushing the zombie away. “FLRD!” roared the zombie. It ran at Chef, roots a-waving. Fortunately, Chef sidestepped the creature, which, as a direct consequence, fell into the “liquid” (okay, you probably gathered that it’s poo by now), and stood there, vomiting repeatedly out of its half an orifice. “Huurh!” Chef shivered, replacing his helmet then turning so that anyone watching could now see the front of his head. “You humans!” laughed Cort. “You can’t stand the smell of a small bit of faeces!” “Well, yes, Cort,” replied Chef. “We have real noses, not holographic ones.” “There’s probably another way into the ship from here,” she said. “The elevator must still be in operation if the Coverup have troops down here. We need to find it.” “You don’t say,” Chef added pointlessly as he walked down the ravine, just like all the other outdoor places in this are set. He continued his journey around the ravine, encountering yet another fight between the Coverup and the Mud. Well, who else would it be between? The Smurfs and the Bananas in Pyjamas? Just as Chef rounded a corner, he saw what he hoped was the last one of a pair of Munters falling to the ground. “Oh well,” said Chef, upbeat, “at least I won’t have to fight them.” The Mud zombies who had killed the Munters ran off to the next valley to join the fight. As Chef took the time out to take a rest, only to have Cort shout in his ears, a few sods of Mud bounded out of the valley mentioned in the previous paragraph and began to approach the Munter’s body. “Oh, no,” shouted Chef, firing at the clods, “I do not want to fight Mud-infested Munters! Normal ones are bad enough!” “Munters can’t become infested, Chef,” said Cort in his ear. “They are just a bunch of horrible, fatty slabs of skin, kept together by their battle armour.” “Diiis-gusting,” Chef wrinkled his nose, once again trying to keep his previous meal under control. “Round the next corner is the elevator,” Cort informed him, trying to take his mind off the thought of skin held together. It disgusted her too. As they rounded the corner, there was, fairly predictably, a Coverup/Mud battle at the base of the lift, although this time the Smurfs were involved too. You believed that? “The elevator,” Cort said in her American accent, “is on the top of that small hill, just ahead.” “I'm not blind,” Chef snapped, as a Mud zombie leapt towards him and attacked him. "Waah! Where's that coming from?!" After pointing in a random direction and saying, “Look! Food!” to distract the Mud host, Chef scrambled up the hill and dived into the lift, and then realised the doors had not shut as the Mud swarmed after him. After forcing them out and losing his secondary weapon in the process (he would never lose his beloved Cortredhanded…how many levels does that work on? The lift that is. Lots of levels), he hammered the buttons, nigh on breaking them, and collapsed in a heap. After a few seconds, the doors opened, revealing a Coverup and Mud welcoming party. “I’m in no mood,” Chef groaned. As did you. Having dispatched the enemies, Chef, continued down the corridor, Cort marking their next destination on his visor. “Where’s this to?” asked Chef. “Erm…” came the reply. “Quays?” “Er…sure,” said Cort, “yeah, whatever.” After that moment of randomness, Chef moved towards the destination, walking into the wall. “Er, Chef, we actually have to go through the corridors.” “How many more?” screamed Chef, his grip on sanity loosening. “No idea.” “AAAARGH!!” Chef sprinted through the corridor, and, by complete coincidence and not because it’s convenient, came upon a hangar. He stood on the top level, and looked down as Mud zombies began gathering bodies to Mudify. Chef leaned forwards and squinted at the pile, which did not squint back. “Damn, Quays isn’t in there!”

ZOMG!!! People has postd!!!1111 Okay, I'ma post a new chapter now. XD

This is hilarious. If there was ever a Spaceballs-esque recreation of Halo, this would be it.

This is way to long to read.. im going to wait intill its put into a movie.

“That’s because this is later in the day!” Cort replied, speaking to a Chef like he was mentally challenged. I’m not saying he wasn’t. “I just thought it would give me something to talk about,” Chef moaned like a tart, “Jeez!” “Less talk; more flight,” Cort said quickly. “The last generator is up ahead. And above.” Wait. Up [i]means[/i] above, doesn’t it? Damn. “Right. I bet there’s a conveniently placed Banscreen somewhere…” said Chef, scanning the valley floor. “Ah…over there…behind that big Coverup/Mud fight.” Chef fought his way through yet another three-way (with his inclusion) fight, the only highlight being a L33t shooting and killing a Groan by accident. Sigh (yes I did just write the word "sigh" like those idiots I detest)…these fights are so numerous it’s now not even worth mentioning them. Which I hardly have this chapter. The Banscreen flew up to the platform, narrowly avoiding a rocket shot by a Mud zombie, and landed, pretty much as it had before. “So,” said Chef, psyching himself up for the final fight of the chapter, “we had Mud in the last one, and Sent-‘n’-alls in the first. Coverup in this one?” “Shall we see?” hinted Cort. “Just get in there!” Chef stepped through the door. “Nope. More Sent-‘n’-alls.” “Let’s just hope that you can resist the urge to fall asleep.” Chef shot at a few of the flying robots, then hid behind a pillar at the side of the room, the robots drifting around the side as he reloaded his…whatever weapon he was carrying, I can’t remember. Ah, yes, that’s right, a shotgun. He swung around the side of the pillar, surprising the Sent-‘n’-alls and shooting down the nearest then ran straight for the Energon™ Generator. He stood there for a moment, strange voices in his head (which he was imagining) trying to make him sleep. “Yes,” he said, finally letting go, “I want to sleep.” A laser swept across his shoulder waking him up. “I…WAS…SLEEPING!” Chef screamed at the Sent-‘n’-all, shooting it with every word he spoke until it was a smouldering wreck on the floor. “Right,” said Cort. “Get outside and I’ll tell you what to do next.” Chef walked out, kicking the pile of metal as he went, and kicking it over the edge when he got outside. “I’ve found The Caterpillar of Springtime, it’s located on the edge of a desert plateau about 600 miles to the…what’s the direction on Hola?” “It’s probably galactic north, south, east and west,” Chef answered. “…600 miles to the galactic north. I could probably reactivate it when we get there, but to stop psychos gaining the codes to trigger the self-destruct sequence, the L.U.N.A.T.I.C.S. told the captain of each ship to keep the codes in their pockets. That’s the only way to destroy Hola, so we have to find the captain.” “I have no idea where Quays would be now,” said Chef. “I do,” answered Cort. “A few hours ago, Quays went to that research station that you went to…what happened to him?” she suddenly asked Chef. “Err…” said Chef, suddenly remembering the point of that little meeting with the Mud, “he went there with Sergeant ENTER GENERIC NAME HERE and two other guys, and they got attacked by the Mud, and…” “Oh no,” said Cort suddenly. “Oh no, oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh…” “Are you going anywhere with this?” “Yes. Yes, I heard on the Coverup comms that the Mud had boarded The Pie in the Sky, and were going to use it to get off Hola. They mentioned that the Mud had a human with them…” “Where’s the ship now?” “It’s being damaged by the Coverup in an attempt to stop the Mud using it, but the Mud are fighting the Coverup and trying to repair it.” “Right,” said Chef, climbing into the Banscreen. “This might take a while…” “No, I’ll use the Hola’s teleportation system to get us there.” “How..?” “I learnt to do it in the Control Centre.” “Then why couldn’t you use it to get me to the Energon™ Generators?” “I dunno. Thought it would be more fun your way.”

“No it’s not. Step into it if you don’t believe me. You won’t rise up; you’ll just stop the Energon™ flow. You’re shield will be temporarily disabled due to the sheer power of the thing, but you won’t ascend.” Chef approached the pillar (of light), eying it apprehensively. “Couldn’t I just stick my arm in it?” “No. Your arm isn’t wide enough to stop the flow.” “Fine!” Chef grumbled. He stepped in and felt a warm, soft flow of Energon™ around his armour, and then heard a buzz as his shield went offline. As he stood there with his eyes closed in the serenity of the pillar, a group of Sent-‘n’-alls came into view. “Chef?” “…Mmm…” “Chef?!” “…uh…?” “CHEF!!!” “Z…z…” A laser beam swept across Chef’s armour, scorching it and waking him up. “Aaargh! There were these two boys and…” “Chef, destroy those Sent-‘n’-alls!” “I’ll probably miss,” he moped, “wasting precious rockets.” “Fine! Just get out of here!” Chef ran through the door, punching any Sent-‘n’-alls that got in his way, and made it outside to where the Sent-‘n’-alls bizarrely didn’t fire on him. Chef looked down to ravine floor. “Now about getting down there…” From out of nowhere above the platform, a Banscreen dropped and landed in front of Chef. “How…?” “Don’t worry about it, just get in!” Chef shrugged and clambered into the craft, which was once again frustratingly hard to pilot. “Where’s the second generator?” “It’s in the next part of the canyon.” “So we only have to go down to those doors on that snowy rock bridge to get to it? Not much flying?” “Well, no, not at first. But once…” “That’s good enough for me!” Chef grinned, pivoting the Banscreen down to face the bridge. “Now all I have to do is…” He pulled the acceleration trigger and accelerated. How unexpected. The craft moved down towards the bridge and Chef felt as though he had gone far enough. He opened the top of the craft and popped out. And then fell. Having winded himself after falling such a long distance, Chef decided to take a break and stood on the bridge for a while, regaining his breath. “Chef! Come on!” urged Cort. “We have to keep moving! What’s more important, the whole of mankind’s survival, or you regaining your breath?” “It’s okay,” Chef replied, inhaling sharply, “I’m good to go…” He took a few steps before falling over. After Chef had been out for a few minutes, Cort decided to do things on her own. She attempted to take control of the muscle enhancement systems in the suit. After another minute or two, Cort managed to make the TARTAN-II suit move on its own. “Damn I’m good!” she said to herself. “Well, that’s what you get for being developed by Microsoft!” Movements in Chef’s arms woke him up. He was standing on the same parallel bridges he had walked along earlier, firing on Mud zombies who were firing on Coverup troops who were firing at him. “Wha…was I sleep walking?” “Hmm? Oh no, I managed to take control of your suit. This is me doing the shooting.” “That’s…that’s impossible!” spluttered Chef. “So you could just do anything with this suit without me?” “Pretty much…watch out!” A Mud zombie leapt over to Chef, saying something along the lines of “RFLRDL!” Cort manoeuvred the suit to avoid the zombie, and then squeezed the trigger on the shotgun Chef now realised he was carrying to blast the zombie into the precipice. Wait, no, I mean over the precipice. Yes, that’s right. Chef, jerking his arm out of the position Cort had it, said, “I’ll take that, thank you!” A L33t spotted him, running at him with an Energon™ Sword. Chef turned and fired the shotgun. And missed. Cort took control again and shot the L33t before it could move any closer. “And I haven’t even had training!” They continued out into the next part of the chasm, with Chef giving Cort a long lecture about how he should control his suit. “If you keep on using it to its maximum, you’ll waste all the power.” “You have to push yourself,” Cort insisted. “The power comes from me! You’ll wear me out!” “Push yourself!” “I’m not going to have this argument,” argued Chef. “Just let me control my own body!” “Fine!” moped Cort. “It was fun having a kinetic presence in the world.” “You sounded like the Assistant then,” remarked Chef. “No, the Assistant is just an annoying substitute for a stapler. I’m a sassy chick.” “A sassy fat chick.” “What?” “Nothing! Where’s the second generator?” “Up on that ledge,” replied Cort. “We need a Banscreen.” Chef scanned the area while shooting the Coverup group approaching him. “I don’t see any.” “Have a look behind that building,” said Cort as Chef’s suit started walking. “I’ll do it!” said Chef, pulling his leg back, then putting the same leg forwards. “Gonna do the Hokey-Cokey?” (How do you spell that?) “No, just regaining control of my own body.” “Right…oooooooh the hokey-cokey!” Chef’s body started to dance. “AARGH!” He ran forwards, trying to overpower the slightly-unhinged computer program’s movements. “Hurrah! A Banscreen!” He ran towards the vehicle like it was long lost relative or friend and literally kissed it, the freak. Flying up into the sky, he leaned out and directed the Banscreen onto the platform and hopped out. “Do you reckon there’ll be more Sent-‘n’-alls in there?” he asked Cort. “No, probably the same amount.” Chef rolled his eyes and walked in. “RFLHRD!!” “I think I just wet myself again.” “Alright,” sighed Cort. “Stay still and I’ll dry it out.” Chef felt air blow onto his crotch and then jumped as the Mud made its way towards him. “Stay still!” “Hurry up!” Chef whined. With the blowing not stopping and the Mud closing in, Chef decided to just run for the Energon™ Generator anyway. He stood in it for a few moments, the waves trying to lull him into a sleep once again, but he resisted the urge to get some warm milk and ran back out to the platform. “Chef! Why did you run?” asked Cort, annoyed. “The Mud were gaining on me.” “Now that ventilation system is broken!” “I just hope I’m wearing that self-ventilating underwear,” said Chef, confusing one of his dreams with reality. “And I just hope that a Banscreen randomly materialises again. Where did it go?” “It’s right here,” said Chef, climbing into the vehicle. Flying back down to the ground and disembarking, Chef asked Cort the location of the last generator. “It’s back the way we came,” said Cort, now getting the grip of how to say sarcastic comments. She’s better than me. “Right,” laughed Chef, heading through to the next tunnel that led to the last canyon, “you mean it’s this way?” “No,” Cort drawled, “it’s the way I said.” “Hehe! You’re getting the hang of this sarcasm lark.” “No, this me telling you the truth,” she said, once again sarcastically. “Really?” she added hopefully. “Definitely! When we get out of this, write a parody of it and call it “Halo”. It’ll be great!” Chef continued to walk down the tunnel, realising that they had had transport this time, chapter 5. “Where’s that tank got to?” said Chef looking around, crossing a bridge and firing into a group of Coverup simultaneously. “I think it got destroyed,” replied Cort. “That, or commandeered by the Mud.” “Shh! They’re not supposed to know about that yet!” “What? Oh, yeah! I mean it [i]probably got destroyed after the Mud assaulted it[/i].” She said this slightly louder, indictated by the italics, as if to convey its meaning over something else. As they neared the exit, Chef started yet another conversation, as he had only one “person” to talk to, and they were both on their last ideas on what to talk about. “Is it me, or is it much darker now than it was a few hours ago?”

Chapter 8 Erm…Two…err…oh! That little guy wants to WHAT?! After spending a long time trying (and failing) to come up with a good chapter name, I think I’ll just carry on with the story. Master Chef and Clippit teleported onto the ledge of the Control Centre, overlooking the huge depression with the concentric circles. “So you’re telling me that the Mud can infect anything?” Chef asked. “As long as contains significant calcium levels within its biomass, yes.” “What about plants?” “Not quite, but maybe evolution will allow such an event in the future.” “Oh…” Clippit floated over to the control panel. “Now,” it said, “place the USB plug into this socket.” Chef did. Nothing happened. “What…?” “Surprise!” shouted Cort, appearing as a hologram and then electrocuting the nearest projector, removing Clippit’s image from the situation. “Cort, what…” “Have you been having fun?” Cort asked sarcastically. “I haven’t. My memory is overloaded with information here, I’m on the brink of breaking down, and then there’s YOU trying to kill us all with that ANNOYING BASTARD!” “Cort,” said Chef, soothingly, “calm down! He’s here to help!” “Help you do what?” asked Cort angrily, “Do you know?” “Well, not exactly,” Chef replied, scratching the back of his head, “but it somehow activates Hola, wiping out the Mud! See, I do know! Ha!” “I’ll be having that!” said Cort, swiping the Catalogue from the panel, it appearing as a hologram in her hand. Suddenly, another projector blinked on, and Clippit flew into view again. “What are you doing?!” it shouted. “Get out! Get out of the core, you’ll ruin the mainframe!” “Am I bovverd?” Cort quipped. You Americans probably didn't get that. “I’ll go and delete you myself if you do not comply!” “Will you now?” asked Cort, the hologram of the Catalogue floating into her holographic body. “And the Catalogue too?” “£$%&!” fumed Clippit. “I’m sorry,” said Cort, “I didn’t quite catch that. Something about “pound, dollar, percentage…”” “Stop!” shouted Chef. “The Mud have been unleashed! We need to stop them! Cort, do it now! Activate Hola!” “You still don’t get it, do you?” said Cort. “This thing was built to eliminate the Mud through headaches. The Catalogue is an ancient MP3 player containing only one song: The Cheeky Song by the Cheeky Girls. Hola is shaped like a giant speaker, broadcasting the crap music throughout space, giving all life a life-threatening headache and vibrating their bodies at just the right frequency to kill them! It’s a WMD!” “No wai…” “No? Assistant, what is this Platform for?” “Primarily, it transmits sound waves of critically and commercially dire music across the galaxy, eliminating and brainwashing the hosts of the Mud, i.e. all sentient life. But I didn’t need to tell you that…why did you need to ask?” “Hate to say I told you so…” muttered Cort, trailing off. “We must continue this protocol,” insisted Clippit, “continue to activate the Platform.” “What are those…?” Cort asked. “Hurry! We must act quickly!” “We need to go, Chef!” Chef stuck his finger into the hole and Cort zapped back into his helmet. “Do not hesitate! The Mud spreads as we speak!” “Move! Go! Now!” “If you will not aid me, you are my enemy.” “Why are you standing still?!” “I will simply find another Disclaimer. Still, I require the Catalogue. Give me your computer program.” “No! Don’t!” “No? Then I shall simply have my Sent-‘n’-alls remove her.” It turned to its aides gathering around Chef. “Remove the head. Do not let the Mud gain access to the rest. Destroy it. Burn it with your weapons.” The hologram flickered and then went out, leaving Chef with the Sent-‘n’-alls to disembowel him. As the clawed robots closed in on him, Chef punched them and picked up parts of their fallen chasses, flinging the metal at the robots with lasers. As the latter fell onto the catwalk, Chef walked up to them and tried to rip out their lasers, but they were literally welded on. “It’s like a gun is pointed at the head of the universe,” he said. “Terrible.” As was that reference. “We cannot let the Assistant activate Hola,” said Cort. “How are we going to stop him…?” “You could log back in to the mainframe and track him down and kick his ass?” suggested Chef. “Or I could log in to the mainframe, track him down, and then kick his ass,” said Cort to Chef’s annoyance. “Nah, he’s too powerful. There’s only one thing for it…” “Could we destroy Hola?” asked Chef. “No, something even better…we destroy Hola.” After exiting the Control Centre, Chef spotted something highly unusual. The Coverup forces were fighting against the Sent-‘n’-alls. It appeared the three enemies hated each other as much as they hated the humans. “Just running some calculations…” said Cort. “The Caterpillar of Springtime crashed somewhere on the disc, right? The ship’s engines are big enough to cause a huge explosion…enough to destroy Hola.” “So we need to track down the ship, do we?” asked Chef, watching the Coverup/Sent-‘n’-all brawl. “Dammit, I want some popcorn!” After the battle finished, Chef mopped up the survivors and exited the hall, walking out on top of the pyramid and admiring the view. “Hola’s power source is three Energon™ Generators, and the Assistant and the Sent-‘n’-alls will be trying to find another way of activating Hola without the Catalogue. If we destroy the Generators, they will have to repair them, and we will have some time. That’s what we need to do.” “There’s another way of activating Hola?” Chef asked incredulously. “The Catalogue isn’t the only thing that has…that song stored on it. They could always hook up to the Internet and download it.” “Oh God,” shivered Chef. “Multiple downloads of the Ch…” “Don’t say it!” warned Cort. Chef moved down the pyramid, picking up a rocket launcher, and shooting the Wrave at the bottom. All in a day’s work for a TARTAN-II. “So where are these Energon™ Generators, then?” he asked. “Well, you’ll need a Banscreen to get to them…they’re up in the cliff faces around the ravine.” “What?” cried Chef, looking at a ledge in the cliff, “Up there?” “Yep.” Chef moved towards a conveniently placed Banscreen and once again struggled to lift it into the air, as did all before him. “Up, up and away!” cheered Cort. Chef paused. “What?” “I sad…ahem…I said, erm…up, up and away…” She trailed off. “This is hardly the time for happy, shiny catchphrases, is it? Try to think before you open your…activate your speaker.” “Sorry…sir.” Chef instantly let go of the controls and the Banscreen fell about a metre out of the sky onto the ground. “Why did you call me…?” “Chef, go! We need to break those Generators!” “She says.” Chef stayed leaning outside of the Banscreen as they approached the ledge so he could see where to land. As he leaned back in to adjust the craft, he didn’t see a L33t walk out having heard the commotion of a Banscreen scraping on the cliff. The L33t walked out to check out all the scraping, and noticed a Banscreen grinding against the cliff wall.“That ought to do it,” announced the pilot. The back lifted and a tartan human emerged. “Oh no,” it said. As the Banscreen plummeted, the human leapt off it and grabbed the edge of the ledge (budum tsh), holding on with its armour plated fingers. No, wait. It's just like cloth or foam or something, isn't it? The L33t approached the edge and looked over, seeing the human dangling above the gorge. “Hello, Chequered One,” said the L33t, resting a foot/hoof on the human’s fingers. “Hiya,” it replied. “I would very much like to see a body crushed and broken at the bottom of the gorge,” the L33t told it, putting more weight on the its fingers. “So do I,” said the human. In an amazing display of dexterity, it grabbed the L33t’s ankle and yanked it over the edge. It wasn’t actually that amazing. He used his other hand. “AAARGH!” said the L33t. “The Energon™ Generator should be through that door,” said Cort. Chef stepped through. “That’s an elevator!” he frowned, confused somewhat.

Chapter 7 The Book Club As Master Chef begin materialising in his new location, he glanced around, descending through the levels of a gigantic, dark building with a huge Energon™ Lift running up the central atrium. “In order to destroy the Mud and contain this outbreak,” said Clippit, “we must activate the Platform, using ...if you could look to your left please, this…” Chef turned to see a small white box floating in the middle of the Energon™ Lift. “What is that?” “That,” Clippit informed him, “is the Catalogue. It contains the necessary information required to activate the Platform. I,” he returned his gaze to Chef, “do not possess the necessary, ahem, physical attributes to retrieve the Catalogue, so you, Disclaimer, must collect it.” “Okay,” said Chef, sticking his foot out onto the nearest platform, “I’ll be back in a…” “Stop, Disclaimer!” whined the paper clip. “The Energon™ Teleportation Network is not functioning in this region! We must descend further!” “But…I mean…we’re floating…here…” “Firstly, I am not physically here. This is a physical/visual representation of me. My core is stored within the projector. This is merely a holographic projection. And secondly, you are only existent in this region due to my activities and wish to maintain your existence. You would be deleted…or killed, if you were to enter the region where the teleportation network is not fully functioning, due to being contained by it now.” Chef scratched his head. “No, we must descend another four levels if we hope to implement this protocol.” “Riiiiiiiight…” They finally reached the last floor and Chef began his search for the nearest lift. After circling the base of the Energon™ Lift and not finding an entrance, he spotted a marine standing in a corner. “How on earth did you…” he started. “Oh, well…hey, dude, hey! Over here! Hellooo!” Annoyed at the marine's complete ignorance, Chef walked over to the dark corner where he stood and shook him. “RFLFRD!” roared the marine, who, it turned out, was encrusted in mud with roots sticking out of him. “NOOO! NOT AGAIN!!” Chef blasted the Mud zombie with his shotgun, and, spinning around, spotted a swarm of Mud sods bounding towards him. “For God’s sake…” Chef battled forwards fighting tooth and nail, not to mention skin and bones and whatever-other-body-part(s)-would-work-in-that-phrase for every inch, and, after finding another Energon™ Lift, started believing there was a God. Idiot. As he approached the whitey/bluey/rainbow-coloured (okay, it wasn’t rainbow coloured, but that would’ve been pretty), he saw another huge mass of Mud zombies and sods descend and shamble towards him in a fairly quick manner. For dramatic effect, Chef decided to let them get really close before firing. This backfired however, when he discovered that he had to reload with the host barely a metre away from him. “AARGH!” he screamed. “Mendit told me to always reload before a big battle.” Just as the first sod leapt onto his armour, a red hot laser beam scorched it off, with others sweeping around, destroying the muddy mass. Chef looked up to see the same flying robots he had seen in the swamp scorching the Mud into defeat. One turned to him and nodded, its central blue light blinking all the while. “Assistant?” Chef called, “What are these things?!” “…Oh, they are my Sent-‘n’-alls that we were provided with by our creators. They were given to us from another department, Communications. I equipped the weapons.” Oh. Thank goodness. I thought I ballsed that bit up earlier. You'll see. “How?” asked Chef. “I thought you had no physical…” “I manipulated the actuators in the manufacturing regions.” “Ooooooookaaaaaaaay.” Chef ascended the lift with the Sent-‘n’-alls and Clippit in tow, moving only one floor up much to Chef’s disappointment. “Wait,” said Clippit, flying forwards and checking out the area ahead. “The infestation has gotten worse! They now possess more Fatty Bom Bom forms!” “I get the feeling that’s not a good thing.” Chef and the Sent-‘n’-alls exited the lift and looked down the hall. “Sent-‘n’-alls, Disclaimer, I wish you good luck.” Clippit flew away. “Oi!” shouted Chef. “What the hell are you doing?!” “I will return, Disclaimer. But first I must activate a door for you.” “That little grey bastard!” The Sent-‘n’-alls rounded on Chef. “Erm…shall we continue…?” said Chef, laughing nervously. The robots turned back round and floated forwards, Chef hanging back to avoid their anger. As they followed the route Clippit had taken, Chef spotted something odd in the distance. Squinting, he managed to make out grotesque wobbling bags of earth on legs, blindly waddling forwards, roots outstretched in search of other life forms. “Are those Fatty Bom Boms?” Chef asked slowly. The Sent-‘n’-alls turned to look at him and pivoted up and down, as if nodding. “Gulp!” gulped Chef. The Mud creatures continued towards them as they continued down Clippit’s route, and, as the Fatty Bom Boms got closer, they (the Fatty Bom Boms) laid themselves on the ground, swelled to an enormous size and burst, spraying the area in sods of earth. “Get ‘em!” shouted Chef. The Sent-‘n’-alls, not actually obeying Chef but Clippit’s orders to protect him, swept the laser beams, mopping up the bouncing sods, becoming especially concerned whenever one approached Chef. “Don’t worry, guys,” he said, “I can take care of myself.” The Sent-‘n’-alls paused, stared at Chef, and the shook in what one could assume to be robotic laughter. After finding the unlocked door, and regrouping with Clippit, the group continued up the next elevator. Slipping out of his must-talk-like-some-sort-of-technician mood, Clippit turned around and said, “Do you know what song I used to love? The [i]EastEnders[/i] theme tune. Oh, and the [i]Mission: Impossible[/i] one too. But [i]Star Wars[/i] was my favourite! Essentially, I love any tune that can be hummed.” Going back to its original way of speaking, it said, “This is the penultimate level, Disclaimer. Only one more after this one.” (Aah! Bet you were waiting for me to slip in the phrase “But I Don’t Want to Ride the Elevator!” weren’t you? Go on, admit it!) “There is almost no way of distinguishing this level from any other, Disclaimer. Make sure you do not become lost.” He looked up at the Sent-‘n’-alls. “Keep a Motion, Light and Color Sensor on him.” They nodded. As they progressed round to the next Energon™ Lift, a familiar noise was heard that caused Chef to shiver as a reflex. “RFLHRD!” said the noise. “Do not be afraid,” said Clippit, soothingly, “You have the aid of myself and my Sent-‘n’-alls.” From out of nowhere, a rocket was fired, destroying one of the Sent-‘n’-alls, the remaining three flying ahead to deal with the Mud and being shot down by numerous other weapons. “I believe there is a door ahead that requires my attention,” said Clippit, hurrying off. “Come on, Chef, you can…wait, that’s not my real name. Oh my…oh my God, I can’t remember it,” as he said this, he shot the Mud just by instinct, while most of his attention was focussed on his personality crisis. “I’ve gotten so use to people calling me “Chef” or “Master Chef” that I can’t remember what my normal name was…I mean is. Wait…wait, I think it was…J...Crazy J!? No, that's just sad. Something beginning with J, I'm quite sure." Just then, Clippit returned, hovering as happily as ever. “Only one more level, Disclaimer! Only the ultimate level to the Catalogue!” “Why do you say ultimate? Is it full of Mud?” “The word “ultimate”, Disclaimer, can define “last”, “final”, “ending”, “absolute”, and “closing” among others.” “So this is the last floor? Yes!” “It is also the level most infested by the Mud.” As Chef ascended the final lift, the main Energon™ Lift and the Catalogue came into view. He was quite literally seeing light. “There it is, Disclaimer! Retrieve it!” Just as Chef stepped out of the lift, hundreds and hundreds of sods came tumbling from both sides, with countless (although not more, that would just be harsh) zombies preparing to leap over and thrash him with roots. “If you run, Disclaimer, the Catalogue’s shield will protect you.” “Okay,” said Chef, who could run about as fast as a four-year-old. Thankfully, he was wearing the TARTAN armour, which enhanced his strength, so he could run at the speed of a eight-year-old, avoiding the sods, and shooting any zombies that got in his way. Reaching the main lift, Clippit activated a blue shield around the Catalogue, shielding Chef from the Mud. “This looks familiar…” said Chef, looking at the small white oblong, two circles, one inside the other, and a screen on its front. “Well, why shouldn’t it?” asked Clippit. “We made it.” “What?” “Shall we proceed to the Control Centre?” A blue light surrounded the rather confused chef, and he was whisked back to the centre of Hola. I apologise for the short length of this chapter. The level in the game is extremely monotonous (I’m not saying that it’s not fun), and there is very little to write about. If you’ve played the game, you’ll appreciate how little occurs, trapped in a dark building with mutants and an insane little robot, shooting endless waves of the Flood, and riding endless amounts of “elevators”. If you have to blame anyone, blame Bungie. Wait, no, don’t blame them, they’ve done a phenomonal … phenamananemol … good job on this game. Blame…someone. But don’t blame me, it’s not my fault. The only reason I’m writing this bit is to extend it, which I have done by about…let’s view it as a whole page…I don’t want to say, it’s too small. A lot of the plot is revealed in the next chapter, though, so pay attention. Now what should I call it?

“AARGH! GET IT OFF MF MFBMFBFM !” “I got it, I got the mofo! Benzova!” Benzova had fallen to the ground. “We’re surrounded!” shrieked Jerkins. “Foire at ‘em!” “There’s too many of the mini nizzles!” “I…ARGH!” One clod leapt right at Jerkins, blocking Chef’s view of the action. “JERKINS!” The sound faded. Master Chef removed the little black box, picked up a randomly placed Blaster Gun, and concentrated on the doors, shifting to each one as the eerie atmosphere climaxed. Then it happened. Chef heard the noise and soiled himself. Looking around, he saw nothing move, so decided to change his underwear. He leant against the wall with one hand, oblivious to the small brown clods of earth that mingled behind the adjacent door. Looking around to avoid the sight of the unholy lump, he saw some writing below his hand on the wall. “OPEN, ΟΠΕΝ, INSERT CORRESPONDING ARABIC LETTERS HERE,” he read. “Oh, well, if that’s what it says…” He stood back, aimed the Blaster Gun at the door’s lock, and fired. A huge swarm of earthy clods fell through and bounced toward him. Looking at the writing on the wall again, Chef spotted the two words his hand had covered, the Latin part saying: “DO NOT”. “Oh,” he said, “crap.” As the muddy lumps approached, Chef screamed, firing at the odd sods half out of aggressiveness over the death of the marines, half in sheer pant-browning terror. Wave upon wave of the things threw themselves at him, some of them impacting on his armour, making a small, if barely-noticeable difference, but when they all did it together, Chef feared for his life. “RFLHRD!” said a voice. “Eeeeeh…” whimpered Chef. Brown, muddy, root-sprouting bodies appeared in the doorway, leaping enormous distances then whipping, slapping, and generally overwhelming Chef with their larger, more vine-like roots. Firing at them, Chef back-pedalled to the door, hammered the open button and dived through, jumping up, dusting himself off, and then realising he had not shut the door. “FLRLFRFL!” called a voice. Chef punched the shut button and legged it, coming onto the top floor of another room, where Coverup and the new zombie things were battling on the bottom floor. The sole L33t on the bottom looked up and saw Chef as a sod approached him. “Chequered OAARGH!” The lump of earth swung itself up into the L33t’s mouth using its roots, and then the alien stood there quivering, its skin slowly becoming covered in a browny, mud-like substance, roots growing at various point on its body, with two as thick as its arm growing from the upper limbs. “RFGLF!” said the now-zombie. It leapt up towards the upper level, landing with ease, then faced Chef and ran at him. Chef decided to do what he had done many times before by stepping out of the way at the last minute, and letting the zombie fall back down again. To his horror it was not harmed at all by the fall, and jumped back up behind Chef, making the following noise: “RFGRF!” “AAAAAAARGH!” After trapping the zombie in a doorway, Chef continued his quest to find a way the hell out of there. He found a human body with a weapon lying beside it, a Shotgun, and held it and the Blaster Gun side by side to compare. As he did this, a lone sod, bounced along the ground and into the marines mouth, doing exactly the same thing as was done to the L33t. As the zombie got up, Chef, on sheer impulse, dropped the Blaster Gun, and shot the zombie square in the front, sending it flying backwards. “I think I’ll use the shotgun,” Chef told the splattered zombie remains. He made further progress, and came upon, well, I think you can guess the design of it by now, where Coverup were being slaughtered by the zombies below. Sensing Chef above, one zombie leapt up and confronted him. “I have my new toy,” said Chef. “R RRFL [i]FL[/i] FLLR FLRF,” replied the zombie. "I didn't get any of that." A root the size of a tree trunk whipped out of one of its limbs, picking Chef up, and throwing him to the other side of the room, where he got up and walked through the nearby door, waving to the zombie. “Thanks!” “FLRF!” huffed the zombie, crossing its arms/roots. Chef found a lift, and, while fending off hordes off zombies and sods with his new baby, which he named Cortredhanded, activated it and ascended, and, oh thank God, saw the outside again. However, the view was slightly marred by the hundred or so sods rushing towards him. Chef let Cortredhanded do her thing, then ran out and happily breathed the fresh air while watching a group of marines fight off a load of zombies. “Guys,” he said, approaching them, “we need to find an evac point.” “Yeah, we’ve already spoken to Sledgehammer,” said one marine. “But look! Look at these flying robots get those sods!” “Huh?” said Chef, “Oh, wow!” The robots hovered around, sizzling sods with their lasers(to people rereading this, yes I've realised what I've done, but it's too late now. It would screw up some amusing revelations. Or something). They had small blue lights at their centres and appeared benevolent. Then they were shot down by a zombie with a rocket launcher. “Oh God! What are we supposed to do now?!” “Take out that zombie with the rocket launcher!” screamed Chef, and it was done. “Oh God, this looks bad!” All around them, hordes and swarms of zombies and sods respectively closed in the group. “Anyone…anyone mind if I take some time to do a goodbye letter?” Chef stammered. “This is no time for jokes!” “Who’s joking?” “Here,” said the first marine who I mentioned, “I’ve got a pen and some paper.” “Thank you,” replied Chef. He turned around and leant on a rock, looking around for inspiration. “Erm…” he sighed. “This is going to be hard.” Dear Mum and Dad, A clear voice interrupted his wallowing. “It looks as though you are writing a letter. Would you like some help?” Chef looked up to see a floating paperclip with eyes and a mouth, smiling cheerily down on him.“What the f…?” “I shall take that response as a yes.” “Who…?” “I am the Assistant for Platform 4. My name is Clippit,” it chirped. “Come. Shall we be rid of these monsters?” “Hell yeah!” A blue glow surrounded the chef as all around him turned to black, and he was taken from the swamp to an ancient Roadrunner structure. There were a few more zombies there.

Chapter 6 666 Devilish Assistant The Turkey dropship swooped down through the swamp, its occupiers seeing several Groans running away in terror from something…or someone…No, it’s something. “Contact me when you find Quays,” said the pilot. “Will do,” replied Master Chef, jumping out of the back of the dropship. He scanned the area for any hostiles, and then spotted a crashed Turkey nearby, raiding it for supplies and finding some KitKats and Diet Coke. “No weapons here, then,” he said to himself. “Great! What am I going to do?” He continued towards the building looming in the mist/fog and spotted a couple of Jackasses patrolling on a fallen tree trunk. “Those are the scrawny ones, aren’t they?” he asked no-one. He slowly approached them from behind, waiting for one to walk away from the other, and then struck…the first one in the back as silently as he could. The sound of buzzing insects drowned out the crack, but as the Jackasses body slipped off the tree trunk, its Energon™ pistol fell with it. Chef cursed and crept up behind the other alien, making a mental note to grab the pistol before it fell. He elbowed the Jackass in the back of the head and watched in anticipation as the Jackass stood stunned, about to drop its weapon, then in annoyance as it fell forward and off the trunk still holding it. “Haven’t done this in a while,” said Chef, limbering up. “AARGH!” As he said this, he dived forward, grabbed the pistol in mid-air, and then forward rolled onto his feet as the Jackass body fell beside him. “Ooh!” he groaned, holding the small of his back. Chef proceeded to the building entrance and massacred the Coverup patrol there, heading into the building and needing to press the white button on the side of his helmet to activate the flashlight. He approached the end of the room and found a dead end. “Where am I supposed to go now?” he asked no-one, spinning in a circle, then spotting the lift in the ground. “Oh.” He stood on the circular shape, which reminded him of a circle, and pressed the holo-thingy control panel to descend. As it moved down, what little natural light there was in the first place disappeared and a chill descended on Chef, whose breath appeared as…steam?…Well, it was visible. “Have the Coverup not heard of turning down the air-con?” Again, Chef said this only to himself, the psycho. Well, I suppose you would talk to yourself in that situation, trying to assure yourself there’s nothing to be afraid of. As the lift came to a halt and Chef looked around, he realised where he was. “No! No, no! Not another square, grey concrete room! Don’t the Coverup…I mean the Roadrunners have any sense of variety? Aaargh…” He span round in the circles of an upset stylist, and fell onto the bottom floor of the room, where a group of Coverup greeted him with Energon™ fire. As was a reflex with Chef when he met Coverup troops, he slaughtered them. A green light on a traffic light means go and a red means stop, so Chef assumed that the green lit door was the only open one in the room. He was, for once, right. The next identical (much to Chef’s annoyance: “I could easily get lost in here!”) room had Jackasses and an Energon™ Turret in it, so Chef decided to break the monotony. He jumped into the Turret, allowed the Jackasses time to hide, and then teased them to come out and kill him. As soon as one did, Chef killed it with one shot of the gun. Running up to the body of it, he screamed, “Why do you have to die so easily?! I’m bored! I want something fun to do!” He came through the next door, which, thank God, had some way of distinguishing it from the others in the form of a burning pile of rubble in the middle. As he moved in, he spotted someone slumped against the wall. “Aaargh!” it shrieked, it being a marine with a weapon, “Stay back! I’m armed!” “Woah! It’s Master Chef!” “You’ll not make me one of…them!” “One of what?” “I don’t know your language! Don’t even try!” “I’m speaking English!” “Just stay back! You won’t…won’t change me!” “Dude, I think you need to see a psychologist.” “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!” screamed the marine as Chef attempted to lift him up. He fired at Chef, who then said, “You really need a shrink! I’m on your side!” “No! No! Leave me be…” He got up and ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction. “That’s it,” called Chef, “That’s the way out! I don’t know where the nearest shrink is, though!” He clambered up the burning pile of rubble in the corner and continued, coming to the previous room and activating the Energon™ Bridge to cross it. “How come I know where I’m supposed to go?” he asked. The TARTAN-II walked down the ramp behind the door across the bridge (just telling you how he got there), but for some reason couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. With the words “DO NOT ENTER”, “ΔΟ ΝΟΤ ΕΝΤΕΡ”, “INSERT CORRESPONDING ARABIC LETTERS HERE” scribbled on the wall and an arrow pointing from this text to a door, Chef had a hunch that something terrible was about to happen. “I suppose Quays is in here, the reckless git.” He opened the door, only to have a limp marine’s body fall on him. “WAAH!” he screamed. “Z….z….” replied the marine. Chef looked at the guy and slapped him to wake him up. “Wake up! Wake up! It’s too scary too be here alone!” The marine was a very heavy sleeper and didn’t make any response, except for a fart. “Who are you?” said Chef taking off the guy’s helmet and reading the name. “Private Jerkins? What an unusual name!” As the marine’s head flopped from side to side, Chef spotted a little black box on the inside of the helmet and put it next to his helmet. Nothing happened. “Oh right, I have to put it in the USB port.” Hmm, you think? A group of 4 marines sat in a Turkey dropship, flying into the swamp. Included in this group were Captain Quays, Sergeant ENTER GENERIC NAME HERE, and Private Jerkins. Duh! How would you be able to see what was going on if the guy who recorded it wasn’t there? “Sa-arge,” moaned the fourth marine, “why do we have to listen to this old crap?” “This, ma nizzle,” replied ENTER GENERIC NAME HERE, “is the fab-o-lous Fiddy Cent and his G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-Unit.” “Good train impression thaarh, ENTER GENERIC NAME SOUNDING LIKE IT WOULD IF PRONOUNCED BY A PIRATE HERE,” said Quays. “Nah, dawg, that’s how…” “We’ve reached the swamp guys! Bail out!” called the pilot of the Turkey (Sphincter 999). “Go, go, go!” The marines, all trying to get out at once, fell into a big pile on the ground, with Jerkins’ camera knocked to one side, and then going out. “…boys, I wanna be able to watch this back on ma PC when I get back to ma crib.” ENTER GENERIC NAME HERE finished. The quartet (is that used only for singing? Ah, no, Wikipedia says it's not) continued through the swamp, into the building, and through the endlessly similar rooms, until that fourth marine whose name I haven’t mentioned (Benzova), found what looked like a L33t covered in a brown substance, with plant roots sticking out at various places. “What in the name of hell?!” he asked. “Oi sure as ‘ell ‘ope tha’ the Coverup ‘aven’t developed a new weapon,” Quays said nervously. “Tha’ -blam!- probe was bad enough.” They continued nervously, descending the ramp that Chef had just…um…descended. Come down! Yes. “Why the hell have those bastards barricaded this damn door?” cried ENTER GENERIC NAME HERE. “Ya’ll reckon they got some hoes in there?” he asked, laughing. “Oi doub’ it,” said Quays. They managed to break down the door, finding no prostitutes, much to ENTER GENERIC NAME HERE’s disappointment, and entered the room Chef was stood in. “I really don’t like this…” said Benzova. “You got a bad vibe from all every-fizzlin’-thin’” Just then the radio crackled. “Quays,” a voice that sounded a lot like a marine. Wait, yes, it was in fact a marine. Well, coulda been a generic American guy. You can't [i]see[/i] him. “Quays, we’ve got hostiles…but they’re not Coverup…they’re different … they’re AAARGH!” “Cor’ral” (corporal) “can you ‘ear me? Oi repea’, can you ‘ear me?” No reply. “Benzova,” barked ENTER GENERIC NAME HERE, “Get the fizzle over there and find out what the hell is goin’ down!” “I’ve got a bad fee…” “GO!” Just then, a spine-tingling, stomach-churning, other-organ-disturbing noise was heard from somewhere in the room. “What the fizzle…?” From the side of the screen, small, brown particles that looked like clods of soil bounced, rolled, and moved in any other way that something like that would, into view. Small plant roots grew out of the sods and grabbed onto Benzova and started trying to get into his mouth.