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2/6/2008 4:31:02 PM
51
Hola: Parodies Evolved *Chapter 10 and Epilogue now up*
I know some of you might remember me posting this way back when, but I never posted all of it and most of you have probably never seen it, so I thought I'd post it out of the blue: my fanfic spoofing Halo.
Edit: I'll post a new chapter every Wednesday.
Hola: Parodies Evolved
Prologue
The Fall of Retch
TARTAN 118 Master Chef, the most senior TARTAN-II soldier remaining, stood opposite the remaining 78 TARTAN-II super soldiers, units A-Z, three soldiers in each, admiring his fine warriors in all their chequered glory.
Their ship, The Caterpillar of Springtime, languished in space above a nearby planet. Their job, however, was not to languish.
“As you all know,” said Master Chef, who had flunked Food Tech at school and university, only getting the title “Chef” through sheer accident, a hilarious episode involving sausages, mayonnaise, and his examiner, a chef called Declan, “The Coverup are on their way here. This may well be your, I mean our last mission, as this looks like suicide”
“Way to get morale up, Chef,” remarked a soldier of Y-Unit.
“SHUT YOUR TRAP!!!” yelled a highly disciplined Chef. “Anyway, I have every confidence that yo…we can defeat this Coverup assault. Y…We are the finest troops mankind has to offer, and if we can’t beat these alien scum, no one can.”
“Again with the morale booster,” commented the same soldier of Y-Unit.
“KEEP YOUR GOB SHUT, MARINE!!!” screamed Chef. “I have watched you all grow into the greatest fighting force known to man …well, except the Coverup, that is.”
The marine from Y-Unit opened his mouth, then stopped and shut it again.
“All of y…us can go out there and fight to repel this attack, even you, G-Unit.”
The half-rapper-half-super-soldier trio looked at Chef, blinding him with their diamond encrusted armour and about ten medallions around their necks the size of dinner plates (causing dire back problems hence their inability to fight), and half-rapped half-spoke the word “Rispek.”
“You know what the prize is. Mankind keeps its greatest stronghold, apart from Earth, and those tropical planets near that big star…oh, and…” The talkative Y-Unit soldier caught Chef’s eye. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I…we are expected to give our lives, if necessary, to defend this beautiful planet…” Chef swivelled dramatically with “jazz hands”, presenting a planet that had seen better days, with thick carbon dioxide clouds covering most of the surface (just in case you’re wondering, everyone on the planet wore gas masks. In fact, people who had been born on the planet had never…I’m deviating, aren’t I. Sorry). At that exact time, by sheer coincidence, a volcano erupted, a hurricane started, and several lightening flashes could be seen at various points on the planet. Coincidence. Yes.
“Erm…yes. So, just remember everything we have learnt, from other battles with the Coverup, from our lessons with Dr. Halsinky, from our training with Chief Mendit.”
“What was his first name again, sir?” asked an R-Unit soldier.
“Jim’ll. It was strange, I know. His parents had an obsession with some 20th century television show, if I remember correctly…” Chef stared into the distance, daydreaming. It was a siren, their signal for deployment, which brought him back to reality.
“Err, anyway, get on the surface…we’ll get on the surface and use the anti-spacecraft guns to take out the Coverup. If that fails, prepare…I mean, we’d better prepare for dropships.”
“Why didn’t we just stay on the surface?” asked a B-Unit soldier.
“Because someone needs to keep an eye on the bigger picture…and not because I… we are cowards, before you ask” he added quickly. “Literally, the bigger picture,” he said to himself, tittering at this dire and nigh-on entirely nonsensical joke that he had inadvertently inserted into the sentence. Inyway…I mean, anyway…
The lights on the door to Chef’s right turned green. “I’ll bring up the rear,” (Stop laughing back there!) Chef called hurriedly as the troops got arranged in their threes.
A-Unit went first, through the airlock and out into the vast open space that is, erm…space.
B-Unit followed.
After them went C-Unit. Hey, that’s kind of like the alphabet…
As the TARTAN-II soldiers proceeded, the queue shortened. Quite logical really.
The talkative Y-Unit soldier watched G-Unit float into space, their body language joyful as their lead-like medallions became weightless. Had they not been in space, you would have heard their backs click as they danced in weightless joy. Ah, but then they wouldn’t have been weightless so their backs would have still hurt. You get what I mean. Ah, yes, the story.
The Y-Unit soldier…oh, I’m tired of calling him that, let’s just call him Y…Y…Yancy, or Yves. Yves is good (it’s Scandinavian if you’re wondering, I just looked it up.)
Yes, so Yves…how about Yoda. Or does that make him sound geeky. No, Yves. But he’s American, not Scandinavian. Yancy… Yancy it is. Sorry about that.
Yancy turned to see the Chef stood where he was before (i.e. not in the queue).
“Why are you hanging back there?” he asked.
“There’s been a change of plan.”
“Made by…” started Yancy.
“Me. You lot are headed to the planet to be slaughter…I mean fight off the Coverup, I’m going to stay onboard and keep an eye on the bigger picture.” He chuckled slightly.
“But you’re the best fighter in the group!”
“That is why I must stay here. If I was killed,” ([i]were[/i] killed?) “the army will lose its single greatest soldier and that can’t happen. If it does, humankind will lose the war on the Coverup. So I must stay here. Definitely. Yes.”
Yancy sighed and turned to the airlock.
“Alright, but you’ve been such an inspiration. It will be harder to gain victory without you.”
“Thank you. But I must stay here.”
“I’m not suggesting you don’t.”
“Good.”
“Goodbye.”
“Farewell”
Yancy turned around to the airlock, breathed deeply, and stepped in. As the doors shut he turned and saluted Master Chef, who returned it. It wasn’t thrown, that’s just a figure of speech. A hiss hissed, and the doors slid open, revealing the battleground and prize Retch.
Yancy kicked off into the abyss.
Master Chef stood there, staring at the planet his troops were risking the lives for, half mourning for the loss of so many great friends and soldiers, half jumping for joy (inside. Duh! He’d look a bit silly if he was literally [i]jumping for joy[/i], especially in that TARTAN armour) at the fact he wasn’t on a suicide mission to save the largest dump he had ever seen.
He stood there and sighed. He stood there some more. And a little more.
The sound of a voice made him jump. The PA system on the ship was resonating with the voice of Cortredhanded, the artificial “personality” which controlled the ship.
“How you doing?”
“Not too badly, I guess,” replied Chef. “I’m kind of glad that I didn’t have to go on that mission.”
“You [i]what?![/i]”
“I said…”
“I heard what you said! The captain said “Send your best men”! That meant do the job as efficiently as you can, not send in everyone but yourself!”
Master Chef shrugged. “I’ve always been modest. And besides, it kind of looks like they’re having fun.”
“No, I…”
“Come on, look at them! Their spinning their arms and legs in joy of the weightlessness. And…” Chef squinted and leaned forward. “grabbing at their necks and spinning their heads…?”
“Chef?” said Cortredhanded.
“…What?” said Chef, still distracted by the dancing TARTANs.
“You forgot to give them their oxygen tanks.”
[Edited on 05.14.2008 6:34 AM PDT]
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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?
