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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]
-
“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.
