Sunday, December 12, 2010

Savage Trooper Generals

Keeping close to the wall, you edge towards the door from which the hushed voices are leaking. “...telling you, its bleedin’ Volgs mate! You’re crazy, innit!” you hear someone growl, only for a lower voice to respond: “Volgs? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I can’t even understand what you’re saying. We’re up to our necks in reeks here, can’t you smell them?” As you reach the door and press your back to the wall alongside it, a third voice, this one electronic, pipes up - “You’re both wrong, bozos! I never even heard of Volgs! What is it, some kind of beer?” - followed by a fourth, also electronic: “Ha! Mineral water more like! Sounds about as scary as a can of cola! And what about Reeks? Are you kidding me, Reeks? What do they do, stink you to death?” - and yet another, once again computerised - “Volgs, Reeks, whatever, its Norts I’m hungry for but if they wanna show their faces I’ll gladly have them as an appetiser!” Just when you think there can’t possibly be any more people in this room, a sixth voice, this one human, joins the debate: “Can it guys, this isn't getting us anywhere. Maybe we all need to cool down and talk this out, we might be able to help each other...” Squinting to see in through the crack of an opening at the door-jam, you are able to make out who is inside, though you had already guessed the identities of most of them. Facing off against one another, with guns at the ready, are Bill Savage, Rogue Trooper and zombie-hunter Defoe, all looking frustrated.

Deciding you don't want to mess around with these guys, you push yourself away from the wall and are about to tiptoe away when a heart-stopping “Oi!” rings out behind you and a pair of hands grab you by the shoulders. You are dragged backwards through the now open door into what transpires to be a janitor’s storage room. Briefly noting how there are not one, not two, but three holes blasted in the rear wall, plaster and rubble covering the floor around them, you are then turned roughly and slammed down into a chair. The next thing you know there are not one, not two, but three guns in your face, and three edgy looking individuals glaring at you. “Alright, mate,” Bill Savage growls, waving his shotgun before your eyes as Rogue Trooper and Defoe flank him. “Let’s start with who you are and what the ’ell yer doin’ sneakin’ around down 'ere spyin’ on us!”

Do you...

Tell them you are chasing the dog who stole your ticket, or...

Play along and tell them you can lead them to their Volg/Nort/Reek?