Revolt
Minor note: First fic ever on the site. Comment, please
Another note: This story greatly expands the scale of the game, meaning that Windy, instead of being the size of a city block would be as large as a small nation. It depicts areas such as Poo Mountain as cities or small nations of their own.
1 Chapter 1: Static problems and conspiracy
Looking up from his glass of milk, Conker thought drearily of the lesson he'd learned in the past few months. That's what you get for milling about this hostile land for too long. You don't know what you have until it's gone. It was sad, really. He had a good sporting chance to keep Berri, his former girlfriend, from being split open by Tommy gun bullets.
"I think you've had enough, sire," said one of his servants, a heavy-set weasel with a scratchy English accent.
"You think this is a lot? You've never seen me get tanked at the Cock and Plucker."
"Let me guess, this is something you haven't done since the loss of Berri," said another servant, this one more rakish stooping.
"Yeah, what a habit, I never get drunk off milk though."
The weasels, having little knowledge of alcoholic drink, simply exchanged glances.
Conker's castle, once grand and elegant, was refurbished to fit a more modern lifestyle. The walls, once covered with mantels and statues, were given a more simple, light-hearted gold wallpaper, and lamps replaced torches and candles. In place of the once-grand throne was a simple padded chair and desk for paperwork, being the king required much. The gaurds, who used to tote spears and axes, now held knives and pistols by their sides. All of the medieval gloominess of the castle was replaced with a subtle, more realistic touch.
"So, I'd better get cracking on our problems. How are things doing in the slums of Chester?" Conker asked, writing out a brief proposition to the King bee, which had regained fame and publicity when his wife had been crushed by a chunk of burning rubble.
"Crime down 13%, poverty line has lowered, sire," replied a weasel.
"Good. Any more news on the Waspo-Beetle war?"
"It's coming to an end, sire, Wanka Marx has lost most of the valley to the Beetles. If we lend any more support, it will look unconstitutional."
"Good. Sigh, there's so little to do with Berri gone."
"'I don't see what mourning will do, I mean 'tis a ripe world full of other squirrels, Conker," said the fat weasel.
"I know, but… it just won't be the same. Besides, she was a chipmunk…" said Conker, acknowledging chipmunks the same way a person might cherish the majestic beauty of an Asian model.
…
The next day, Conker awoke to the loud chime of the bell tower, which was retained for decoration purposes, as well as being louder than an alarm clock. Conker stretched and donned his royal attire, a denim shirt and sneakers. The chime of the bell tower was soon accompanied by a knock at the door, a sharp one obviously coming from a hard hand. Or fork.
"There's a visitor, who demands to see Conker," said a guard.
"Who is it?"
"It looks like a broom with twin serrated blades instead of a wipe.
"You mean, a pitchfork?"
"Er, yes, sire," said the taller weasel, obviously being the more dim- witted.
"Let him in, he's with me," said Conker, as he made his way down to the main entrance hall.
"Mr. Squirrel" Said Franky, in his piercing southern drawl. "I've been needing to talk to you 'bout something. It's really important."
"Hey, Franky! It's been a while. What's up?
"Well, first off, Reg. is all dried up.. He hasn't even got a drip left in 'm. But more importantly, our barn's been destroyed!"
"By what?"
"I dunno! I was just jumping around, loosening up some hay for Mollie, my shovel friend, when something dun crash into the wall and blow it down! It was awful! It wad da nastiest, scariest, shockingest, most unpleasantest-"
"Alright, alright, calm down. Did you see where it came from?"
"It looked like it was headin' from Ms. Sunny Sunflower, but it…"
"So, basically, it came from the South-east of where we are now."
"Urm, I suppose. Have any idea where that's at?"
"Well, from here, it looks like it might have come from Ugga mountain… I'll send some people there to investigate, ask Don Weaselo if there have been any uprisings or illegal activity." Don Weaselo was a heavy-handed weasel mob boss, but he seized control over the Ugga Empire after Buga the Knut mysteriously disappeared.
Lowering his head in his sadness, Franky bounced back to his farm, to face verbal lambasting from a dry, flaky paint pot and his lesser partner.
"Meanwhile," Conker continued, "I want General Rodent and some tech. to come up with something that can shoot down things like that, just to be safe."
…
"Well, after examining ze weaknesses of ze former model, ve can now add flame-proof skin to ze unit and increase resistance to zat threat."
A thin, sniveling weasel with a claw-like metal arm and a squeaky Prussian accent hovered through the lab, uttering flighty and curt orders to nearby weasel collogue. He snatched up a glass of anti-gravity chocolate milk, letting it gently flow into his mouth through the dusty air.
"Now, ve have to patch up zees little problem here, it would be ze 20mm twin-barreled, turret-mounted machine gun. As you can ze hea, it offers no protection except for ze fragile target grid. Ve must upgrade it, at most material costs, by adding a thin layer of plastique over ze grid, acting as ze window. Around ze fuselage, zer will be a tapering steel cover, one thick enough to protect it from most non-explosives. Now verking on that, I vill check how our little message got through to our monarch friend, Conker."
He left the bumbling room, stumbling through the complex until he reached a desk phone. Picking it up with his metallic arm, he punched in the number with the normal one.
"Ello? Es this Don Weaselo? Ja, um, how did it go?
"With Roxy? Well, she started to shed on me… it wasn't pretty…"
"No, I mean, with ze cruise missile. Did you chuck it into a nice, suspicious place?"
"Yeah, don't worry, they'll never find out about dis revolution thing."
"And it vas a nice low land place where ve von't be getting too many investigators?"
"It was an old barn on the outskirts of Windy Valley. They'll think it was an act of the Waspo-Beetle war, still going on."
"Ja? Good! Vell, zat will give us time to start our own little credential behind ze squirrel's backs and they vill never find out until it is too late.
"That's the plan? I could've have executed it myself…"
"Ja, vell, you know how it goes. You provide cover for our operations, we give you financial aid. You give us allied power in ze third-world government, ve keep ze rock monsters from overthrowing ze Uggas. Ja? TA!" Hanging up, the professor hovered into his office, muttering to himself.
"Vell, too much knowledge is a bad thing. And, eh, my father learned that ze hard way… getting sucked into space… awful. But I vill spread ze primordial duct tape over zees land, and…" he smashed his desk in half with a powerful swipe with the clawed arm, "rule with an iron grip!"
…
"Come in," the Brooklyn-descendent weasel offered, tying his robe and ordering his bimbo to halt the back massage.
"Hello," said Gregg, "I am a messenger from the Royal Conk government. I was sent to ask you a few, say, questions."
"Alright," said Don, "let me just get something…" Don pulled out his trusty Tommy gun, the same one that murdered Berri, and began to pump rounds into Gregg until bullets spent numbered 37.
"Ahem," said Gregg, "if you don't remember, I am undead. That is as well as the gatekeeper of Hell. I took up this job as a messenger to earn some extra cash part-time. It pays well, since the bearers are always trying to kill me."
"But… what…"
"I'll pretend you didn't try that, smart arse. Anyway, we've picked up a little...
"Please, before you get to the point, let me offer you a drink. Scotch, perhaps?"
"No, I have a little thing called water, you fat bloody prick. And thanks, let me add, for that extra shot of Anthrax you threw in with the malt. That won't kill me either. So listen, or I'll split you stupid arse in two!
The weasel sat down abruptly.
"Alright, from page one…. We've picked up a little attempt… a shot… a cruise missile, to be exact. It crashed into a barn in the slums of Conk, and it was said to have come from here. I trust you have some kind of alibi."
"I don't know anything about it, I swear."
"Ah, but I can tell that you're lying. That twitch in your snout… that tap of your nail… you're hiding something. But since you weren't to cooperate, we're sending people anyway. If so much as a silo or launcher is found to have fired the missile, we will confiscate that and all military power you've borrowed from us. We'll also have to disband your defense rights, since you tried so blearily to cover it up. Understood?"
"You can search here all you want, you won't find nothin'," he said, holding back a snout twitch.
"… All right. But you know the consequences…" Gregg left the room, and paused. "And this," he slammed the door off its hinges, "is for trying to kill me."
2 Chapter 2: Whispered down the Alley
"Well, we've sent all we should have to send, and it should be a matter of time now before we discover what that twat is hiding," Gregg said, sipping water that was barely 1 degree Celsius. "You do know that I share the same concern for this place that you do. The only place that produces fresh water, the only place that prohibits cats… I can't just watch it get pummeled by missiles."
"Yeah, well, I've always hated that guy anyway. Always having other people do his crap for him…"
"Sire, we've found something… err, interesting in the boiler tower. I think you should come and take a look."
"I know, Mr. Big Cog is a little on the queer side. I'd rather not see that again…"
"No, it concerns the missile and… something about a revolution."
"Revolution? What, I'll take a look."
…
"So, and then he picked up me missing cogs, and put then on the wrong way! You know, the… back way," uttered Carl, an iron cog placed obscenely over another cog's protuberance.
"Oh, man. That's nasty… and, they got away, I'm guessing?"
"Yeah, what'd he do next?" Said the Fire Imps, little red devil- creatures that were constantly on fire.
"Well, I was all like "Fuck off!" and he didn't like that… so, he went out onto that center circle, and ran around, which activated a pulley that spun me around. And I fell off… next thing I know, I'm being pummeled by me cogs and placed… here. I was all like "at's me buggered"
"And this was the same flammable guy that's swimming up here right now?
"What? Oh, bloody hell… don't leave me alone with him, he's sick Quentin on me."
"Hey, guys," said Conker, sopping wet from the tower's unorthodox entrance duct. "What's going on here? I was told there was some important talk…"
"You twat! Get out of here now! I have nothing more to say to… no, don't!"
Conker leaned up, grabbed the cog's bottom spikes and spun him around, activating the second schizoid side of Carl, Quentin.
"Hello. Why, aren't you the handsome one… and a bit familiar at that," he said, winking.
"Yeah, um, do you know anything about a revolution? Or a missile, or something?"
"Well, I find it rather difficult to breathe now, placed on this hunk of cog for so long."
"Yeah, well, okay. I'll give you a minute." Conker grabbed him by the sides and yanked him off, leaving him skittering on the floor.
"Now, about revolution… it seems to me that someone is trying to, say, take over the land."
"Who?"
"His name is Jenkins Weaseled. He is, er, was the son of another weasel… a professor. He meant to follow in his footsteps, but something awful happened… he was sucked into space by his own technological indulgence. It was sad, really, he was a genius."
"Wait, oh my god, that guy had a son? Awe, crap. Um anyway, how does he plan to take over, or revolutionize this land? Does it involve… war?"
"Yes, and he is currently working on a way to destroy your empire. He uses his lackeys, other weasels, his allied forces, and other, say… brutish things."
"Alright, thanks. Anywhere I could find this guy?"
"Well, I heard he was repairing a wrecked, er, base of sort. He spiced it up, supposedly.
"Alright thanks, you've been very cooperative. It there's any more talk… that reminds me… who told you about all this?
"Why, Ted Steamy. He has a direct tie, quite literally, to the pressure valves of the world."
"Who's Ted Steamy?"
"You castrated him and blew him up, you should know."
"Okay, thanks. I'm gonna put you back on, now."
"Thank you, sir, and good day to you," he said, as he was forced back on to the big cog.
"Tho long, thweetheart!" Said a deep, yet disturbingly high voice.
"Who said that?" asked Conker, glancing back to see the big cog give out a wink.
…
"Meek, meek, meek, meek," repeated a green imp as he marched around the castle, in a ball of armor. There were several kinds of Imps residing in the land. They all belonged to a simple clan, consisting of three different castes: purple, green and red. The purple ones were the fodder, most common and sent out to do the lowliest work, often serving as soldiers. If they were, they were usually armed with a paltry spear or whatever they could find. They were dull-witted and could barely think rationally. The red kind was the Fire Imps, who were the slackers of their kind, usually working with purples in a fight. They fought by setting enemies or intruders on fire, and usually got drunk or stoned on the job. The green are the higher ranks, doing the thinking and planning, as well as developing weapons and armor. They spoke in their own skittish language, which would be considered fast in eloquent if it could be understood. They could swim, jump and hurl themselves at enemies within their spiked suits if necessary.
"Sarge! I guess we can tell those investigators to return, we've got a situation on our hands. How's our supplies since the end of the last war?" Asked Conker, looking sternly up at the husky Grey Squirrel.
"Well, we're still recruiting people, I don't think they've yet numbered 4,000."
"What about vehicles and artillery and such? Do we have any scout- type… things? I mean, I don't know that much about weapons. What I do know is that there is apparently another base out there, bigger and worse than the last."
"The gear said the old one was being repaired.," said Gregg.
"Yeah, but it's not there anymore! It's just open sea! Like someone moved the entire wreckage off to somewhere else."
"Conker! Come quick!" Said an urgent weasel.
"Oh, what is it you want now?"
"We've got another missile heading for us!"
A white streak blew across the sky, and seemed to be heading for Poo Mountain. It crashed into the side near the summit, creating a geyser of steaming poo, and scorching a swearing dung beetle. Conker's mouth fell open, and he stared into the bubbling, burning muck. He had once slain a horrible, gooey monster there, and now the top half of the mountain was gone, releasing the foul smell of the wet interior.
"Did ANYONE see where that came from?"
Not a head nodded.
"I want those AA guns to be ready by tonight, Rico!"
"Yes sir, it's they're just about done."
"Let me see."
"Uh, alright, but that will spoil the surprise."
The Sarge led Conker down to a basement chasm in the castle, about 3 floors underground. They arrived in a room full of towering cameo tarps, mixed in with various bits of machinery and the occasional worker milling about, lifting up the tarps and inspecting whatever was under.
"These are our brand-new, high-caliber cluster cannons. They shoot like a shotgun, only the shells are 160 millimeters in diameter, each filled with hundreds of 20 millimeter shells. Behold…" Rico ripped off the tarps, exposing what looked like a typical Grey Squirrel turret gun, except that it had one, swollen barrel.
"Wow… and these will take down missiles?"
"Yep, they've been primed and tested. Now all we have to do is get them out there, and wait."
…
Jenkins sat atop the complex, looking out over the water at the island.
"Vell, with ze second missile coming from our friends at the Wasp Nest, they vill never suspect our interference with their peaceful lives. Ve vill keep slipping out missiles to our enemies until they run low on funds, and then will crush them with raw military power.
"Sound interesting," said Don, marveling at the simplicity of the professor's plan. "Just like the old Blitzkrieg, eh?"
"Ah, similar, but ve must develop our vehicles and weapons beyond the squirrel's ability before ve attack, as they outnumber us 7 to 1 in weasels alone. With zat we add Grey squirrels, rare Red ones, even rarer Chipmunks, and ve come to… 53 to 1. They outnumber us 53 to one.
"Well, very little of that population is primed and ready to fight. And when you said "we", you weren't counting our allies."
"True. That and ze elements of surprise and confusion give us our key infrastructure. I will make sure that ze next attack is launched directly from this base. I will avenge my father's death.
3 Chapter 3: Crimson skies and Retribution
"Hut! Attention!" shouted Sergeant Rico, the Grey Squirrel military advisor as he marched columns of troops between anti-aircraft flak. "We are to shoot down anything that moves, may it be a missile, wasp or flying… ah, fuck that shit!"
"Right!" Cried 28 squirrel soldiers in unison.
"We will defend our ground, our land, our country from this flying menace this is cruise missiles. We will keep whoever is firin' then firin' 'till they… uh, run out, I guess."
"Right!"
"We will…"
"Sir! Incoming fire from the North-East!" Cried an officer. Alarms went off, and warning sirens blared things like "missile attack" and "red alert" in such little unison that it was difficult to get the massage.
"Assume your positions! Fire when I say so!" 28 guns were loaded up with their pilots. Each gun was a special type, launching clusters of 20mm armor-piercing shells at a fast rate. They were designed specifically to eliminate incoming cruise missiles by Rodent and other squirrel ballistics experts.
The missiles were clearly visible now. There were nine in total, launched three at a time in elegant precision. As the missiles grew closer, their shrieks could easily be heard, and almost every animal in the land was watching in awe as they streaked toward their targets. Their formation grew steadily closer, and as the castle watched in all terror, every one of the missiles was headed straight towards the castle.
"Fire! FIRE!" Roared Rico, hat flying off into the abyss.
An earth-shaking staccato of blasts from the guns was heard. It sounded like hundreds of giant paper bags being busted open, and it held for almost seven seconds before the first wave of missiles exploded in mid- flight.
"Not bad, crew! Start firing again… now!"
The horrible lambasting of shots rang out again, this time hitting their mark from farther away. After three more 7-second intervals, since some failed to destroy the missiles, the sky was devoid of them, and clouded with smoke and dust. Cheers rang up from the throne room.
"These are bloody brilliant, now we just have to get them to the rest of the kingdom," said Gregg, tossing up a pint of water with the other's beer.
"Well, now that we've solved the problem of missiles, we can go back to our peaceful, boring lives," said Conker.
…
As the burning sun scorched the hard ground, a hut-put, hut-put could be heard as swarms of Uggas were training, swinging clubs and throwing spears into targets. Huge dinosaurs were mounted and animal skins were donned as they prepared to attack a nearby squirrel city, Frunce.
Uggas were yellow cave men with large chins, and traditionally shaved themselves bald, wearing only long tiger-striped robes. The soldiers, who comprised 60% of the population, wore the skins of lion-type creatures upon their heads. They carried their choice of club or spear, and marched single-file or in formation until they met an enemy. This ensued until they swarmed to smack and stab it until it dies.
The technique mainly applied to dinosaurs, but also worked on their species rival, rock monsters.
These rock monsters were 9-foot pear-shaped giants who lived lives of partying. They were very aggressive and tended to smack Uggas around with their huge club-like arms, usually killing them with no acknowledgement. The Uggas, knowing that the monsters are weak against blunt objects and multiple attacks, mob and bash them to pieces whenever they get the chance.
In the midst of the crowds of Uggas, there were weasel-gang members, toting Tommy guns and telling them what to do. They knew secretly that the Ugga's purpose was naught but fodder for enemies, and that they were used to outnumber.
…
The town of Frunce was not a rich one, but the people maintained simple morals and beliefs, holding suspicions of vampires and witches, only one of which ever being true. That was of the famed Count Batula, who died falling into his own grinder after drinking too much blood. He lived in a mansion, surrounded by a graveyard and up a winding hill full of skeletal snakes, which surfaced to bite and throw intruders. The other houses were of colonial American design, and the villagers were clad in gray tweed and derby hats.
"Come, Fluoresce," said a piano teacher to her student, a 19-year-old Grey Squirrel. She began to play a soft tinkle of a melody, when she noticed her singing water was vibrating.
"What's that?" She asked, pointing to her cup.
"What's what?" Asked the confused teacher.
"Listen!" As she paused, a soft thumping could be heard. It seemed to come in rapid rhythm. A very quiet rumble, a bit like a nearby waterfall, accompanied it.
"What's going on outside?" The rumble grew louder, and now she could hear screams. A drawer at the back of the room fell, smashing China all over the floor.
The two squirrels ran outside, only to be swept up by a torrent of villagers running in the opposite direction.
"What's happening?" Screamed Fluoresce, bewildered as she was separated from her teacher.
When no one answered, she looked back. She noticed that the stretching crowd turned a different color. It took her ten seconds of clueless standing and brushing herself off to recognize them as the sinister, lantern-jawed heads of Uggas.
People were now diving into their houses, and fishing up whatever they could find. Several of them had wooden stakes, torches and pitchforks, but that was all. The town had never been under attack before, and had little or nothing to prepare for it. Hundreds of Uggas were pouring into the village, whacking people with clubs and throwing and stabbing with fatal barrages of spears. The Squirrels used their weapons as well as they could, but they were not good enough. The Uggas were twice as strong unarmed, and the paltry array of wooden stakes and farming implements could do almost nothing. This was further shaken by the fact that the Uggas had the weasel's fire support and the dinosaur's aid.
"Oh! What…" Fluoresce was knocked to the ground by the kick of a particularly boot-happy Ugga. He laughed, until she picked up a stake and threw it at him. It cut into his left arm, and left him yelling and running after her. She dashed into her house, and up her stairs. Realizing that Uggas were different than zombies and that they could climb stairs, she was forced out to her balcony. A spear landed by her feet, thrown by an Ugga below. She picked it up with utmost difficulty, the spear being too heavy for her. With all her strength, she chucked it down at the climbing Ugga. It struck him in the neck, piercing all the way through. Here eyes were streaming with tears at her actions, as well as pain from being kicked, but she could see it stagger and slump to the ground in a bloody pool.
"Oh what have… I've murdered…" she started crying uncontrollably, until she was spotted by an Ugga on a green raptor. It stomped over to the balcony and bit out a section, and she picked up the spear, pulling it out of the Ugga's neck. She flung it at the raptor, narrowly missing. It head-butted the balcony, splintering it and sending her to the ground below. It slowly advanced on her, bringing its teeth down to bite. She rolled into the rubble, making it harder. The raptor took a leap into the rubble, then miss-aimed a lunge as it turned around. A lone squirrel was standing there, picking up the spear she threw. She then saw the other spear in its back, gushing grimy red blood. The raptor, clearly infuriated, lunged and brought its head down on him. It drew its head back up, bleeding from the mouth.
"Chevoy ukkochio!" The Ugga cried. The raptor lunged again, this time stepping on the squirrel. He dodged it, leaving the spear for the raptor to step on. It cried out in pain, bleeding from 3 different places, and fell. The bulk of its body landed right on the squirrel, with a horrifying snap that indicated a broken spine. Fluoresce stood up, stunned from the fall. She ambled over, and placed her hand on his forehead.
"Uh, Fluoresce, I… glad… kept…" his head settled on the ground. Fluoresce then realized that this was her father. She yelled out, but the town was now almost deserted.
In the five minutes the battle had raged, 1 out of every 3 villagers had been killed, leaving a few dead Uggas in with them. The streets and houses were littered with bodies, and the majority of the squirrels had fled, hoping to survive the burning miles of desert. The Uggas had retreated, snatching up their weapons. Fluoresce stood there, thinking of a way to get out. She couldn't. Then the horrible option of suicide came to her. She couldn't do that either. She was about to go try to catch up with the squirrels when she heard a loud Liverpool accent.
"'Eye, Tezza! This town looks like shit!
"Are you kidding? It sucks!"
"I meant shit in a bad way, Bazza."
Fluoresce walked around the corner to see two car-sized beetles crawling around, toting suitcases.
"Excuse me, sirs, could you help me?" she asked, still crying.
"Well, ya look like you could use some 'elp," said Tezza, a superior smirk across his mandibles.
"Could you… fly me out of here?"
"Alright, wouldn't bother us. We just came looking to buy some tea, but fixer-upper…"
"Where do you plan on going?" Asked Bazza.
"To wherever… you go, sir, I guess."
"Well, you seem nice, 'an respectful. But I'm not quite so sure you'd want to follow us back home. 'Cause you see, we're dung beetles. We live in a pile of shite.
"It's called shit, Bazza," Tezza replied, "and yes, we could drop you off near there. Come on, hop up on my neck, by the way, not the back. An' grab my antennae, but God, not too hard."
"Thank you, sir, if you don't mind my addressing you that way…"
"Are you kidding? The last time I was called sir was by King Crapalot the 3rd before 'e was blown up by an explosive ball of poo."
4 Chapter 4: The Mirage
It was a rainy day in Conker's castle, and he had just received the news about Frunce.
"So Frunce has been destroyed by the Uggas? That's the last straw! We're going to take those Uggas and shove them, one by one, up Don Weaselo's ass! He cannot hide this!" Conker was clearly enraged by the happening. He had just shot down a volley of cruise missiles, and now another Squirrel allied town was being attacked.
"I've already sent the CIS to interrogate," said Gregg.
"Good. We will find out who the hell is responsible for this mess and clean it the hell up!"
"Conker?"
"What is it?"
"Look… what the bloody hell…" said Gregg, pointing toward where the Tediz base used to be. "Use the telescope."
Conker stared through the tube, then his eye caught a strange blip in the rain. It looked like a huge mirage of a shape that seemed to be devoid of any falling rain. Zooming in, he saw that there was a sort of force field of falling water around it.
"What the heck is going on there?"
"Beats me," said a tired Gregg.
"My God. This freaking world is just full of problems."
"Maybe they're all tied together somehow."
Conker sat down, his head feeling heavy. I'll never find out what is going on, he thought to himself. The problems will only get worse and worse. And now there is a huge mirage across the sea, and hundreds of Grey Squirrels lost in a burning desert. He couldn't send helpers to assist, since all of the army was training for a probable war. But it would all go to waste if he couldn't find out WHERE.
"You know what, I think I'm going to take a little break, go outside the castle, have a little drinkie at the Conk and Plucker."
"Oh, bloody hell, and I suppose you'll be too tired to sort out these problems, and I'll have to do them, and then you'll get mad and send me back to Hell. And then you'll die again. And I'll say "well, well, well, look who came crawling back" and I'll remember I'll have to give you another chance because you had one of those all-too-easy to find tails."
Conker strolled outside, looking around and seeing sights and scenes he hadn't been able to look at while behind the great stone walls. The bee hive (run, now, by the King Bee), the dying attempts of the Wasps at staving off the twice-as-big Dung Beetles, the armored Imps guarding the entrance to the stream… all of that with the wonderful background. But the background would never be the same now. The once-beautiful Poo Mountain had a huge hole blasted in the top, with beetles hurrying to fix and support it with hard dung. The now-dormant Batula's mansion, no longer having French squirrels trying to refurbish it. The towering ladder of the barn, which was now out of sight, having collapsed. And the craters left by the shot down missiles, scattered about the huge Spiral Mountain and rebuilt Windy Windmill. He also noticed that the mirage was gone.
"Excuse me, sir!" cried a voice slightly familiar to Conker.
"What? Who is that?"
"Do you know where… oh my, you're King Conker!"
"Oh, ya recognize me? Where are ya from? Your voice sounds familiar."
"Um, I'm from the town of Frunce, sir, before it was…"
"Run down by cavemen? Yeah, I heard."
"Can you do anything about it?"
"Well, we've entered a shadow war, and we haven't anyone to go assist them."
"But they're starving in the desert!"
Now Conker recognized the desperate shrillness in her voice. It was from months ago, when the evil Count Batula had transformed him into a bat in his mansion, upon seeking inheritance. He was fifteen feet away from dropping her into a huge grinder, when a wooden stake had struck him and she was dropped.
"You know, why don't we drop by The Cock and Plucker for a drink? On me."
"Well, you don't suppose they have Chateau Romaine, do they?"
"We'll see. Hey, do you ever recall being carried by a bat?"
…
"So how deed it do?" Asked Jenkins to Don Weaselo.
"Just as planned. They scattered into the desert."
"Great. Our next attack vill be on ze Grew Squirrel's central homeland. And ze vill use ze re-mastered Tediz. Their invulnerability to trauma by blunt objects or fall made them ze perfect weapon. Now they are invincible to flame, faster than before and are armed with full automatics. No enemies, in any shape or form, can defeat groups of vell-armed Tediz."
"What about our weasels? They have bullet-proof vests and helmets."
"They are not as fast or smart, and are still susceptible to face shots."
Having said that, the professor left the room, leaving a disgruntled and jealous boss.
Tediz are evil, Nazi-type teddy bears that can function as soldiers and take order. There are two kinds: big and small. The big ones are slightly larger than the smaller ones, but are stronger and faster. The small ones are weak and can't move as fast, but are smarter and much better aim. They use many weapons, from rifles to bazookas, and even knives and hypodermic needles. They build wide ranges of fortifications, vehicles and munitions to achieve their goals. They have also used themselves and prisoners as hapless subjects for horrible experiments.
…
"So, you ever been malted before?"
"Well, it tastes a bit different. It's stronger than what we had back in Frunce."
"That's because you took double. I prefer single, I like the blander taste."
"Is… this a big issue? I mean, alcoholic beverage. Is the society based upon it?"
"Well, no, but it used to play a bit bigger role in my life. I used to get tanked all the time."
"Tanked means drunk, right?"
The Cock and Plucker was a bit more crowded than usual, being a rainy, moist day where there was little else to do but down a pint. Squirrels, Weasels, sometimes the occasional Ugga or Wasp hung around, chatting with friends and seeing who could chug fastest or hold out the longest. Birdie, a big-time liquor connoisseur, was there half his life, telling his raucous stories to amused and shocked patrons.
"And, then… 'e took da bottle… and he shoved it… shoved, go -humph!-" he smashed a bottle on the table, "into is eye, and was like "ah, my eye" and "you dipshit," and he took a swig…" he picked up a bottle of Rhine wine and drank it, "and, uh, ah." He fell asleep, drunk, on the table.
"Does he always do that?" a young squirrel asked.
"Mm, it's a little habit of his," said the bartender.
"Hey, Birdie!" said Conker, spotting him among the crowd. Birdie woke up, shouted "fuck off," and dozed off again.
"Oh my," said Fluoresce, "that's the worst profanity I've heard since flying home on those scousers."
"Well, it's not about to stop, I hate to tell you. Come on Birdie wake up. I have some seltzer. You can feel better fast."
"AH, gimme at, I need relief!" He took the seltzer, swigged it down, and woke up from his inebriated state.
"Oh, jeez, I feel better. What was it I had to do? Oh, hello, Conker."
"Hey, how ya doing'? How are things in the vegetable patch?"
"Ah, well, those damn wasps keep stealing my carrots. They say they want to "honey glaze" them. Honey-glaze my ass. They don't even make honey. They're wasps!"
"Can you please stop swearing? I'm just out of a nightmare, and I can't bear more of it.," said Fluoresce.
"Sorry. Anyway, I said to them 'stop it, or I'll pull myself out of the ground and kick your, uh butt… no, stinger.' Boy, now that sounds lame."
"They're probably trading it with the honey bees. I'm sure they need to re-supply after getting whapped by those beetles. Anyway, uh, I'd better get going. There's a little problem out there I have to take care of, but I don't know what."
"That reminds me. I ordered a few cases of that, uh, special beer… from the, uh, what is it? Mushroom Kingdom that's it. It's supposed to make you really big, for a sec. Anyway, they say the ship crashed into a rock or something, maybe a reef, I dunno. I thought being the King, you know, you could do something."
"A rock, huh? What port was it going to?"
"Well, they said it was coming from the North. You know, in that canopy where I live. But then, with no trace on radar, it smashed into something. And the weird thing is, the whole thing seemed to stop and flatten out at the front, without any slowing or bottom scraping. I saw it on the news."
"Oh, fuck."
"Conker!" Shouted Fluoresce.
"Oh, sorry, I forgot. Um, Birdy, what you just told me may be the answer to our big problem."
"What's the problem?"
"Well, uh, I really can't tell for myself. Um, I have to go now." He left, leaving a very confused scarecrow.
…
"Okay, Sergeant Rico, I know what we have to do. I want you to send a scout chopper over to the northern sea and find out what is there. There is something there I just know it. Just find out what it is, how it got there, and return."
"All right, I'll tell them immediately. I don't know what I've been told," he said as he marched off, "I don't know... uh, wait… I don't know… ah, fuck that shit."
"Why can't I live in a non-swearing environment?" Asked Fluoresce.
"Well, you could go home for a while, and maybe we could go somewhere on Saturday…"
"I don't have a home, remember?" she said, giving Conker a pleading look.
"Oh right, I forgot again. I apologize. Um, why don't you stay in the guest room of the castle?"
"Um, that would be okay, I guess."
"I knew we'd use it for something."
"Thank you, Mr. Squirrel."
"Please, just call me Conker," he said, as the tall weasel showed her off.
Gregg walked in.
"Boy, I think she could be the one to… you know, end your bloody misery."
"I dunno, she's no Berri."
"She's a hell of a lot smarter."
"That reminds me. Have you got her yet?"
"Well, she had a genuinely good soul, but she was deemed "too dumb" to go to Heaven. So they took her off to test her, see her impulses, and fins out if she was worthy," he said as he sipped more frozen water.
Minor note: First fic ever on the site. Comment, please
Another note: This story greatly expands the scale of the game, meaning that Windy, instead of being the size of a city block would be as large as a small nation. It depicts areas such as Poo Mountain as cities or small nations of their own.
1 Chapter 1: Static problems and conspiracy
Looking up from his glass of milk, Conker thought drearily of the lesson he'd learned in the past few months. That's what you get for milling about this hostile land for too long. You don't know what you have until it's gone. It was sad, really. He had a good sporting chance to keep Berri, his former girlfriend, from being split open by Tommy gun bullets.
"I think you've had enough, sire," said one of his servants, a heavy-set weasel with a scratchy English accent.
"You think this is a lot? You've never seen me get tanked at the Cock and Plucker."
"Let me guess, this is something you haven't done since the loss of Berri," said another servant, this one more rakish stooping.
"Yeah, what a habit, I never get drunk off milk though."
The weasels, having little knowledge of alcoholic drink, simply exchanged glances.
Conker's castle, once grand and elegant, was refurbished to fit a more modern lifestyle. The walls, once covered with mantels and statues, were given a more simple, light-hearted gold wallpaper, and lamps replaced torches and candles. In place of the once-grand throne was a simple padded chair and desk for paperwork, being the king required much. The gaurds, who used to tote spears and axes, now held knives and pistols by their sides. All of the medieval gloominess of the castle was replaced with a subtle, more realistic touch.
"So, I'd better get cracking on our problems. How are things doing in the slums of Chester?" Conker asked, writing out a brief proposition to the King bee, which had regained fame and publicity when his wife had been crushed by a chunk of burning rubble.
"Crime down 13%, poverty line has lowered, sire," replied a weasel.
"Good. Any more news on the Waspo-Beetle war?"
"It's coming to an end, sire, Wanka Marx has lost most of the valley to the Beetles. If we lend any more support, it will look unconstitutional."
"Good. Sigh, there's so little to do with Berri gone."
"'I don't see what mourning will do, I mean 'tis a ripe world full of other squirrels, Conker," said the fat weasel.
"I know, but… it just won't be the same. Besides, she was a chipmunk…" said Conker, acknowledging chipmunks the same way a person might cherish the majestic beauty of an Asian model.
…
The next day, Conker awoke to the loud chime of the bell tower, which was retained for decoration purposes, as well as being louder than an alarm clock. Conker stretched and donned his royal attire, a denim shirt and sneakers. The chime of the bell tower was soon accompanied by a knock at the door, a sharp one obviously coming from a hard hand. Or fork.
"There's a visitor, who demands to see Conker," said a guard.
"Who is it?"
"It looks like a broom with twin serrated blades instead of a wipe.
"You mean, a pitchfork?"
"Er, yes, sire," said the taller weasel, obviously being the more dim- witted.
"Let him in, he's with me," said Conker, as he made his way down to the main entrance hall.
"Mr. Squirrel" Said Franky, in his piercing southern drawl. "I've been needing to talk to you 'bout something. It's really important."
"Hey, Franky! It's been a while. What's up?
"Well, first off, Reg. is all dried up.. He hasn't even got a drip left in 'm. But more importantly, our barn's been destroyed!"
"By what?"
"I dunno! I was just jumping around, loosening up some hay for Mollie, my shovel friend, when something dun crash into the wall and blow it down! It was awful! It wad da nastiest, scariest, shockingest, most unpleasantest-"
"Alright, alright, calm down. Did you see where it came from?"
"It looked like it was headin' from Ms. Sunny Sunflower, but it…"
"So, basically, it came from the South-east of where we are now."
"Urm, I suppose. Have any idea where that's at?"
"Well, from here, it looks like it might have come from Ugga mountain… I'll send some people there to investigate, ask Don Weaselo if there have been any uprisings or illegal activity." Don Weaselo was a heavy-handed weasel mob boss, but he seized control over the Ugga Empire after Buga the Knut mysteriously disappeared.
Lowering his head in his sadness, Franky bounced back to his farm, to face verbal lambasting from a dry, flaky paint pot and his lesser partner.
"Meanwhile," Conker continued, "I want General Rodent and some tech. to come up with something that can shoot down things like that, just to be safe."
…
"Well, after examining ze weaknesses of ze former model, ve can now add flame-proof skin to ze unit and increase resistance to zat threat."
A thin, sniveling weasel with a claw-like metal arm and a squeaky Prussian accent hovered through the lab, uttering flighty and curt orders to nearby weasel collogue. He snatched up a glass of anti-gravity chocolate milk, letting it gently flow into his mouth through the dusty air.
"Now, ve have to patch up zees little problem here, it would be ze 20mm twin-barreled, turret-mounted machine gun. As you can ze hea, it offers no protection except for ze fragile target grid. Ve must upgrade it, at most material costs, by adding a thin layer of plastique over ze grid, acting as ze window. Around ze fuselage, zer will be a tapering steel cover, one thick enough to protect it from most non-explosives. Now verking on that, I vill check how our little message got through to our monarch friend, Conker."
He left the bumbling room, stumbling through the complex until he reached a desk phone. Picking it up with his metallic arm, he punched in the number with the normal one.
"Ello? Es this Don Weaselo? Ja, um, how did it go?
"With Roxy? Well, she started to shed on me… it wasn't pretty…"
"No, I mean, with ze cruise missile. Did you chuck it into a nice, suspicious place?"
"Yeah, don't worry, they'll never find out about dis revolution thing."
"And it vas a nice low land place where ve von't be getting too many investigators?"
"It was an old barn on the outskirts of Windy Valley. They'll think it was an act of the Waspo-Beetle war, still going on."
"Ja? Good! Vell, zat will give us time to start our own little credential behind ze squirrel's backs and they vill never find out until it is too late.
"That's the plan? I could've have executed it myself…"
"Ja, vell, you know how it goes. You provide cover for our operations, we give you financial aid. You give us allied power in ze third-world government, ve keep ze rock monsters from overthrowing ze Uggas. Ja? TA!" Hanging up, the professor hovered into his office, muttering to himself.
"Vell, too much knowledge is a bad thing. And, eh, my father learned that ze hard way… getting sucked into space… awful. But I vill spread ze primordial duct tape over zees land, and…" he smashed his desk in half with a powerful swipe with the clawed arm, "rule with an iron grip!"
…
"Come in," the Brooklyn-descendent weasel offered, tying his robe and ordering his bimbo to halt the back massage.
"Hello," said Gregg, "I am a messenger from the Royal Conk government. I was sent to ask you a few, say, questions."
"Alright," said Don, "let me just get something…" Don pulled out his trusty Tommy gun, the same one that murdered Berri, and began to pump rounds into Gregg until bullets spent numbered 37.
"Ahem," said Gregg, "if you don't remember, I am undead. That is as well as the gatekeeper of Hell. I took up this job as a messenger to earn some extra cash part-time. It pays well, since the bearers are always trying to kill me."
"But… what…"
"I'll pretend you didn't try that, smart arse. Anyway, we've picked up a little...
"Please, before you get to the point, let me offer you a drink. Scotch, perhaps?"
"No, I have a little thing called water, you fat bloody prick. And thanks, let me add, for that extra shot of Anthrax you threw in with the malt. That won't kill me either. So listen, or I'll split you stupid arse in two!
The weasel sat down abruptly.
"Alright, from page one…. We've picked up a little attempt… a shot… a cruise missile, to be exact. It crashed into a barn in the slums of Conk, and it was said to have come from here. I trust you have some kind of alibi."
"I don't know anything about it, I swear."
"Ah, but I can tell that you're lying. That twitch in your snout… that tap of your nail… you're hiding something. But since you weren't to cooperate, we're sending people anyway. If so much as a silo or launcher is found to have fired the missile, we will confiscate that and all military power you've borrowed from us. We'll also have to disband your defense rights, since you tried so blearily to cover it up. Understood?"
"You can search here all you want, you won't find nothin'," he said, holding back a snout twitch.
"… All right. But you know the consequences…" Gregg left the room, and paused. "And this," he slammed the door off its hinges, "is for trying to kill me."
2 Chapter 2: Whispered down the Alley
"Well, we've sent all we should have to send, and it should be a matter of time now before we discover what that twat is hiding," Gregg said, sipping water that was barely 1 degree Celsius. "You do know that I share the same concern for this place that you do. The only place that produces fresh water, the only place that prohibits cats… I can't just watch it get pummeled by missiles."
"Yeah, well, I've always hated that guy anyway. Always having other people do his crap for him…"
"Sire, we've found something… err, interesting in the boiler tower. I think you should come and take a look."
"I know, Mr. Big Cog is a little on the queer side. I'd rather not see that again…"
"No, it concerns the missile and… something about a revolution."
"Revolution? What, I'll take a look."
…
"So, and then he picked up me missing cogs, and put then on the wrong way! You know, the… back way," uttered Carl, an iron cog placed obscenely over another cog's protuberance.
"Oh, man. That's nasty… and, they got away, I'm guessing?"
"Yeah, what'd he do next?" Said the Fire Imps, little red devil- creatures that were constantly on fire.
"Well, I was all like "Fuck off!" and he didn't like that… so, he went out onto that center circle, and ran around, which activated a pulley that spun me around. And I fell off… next thing I know, I'm being pummeled by me cogs and placed… here. I was all like "at's me buggered"
"And this was the same flammable guy that's swimming up here right now?
"What? Oh, bloody hell… don't leave me alone with him, he's sick Quentin on me."
"Hey, guys," said Conker, sopping wet from the tower's unorthodox entrance duct. "What's going on here? I was told there was some important talk…"
"You twat! Get out of here now! I have nothing more to say to… no, don't!"
Conker leaned up, grabbed the cog's bottom spikes and spun him around, activating the second schizoid side of Carl, Quentin.
"Hello. Why, aren't you the handsome one… and a bit familiar at that," he said, winking.
"Yeah, um, do you know anything about a revolution? Or a missile, or something?"
"Well, I find it rather difficult to breathe now, placed on this hunk of cog for so long."
"Yeah, well, okay. I'll give you a minute." Conker grabbed him by the sides and yanked him off, leaving him skittering on the floor.
"Now, about revolution… it seems to me that someone is trying to, say, take over the land."
"Who?"
"His name is Jenkins Weaseled. He is, er, was the son of another weasel… a professor. He meant to follow in his footsteps, but something awful happened… he was sucked into space by his own technological indulgence. It was sad, really, he was a genius."
"Wait, oh my god, that guy had a son? Awe, crap. Um anyway, how does he plan to take over, or revolutionize this land? Does it involve… war?"
"Yes, and he is currently working on a way to destroy your empire. He uses his lackeys, other weasels, his allied forces, and other, say… brutish things."
"Alright, thanks. Anywhere I could find this guy?"
"Well, I heard he was repairing a wrecked, er, base of sort. He spiced it up, supposedly.
"Alright thanks, you've been very cooperative. It there's any more talk… that reminds me… who told you about all this?
"Why, Ted Steamy. He has a direct tie, quite literally, to the pressure valves of the world."
"Who's Ted Steamy?"
"You castrated him and blew him up, you should know."
"Okay, thanks. I'm gonna put you back on, now."
"Thank you, sir, and good day to you," he said, as he was forced back on to the big cog.
"Tho long, thweetheart!" Said a deep, yet disturbingly high voice.
"Who said that?" asked Conker, glancing back to see the big cog give out a wink.
…
"Meek, meek, meek, meek," repeated a green imp as he marched around the castle, in a ball of armor. There were several kinds of Imps residing in the land. They all belonged to a simple clan, consisting of three different castes: purple, green and red. The purple ones were the fodder, most common and sent out to do the lowliest work, often serving as soldiers. If they were, they were usually armed with a paltry spear or whatever they could find. They were dull-witted and could barely think rationally. The red kind was the Fire Imps, who were the slackers of their kind, usually working with purples in a fight. They fought by setting enemies or intruders on fire, and usually got drunk or stoned on the job. The green are the higher ranks, doing the thinking and planning, as well as developing weapons and armor. They spoke in their own skittish language, which would be considered fast in eloquent if it could be understood. They could swim, jump and hurl themselves at enemies within their spiked suits if necessary.
"Sarge! I guess we can tell those investigators to return, we've got a situation on our hands. How's our supplies since the end of the last war?" Asked Conker, looking sternly up at the husky Grey Squirrel.
"Well, we're still recruiting people, I don't think they've yet numbered 4,000."
"What about vehicles and artillery and such? Do we have any scout- type… things? I mean, I don't know that much about weapons. What I do know is that there is apparently another base out there, bigger and worse than the last."
"The gear said the old one was being repaired.," said Gregg.
"Yeah, but it's not there anymore! It's just open sea! Like someone moved the entire wreckage off to somewhere else."
"Conker! Come quick!" Said an urgent weasel.
"Oh, what is it you want now?"
"We've got another missile heading for us!"
A white streak blew across the sky, and seemed to be heading for Poo Mountain. It crashed into the side near the summit, creating a geyser of steaming poo, and scorching a swearing dung beetle. Conker's mouth fell open, and he stared into the bubbling, burning muck. He had once slain a horrible, gooey monster there, and now the top half of the mountain was gone, releasing the foul smell of the wet interior.
"Did ANYONE see where that came from?"
Not a head nodded.
"I want those AA guns to be ready by tonight, Rico!"
"Yes sir, it's they're just about done."
"Let me see."
"Uh, alright, but that will spoil the surprise."
The Sarge led Conker down to a basement chasm in the castle, about 3 floors underground. They arrived in a room full of towering cameo tarps, mixed in with various bits of machinery and the occasional worker milling about, lifting up the tarps and inspecting whatever was under.
"These are our brand-new, high-caliber cluster cannons. They shoot like a shotgun, only the shells are 160 millimeters in diameter, each filled with hundreds of 20 millimeter shells. Behold…" Rico ripped off the tarps, exposing what looked like a typical Grey Squirrel turret gun, except that it had one, swollen barrel.
"Wow… and these will take down missiles?"
"Yep, they've been primed and tested. Now all we have to do is get them out there, and wait."
…
Jenkins sat atop the complex, looking out over the water at the island.
"Vell, with ze second missile coming from our friends at the Wasp Nest, they vill never suspect our interference with their peaceful lives. Ve vill keep slipping out missiles to our enemies until they run low on funds, and then will crush them with raw military power.
"Sound interesting," said Don, marveling at the simplicity of the professor's plan. "Just like the old Blitzkrieg, eh?"
"Ah, similar, but ve must develop our vehicles and weapons beyond the squirrel's ability before ve attack, as they outnumber us 7 to 1 in weasels alone. With zat we add Grey squirrels, rare Red ones, even rarer Chipmunks, and ve come to… 53 to 1. They outnumber us 53 to one.
"Well, very little of that population is primed and ready to fight. And when you said "we", you weren't counting our allies."
"True. That and ze elements of surprise and confusion give us our key infrastructure. I will make sure that ze next attack is launched directly from this base. I will avenge my father's death.
3 Chapter 3: Crimson skies and Retribution
"Hut! Attention!" shouted Sergeant Rico, the Grey Squirrel military advisor as he marched columns of troops between anti-aircraft flak. "We are to shoot down anything that moves, may it be a missile, wasp or flying… ah, fuck that shit!"
"Right!" Cried 28 squirrel soldiers in unison.
"We will defend our ground, our land, our country from this flying menace this is cruise missiles. We will keep whoever is firin' then firin' 'till they… uh, run out, I guess."
"Right!"
"We will…"
"Sir! Incoming fire from the North-East!" Cried an officer. Alarms went off, and warning sirens blared things like "missile attack" and "red alert" in such little unison that it was difficult to get the massage.
"Assume your positions! Fire when I say so!" 28 guns were loaded up with their pilots. Each gun was a special type, launching clusters of 20mm armor-piercing shells at a fast rate. They were designed specifically to eliminate incoming cruise missiles by Rodent and other squirrel ballistics experts.
The missiles were clearly visible now. There were nine in total, launched three at a time in elegant precision. As the missiles grew closer, their shrieks could easily be heard, and almost every animal in the land was watching in awe as they streaked toward their targets. Their formation grew steadily closer, and as the castle watched in all terror, every one of the missiles was headed straight towards the castle.
"Fire! FIRE!" Roared Rico, hat flying off into the abyss.
An earth-shaking staccato of blasts from the guns was heard. It sounded like hundreds of giant paper bags being busted open, and it held for almost seven seconds before the first wave of missiles exploded in mid- flight.
"Not bad, crew! Start firing again… now!"
The horrible lambasting of shots rang out again, this time hitting their mark from farther away. After three more 7-second intervals, since some failed to destroy the missiles, the sky was devoid of them, and clouded with smoke and dust. Cheers rang up from the throne room.
"These are bloody brilliant, now we just have to get them to the rest of the kingdom," said Gregg, tossing up a pint of water with the other's beer.
"Well, now that we've solved the problem of missiles, we can go back to our peaceful, boring lives," said Conker.
…
As the burning sun scorched the hard ground, a hut-put, hut-put could be heard as swarms of Uggas were training, swinging clubs and throwing spears into targets. Huge dinosaurs were mounted and animal skins were donned as they prepared to attack a nearby squirrel city, Frunce.
Uggas were yellow cave men with large chins, and traditionally shaved themselves bald, wearing only long tiger-striped robes. The soldiers, who comprised 60% of the population, wore the skins of lion-type creatures upon their heads. They carried their choice of club or spear, and marched single-file or in formation until they met an enemy. This ensued until they swarmed to smack and stab it until it dies.
The technique mainly applied to dinosaurs, but also worked on their species rival, rock monsters.
These rock monsters were 9-foot pear-shaped giants who lived lives of partying. They were very aggressive and tended to smack Uggas around with their huge club-like arms, usually killing them with no acknowledgement. The Uggas, knowing that the monsters are weak against blunt objects and multiple attacks, mob and bash them to pieces whenever they get the chance.
In the midst of the crowds of Uggas, there were weasel-gang members, toting Tommy guns and telling them what to do. They knew secretly that the Ugga's purpose was naught but fodder for enemies, and that they were used to outnumber.
…
The town of Frunce was not a rich one, but the people maintained simple morals and beliefs, holding suspicions of vampires and witches, only one of which ever being true. That was of the famed Count Batula, who died falling into his own grinder after drinking too much blood. He lived in a mansion, surrounded by a graveyard and up a winding hill full of skeletal snakes, which surfaced to bite and throw intruders. The other houses were of colonial American design, and the villagers were clad in gray tweed and derby hats.
"Come, Fluoresce," said a piano teacher to her student, a 19-year-old Grey Squirrel. She began to play a soft tinkle of a melody, when she noticed her singing water was vibrating.
"What's that?" She asked, pointing to her cup.
"What's what?" Asked the confused teacher.
"Listen!" As she paused, a soft thumping could be heard. It seemed to come in rapid rhythm. A very quiet rumble, a bit like a nearby waterfall, accompanied it.
"What's going on outside?" The rumble grew louder, and now she could hear screams. A drawer at the back of the room fell, smashing China all over the floor.
The two squirrels ran outside, only to be swept up by a torrent of villagers running in the opposite direction.
"What's happening?" Screamed Fluoresce, bewildered as she was separated from her teacher.
When no one answered, she looked back. She noticed that the stretching crowd turned a different color. It took her ten seconds of clueless standing and brushing herself off to recognize them as the sinister, lantern-jawed heads of Uggas.
People were now diving into their houses, and fishing up whatever they could find. Several of them had wooden stakes, torches and pitchforks, but that was all. The town had never been under attack before, and had little or nothing to prepare for it. Hundreds of Uggas were pouring into the village, whacking people with clubs and throwing and stabbing with fatal barrages of spears. The Squirrels used their weapons as well as they could, but they were not good enough. The Uggas were twice as strong unarmed, and the paltry array of wooden stakes and farming implements could do almost nothing. This was further shaken by the fact that the Uggas had the weasel's fire support and the dinosaur's aid.
"Oh! What…" Fluoresce was knocked to the ground by the kick of a particularly boot-happy Ugga. He laughed, until she picked up a stake and threw it at him. It cut into his left arm, and left him yelling and running after her. She dashed into her house, and up her stairs. Realizing that Uggas were different than zombies and that they could climb stairs, she was forced out to her balcony. A spear landed by her feet, thrown by an Ugga below. She picked it up with utmost difficulty, the spear being too heavy for her. With all her strength, she chucked it down at the climbing Ugga. It struck him in the neck, piercing all the way through. Here eyes were streaming with tears at her actions, as well as pain from being kicked, but she could see it stagger and slump to the ground in a bloody pool.
"Oh what have… I've murdered…" she started crying uncontrollably, until she was spotted by an Ugga on a green raptor. It stomped over to the balcony and bit out a section, and she picked up the spear, pulling it out of the Ugga's neck. She flung it at the raptor, narrowly missing. It head-butted the balcony, splintering it and sending her to the ground below. It slowly advanced on her, bringing its teeth down to bite. She rolled into the rubble, making it harder. The raptor took a leap into the rubble, then miss-aimed a lunge as it turned around. A lone squirrel was standing there, picking up the spear she threw. She then saw the other spear in its back, gushing grimy red blood. The raptor, clearly infuriated, lunged and brought its head down on him. It drew its head back up, bleeding from the mouth.
"Chevoy ukkochio!" The Ugga cried. The raptor lunged again, this time stepping on the squirrel. He dodged it, leaving the spear for the raptor to step on. It cried out in pain, bleeding from 3 different places, and fell. The bulk of its body landed right on the squirrel, with a horrifying snap that indicated a broken spine. Fluoresce stood up, stunned from the fall. She ambled over, and placed her hand on his forehead.
"Uh, Fluoresce, I… glad… kept…" his head settled on the ground. Fluoresce then realized that this was her father. She yelled out, but the town was now almost deserted.
In the five minutes the battle had raged, 1 out of every 3 villagers had been killed, leaving a few dead Uggas in with them. The streets and houses were littered with bodies, and the majority of the squirrels had fled, hoping to survive the burning miles of desert. The Uggas had retreated, snatching up their weapons. Fluoresce stood there, thinking of a way to get out. She couldn't. Then the horrible option of suicide came to her. She couldn't do that either. She was about to go try to catch up with the squirrels when she heard a loud Liverpool accent.
"'Eye, Tezza! This town looks like shit!
"Are you kidding? It sucks!"
"I meant shit in a bad way, Bazza."
Fluoresce walked around the corner to see two car-sized beetles crawling around, toting suitcases.
"Excuse me, sirs, could you help me?" she asked, still crying.
"Well, ya look like you could use some 'elp," said Tezza, a superior smirk across his mandibles.
"Could you… fly me out of here?"
"Alright, wouldn't bother us. We just came looking to buy some tea, but fixer-upper…"
"Where do you plan on going?" Asked Bazza.
"To wherever… you go, sir, I guess."
"Well, you seem nice, 'an respectful. But I'm not quite so sure you'd want to follow us back home. 'Cause you see, we're dung beetles. We live in a pile of shite.
"It's called shit, Bazza," Tezza replied, "and yes, we could drop you off near there. Come on, hop up on my neck, by the way, not the back. An' grab my antennae, but God, not too hard."
"Thank you, sir, if you don't mind my addressing you that way…"
"Are you kidding? The last time I was called sir was by King Crapalot the 3rd before 'e was blown up by an explosive ball of poo."
4 Chapter 4: The Mirage
It was a rainy day in Conker's castle, and he had just received the news about Frunce.
"So Frunce has been destroyed by the Uggas? That's the last straw! We're going to take those Uggas and shove them, one by one, up Don Weaselo's ass! He cannot hide this!" Conker was clearly enraged by the happening. He had just shot down a volley of cruise missiles, and now another Squirrel allied town was being attacked.
"I've already sent the CIS to interrogate," said Gregg.
"Good. We will find out who the hell is responsible for this mess and clean it the hell up!"
"Conker?"
"What is it?"
"Look… what the bloody hell…" said Gregg, pointing toward where the Tediz base used to be. "Use the telescope."
Conker stared through the tube, then his eye caught a strange blip in the rain. It looked like a huge mirage of a shape that seemed to be devoid of any falling rain. Zooming in, he saw that there was a sort of force field of falling water around it.
"What the heck is going on there?"
"Beats me," said a tired Gregg.
"My God. This freaking world is just full of problems."
"Maybe they're all tied together somehow."
Conker sat down, his head feeling heavy. I'll never find out what is going on, he thought to himself. The problems will only get worse and worse. And now there is a huge mirage across the sea, and hundreds of Grey Squirrels lost in a burning desert. He couldn't send helpers to assist, since all of the army was training for a probable war. But it would all go to waste if he couldn't find out WHERE.
"You know what, I think I'm going to take a little break, go outside the castle, have a little drinkie at the Conk and Plucker."
"Oh, bloody hell, and I suppose you'll be too tired to sort out these problems, and I'll have to do them, and then you'll get mad and send me back to Hell. And then you'll die again. And I'll say "well, well, well, look who came crawling back" and I'll remember I'll have to give you another chance because you had one of those all-too-easy to find tails."
Conker strolled outside, looking around and seeing sights and scenes he hadn't been able to look at while behind the great stone walls. The bee hive (run, now, by the King Bee), the dying attempts of the Wasps at staving off the twice-as-big Dung Beetles, the armored Imps guarding the entrance to the stream… all of that with the wonderful background. But the background would never be the same now. The once-beautiful Poo Mountain had a huge hole blasted in the top, with beetles hurrying to fix and support it with hard dung. The now-dormant Batula's mansion, no longer having French squirrels trying to refurbish it. The towering ladder of the barn, which was now out of sight, having collapsed. And the craters left by the shot down missiles, scattered about the huge Spiral Mountain and rebuilt Windy Windmill. He also noticed that the mirage was gone.
"Excuse me, sir!" cried a voice slightly familiar to Conker.
"What? Who is that?"
"Do you know where… oh my, you're King Conker!"
"Oh, ya recognize me? Where are ya from? Your voice sounds familiar."
"Um, I'm from the town of Frunce, sir, before it was…"
"Run down by cavemen? Yeah, I heard."
"Can you do anything about it?"
"Well, we've entered a shadow war, and we haven't anyone to go assist them."
"But they're starving in the desert!"
Now Conker recognized the desperate shrillness in her voice. It was from months ago, when the evil Count Batula had transformed him into a bat in his mansion, upon seeking inheritance. He was fifteen feet away from dropping her into a huge grinder, when a wooden stake had struck him and she was dropped.
"You know, why don't we drop by The Cock and Plucker for a drink? On me."
"Well, you don't suppose they have Chateau Romaine, do they?"
"We'll see. Hey, do you ever recall being carried by a bat?"
…
"So how deed it do?" Asked Jenkins to Don Weaselo.
"Just as planned. They scattered into the desert."
"Great. Our next attack vill be on ze Grew Squirrel's central homeland. And ze vill use ze re-mastered Tediz. Their invulnerability to trauma by blunt objects or fall made them ze perfect weapon. Now they are invincible to flame, faster than before and are armed with full automatics. No enemies, in any shape or form, can defeat groups of vell-armed Tediz."
"What about our weasels? They have bullet-proof vests and helmets."
"They are not as fast or smart, and are still susceptible to face shots."
Having said that, the professor left the room, leaving a disgruntled and jealous boss.
Tediz are evil, Nazi-type teddy bears that can function as soldiers and take order. There are two kinds: big and small. The big ones are slightly larger than the smaller ones, but are stronger and faster. The small ones are weak and can't move as fast, but are smarter and much better aim. They use many weapons, from rifles to bazookas, and even knives and hypodermic needles. They build wide ranges of fortifications, vehicles and munitions to achieve their goals. They have also used themselves and prisoners as hapless subjects for horrible experiments.
…
"So, you ever been malted before?"
"Well, it tastes a bit different. It's stronger than what we had back in Frunce."
"That's because you took double. I prefer single, I like the blander taste."
"Is… this a big issue? I mean, alcoholic beverage. Is the society based upon it?"
"Well, no, but it used to play a bit bigger role in my life. I used to get tanked all the time."
"Tanked means drunk, right?"
The Cock and Plucker was a bit more crowded than usual, being a rainy, moist day where there was little else to do but down a pint. Squirrels, Weasels, sometimes the occasional Ugga or Wasp hung around, chatting with friends and seeing who could chug fastest or hold out the longest. Birdie, a big-time liquor connoisseur, was there half his life, telling his raucous stories to amused and shocked patrons.
"And, then… 'e took da bottle… and he shoved it… shoved, go -humph!-" he smashed a bottle on the table, "into is eye, and was like "ah, my eye" and "you dipshit," and he took a swig…" he picked up a bottle of Rhine wine and drank it, "and, uh, ah." He fell asleep, drunk, on the table.
"Does he always do that?" a young squirrel asked.
"Mm, it's a little habit of his," said the bartender.
"Hey, Birdie!" said Conker, spotting him among the crowd. Birdie woke up, shouted "fuck off," and dozed off again.
"Oh my," said Fluoresce, "that's the worst profanity I've heard since flying home on those scousers."
"Well, it's not about to stop, I hate to tell you. Come on Birdie wake up. I have some seltzer. You can feel better fast."
"AH, gimme at, I need relief!" He took the seltzer, swigged it down, and woke up from his inebriated state.
"Oh, jeez, I feel better. What was it I had to do? Oh, hello, Conker."
"Hey, how ya doing'? How are things in the vegetable patch?"
"Ah, well, those damn wasps keep stealing my carrots. They say they want to "honey glaze" them. Honey-glaze my ass. They don't even make honey. They're wasps!"
"Can you please stop swearing? I'm just out of a nightmare, and I can't bear more of it.," said Fluoresce.
"Sorry. Anyway, I said to them 'stop it, or I'll pull myself out of the ground and kick your, uh butt… no, stinger.' Boy, now that sounds lame."
"They're probably trading it with the honey bees. I'm sure they need to re-supply after getting whapped by those beetles. Anyway, uh, I'd better get going. There's a little problem out there I have to take care of, but I don't know what."
"That reminds me. I ordered a few cases of that, uh, special beer… from the, uh, what is it? Mushroom Kingdom that's it. It's supposed to make you really big, for a sec. Anyway, they say the ship crashed into a rock or something, maybe a reef, I dunno. I thought being the King, you know, you could do something."
"A rock, huh? What port was it going to?"
"Well, they said it was coming from the North. You know, in that canopy where I live. But then, with no trace on radar, it smashed into something. And the weird thing is, the whole thing seemed to stop and flatten out at the front, without any slowing or bottom scraping. I saw it on the news."
"Oh, fuck."
"Conker!" Shouted Fluoresce.
"Oh, sorry, I forgot. Um, Birdy, what you just told me may be the answer to our big problem."
"What's the problem?"
"Well, uh, I really can't tell for myself. Um, I have to go now." He left, leaving a very confused scarecrow.
…
"Okay, Sergeant Rico, I know what we have to do. I want you to send a scout chopper over to the northern sea and find out what is there. There is something there I just know it. Just find out what it is, how it got there, and return."
"All right, I'll tell them immediately. I don't know what I've been told," he said as he marched off, "I don't know... uh, wait… I don't know… ah, fuck that shit."
"Why can't I live in a non-swearing environment?" Asked Fluoresce.
"Well, you could go home for a while, and maybe we could go somewhere on Saturday…"
"I don't have a home, remember?" she said, giving Conker a pleading look.
"Oh right, I forgot again. I apologize. Um, why don't you stay in the guest room of the castle?"
"Um, that would be okay, I guess."
"I knew we'd use it for something."
"Thank you, Mr. Squirrel."
"Please, just call me Conker," he said, as the tall weasel showed her off.
Gregg walked in.
"Boy, I think she could be the one to… you know, end your bloody misery."
"I dunno, she's no Berri."
"She's a hell of a lot smarter."
"That reminds me. Have you got her yet?"
"Well, she had a genuinely good soul, but she was deemed "too dumb" to go to Heaven. So they took her off to test her, see her impulses, and fins out if she was worthy," he said as he sipped more frozen water.