by Unknown
Knowing exactly what they had to do, Proff B headed straight to an adjoining room, returning moments later with a cage containing a cute white fluffy bunny with floppy ears. Proff H reached up to a cupboard and took out a small space age- looking bowl. Tentatively he poured a tiny amount of the contents into the bowl, and with equal measures of trepidation and guilt, he placed the bowl of innocent- looking liquid into the cage.
Both men took a step back from the cage as if a tiny bomb were about to go off- as indeed it should. Earlier experiments with tiny amounts of this serum being fed to the bunnies had resulted in what could only be described as a sickening display similar that of Dr Jeckyll's after his first taste of that hideous potion. The previous bunnies, on dipping their tongues had almost immediately began to contort, and with eyes possessed with a madness that could only come from the deepest and darkest of all hells and mouths that spewed a torrent of a rabid kind of froth. Their once floppy ears grew tall and rigid as all their fur just fell off. What was more terrifying though was the total change in behaviour. These once placid and docile mammals had become seething structures of rage that appeared to be aimed entirely toward the white-coated men that were viewing them. Most terrifying of all though was the sudden accelerated strength that showed up in the fourth minute, rendering cage bars completely useless as a barrier between animal and professor.
Needless to say that after the very first (and almost catastrophic) introduction of bunny to TKMAX, during which Bunny No. 708 had needed to be hacked to pieces to end its life, a small pistol had been obtained to destroy future creations during minute three. What was also observed was that the small bullet had needed to enter through the brain in order to end the wretched creature's life, as the bullets that had entered its body had had no effect whatsoever.
The Lab incinerator had been fired up ready, the small pistol was loaded, cocked and aimed, and the atmosphere in the room was electric as the poor bunny moved naively towards the bowl.
Both men had noted and recorded that the strength of the serum had increased slightly each day during storage, which filled them both with a heightened sense of anxiety as they watched the 'lamb' about to be offered up to its 'slaughter'.
The animal sniffed at the bowl and undeterred dipped in its delicate little pink tongue. Proff B tightened his grip on the pistol and Proff H moistened his lip. Bunny drank greedily, the loud laboratory clock ticking noisily. One minute passed, then two. Bunny stopped drinking and then looked up at the two men curiously and twitched its nose before jumping on to its exercise wheel (you have to keep them healthy) and gave itself a pleasurable workout. The two men looked at each other in wide- eyed panic as they both involuntarily let out the same scream.
“Sshhhhiiiiiiitttttt!!!!!!!”
One of the Proffs (I'm not sure which) slammed his hand down on the big red alarm bell that was only ever to be sounded in the direst of emergencies!
GTA: Zombie Apocalypse
So focused on his mission was he that Chris Richards failed to notice the three pairs of eyes that looked up as he pulled sharply into the car park. They watched intently as he exited the car (failing to close the driver side window that had been opened only moments earlier when he'd struggled against puking up the contents of his stomach) studied him closely as he made his way across the badly pot- holed car park, and which swivelled to look at each other excitedly after he had entered through the well- worn door of the small, dingy public house.
An opportunist never misses an opportunity. And so within a three minute window of that pub door closing, the trusty (albeit rusty) Volvo had three new inhabitants inside her, one of whom was fiddling around with her wiring.
Being accomplished in this very art of 'hot wiring', Reece Bailley soon had the Volvo purring like a kitty as he gingerly eased her off the car park and out of sight of the pub and it's dodgy clientele.
“Where we gonna go?” asked the Kyle that always wore a red hoodie!
“Let's go and do doughnuts” said the Kyle that always wore a blue hoodie, and all three males broke into a loud chant of “Doughnuts! Doughnuts! Doughnuts!”
Reece swung the Volvo's nose round to head into the direction of the Old Rec, a disused field that lay just far enough away from the road as to hide any shady behaviour from anyone likely to poke a nose in.
Reece and the two Kyles squealed and cheered like happy kids on a fun fair ride as the car raced around the edges of the field at breakneck speed, then suddenly and without warning Reece would jerk the wheel whilst applying the handbrake, spinning the car out of control.
Technically these moves weren't doughnuts they were just skids, but this didn't matter to three young teenagers from a deprived area. As far as they were concerned,, they were tearing up turf, being rebellious, and feeling like they were having free rides on the Waltzers with extra spins thrown in.
Eventually though, even skiddy doughnuts lose their appeal and Reece and the two Kyles had had enough.
Kyle with the red hoodie had been the quicker off the mark when jumping into the car at the point of theft and so had bagged the passenger seat. He had done so without even calling 'Shotgun' but, given the circumstances, this small crime had been over looked.
He looked at his two accomplices and announced “I'm dying for a fag!”
Kyle with the blue hoodie- not normally known for moments of genius- piped up “Look in the glove compartment. There might be fags in there!”
“Look in the.......... what? Don't you mean cubby 'ole you posh git?”
What followed could only be described as a few seconds of raucous laughter which came to a very sudden halt as red Kyle, after a moment spent mooching around in said 'Glovie', turned to look at both of them, with a huge grin on his face.... and a twenty pound note in his hand.
“And what shall we do now?” he asked with a knowing look on his face, as he was very aware that none of the trio had eaten any food so far this day- and sometimes even food came before weed.
“Burgers! Burgers! Burgers!” was the new war cry as Reece eased a limping, and muddier (albeit still trusty, rusty) Volvo out of the Old Rec and onto the A- road that would lead them to the motorway service station in nearby Hopwood.
“Now listen,” said Reece in his whispery serious voice “We'll go in and get some grub then on the way out we'll pull into the petrol bit and Kyle can fill the tank up. And then, as you're pretending to go and pay (he was looking at red Kyle), jump back in and we'll fly off down the motorway, innit?”
“Innit!” chorused the two Kyles in reply.
Taking care to park far enough away from other cars for an easy exit but not too far as to stand out, the old Volvo came to a much needed standstill and the two front passengers got out. Blue Kyle in the back was a few seconds behind them as he had just noticed a bottle of water on the floor.
“You 'ent gonna drink that, are ya, ya tramp?” enquired Reece. “It's that old man's!”
“Ye I know. But think about it: we only got a Score between us. So if we share this water we can buy more food. And I'm starvin'”
“You're on your own with the manky water, mate. We might be spending the old man's money, but I 'ent sharing his spit.” red Kyle chipped in as they headed toward the main entrance.
“Suit yourselves,” said blue Kyle, taking a huge glug of the seemingly innocent water. The very problem with taking huge glugs of a liquid is that you've already swallowed a large amount before your taste buds have decided whether or not they approve of the stuff. And this was exactly what happened here.
A couple of seconds after he had swallowed, Kyle stopped dead still in his tracks and looked at the bottle with disdain and disgust. He then hawked up a considerable amount of phlegm and aimed it behind him as he threw the innocent looking bottle and its remnants towards the bin that was just to his left. In his rush through the doors to catch up with the others, he didn't notice that he had missed the bin completely and the bottle was lying on the footpath, leaking its contents for an
yone to tread in. But then, he probably wouldn't have cared.
Wanted- Dead or Alive
The noise of the alarm was deafening! Fitting, I guess, as it was the direst situation for which it had been designed. Proffs H and B, who had been rolling around on the floor moments earlier, holding their hands over their ears, were now being glared at incredulously by their superior, Dr White.
They had already garbled out their account of events. Both men chose to omit the argument about controlling the world, which would expose extremely greedy un-professionalism and the Danish prostitute incident choosing instead to explain the reason for their absence from the Lab and their incredible failure to secure highly dangerous, life threatening liquids simply on an urgent and uncontrollable 'bathroom' problem from which they both suffered. One bladder, one bowel.
The appropriate wheels had immediately spun into action. And whilst CCTV footage was being trawled through in such a precise manner, it wasn't long before a shout of “Got 'im” had rang out, followed by a round of applause in the security offices of the huge rotund building.
Police officers with guns (yes guns!) and security staff raced to the multi- story staff car park, but were not surprised to find that there was no sign of the rusty Volvo, and so raced back to the security offices to hopefully continue the hunt via CCTV camera images from around the City.
The amount of traffic that was winding its way around the dusty streets was ridiculous, and the second “Got 'im” seemed to take forever. However, finally it came, and although the security experts were working on film that had been rewound by at least twenty minutes, it was a huge comfort to all to know that the net was definitely closing in.
The very CCTV camera that first picked up 'our man' was positioned in Cotteridge - a small suburb that contains three pubs, a smattering of shops, a previously burned- down listed building, train station, fire station and more rarely, a launderette! It was when the Volvo had come to a standstill on a red at the traffic lights just outside Greggs that the CCTV camera (positioned there as it was the dead centre point of the three pubs) conveyed to its increasingly impatient audience an image of a rather excited (but otherwise unremarkable) Volvo driver heading towards Kings Norton.
All units were now headed in this direction, and although there was a short delay in the footage, the net was closing in very nicely. A running commentary was being fed to the drivers of the police cars, which included the information that a heavy duty specialised vehicle had been dispatched to collect a certain substance, and that the fugitive Chris Richards was to be apprehended at all costs!!! Even the words 'dead or alive' got a mention.
Suddenly the excitement was audible, as a high- pitched voice announced that fugitive Richards had been picked up on the CCTV system that was operating outside the Masshouse pub. It had been fitted there mainly due to the large number of complaints received from nearby residents on account of it's extremely rowdy reputation and three murders- and, in this case rather handy, as it lead to a rather astonished janitor being accosted from behind whilst still being in the process of raising a glass of Black and Tan to his lips. Outside, the other officers were searching the car park for a Volvo that was most definitely not there, and looking quite perplexed about it.
Officer Rumbulled was very glad to have his arms around Chris Richards. He had been anticipating a chase through council estate back alleys and had not been relishing the thought during the high- speed drive in which he'd had time to remember the extra couple of stone that he hadn't lost yet. 'Damn criminals!' he thought.
As Chris sat in the police car, shaking his sorry head and being in a lot less shock than he should have been considering the enormity of this crime, he looked up at Rumbulled, who appeared to be on a loop screaming “WHERE IS IT? WHERE IS IT? WHERE IS IT?”
Chris, who now had a face covered in officer spittle, was just contemplating feigning wide- eyed innocence, when a loud voice boomed over the radio waves “All units to Hopwood Park service station. M42. We've found the Volvo!”
“What shall we do with him?” asked Jones, Rumbulled's partner, cocking his head towards Chris.
“No time to search him now. Let's get car and criminal together and take it from there. Where the feck is Hopwood?”
“Nooooo worries, Pardner,” said Jones in his best American side kick accent. “I was involved in a documentary called 'Motorway Cops' filmed there last year! Hold on to your coffee and bagels. We're hittin' the blues and two's!”
Sex Panther?
Ant was just finishing the remnants of his breakfast, 'The Ultimate' (being careful not to drop any of it down the rented tuxedo suit that he was still wearing), and draining the last drops of his Espresso Macchiato when he decided he couldn't last another minute without poring over the spoils from Scott's trip to the Gadget Show. After all, Scott was taking far too long in the breakfast queue ordering a second portion of his beloved hash browns. I mean... come on, do hash browns really merit a place on a breakfast plate?
Out of the corner of his eye, Ant witnessed a small altercation involving Scott and a scruffy youth wearing a blue hoodie who had appeared to have violently shoved Scott out of the way as he ran through the restaurant. Scott returned to the table slightly shaken and tightly gripping the plate that contained the extra delicacies.
“Did you see that?” spluttered Scott incredulously. “Stupid stoned little chav nearly made me drop my hash browns!”
“Woah!” said Ant ignoring Scott's indignation and instead throwing his energy into removing things from bags. “You beauty! You've only managed to bag the almost un-baggable Wolverine claws!” said Ant, his eyes shining.
The previous little 'tussle' was wiped from his mind, as Scott was suddenly taken back to some hours before when he had stood wearing the claws, as a small crowd had gathered round to watch.
“Not only that.......... I also demonstrated,” said Scott proudly. “And I can definitely confirm that a sluttily dressed blow-up doll is no match for these claws! And..wait for it... they SPARK!”
If Scott and Ant had been Bill and Ted then this would have been the point at which the air guitars would have been fiddled with, but as it was, and considering where they were, a fist bump more than sufficed.
The subsequent bags contained two pairs of Blue tooth gloves which, when worn would eliminate the need for removing phones from pockets by actually transforming hands into phones (ideal for the winter); plus an Ice-cream ball which was a present for Scott's girlfriend Fliss, and which by simply adding the ingredients, followed by ice and rock salt and then throwing the ball around like crazy, made apparently delicious ice-cream without electricity; plus two Life straws which would be invaluable in a crisis (say, for instance the pair should ever end up living in a cave with very little resources; a Scrubba portable washing machine that could fold down and fit inside a pocket; and a Biolite mini camping stove that can be charged from any USB gadget no matter where you are, and be fuelled by biomass like twigs and pine cones! Both of these items would also enhance any enforced cave dwelling if the worst should ever happen.
A long slim bag contained two Samurai umbrellas in sheaths that would be worn over the back of the shoulder to be drawn like a sword.
“Bloody brilliant Scott,” said Ant approvingly “What's in this little bag?”
“Erm.... nothing... that's just some other stuff for Fliss” sputtered Scott trying to grab the bag off Ant and cursing himself for not having left that particular bag in the car.
“Oooh! a bottle of Sex Panther and a pair of men's flatulence pants! What would Fliss want with those, eh?” asked Ant, waving the items around for just about anyone to see.
If ever a man needed a distraction then it was right now, and it came in the form of two staff members running Hell- for- leather right past their table towards the escalator that lead up to the toilets.
“That Chav's probably been caught shooting up in the lavvy!” said Scott, quickly shoving a couple of items back in the bag.
However, what they were now definitely noticing through the large glass wall- to- floor windows of the building was the unbelievable sight of what appeared to be the entire country's police force accompanied by dozens upon dozens of army trucks all screeching to a halt in the car park. And what the hell was that noise? The entire clientele of the packed restaurant was treated to the incredible sight of a huge helicopter sweeping inches above the parked cars and then suddenly a huge dark curtain fell over the building completely severing the outside view and taking with it fifty percent of the light.
