Holy Order of Eagles II: G.A.G.
The Holy Order of Eagles Part Two: Two
Kyle was playing his Romancing Saga, as was per usual, when suddenly, something very horrible happened. His game crashed.
“Flaming Scrotum Eating Macaulay Caulkin BASTARDS!” Kyle had not saved recently. Considering the random angle that his PS2 was perched at, on its pedestal of socks and school textbooks placed to ensure maximum disk read-age, Kyle knew that something was amiss. His fears were shortly confirmed when his pager went off, displaying the coded message: “Something is amiss. Report to Eagle nest 04.”
Kyle Jumped into his dashing red station wagon and drove over to the local Holy Order of Eagles outpost. Which happened to be cleverly disguised at the Order of Eagles guild hall (a clever front that is believed to be, of all things, a club for polish war veterans.)
Kyle walked into the hallowed halls of the Holy Order of Eagles and went to see his supervisor to see what had gone amiss, and how do un-amiss it. He put on his lab coat and fired up his workstation before he strolled over to see McWalts, or as his staff lovingly called him, Waltzer.
“Hail, nest-brother Waltzer, what seems to be amiss?” Kyle made the signature greeting between nest brothers. Waltzer returned the gesture and motioned Kyle over to his hello-kitty model workstation, despite its cute pink plastic casemod, it was still a beastly machine, capable of crunching numbers into extremely uncomfortable forms. Like decimals or fractions, the least comfortable of all number forms. He minimized the browser that still displayed the hellokitty.com catalogue and loaded the latest message from his higher up.
“McWalts: someone has stolen the CORE RPG SPECIAL EFFECT NEXUS! Without this, not a single RPG in the land can display special effects at all! Be it console, pc, or Atari! Without escapism to placate the idiotic masses, they will be anxious and may write beat poetry or form a commune of some sort. THIS MUST NOT BE ALLOWED!”
Kyle nodded and went back to his work station. The first step of any operation: Information gathering. After hitting google.com and wikipedia.org, Kyle then loaded his specialized program for hacking into enemy networks: S.O.D.O.M.Y.
Kyle poked and prodded around old networks that used to be fronts for the Ravens and occasionally would S.O.D.O.M.I.S.E. a vulture network if he felt the need, but he struck gold when he stumbled upon correspondence between the fanatical splinter group, G.A.G. and the Ravens. Encoded was a missive from G.A.G. Hq to a Raven Outpost:
“We will strike for the heart of RPG special effects on Friday evening, after we go out with our boy friends to a movie.” Followed by another urgent message:
“Fuck that noise. Various boyfriends are playing RPG’s and are hours away from nearest save point! THIS MUST END NOW!” it was dated Friday afternoon! Kyle printed out the pertinent pages and rapidly rushed them to his sneaky supervisor.
Meanwhile, in a seaside Café, Alliteration Anne was meeting with Mispronunciation Mary, having their usual chat. Mary was telling a riveting story.
“so there I was, katana poised, as I smashed through the skylight, and landed right in front of the fucker, just as he said ‘my plans come to fruit-tat-ion’, instead of fru-ition, and I sliced that fuckers head off like it was a metaphor for something easily removed!”
“Ohhhh, my!” Anne was noticeably shaken. Mary looked over and cocked an eyebrow. She leaned in close and hoarsely whispered:
“Is it the crabs again?” and looked away as Anne blushed and sputtered indignantly.
“No! Jesus, I swear I’ll never sleep with simile Sal ever again, that douche. I just got that chill like I do when a writer puts alliteration in unknowingly, and then, unable to stop, throws it in a few more times. It tingles so.”
As Paul was gliding along towards the G.A.G. Headquarters, he was being briefed by his newfound partner, Kyle. A Lab tech with a heart of Gold, and a pancreas of hardened Palladium. Paul flared the glider just as he was over the roof of their head quarters and circled a few times and put down the glider. He strolled over the roof access and hit the arm button on his keyless remote. His glider merrily chirped twice, signifying that it would eviscerate anyone but him who tried to use the glider without first disarming it. Paul cockily strolled in while Kyle was trying to explain how his weapons would work and what his current objectives were. Paul happily ignored him, and entered the stairwell without care for stealth or secrecy. Kyle intiated the ‘bad agent’ button, which sent a mild shock through Paul to get his attention.
“Fuck! What was that for?!” Paul demanded.
“Hey! Idiot! Try sneaking, or at least stop singing your fucking Sea Shanties!” Paul looked downcast. He had been singing a lively sea shanty.
“Why shouldn’t I? it’s past 5pm, these females are probably at home, tending to their husbands and cooking dinner and minding their place in society.” He looked around as he walked onto the top floor, where the nexus was supposedly kept. He didn’t seem to notice that several alarms were now triggered and that the tromping of booted feet was growing louder on the stairs below. He began running to the nexus containment room (which was marked on the fire escape map, luckily.) and burst through the door to be confronted by two G.A.G. Praetorians wielding Raven-type Interceptor Swords.
“Curses and gout!” Paul swore.
“Give up now, intruder! Or we’ll subject you to a makeover that you will not SURVIVE!” Paul weighed his options carefully. Sadly, he does his thinking aloud.
“Well, they obviously have much strength from all those years of washing dishes and bearing children and baking delicious pastries. Both of them must be in at least...” He peered at them for a moment.
“At least 40, each. That’s roughly 24 years of being a housewife!”
“What the FUCK?” The first guard tore off her cowl, obliterating ANY illusion of mysteriousness and badassery. She drew a few exasperated breaths and appraised the situation.
“Okay, are you from the 50’s or some shit? We’re both 20, and we are going to kick your fucking ass, you chauvinistic idiot!” With that, Paul remembered that he hadn’t used any of his gadgets yet. His first one appeared to be a tranquilizer gun of some sort. He quickly shot them both. Being that they were unfamiliar with the Raven’s Swords and the author didn’t wish to think of anything more complex, they didn’t trigger the swords’ intercepting mechanism and fell to his tranquilizer darts. Paul merrily seized the nexus and stuffed it into his pocket, and proceeded to the roof as the security forces were hot on his trail. He burst out onto the roof just as the armed response unit and their captain mounted the stairs.
“HALT!” she screeched. Her unit leveled their weapons at Paul, but forgot to make the obligatory cocking and clacking noises, so they had to redo the motion.
“Give us the nexus now!” The captain was wearing eye shadow that didn’t complement her eyeliner quite right. Paul slowly began reaching into his other pocket, the one that did not hold the nexus, but instead, contained his SECRET WEAPON! Which he calmly pulled out and tossed as close to the guards, who were now circling him, as he could manage. Then, the device activated.
There have been few times, in life when something that we see courses through our optic nerves and coerces it’s way into our brain and hijacks our synapses and slams our consciousness into a brick wall.
Paul woke up because something wet was on his face. He opened his eyes and noticed a long, silver line and traced this gossamer strand back to it’s source. A female mouth. A female was drooling on him. Paul stood and shook off the saliva and took stock of the situation. Somehow, Wentworth Miller, Chad Michael Murray, and Todd Wellington were wrestling in a kiddy pool of K-Y Jelly. Paul looked around and saw each and every female utterly enraptured by the mesmerizing spectacle of three laughing, muscled, attractive males grappling and slipping, their bodies coated in a fine sheen of Jelly. Paul looked around and then bent down to pick up his tranquilizer gun he had dropped when he blacked out. As he bent down, someone kicked him in the head. Paul stumbled backwards and found a sword at his throat, wielded by one of the guards that Paul had tranq’d earlier. She snarled and rage flared like an interesting bit of imagery in her eyes and she slowly backed Paul towards the edge of the high-rise building.
“So, uh... did you notice the spectacle over there?” he feebly pointed at the hologram of the three actors from prime time smash hits, then swallowed uncomfortably.
“So, uh did you notice that I’m wearing flannel?!?” She tore off her cloak to reveal her Head to toe Flannel Power suit (complete with padded shoulder inserts.) Flannel, being the garment of choice for lesbians, lumberjacks, and people who like flannel pajamas. She was utterly immune to the hetero-sexual hotness that raged like a sexy firestorm behind her. She only grew more enraged and advanced, like a story must do, towards a climax!
“You boys are so stupid. We women are capable of anything you can do!”
“I bet you can’t hang glide! I bet your girly girls are afraid of heights!” Paul sneered at her and motioned to his Hang glider, sitting less than a mere parsec away!
“Oh yeah? That true?!?” She threw his handgun over the edge of the building and walked towards the hang glider, placing a hand upon its cold steel.
Suddenly, huge spinning buzz saws burst from the hang glider and ripped the sword she held to metallic shreds, barely giving her time to flinch back! She would not be so lucky, however, as the saws caught upon something she could not help: Unsightly leg hair. Her long leg hair would prove to be her undoing as she screamed and wailed and was drawn inexorably towards the spinning blades OF DEATH.
Paul walked over to his now-silent Hang Glider and chuckled. He hit the remote and mused to himself as he pushed off the edge of the building
“That’s what you get for not shaving, ya damn hippy.” Paul chortled most of the way back to the base.
Kyle was playing his Romancing Saga, as was per usual, when suddenly, something very horrible happened. His game crashed.
“Flaming Scrotum Eating Macaulay Caulkin BASTARDS!” Kyle had not saved recently. Considering the random angle that his PS2 was perched at, on its pedestal of socks and school textbooks placed to ensure maximum disk read-age, Kyle knew that something was amiss. His fears were shortly confirmed when his pager went off, displaying the coded message: “Something is amiss. Report to Eagle nest 04.”
Kyle Jumped into his dashing red station wagon and drove over to the local Holy Order of Eagles outpost. Which happened to be cleverly disguised at the Order of Eagles guild hall (a clever front that is believed to be, of all things, a club for polish war veterans.)
Kyle walked into the hallowed halls of the Holy Order of Eagles and went to see his supervisor to see what had gone amiss, and how do un-amiss it. He put on his lab coat and fired up his workstation before he strolled over to see McWalts, or as his staff lovingly called him, Waltzer.
“Hail, nest-brother Waltzer, what seems to be amiss?” Kyle made the signature greeting between nest brothers. Waltzer returned the gesture and motioned Kyle over to his hello-kitty model workstation, despite its cute pink plastic casemod, it was still a beastly machine, capable of crunching numbers into extremely uncomfortable forms. Like decimals or fractions, the least comfortable of all number forms. He minimized the browser that still displayed the hellokitty.com catalogue and loaded the latest message from his higher up.
“McWalts: someone has stolen the CORE RPG SPECIAL EFFECT NEXUS! Without this, not a single RPG in the land can display special effects at all! Be it console, pc, or Atari! Without escapism to placate the idiotic masses, they will be anxious and may write beat poetry or form a commune of some sort. THIS MUST NOT BE ALLOWED!”
Kyle nodded and went back to his work station. The first step of any operation: Information gathering. After hitting google.com and wikipedia.org, Kyle then loaded his specialized program for hacking into enemy networks: S.O.D.O.M.Y.
Kyle poked and prodded around old networks that used to be fronts for the Ravens and occasionally would S.O.D.O.M.I.S.E. a vulture network if he felt the need, but he struck gold when he stumbled upon correspondence between the fanatical splinter group, G.A.G. and the Ravens. Encoded was a missive from G.A.G. Hq to a Raven Outpost:
“We will strike for the heart of RPG special effects on Friday evening, after we go out with our boy friends to a movie.” Followed by another urgent message:
“Fuck that noise. Various boyfriends are playing RPG’s and are hours away from nearest save point! THIS MUST END NOW!” it was dated Friday afternoon! Kyle printed out the pertinent pages and rapidly rushed them to his sneaky supervisor.
Meanwhile, in a seaside Café, Alliteration Anne was meeting with Mispronunciation Mary, having their usual chat. Mary was telling a riveting story.
“so there I was, katana poised, as I smashed through the skylight, and landed right in front of the fucker, just as he said ‘my plans come to fruit-tat-ion’, instead of fru-ition, and I sliced that fuckers head off like it was a metaphor for something easily removed!”
“Ohhhh, my!” Anne was noticeably shaken. Mary looked over and cocked an eyebrow. She leaned in close and hoarsely whispered:
“Is it the crabs again?” and looked away as Anne blushed and sputtered indignantly.
“No! Jesus, I swear I’ll never sleep with simile Sal ever again, that douche. I just got that chill like I do when a writer puts alliteration in unknowingly, and then, unable to stop, throws it in a few more times. It tingles so.”
As Paul was gliding along towards the G.A.G. Headquarters, he was being briefed by his newfound partner, Kyle. A Lab tech with a heart of Gold, and a pancreas of hardened Palladium. Paul flared the glider just as he was over the roof of their head quarters and circled a few times and put down the glider. He strolled over the roof access and hit the arm button on his keyless remote. His glider merrily chirped twice, signifying that it would eviscerate anyone but him who tried to use the glider without first disarming it. Paul cockily strolled in while Kyle was trying to explain how his weapons would work and what his current objectives were. Paul happily ignored him, and entered the stairwell without care for stealth or secrecy. Kyle intiated the ‘bad agent’ button, which sent a mild shock through Paul to get his attention.
“Fuck! What was that for?!” Paul demanded.
“Hey! Idiot! Try sneaking, or at least stop singing your fucking Sea Shanties!” Paul looked downcast. He had been singing a lively sea shanty.
“Why shouldn’t I? it’s past 5pm, these females are probably at home, tending to their husbands and cooking dinner and minding their place in society.” He looked around as he walked onto the top floor, where the nexus was supposedly kept. He didn’t seem to notice that several alarms were now triggered and that the tromping of booted feet was growing louder on the stairs below. He began running to the nexus containment room (which was marked on the fire escape map, luckily.) and burst through the door to be confronted by two G.A.G. Praetorians wielding Raven-type Interceptor Swords.
“Curses and gout!” Paul swore.
“Give up now, intruder! Or we’ll subject you to a makeover that you will not SURVIVE!” Paul weighed his options carefully. Sadly, he does his thinking aloud.
“Well, they obviously have much strength from all those years of washing dishes and bearing children and baking delicious pastries. Both of them must be in at least...” He peered at them for a moment.
“At least 40, each. That’s roughly 24 years of being a housewife!”
“What the FUCK?” The first guard tore off her cowl, obliterating ANY illusion of mysteriousness and badassery. She drew a few exasperated breaths and appraised the situation.
“Okay, are you from the 50’s or some shit? We’re both 20, and we are going to kick your fucking ass, you chauvinistic idiot!” With that, Paul remembered that he hadn’t used any of his gadgets yet. His first one appeared to be a tranquilizer gun of some sort. He quickly shot them both. Being that they were unfamiliar with the Raven’s Swords and the author didn’t wish to think of anything more complex, they didn’t trigger the swords’ intercepting mechanism and fell to his tranquilizer darts. Paul merrily seized the nexus and stuffed it into his pocket, and proceeded to the roof as the security forces were hot on his trail. He burst out onto the roof just as the armed response unit and their captain mounted the stairs.
“HALT!” she screeched. Her unit leveled their weapons at Paul, but forgot to make the obligatory cocking and clacking noises, so they had to redo the motion.
“Give us the nexus now!” The captain was wearing eye shadow that didn’t complement her eyeliner quite right. Paul slowly began reaching into his other pocket, the one that did not hold the nexus, but instead, contained his SECRET WEAPON! Which he calmly pulled out and tossed as close to the guards, who were now circling him, as he could manage. Then, the device activated.
There have been few times, in life when something that we see courses through our optic nerves and coerces it’s way into our brain and hijacks our synapses and slams our consciousness into a brick wall.
Paul woke up because something wet was on his face. He opened his eyes and noticed a long, silver line and traced this gossamer strand back to it’s source. A female mouth. A female was drooling on him. Paul stood and shook off the saliva and took stock of the situation. Somehow, Wentworth Miller, Chad Michael Murray, and Todd Wellington were wrestling in a kiddy pool of K-Y Jelly. Paul looked around and saw each and every female utterly enraptured by the mesmerizing spectacle of three laughing, muscled, attractive males grappling and slipping, their bodies coated in a fine sheen of Jelly. Paul looked around and then bent down to pick up his tranquilizer gun he had dropped when he blacked out. As he bent down, someone kicked him in the head. Paul stumbled backwards and found a sword at his throat, wielded by one of the guards that Paul had tranq’d earlier. She snarled and rage flared like an interesting bit of imagery in her eyes and she slowly backed Paul towards the edge of the high-rise building.
“So, uh... did you notice the spectacle over there?” he feebly pointed at the hologram of the three actors from prime time smash hits, then swallowed uncomfortably.
“So, uh did you notice that I’m wearing flannel?!?” She tore off her cloak to reveal her Head to toe Flannel Power suit (complete with padded shoulder inserts.) Flannel, being the garment of choice for lesbians, lumberjacks, and people who like flannel pajamas. She was utterly immune to the hetero-sexual hotness that raged like a sexy firestorm behind her. She only grew more enraged and advanced, like a story must do, towards a climax!
“You boys are so stupid. We women are capable of anything you can do!”
“I bet you can’t hang glide! I bet your girly girls are afraid of heights!” Paul sneered at her and motioned to his Hang glider, sitting less than a mere parsec away!
“Oh yeah? That true?!?” She threw his handgun over the edge of the building and walked towards the hang glider, placing a hand upon its cold steel.
Suddenly, huge spinning buzz saws burst from the hang glider and ripped the sword she held to metallic shreds, barely giving her time to flinch back! She would not be so lucky, however, as the saws caught upon something she could not help: Unsightly leg hair. Her long leg hair would prove to be her undoing as she screamed and wailed and was drawn inexorably towards the spinning blades OF DEATH.
Paul walked over to his now-silent Hang Glider and chuckled. He hit the remote and mused to himself as he pushed off the edge of the building
“That’s what you get for not shaving, ya damn hippy.” Paul chortled most of the way back to the base.