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And now for something completely different...

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Just to kick things off, with a suitable bang. Just make up shit to participate and we'll all try to figure out how to react. Eventually we can turn this into a bloody STGOD, but for now have fun.


















A pasty-faced teenager dressed in only boxers sat in a grimy chair, its surface caked with whitish residue of indeterminate origin. In front of him was a computer, its screen currently displaying a number of rather disgusting sites in addition to several forums.




"Roflmao," he said aloud as he read someone's reply to one of his posts on a board. "Those idiot trekkies never saw it coming..."




In fact, he was so engrossed with the boards and other sites that he didn't hear the door open directly behind him. However, he couldn't help but notice when his computer suddenly detonated, the monitor showering him with thousands of shards of glass.




"Are you the one who goes by StarDestroyerAvenger?" a bass voice boomed.




Had it been physically possible, the kid would have jumped out of his skin. As it was, he bounced up so fast that his head smacked the beam overhead. A pile of tissues and a bottle of lotion that had been on his lap went crashing to the floor.




"W-what do you want?" He blinked in the sudden light that had flooded the dark basement. From what he could see, the intruder was wearing some sort of orange armor suit with... wait, was that a lambda on his chest? It coldn't be... "Freeman?" he asked in confusion.




"No, I'm not Gordon Freeman you dope. The nick's Crayz9000."




Realization suddenly dawned on the tool's face. "B-but you're from my board!"




In two quick steps the man was towering over the kid. "Who cares? I abhor idiots just like nature abhors a vacuum. And let's face it, you make a pretty pathetic troll. I mean, for someone who thinks they're so superior... you're stooping below what even DarkStar did. The last dumbass I saw who talked like that went by the handle of Cock Rocket."




"What are you talking about?" Panic was quickly taking hold.




"It's payback time," Crayz9000 said. StarDestroyerAvenger barely had time to try screaming before duct tape was slapped over his mouth and a sack thrown over his head.


























"Commander" Raynor RayCav surveyed his underground lair with pride. Using technology stolen from various interstellar travellers, he had assembled a pretty impressive war fleet that could strike fear into the hearts of millions. Not that he would use it for such, of course. He had also managed to get cloning technology and currently had his own personal harem of identical buxom Asian girls waiting for him. Dominating the world could wait.
















The kid known in some circles as StarDestroyerAvenger woke up from his foggy haze and found himself on an airplane. He looked out the window, but couldn't figure out where he was, so he leaned back and relaxed for a moment, but then the PA chimed.




"This is the Captain speaking. We are beginning our final descent into Istanbul. Please return your seat backs and tray tables to the upright position..."




About fifteen minutes later, when he got off the plane and had to go through customs, one of the drug-sniffing dogs discovered that he had packets of cocaine sewn into his clothing. Less than an hour had passed before he found himself in a dark Turkish prison, sitting across the table from a smelly policeman.




"Who do you work for?" he asked.




"I told you, I don't know!" the kid shouted.




"You won't get out of here until you tell us!"




















Crayz9000 suppressed a smirk as he keyed the final command into the terminal. As his finger pressed the Enter key, the command shot out across the internet only to bounce through about a hundred different compromised computers in China, eventually finding its way across the US to Colorado. From there, it went through to a computer in a typical suburban house before being re-encoded and transmitted over subspace frequencies to RayCav's lair.




Minutes later, several things changed in the base. Missiles suddenly went to alert status, and blast doors began to open up. Several seconds after that, the missile engines fired, blasting them out of the silos.




RayCav was surprised from a sound sleep by the warning klaxons as his base's entire complement of missiles launched. He looked around him, but all he could see were the identical Asian girls that were wrapped around him.




Then the klaxons stopped and a broadcast began. Unknown to RayCav, the same broadcast was happening all across the world.




"People of Earth: we are the Disciples of Wong. We have begun the systematic destruction of your planet's puny defenses, using highly advanced technology. Even now, the missiles will be destroying your primitive nuclear silos..."




"Oh crap," RayCav muttered. This wasn't what he had in mind at all.

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I think this fits more for TGOD than STGOD. smile.gif


That's RayCav's call. Talk to him about it. I've given him free reign of the TGOD and STGOD areas. I'm not really going to mess with his area unless he engages in serious mod abuse. Ugh since that is more or less every day for him, guess I will be in here tongue.gif

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Well, I was more trying to re-create the feel of how it was when Shep began the ASVS Civil War. Since it was basically a clean slate, everyone was free to use whatever they wanted, and eventually it got sorted out into a proper STGOD.

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"Les missiles entrants!" someone shouted from the Defense bunker, buried deep below the heart of the French-Canadian province.




Across the room, Brigadier Paul Jacques, H. Jr, frowned. "Qui les?"




"Les Américains, Sir."




"Shit," Paul exclaimed, in his panic suddenly mixing up his French and English. "Activate les protocols défense," he snapped.
















"Who authorized that launch?" General Eberhart asked, looking around the command facilities at the hundreds of confused and panicking technicians as the NORAD displays showed first hundreds of missiles being launched from a supposedly decommissioned silo in Colorado, about thirty miles west of Cheyenne Mountain. Minutes after the launch, the Russians responded with about a thousand ICBMs. The Air Force already had the only Airborne Laser prototype flying, trying to intercept any they could with it, and they were scrambling to get any defensive missiles targeted on the incoming warheads before it was too late. However, with MacNamara's gutting of the NIKE project so many years ago, and no subsequent President deeming it necessary to replace America's missile defense, America was quite frankly boned.




"We don't know, Sir. That silo was supposed to be decommissioned twenty years ago. There's also no way it was capable of holding as many missiles as what launched."




"Do we have any forces in the area?"




"Yes, Sir. We've already dispatched a Ranger squad to investigate. They should be on site in five minutes."




"Sir!" one of the other techs shouted. "We have a massive radar contact coming from Canada, in the general area of Quebec."




"Define massive," Eberhart snapped. With about a thousand incoming nuclear warheads, he wasn't in a very good mood.




"Um... It's about the size of Quebec. Gaining altitude at a rate of three meters per second."




"That's impossible," the General replied.




"No, not really impossible," another tech popped his head up, "it's just infinitely improbable."




Eberhart turned to regard the tech with a strange look. Someone had once loaned him a copy of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy back in the '80s, and he had quite enjoyed the book. "What makes you say that?"




"Because the Detroit suburbs just turned into a giant waterpark. Also, we're getting reports in from Chicago of jellybeans falling instead of snow."




Eberhart turned back to the massive screens that dominated the room, watching the thousands of red lines continue their murderous progress. Something very strange was happening here.

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The frigid temperatures alone, to say nothing of the other dangers involved, were enough to discourage most from heeding the old man's words. Three weeks prior, when Jackson "Airlocke" Talbot had been aimlessly wandering the streets in a heart broken state after having buried his faithful pet kitten, the proclamation had been made. Standing at 5 feet, three inches from the ground, and weighing approximately 173 pounds, the portly old man seemed anything but important, yet, if his words were true , he could be the key to saving the world from the tyranny of Wong. He spoke of a blunder by that idiotic Raycav, prompted by the bastard Crayz, that would throw the world off-balance, and lead to the wayward disciples of Wong ruling the world. "There is little that can be done," he had said "Without a substantial Force for you to command."




"Me?" Airlocke had asked. "I'm hardly special,. What use could I be?"




"You have powers that none of the enemy can neutralize, the ability to affect weather fronts, this ability will aid your Forces well."




"What Forces? What THE HELL, are you talking about?"




The confrontation had left Airlocke reeling and confused, but after the missiles had been launched, and Jelly Beans had begun to fall from the sky, the wayward warsie had flown to Mount Everest with all speed. He needed to get to the Forces the old man had spoke of.




"At an altitude of 22, 000 feet, on the northern cliff face, there is a bunker hidden approximately 150 feet into the mountain. There you will find your only hope."




Airlocke had crossed the thousands of miles of ocean and land between himself and the himalayans in little more than two hours, something no one else could have accomplished without an aircraft of some sort. He had reached the doors to the bunker in half that time, and stood in their shadow, the gleam of the sun off the sword slung from his back shone a sliver of light on the control panel. Whenever he was asked why he carried a sword, Airlocke would answer that it just looked "bad ass", but the weapon was actually the most practical instrument to use in conjunction with his special abilities. It was more than just his nerd's instincts that kept the blade near him, yet even Airlocke had to admit that it was less than effective against gunfire. Airlocke grasped the hilt of his sword and activated the door, which slid open with a hydraulic hiss.




"Ohsa mies! Someone hasa saved uss!" The high pitched voice assaulted Airlocke's ears and sent shivers of anger down his spine.




"Oh, fuck NO!" He slashed his sword through the air toward Jar Jar's wretched throat, only to be forced parry a bolt of sizzling energy that had emerged from the gloom behind the gungan. Luckily the sword was made of a special material and the metal of the blade was only blackened from the impact, and not destroyed.




"I'll have to ask you to eave my friend alone." A tall man in crimson armor carrying a heavy-duty energy weapon that was not quite like a blaster emerged from the gloom behind the Gungan. Airlocke bit down his anger and revulsion at the thought of sparing Jar Jar, then addressed the formidable looking warrior.




"How many of you are back there?"




"Enough. Are you the disciple of Wong that shall lead us?"




Chills ran down Airlocke's spine as he bit down more revulsion and anger. He was going to kill that old man.










The man watched in glee as the blood drained from Airlocke's face. The "old" man had now shed his disguise and was sporting the most satisfied smile in existence as he approached the man they called Master of the Skies.




"Well, Airlocke, I see you've made it."




Airlocke whirled around and his face paled in realization. Enigma shreaked in laughter.

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The building rocked from another blast, prompting the Prime Minister to poke his head out from under his desk. "What's the latest?"




"Sir, we're still not quite sure, but reports are coming in from all over the countryside of explosions."




"But why?" The Prime Minister was still confused. It couldn't have anything to do with the apparent start of World War 3 between the formerly peaceful Russia and the suddenly aggressive United States; Russia had helpfully ignored Europe in the launch of their entire nuclear arsenal. Not to mention, if Britain was being targeted with nuclear warheads, he somehow doubted that 10 Downing Street would still be standing.




"We're not sure, Sir, but it appears to be suicide-bombing terrorist sheep."




As if on cue, the radio crackled to life, and the sound of gleeful cackling filled the room. "As you are no doubt now aware, those you have long oppressed have risen up against you, their former enslavers. The Sheep Liberation Army will crush all resistance! Down to mutton eaters! Down to wool coats! Down with the senseless slaughter of innocent lambs! I am the Baron, and with my guidance the sheep will inherit the Earth!"




The Prime Minister shared an awkward glance with his advisor. "Isn't there someone named Baron von Lowe locked up for bestiality? Nasty case, if I recall."




The advisor coughed. "Was, Sir. He was pardoned due to terminal illness."




"He doesn't sound very terminal to me."




"Good point. Shall we look into the matter?"




"I would bloody well hope so!"




















A brief suborbital hop in an X-wing was all it took to bring Crayz9000 to Alaska. While he had actually had a normal name, he didn't use it with this group since they didn't really know him as anything else.




"Status?" he asked a waiting officer as he climbed out of the fighter's cockpit.




"ANVIL command reports deflector shields are online and at full strength in all major cities," the officer replied. "The missiles that were launched shouldn't even be a blip on our screens."




"Excellent. Now, how's the diversion campaign with the Disciples of Wong going?" The Disciples of Wong had ceased to be a functioning group many years before, but the very name still struck terror into many; hence the use of it as a distraction from the real action.




"Propaganda is at full tilt, with broadcasts and press releases going out rapid-fire. We suspect it'll keep the hardline Trekkies occupied trying to come up with a counter for another day or so."




Crayz9000 nodded. Of the hardline Trekkies, Guardian 2000 (also known as DarkStar) was perhaps the worst, and the resurgence of the Disciples of Wong had to be one of his worst nightmares. Which, from what his intelligence had gathered, was why he had fortified his home in Indiana into a giant castle, ringed with phaser batteries and photon torpedo launchers. Not that they would be able to do much against the squad of AT-ATs and Juggernauts (branded, of course, with the silhouette of a Star Destroyer like the Disciples of Wong of yesteryear had used) that was right now rolling and stomping toward his house. Photon torpedoes simply couldn't be aimed that low from a ground-based launcher.




"And the contingency plans?"




"Progressing according to plan. We have had a few minor setbacks relating to logistics, but nothing that will slow us down."




"Excellent," Crayz9000 replied, resisting the urge to cackle and touch his fingertips together. After all, ANVIL's goal wasn't exactly evil... rather, after the attacks had been repelled, they meant to come out and announce that they had been the ones to save the world. How the world reacted was, naturally, outside their control.

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APPX 22,000 FEET




Airlocke immediately backed into a more defensible position; one where he would be able to keep Enigma, as well as the dozen warriors who stood at the mouth of the cave. He then focused his attention more fully upon Enigma, who began to speak.




"Well, I am, of course, the disciple of Wong whom you are looking for. You will kill that man."




Airlocke was immediately under assault from the warriors at the mouth of the cave, who were now sending massive amounts of raw energy in his direction. Airlocke leaped out of range of the first barrage and headed for the edge of the ledge. It was only about 25 feet down to the nearest significant ledge, a distance that someone of his calibur could easily manage. The best part about that lower ledge was that it dug deeply inside the mountain, and was mostly beneath the one on which the fight had broken out. This would give Airlocke an excellent opportunity to escape; with his abilities it would be extraordinarily easy. Well, it would have been without that wretched gungan.




Airlocke was now about 5 meters from the edge, and dodging a renewed hail of energy bolts, when the damned Jar-Jar Binks tried to run to Airlocke's rescue.




"NO!, Yousa must stop this naaaasty businesses. Hesa gonna fall offa the cliff iffin yousa don't stop!" How he managed to get that mouth full of drivel out in less than a second, no one knew. The flurry of barely understandable words baffled Airlocke slightly, and caused him to lose concentration for an almost incalcuably small moment. Three sizzling red bolts crashed into his body, and Airlocke stumbled backwards toward the ledge, half-heartedly batted seven more bolts back into the warriors' ranks. Two fell, dead. The warriors stopped firing, and Enigma stepped forward, knife in one hand, anal probe in the other. Airlocke readied himself for an assault, then lauched himself toward Enigma. Even as injured and as exhausted as he was, Airlocke could slice Enigma to pieces. The look on Enigma's face as the sword began its decent toward his face gave Airlocke an immense amount of pleasure. That pleasure shifted, almost instantly, to infinite anger, as the hapless gugan ran toward him, screaming "Yousa must stoooppp the fiiiiiighting!!!!!"




Jar-jar slammed into Airlocke before his blow could find its mark, and toppled over the edge, the gungan in tow.






Enigma released a peal of hysterical laughter. "The idiot lost to Jar-Jar! LOL!" Enigma then approached the edge and looked down. HE saw Jar-jar's mangled boady about 300 meters down the mountain side. It looked as if the gungan might be in pieces. There was an enormous amount of blood. A dissatisfying amount was human.




"Aww...looks like he's left us. Well, we'll just kill him later. TIme to meet up with Crayz. Tell him that it appears they've bought the feint."














Airlocke was horribly injured and in extreme pain, even with two weeks of recovery under his belt. He knew now that he would have no army at his back when the confluct truly began. He needed to find help; someone who would be willing to fight against Wong despite impossible odds. He needed someone with no desire to stop, even when he clearly has no chance of winning. He also needed someone with no moral qualms; if they wanted to save the world this time, they could not play fair. Airlocke knew just the people to help him.




"Well, Raycav might be hard to convince, so I'll go after him last. We'll go the easy route, first. But, damnit, I hate changing grown men's diapers!"




With that exclamation, Airlocke went in search of the legendary idiot, Jason.

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Fuck. There is no hope this thread, is there. none at all.

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The man known as "Khas" stood watching as the ships of the Cult of Wong entered orbit, and sighed. Not these fuckwits again!!! He thought. He watched as they began broadcasting their waves of stupidity that would make the one known as "Jason" cringe. Beside him, his two companions stood. The first was a Borg drone who had been seperated from the Collective, named Twelve of Eighty. The second was Kal'Storven, a Lord of Change - a high-ranking Daemon of Tzeentch. Both of them watched as the Wongless adversaries parked their fleet in orbit. Khas sighed again. The Cult of Wong just wouldn't learn, no matter how badly they had their asses handed to them.


"I think it's time we sent them a warning. Twelve, Kal'Storven, bring me the movie collection." The two looked at each other with alarmed looks on their faces. The movies were by far the worst torture anyone could inflict. After a few seconds, the Borg drone and the daemon returned with a large box.


"How about this movie?" Twelve asked, his optic implant registering the data of the DVD. "The Land Before Time V, truly a craptastic work if there ever was one!"


"Or Pokemon: The Movie 2000!" Kal'Storven said, bobbing his head up and down excitedly. "This piece of shit could melt anyone's brain!"


Khas considered both. And rejected them. Both were too mild, too merciful. Instead, Khas reached into the box, and pulled out one movie he never knew was in there. Manos: The Hands of Fate. With a sadistic smile, he put the DVD in the transmitter, and began broadcasting it to the orbiting fleet.

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Khas smirked as the starships of the Cult of Wong crashed into each other as Manos played on their computers. He was so engrossed in watching it, that he didn't notice the message coming in. It wasn't until Tzeentch's voice came blaring through that he noticed.


Khas you Fool! The Chaos God of Sorcery hollered at him. You HONESTLY think that the Cult of Wong is behind this? For someone as smart as you, you display incredible short-sightedness sometimes. If you hadn't performed so well on Mars, I would have killed you already! Khas cringed as Tzeentch carried on his rant. Finally, the Raven God calmed himself down. Still, you might prove useful again, so I'll give you, Larry, and Curly your next mission. Go to Istanbul. You'll know what you're looking for when you see it. Take it to the sacrificial pit under Cheyenne Mountain. Do Not fail me! Khas paused as Tzeentch ended the transmission.


"Cheyenne Mountain, huh?" Twelve asked. "Isn't that where RayCav's base is?"


"Yup. Not sure how to take this."

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Airlocke began to fidget when he had reached Jason's house. The broken ribs and sprained knee were only partially responsible. "Fucking HELL!!!! Am I really about to do this?!", he yelled, not bothering to keep his voice down. "He's so stuuuuuuuupid!"




Light bathed the dark yard as the front door was slowly opened; Airlocke ducked behind a nearby tree. "Hello? Hello?!", the small, misshapen man looked around briefly, then began to shut the door. "Must haev bin a smell toropode." There was a strange waver in his largely Asian voice. There was something almost beastial about it. Darkness reclaimed the small yard in front of the suburban townhouse. Airlocke began to shake with rage and repulsion. He really was in quite a bind if the situation required help from HIM. "Damnit!!!" Airlocke stood with his hands on his hips, and shook his head vigorously; he was so distressed that he was rocking back and forth whimpering while doing so. The hesitation stopped abruptly and he strode across the yard and rang the doorbell.




"Hello? Wait nede does yo haev?" The look on Jason's face was one of complete and utter befuddlement, and his head was tilted in a way to make it look like he was constantly in deep thought. There were a few seconds of silence as Airlocke took in the bizarre appearance and let it settle over himself. He needed to make himself used to this little misfit, if he were to be of use. Misfit. I I refer to him like that, then I must accept that I, too, am- No. NO! I AM NOT LIKE HIM!!!!!!! Airlocke took several calming breaths. "I need you to help me kill some warsies, but not all of them. Just the Wongites. It appears as if they are trying to take over the world."




Jason spent the next seven minutes looking at Airlocke, bewildered, before answering with just one word. "HOW?!?!?!?!!?!" Airlocke took several steps back and fell, landing squarely on his ass and jostling his broken ribs. Jason had just made a valid point. BASED UPON LOGIC AND REASONING. That is when the reality of his situation finally sank in. He had taken a position that not even Jason would defend. There were several seconds of silence before he snapped. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" He stood and drew his sword. There was a renewed scream. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Airlocke started stumble away. Jason chased after him.




"Wait, it be fatter if take my Enterprise!" Airlocke stopped in his tracks.




"Your what?"








"It will be faster if we take your what?"




"My Enterprise." He sounded as if he were explaining a simple concept to someone extraordinarily dull. Airlocke almost snapped again. Then he saw the communicator. He rushed forward and grabbed it. He depressed a button on its side. "Enterprise?"




A cool, precise female voice answered his hail. "This is Enterprise. Where is the captain? Has he lost his communicator again."




Airlocke had never been so baffled in his entire life. "Enterprise, two to beam up."




"Yes, sir."

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Khas, Twelve, and Kal'Storven ran out of the turbolift, and to the modified Cylon Raider that sat in the hangar. Not one of the new ones, but one of the old three-man ones. Of course, Tzeentch's symbol had been spray-painted on the wings, as to avoid confusion with normal Raiders. And the lasers had been replaced with Chaos Phasers (really just phasers with warpstone added inside them). Khas took the commander's seat, while the other two took the pilot and gunner seats.














"Deflector Shields?"








"Life Support?"




"Take off!" And with that, the Raider shot out of the hangar bay, zooming through the launch tube into the atmosphere, and zipped off to Istanbul.

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