Pigeon Army

Get a pic! Do a blog! Heroes are over with!

Fri, 01 Aug 2008 13:45:39 GMT

It's been a while, but I'm back with a side project to run alongside uni, the PPC and the plays I'm writing. I'm doing this for a little fun after these...interesting characters appeared on the PPC Posting Board. They're a work in progress, and I present to you chapters 1 and 2 of the latest Original Fiction classic from pigeon_army -

THE EPIC ADVENTURES OF HEIST THE PORCUPINE.

CHAPTER 1

The wind echoed through the deserted desert. Vultures circled, cawing menacingly. A coyote bayed for blood in the distance. A choir of prairie dogs quietly sang Ave Maria while swaying back and forth. A gnat walked past slowly, beatboxing to nothing in particular.

A porcupine, a large eagle, and a slightly crazed-looking man stood in the middle of the desert, holding miscellaneous weapons in threatening positions. Surrounding them, reaching to the edges of the desert, was a horde of robot ninjas. Robot ninjas with guns and poison gas and other things ninjas shouldn’t have but were perfectly acceptable on robots. In fact, the only remotely ninja-like weapon belonged to the crazed-looking man, holding a katana in each hand.

“So…” the porcupine mused, his gruff voice subdued in this moment. He moved slightly, his beige leather jacket making a light rustling sound as he did.

“Yeah,” the eagle added, moving her left foot backwards to give her more stability.

“Can we kill yet? I wanna kill,” said the crazed-looking man in a crazed-sounding voice.

“Give it time. We have to wait,” the porcupine replied sharply.

“How did we get to this?” the eagle muttered, exasperated.

“Fluffy mamon?”

“No,” the porcupine snapped at the crazed-looking man, holding the gaze – if robots could gaze – of the robot ninja in front. The porcupine’s left eyebrow slowly raised, the only changing aspect of his terse facial expression. “How did we get here? To this?”

There was a moment of quiet, and then the porcupine said quietly, “Perhaps a lengthy flashback would be good. Then maybe we can destroy these robot ninjas while we’re remembering.”

“Yes,” said the eagle. “A flashback should be in order. Remembering past events could give us motivation.”

“Fluffy mamon,” the crazed-looking man said darkly.

CHAPTER 2

The Mist surrounded The Mended Apple menacingly, as if it would eat anyone who dared to walk into The Mended Apple, with gravy and a side of bread to compliment them. This is, in fact, what it did, but only to this it didn’t deem “extreme” enough. There was no way of getting into the bar otherwise, as the Mist was very alert. Pole vaulting, base-jumping, gliding and flying had all been tried, and those that tried had their remains sent home in a cider box with an apple pie and an apology note.

Fortunately, the Mist had deemed the porcupine, the eagle and the crazed-looking man “extreme” enough to enter The Mended Apple, and they were inside, drinking around a small table in the corner, the light casting ominous shadows over them that should’ve warned away any savvy drunk looking for a fight. Unfortunately for the drunks in The Mended Apple, none of them were savvy, and this would prove a personality flaw for one Troy Caster, who had staggered ever so clumsily to the table of the trio with his beer in one hand and a fist as the other. He stopped in front of their table, swayed a little, and leaned in, his breath heavy with twenty-six different kinds of alcohol.

“Evening, my friends,” Troy leered. “It’s a…fine night tonight, isn’t it?”

“It was,” the eagle replied snarkily, preferring to look at her ale than the unkempt, drunken man slurring his words next to her.

“I take it you folk are…new in town,” Troy continued, intending to sound ominous and threatening but instead sounding stupid and drunk. “It’s customary here in The Mended Apple provide a…welcome party for those new to our town. What you say to that?”

“I say you have five seconds to walk away from this table,” the porcupine snarled, “before you and every one of your friends experiences the most excruciating non-lethal form of pain conceived by martial artists in the mountains of Neologia. I’m counting down. Five.”

“You want a…welcome party, little porcupine?”

“Four. And stop using dramatic pauses.”

“Come on, little porcupine, no need to be…hostile.”

“Three.”

“We only want to be…friendly.”

“Two.”

“Little porcupine, don’t do something you’ll…regret.”

“One.”

“Oooh, what are you going to do, little porcupine? Gonna…”

Troy Caster was not given the opportunity to finish that dramatic pause, as the porcupine’s fist shot out and landed square in the middle of the Troy’s stomach. He screamed in pain as the porcupine’s fist hit four more spots on Troy’s torso, collapsing to the ground and jolting. The other bar patrons were watching quietly, pints of beer halfway to peoples’ mouths. The porcupine stood up and stepped over Troy’s shuddering body. The light cast a shadow directly over the porcupine’s face, and he growled, “Anyone else wanna give us a welcome party?”

There was a stunned silence. The porcupine grinned slightly, preparing himself for what would definitely come next.

In The Mended Apple, one did not strike the opening blow. The porcupine knew this. Striking the opening blow in a fight in The Mended Apple would mean that, automatically, the striker would become the aggressor, and the rest of the bar patrons would charge you and any of your friends, who would probably also charge you.

The porcupine, however, couldn’t give a damn.

There was a simultaneous roar of thirty-eight heavily built, very drunk, non-savvy stereotypical rural types, followed by a simultaneous charge of these thirty-eight stereotypical rural types. The eagle and the crazed-looking man got up and stood next to the porcupine. The crazed-looking man got a malevolent glint in his eye.

The trio jumped into the middle of the charging group of stereotypical rural types.

The fight was over fairly quickly. Fighting from the inside out, the stereotypical rural types became disoriented and confused, and began attacking each other in the hopes of landing a swing on one of the dissenting three. The porcupine’s quills, the eagle’s talons and the crazed-looking man’s sheer tenacity also helped, as heads were smashed together, torsos were littered with pointy quills and arms were slashed open. Within six minutes and eighteen seconds, the trio were standing in the middle of a largely unconscious pile of stereotypical rural types, moaning or vomiting up little bits of beer and peanut. The porcupine stepped over the bodies and threw down ten gold pieces on the bar, behind which the heavy stereotypical rural type bartender was unconscious, wine from a barrel above pouring onto his glistening shaved head.

“Keep the change,” the porcupine quipped, and the trio walked out into the town. The Mist appeared to have gone, frightened away by the pure “extremenessity” of the three. The malevolent glint had gone from the crazed-looking man’s eye, replaced by an enthusiastic inquisitiveness. “What’re we going to do now, Heist?” the crazed-looking man said to the porcupine.

Heist pulled a cigar out of his jacket pocket, a lighter out of another pocket, lit the cigar and put it in his mouth. He inhaled deeply and removed the cigar, then turned to look at the crazed-looking man.

“Max Ranger, we’re going to get ourselves some money.”

Max smiled a demented smile and looked at the eagle. “How’re we going to do that?” he asked Heist, still staring at the eagle.

“I don’t know, I’m not the connected one here,” the eagle replied, her voice terse.

“I think he was talking to me, Foot Kestrel,” Heist contributed. He put the cigar in his mouth and inhaled again, and then threw the cigar to the ground and turned to Max. “I know a guy, Max. A guy who owes me a favour. A favour he’ll remember soon enough.”

“Can we be expecting gratuitous violence?” asked Max, expectantly.

“Yes, Max,” replied Heist. “Gratuitous violence, there will be. Right, Kestrel?”

“Absolutely,” replied Kestrel, a steely gaze in her eyes.

“Fantastic,” Max uttered cheerfully, and the trio walked off towards the affluent district of Heywood North. A wealthy man was going to be paid a memorable visit tonight, the three would see to that.

A memorable visit indeed.

Stealing a meme, stealing a meme from ansela...

Sat, 01 Mar 2008 06:17:09 GMT

List twelve characters from your chosen fandoms. Don't look at the questions before you make the list.

1. Sylar (Heroes)
2. Alyx Vance (Half-Life)
3. Syndrome (Pixar)
4. Emerson Cod (Pushing Daisies)
5. Adam Munroe/Takezo Kensei (Heroes)
6. Dr. Gordon Freeman (Half-Life)
7. Noah Bennet (Heroes)
8. Philip Marlowe (The Big Sleep)
9. Tartarus (Haloverse)
10. Judge Turpin (Sweeney Todd)
11. Puss In Boots (Shrek)
12. Nigel the Pelican (Pixar)

1. Have you read a 6/11 fic? Do you want to?
Dr. Gordon Freeman Puss in Boots slash? No. And I call it highly unlikely, compadre.

2. Do you think 4 is hot? How hot?
I don't swing that way, sorry. Though Chuck from the Pushing Daisies canon, while not as quintessentially awesome as Emerson Cod, is hot.

3. What would happen if 12 got 8 pregnant?
*coughs up coffee* Nigel the Pelican gets Philip Marlowe, Private Eye, pregnant? Not only is that impossible, but that just gives me mental images not even bleeprin can was away.

4. Can you rec any fic(s) about 9?
Nope. Halo fics don't tend to be that common.

5. Would 2 and 6 make a good couple?
Wow. That was convenient. Given Valve pretty much play that angle up from Half-Life 2 onwards, of course Alyx Vance and Dr. Gordon Freeman would be a good match.

6. 5/9 or 5/10? Why?
Adam Munroe/Tartarus or Adam Munroe/Judge Turpin? Given all three are villains, at least their motives would be the same. I'd probably go Adam/Tartarus as the least painful to read, though, because Adam's currently buried alive and if Tartarus ever found him, Adam probably wouldn't be in a position to put up resistance (plus, Tartarus is a big freaking gorilla; wait...am I condoning rapefic? *bashes head with telephone* Won't. Happen. AGAIN.).

7. What would happen if 7 walked in on 2 and 12 having sex?
If Noah Bennet walked in on Alyx Vance and Nigel THE PELICAN having sex... I suspect Noah would probably be there to cart one of them off to Primatech or something anyway, so he'd probably taser them both and haul the one away that he needed. After stopping in his tracks for a second.

8. Make up a summary for a 3/10 fic.
Syndrome/Turpin fic? K...
Syndrome creates a time machine that accidentally transports him back to 19th Century England. Accidentally killing someone in the process, he comes up against the court of London...and the notoriously tough Judge Turpin. But Turpin wasn't prepared to see a person in the dock so much like him...

9. Is there any such thing as 1/8 fluff?
Sylar/Philip Marlowe fluff? I should bloody well hope not.

10. Suggest a title for a 7/12 hurt/comfort fic.
Noah Bennet/Nigel the Pelican h/c fic? What is an h/c fic? Uh, let's see..."His Heart Can Hold More Than His Belly Can."

11. What kind of plot device would you use if you wanted 4 to deflower 1?
For Emerson Cod to deflower Sylar, huh? Not that I'd ever want that to happen (this is an exercise to make us think like badslash writers, isn't it?)...

It'd involve Sylar dying at Primatech in Season 1, a mix-up of bodies at Primatech, Sylar's body being transported to the morgue, Emerson and Ned investigating, Ned failing to touch Sylar after a minute due to Sylar escaping, and Sylar breaking and entering into Emerson's office to kill Ned for his powers. Oh, and gaysex. *shudder* I don't like the sound of that.

12. Does anyone on your friends list read 7 slash?
Does anyone read Noah Bennet slash? No idea. If you do, please tell me. SO I MAY KILL IT.

13. Does anyone on your friends list read 3 het?
What's het? I don't think Syndrome has enough of a ficbase for whatever that is to exist, though.

14. Does anyone on your friends list write or draw 11?
Maybe. Puss In Boots is pretty popular, even among non-ficcers. Probably not, though.

15. Would anyone on your friends list write 2/4/5?
Alyx/Emerson/Adam? I don't think anyone has written that, let alone anyone on my friends list.

16. What might 10 scream out at a moment of great passion?
Turpin? Probably "Lucy!" or "Johanna!" in a dulcet baritone.

17. If you write a songfic about 8, which song would you choose?
Not that I would, but probably something jazz-based. Or "When The Sun Goes Down" by the

18. If you wrote a 1/6/12 fic, what would the warnings be?
Sylar/Gordon Freeman/Nigel The Pelican? Um...crossover, S&M, high level violence, bestiality, crack (I think)...

19. What might a good pick-up line for 2 to use on 10?
Alyx Vance picking up Judge Turpin? Really? Ignoring, y'know, basic temporal and moral restrictions? Uh..."Quick, get in this room, the Combine are coming!" Yeah, she's not much of a romantic.

20. When was the last time you read a fic about 5?
Don't think I have. If I have, it's been a while. See, most Suethors tend to write out Season 2, and thus, Adam Munroe. No sense of commitment.

21. What is 6's super-secret kink?
He does things with his crowbar.

No, not smashing wood.

Yeah, now you're on the right track.

Woah, don't get too ahead of yourself, he's not that kinky...

22. Would 11 shag 9? Drunk or sober?
Puss in Boots shagging Tartarus? If Puss didn't mistake him for an ogre, if Tartarus didn't step on him, if they were both gay, and if they were both really really drunk, maybe.

23. If 3 and 7 get together, who tops?
Noah Bennet gets top. Syndrome's easily dominated.

24. "1 and 9 are in a happy relationship until 9 suddenly runs off with 4. 1, broken-hearted, has a hot one-night stand with 11 and a brief, unhappy affair with 12, then follows the wise advice of 5 and finds true love with 3." What title would you give this fic? Name three people on your friends list who might read it. Name one person who should write it.
"Sylar and Tartarus are in a happy relationship until Tartarus runs off with Emerson Cod. Sylar, broken-hearted, has a hot one-night stand Puss in Boots with and a brief, unhappy affair with Nigel the Pelican, then follow the advice wise advice of Adam Munroe and finds true love with Syndrome"
The title would be My Gooseberry Nights. No-one on my friends list would read it (though it does have the rather interesting hallmark of a humourslashfic). Dunno who would write it.

25. How would you feel if 7/8 was canon?
Impossible. Noah Bennet/Philip Marlowe? They're two very different canons. Plus, both are happily into broads.

That said, I'd definitely kill several people if it were canon.

26. Who would make a better college professor: 6, or 11?
Finally, a real question. Dr. Gordon Freeman does have a degree from MIT in Theoretical Physics, but he don't talk much. Puss in Boots, on the other hand, has a degree in Hard Knocks from the School of the Streets, but is really charismatic. Puss in Boots, by a small margin.

27. Do you think 2 is hot? How hot?
Alyx Vance? If she was real, possibly. She's not hot hot, but she's definitely good-looking.

28. 12 sends 8 on a mission. What is it, and does it succeed?
Nigel the Pelican sends Philip Marlowe on a mission to find his daughter, who shacked up with a rough racket kid and hasn't been seen in three days. Marlowe finds the daughter, but gets roped along a consistently more convoluted series of events by people thinking he's searching for the racketeer.

29. What would 5 most likely be arrested for?
Adam? Take your pick. Murder, conspiracy to murder, breaking and entering, assault, polygamy, theft, manslaughter, kidnapping, fraud...guy's a bloody walking charge list.

30. If you had to walk home through a bad neighborhood late at night, would you feel safer in the company of 7 or 8?
Noah Bennet. He'll actually pack a gun, not like Philip Marlowe.

PPC Mission 3 Part 2

Mon, 18 Feb 2008 04:09:14 GMT

Murtagh and Titus rounded a corner, and then ducked back behind it. The two agents poked their heads around the corner again.

John Freeman then looked on the ground and found wepon so he pickd it up and fired fast at zombie goasts in front of a house.

“Okay, then,” Murtagh said, distaste coursing through his voice, “what’s a wepon, what’s a zombie goast, and why the hell is the Suethor still writing this?”

“Answers to these questions and more after the break, here on 60 Minutes,” Titus smarmily replied.

John Freeman said "Zombie goasts leave this place" and the zombie goasts said "but this is our house" and John Freeman felt sorry for them becaus they couldnt live there anymore because they were zombie goasts so he blew up the house and killed the zombie goasts so they were at piece.

“So, apparently, you can’t escape the rent, even in the afterlife,” Titus said. “Also nice to see that our Stu is a talented exorcist and medium. He’d have a field day in the Department of Bad Slash.”

“Apparently you can’t escape bad grammar and spelling in the afterlife either, it would seem,” Murtagh added. “I mean, does this guy use any commas? At all? It’s like reading a novel by Cormac McCarthy, except the absence of punctuation isn’t done well.”

Then John Freeman herd another scream from his brother so he kept walking really faster to get where he was. Ravenholdm was nothing like the countrysides there was no birds singing and the pants were dead and teh dirt was messy and bloody from headcrabs.

“Gordon Freeman SCREAMS?” Titus said, flabbergasted, as the two moved out from behind the corner and began following the now-armed Stu. “He doesn’t even talk, let alone scream like a girl. Author stupidity – one. Canon – nil.”

Murtagh wasn’t focusing on Titus’ outrage at the canon breaches, however, as he looked around ‘Ravenholdm’, noticing pants lying on the ground with pools of blood around them. He sniggered quietly. “I would hate to have seen them when they were alive,” Murtagh mumbled. “I can imagine that nobody would’ve been safe from the pants.”

Murtagh and Titus followed the Stu around another corner, into a wide street that, as Titus pointed out in an angry manner, was not part of the canon Ravenholm. The towering buildings that rotated and the oscillating stormwater drains on the sides of roads immediately pointed out how badly defined this area was, and the agents ducked behind a low wall that would occasionally change substance. In front of them, Gordon Freeman was fighting Dr. Breen, and John Freeman was standing around, running in and out of the street.

When John Freeman got to where the screaming was started from he found his brother Gorden Freeman fightin the final bosss and Gordon said "John Freeman! Over here!" so John Freeman went there to where Gordon Freeman was fighting.

At this point, a mini-headcrab appeared in the middle of the street, and bounded over to Murtagh and Titus. The debeaked headcrab began attempting to attach itself to Titus’ head, Titus responding by whacking at it and telling it to bugger off. The headcrab, downcast, looked up at Murtagh. Murtagh sighed, and stroked it, rechecking the words for its name. “Gorden Freeman, huh?” Murtagh said. “Guess we’re going to have to find you a home when we get back to HQ.”

John Freeman fired his bullet from teh gun really fast and the bullets went and shot the final boss in the eyes and the final boss couldnt see.

Titus began laughing, Murtagh smirked, and Gorden Freeman chirped, all in response to the ludicrous events unfolding before their eyes. Titus wiped a tear from his eye, saying in between breaths, “That was…the most hilarious…and badly-written…sentence…in the history of writing.”

“Agreed,” Murtagh said, still smirking.

Gordon Freeman said "its time to end this ones and for all!" and punched the final boss in the face and the final boss fell.

Titus smiled again, and commented, “Of course, because once a boss falls over, you know that they’re dead. Forget the fact that the bullets through the eyes would have penetrated the brain. No, that doesn’t kill you. A punch to the face does.” Titus rolled his eyes, and muttered as an aside, “Gordon Freeman ain’t Chuck Norris.”

John Freeman said "thanks i could help, bro" and Gordon Freeman said "you should come here earlier next time" and they laughed.

“Aaaand…now,” Murtagh said. Murtagh stood up and walked out into the middle of the street where the two illiterate brothers were talking. Titus and Gorden Freeman followed, Titus holding out a CAD and pointing it at the canon Freeman brother. The CAD began fizzing and screeching, and Titus swiftly threw it into the air, where it exploded. The two Freeman brothers were watching the two men and the headcrab, puzzled. The trio stopped in front of the brothers.

Murtagh cleared his throat. “We’re looking for John Freeman. Where is he?”

John Freeman stepped forward. “i am john freeman are you here to give me a medal”

Murtagh and Titus looked at each other, and then looked back at John Freeman. “Ah…yeah, we’re here to give you a medal,” Titus said. As Murtagh brought up another portal, Titus added, “Of course, you’re brother’s going to have to stay here. And so is your…um…‘wepon’. No guns allowed at the ceremony, y’see.”

“that’s fine i’m just here to help people in need and live up to fulllife consequences” John Freeman replied.

“Excellent. Just follow me,” Titus said, and Titus, John Freeman and Gorden Freeman walked through the portal. Murtagh looked back at Gordon Freeman, who was staring blankly at the man staying behind. Murtagh put on a pair of black sunglasses and pulled out a neuralyser from his satchel, set the time to be erased, and hit the button activating it. Gordon watched all of this about as much interest as a severely out-of-character theoretical physicist would. A red light flashed, and Gordon looked around, dazed. Murtagh clicked his fingers, getting his attention, and said to Gordon, “Gordon. Yeah, you. Your name is Dr. Gordon Freeman, and you are a brilliant theoretical physicist currently in Ravenholm because you needed to hide from a Combine squad tracking you. They’ve stopped following you now. You should get out of Ravenholm and get back to Black Mesa East. And Gordon? Nice to meet you.”

Murtagh disappeared into the portal, which hissed behind him, and Gordon blinked, wondering what the rebel was talking about, and why he felt like he’d seen that kind of portal before, when it wasn’t anything Black Mesa or Aperture Science had made.

*****

Murtagh stepped through the portal and onto a steel pathway above the floor of a dusty mineshaft. Titus had already hogtied John Freeman with two lengths of steel rope and was leaned up against a railing, slowly regaining consciousness. Upon regaining full consciousness, he suddenly began struggling against the tough rope, but was soon stopped by Murtagh putting his foot on his neck, propped up against the railing.

“Don’t struggle, Stu,” Murtagh said menacingly. “We know what you’ve done.”

“i just want to live up to fulllife consequences and get a medal and am i goin to be getting a medal?” John Freeman asked, his voice raspy.

“No, you’re not going to be getting a medal,” Murtagh replied. Pulling out a notebook, he began reading from it.

“John Freeman, you are hereby charged by the Protectors of the Plot Continuum, Department of Floaters, with being a Gary Stu, being a gratuitous family member of a canon character, being excessively melodramatic, sodomising the English language in a way that it never has experienced and never will experience again, having absolutely no knowledge of the canon outside of the name of the protagonist, the name of one of the towns, and the name of one of the enemies, magically generating guns out of nowhere, use of non-canon authority figures, pointing out the obvious, making every second sentence a redundant one, having headcrab zombies operate like normal human beings, messing with the urban planning of Ravenholm, messing with canon events, in particular the location and happenings of the final boss battle, messing with canon characters, especially Gordon Freeman, and pissing me off something terrible. Any questions?”

John Freeman looked up at Murtagh, confused. “i just wanted to help my brother and live up to nmy fulllife consequences i did not ask for this i woz just helpong my brother please dont kill me”

“And there you go with the ‘fulllife consequences’ again. Titus, would you like to tell John Freeman what his death is tonight, before I make him experience it prematurely?”

Titus stepped forward, grinning sadistically. “It’d be my pleasure, Murtagh.” Adjusting his rebel vest and smoothing down the messy rebel hair that came with the disguise, he began the rundown of the upcoming execution with glee.

“Tonight, Mr. Freeman, you’ll be tossed over this railing onto the floor of this mine shaft, which, if you had any knowledge of the Half-Life games, you would know is one of only two entrances slash exits into slash out of Ravenholm. This mine shaft floor is a common habitat for headcrabs, both poisonous and generic. Being hogtied, you will be unable to fight back as the headcrabs slowly swarm you and you are killed slowly by them. Then, a headcrab will latch onto your head, turning you into a mindless headcrab zombie. Enjoy.”

Murtagh and Titus grabbed John Freeman and tossed him over the railing. As he screamed “I’LL GET YOU BACK” over and over again, the chirping and screeching of the headcrabs – a sound like a mash-up of cats screeching and parrots squawking – echoed throughout the mine shaft, and they slowly advanced on the wriggling, cursing mass. Murtagh smirked, and looked at Titus, who was clapping his hands and smiling. Gorden Freeman also joined in laughing at the misfortune of the Stu, chirping incessantly. After the Stu’s body was suitably lifeless, Murtagh opened up a portal back to the response centre, gesturing to Titus. Murtagh, Titus and the Gorden Freeman stepped through the portal, leaving the helpless Stu to his undead fate.

*****

Murtagh collapsed back into his red chair again, resting his aching bones. Titus ran over to Surresh and picked him up, stroking the life out of him. Surresh enjoyed this at first, but suddenly noticed the headcrab running around the floor. Yelping, Surresh leaped out of Titus’ arms and hid behind the console, refusing to come out. Titus looked down at the headcrab and groaned.

“We have to get rid of this damn thing,” Titus said.

“What’s the matter,” Murtagh replied with a smirk on his face, “ickle Surreshy can’t handle the headcrab?”

“You’re damn right he can’t. Find a home for him. Now.” Titus was adamant.

Murtagh rolled his eyes. “Fine. Come on, Gorden. Let’s go find you a home.” Murtagh picked up the chirping headcrab and walked to the door. He stopped in the doorway, and turned back to Titus. “You should catch up with that nurse, see how she’s doing.”

Titus’ eyes widened, and grabbed his crossbow off of his back and aimed it at Murtagh. “Get moving, Murtagh, before I shoot. And I will – this crossbow doesn’t have a customised hammer.”

Murtagh rolled his eyes, mumbled something about Titus being a prude, and walked out with Gorden Freeman. Surresh edged out from behind the console and jumped into Titus’ arms, rubbing against him.

“I know, Surresh, I know,” Titus said, “but he’s my partner. Let him be. He’s not out to get us – it’d be stupid if he was.”

Surresh made a noise that sounded oddly like a sigh. Titus looked at him, and then asked, “So, d’you like Nurse Lynch?”

[Murtagh’s A/N – That was a nice change of pace. The Half-Life universe is so much bleaker than the Heroes universe – and I like bleak. Anyway, seeing as Titus’ little prissy Pomeranian can’t stand being around a gruff headcrab, we’re giving him up for adoption. If you want Gorden Freeman, drop a line on the PPC message board, or wherever this mission is posted.]

[Titus’ A/N – Bloody Murtagh, attracted all the non-cute minis. Still, that was the kind of slow, ironic kill you dream about, and I love outlining the kill in minute detail to the doomed Sue or Stu. And John “living up to fulllife consequences” Freeman deserved it more than any of them. ‘Til next time.]

PPC Mission 3 Part 1- Fulllife Consequences

Mon, 18 Feb 2008 04:06:40 GMT

Hello, faithful readers. Unfortunately, this will be the final mission from Agents Murtagh and Titus for a while - I'm putting them on hiatus while I get settled in at my hall of residence and get studying for university. That said, I didn't want them to go out with a whimper, so here's the third PPC mission of the two agents. Because it's so large, I've had to split it into two parts. Enjoy. Rated M for low level offensive language, medium level violence, and extreme Stu-pidity.

Disclaimer: You know the drill. The PPC and all related stuff are owned by Agents Jay and Acacia, and for that we shall pour libations out for them. Half-Life 2 and anything related to the Half-Life universe is the property of Valve Software, not I. Happy Tree Friends, Splendid, and all related properties are owned by Mondo Mini Shows and whoever else owns the copyright. Skele-Gro potion is lifted from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, and, as such, it’s property of J.K. Rowling. Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium is the property of Zach Helm and 20^th Century Fox. COPS is the property of John Langley and Fox, and Bernie Bernbaum, from the film ‘Miller’s Crossing’, is the property of the Coen Brothers. 60 Minutes is the property of whoever created it, I don’t really know or care. Finally, the badfic that is today’s target, ‘Halflife: Fulllife Consequences’, is the property of that crazy French Canadian, ‘squirrelking’, and can be found at http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2945837/1/Halflife_Fulllife_Consequences. That is, of course, if you are truly insane enough to torture yourself with it.

MISSION 3: FULLLIFE CONSEQUENCES.

“Look, I’m not having that mutt running around and getting sweet with every four-legged creature that crosses its path!”

“Surresh wouldn’t do that to anything, would you Surresh? Besides, it’s not like there’s a lot of girl Pomeranians around HQ for Surresh to get sweet with!”

Marching down a nondescript grey hallway in the PPC headquarters, Agents Murtagh and Titus were engaged in a fierce argument over the recent castration of their newly-acquired Mini-Mr. Muggles, Surresh. After being forced into the Medical Department by the Floating Hyacinth to make Surresh road-safe, so to speak, Murtagh and Titus had been angrily debating this decision all through Surresh’s procedure – including the castration halfway through. Surresh had been watching this argument from Titus’ arms with a bemused face – or, at least, as bemused a face you can get on a dog whose facial expressions are variants of happiness.

Murtagh was getting sick of this argument. “You do realise he got castrated, right?”

Titus stopped dead in his tracks. “You mean…”

“Indeed.”

“Then that means…”

“Ahuh.”

“So, why are we arguing?”

“Because you didn’t know?

“Ah. Right. Oh, look, we’re here.”

Murtagh and Titus stood in front of the door to Response Centre 360, the numbers haphazardly screwed on by Makes-Things. Obviously, he was too scared of someone coming through the door – someone being the two agents who lived inside it – to do a good job.

“Shoddy, ain’t it?” Titus said with his head cocked as he looked at the numbers. “The three’s upside down.”

Murtagh nodded and batted the hanging three. “We’re going to have to get Makes-Things in here to fix it up. If he’ll come out from under his workbench.”

Titus nodded, opening the door to the response centre. The two agents looked inside, their eyes widening as they saw what had entered their response centre while Surresh had been getting poked with needles.

A blue flying squirrel was staggering around the room, dazed. A red mask was haphazardly wrapped around his face, and he was clawing at the benches in a disoriented manner, spilling CDs and files on Sues across the floor. Surresh leaped out of Titus’ arms and scampered under Murtagh’s red chair, while Murtagh went for his two Magnums, slowly removing them from their holsters and pushing down the hammers. Titus followed, shuffling across the floor, moving for his dual-bolt oak crossbow hung up on the wall. Lifting it slowly off the hook, he raised it to his shoulder and took aim.

Suddenly, the squirrel flew around and his crazy eyes focused on Titus. Titus stood rooted to the floor, the crossbow’s aim lowering, as the squirrel began shooting red laser beams from its eyes, the beams arcing off in different directions as it hobbled towards him, its head bobbing around. As Murtagh watched, he caught a small explosion on one of the benches, noting he would have to tell Titus that Surresh’s litter box needed to be replaced. The squirrel stopped and, once again, gazed oddly at Titus, before his eyes began glowing red again. Titus crossed his heart and closed his eyes.

There was a thud, and Titus’ eyes snapped open. Murtagh had tackled the squirrel, and was now wrestling the concussed rodent. After a short tussle, he forced the squirrel onto its belly and grabbed his left arm, pushing it behind its back. After a few more seconds of Murtagh holding the squirrel down, there was a knock on the response centre door, and two female Medical Department agents appeared in the doorway. They were both wearing loose white lab coats and dull green armbands, and one was holding a clipboard, while the other was holding a hypodermic needle gun.

The one holding the clipboard, a short girl in her early 20s with brown hair and brown eyes, looked up at Titus and smiled faintly.

“Ah, Agent…Titus, is it? I’m Nurse Lynch, and this is Nurse Finch. A patient escaped from the Medical Department around ten minutes ago, and we’re looking for him. Have you seen a blue flying squirrel, about this high, with a red mask o…ah.”

The two nurses had finally noticed that the animal they were looking for was currently pinned under Murtagh’s angry form, offering up weak resistance. They ran over to Murtagh and grabbed hold of one of the squirrel’s arms each, letting Murtagh finally get off of it. Nurse Finch shot it with the hypodermic needle gun, and the rodent loosened up, its head lolling around as the two nurses dragged it out of the response centre. Leaving the response centre, Nurse Lynch offloaded the half of the squirrel she was propping up onto an oblivious agent, and walked back into the centre, walking up to the slightly more relaxed Titus.

“Uh, I’m going to need you to sign here and here,” Nurse Lynch said quietly, holding up the clipboard and a pen for Titus. Titus put his crossbow down on the bench behind him, and began signing the forms, meanwhile looking down at the substantially shorter nurse.

“So, what was that?”

“Oh, that,” the nurse responded. “That was Splendid. He’s from the Happy Tree Friends canon. You know it?”

“Yeah. Bunch of cartoon animals getting systematically annihilated over and over again. Enjoyable show.” Titus and Nurse Lynch looked at Murtagh, whose comment seemed out-of-place for the conservative faux-private detective.

“What?” Murtagh said, defending himself against the stunned faces. “I’m not allowed to enjoy cartoon violence?”

Titus and the nurse, choosing to shrug off Murtagh’s input, returned their conversation. “Yeah, Splendid’s from the canon your colleague just explained,” Nurse Lynch continued. “He’d been the lust-target of a nasty Sue, and got a concussion and several broken ribs from an explosion the Sue caused when two PPC Agents cornered her in a gas station. We’re treating the two Agents now for burns. They’re going to pull through – they managed to get through a portal just before the explosion happened, so they just caught a small back draft that came through the portal.”

“Ah. That’s good then.” Titus signed the final spot on the forms, and Nurse Lynch smiled at him as she took the clipboard and the pen back off him. “Be sure to tell us how the squirrel comes along.”

“Oh, he’ll be fine,” Nurse Lynch said as she walked out of the response centre. “He just needs some rest and some Skele-Gro potion. But I’ll keep you two updated, if you want.” Shooting final looks at the two agents standing on opposite sides of the room, she walked out of the room.

Murtagh looked at Titus and smirked. Titus caught this.

“Why are you smirking at me like that?”

“Nothing. Nothing.” Murtagh began sniggering.

“See, and now you’re laughing. What?”

“Nothing…it’s just, you…”

[BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!!]

“Never mind.” Murtagh walked over to the console and began tapping at the keys. Stopping, he looked up at the screen and, after a few seconds, began banging the side of the console screen. “Impossible,” he mumbled, and backed away from the console. “Impossible.”

“What?” Titus, having completely forgotten about what Murtagh was about to say, walked over to the console to read the supposedly impossible mission. After reading a few sentences, his jaw slackened and he looked at Murtagh. “What…is…this?” Titus stammered out.

Murtagh could only a muster a feeble, “The author’s French Canadian…”

Titus, equally stunned, replied, “I’ve seen ten year olds who can write better than this…do you know anything about the Half-Life universe?”

“Not really,” Murtagh replied. “You?”

“A little,” Titus said. “I played the sequel a while back.”

“Well, I suppose that’s something,” Murtagh conceded. “So, then, expert, what should we go as?”

Titus looked back at the console. “Well, I think we should go as rebels, which would mean Gordon won’t immediately begin shooting at us. Plus, I get to carry my crossbow.”

“Okay,” Murtagh said.

After thirty seconds of silence, Murtagh said, tersely, “Well, are you going to key it in?”

Titus looked at the console, then back at Murtagh. “How?”

Murtagh rolled his eyes. It was going to be a while before they began the mission.

*****

One hour later, the two agents stepped through the portal, finding themselves inside an office building that seemed to be experiencing severe turbulence. Office walls, desks, computers, even employees were being randomly thrown and teleported around the place by some unseen force, and the colours and shapes of everything were changing regularly. Luckily, none of the flying employees noticed the two men dressed in the regular grey rebel clothing, managing to stay faithful to the laws of gravity. As a man flew past the agents, turning into a duck as he did so, Murtagh shrugged, and mused, “Suethors. If there’s one thing you can rely on them for, it’s normal environments that turn out like Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium.”

Titus nodded his head in agreement. Ducking as an office chair zoomed over his head, he replied, “And the best part is, you can always tell which one’s the Sue. They’re the ones who aren’t getting stuck on walls.”

“Speaking of which,” Murtagh said as he looked on the other side of the room, “I think we’ve found our man.” Suddenly dropping down onto his stomach, he pulled out his CAD and aimed it at a man in grey clothes, sitting on the other side of the room.

[John Freeman. Human Male. Original Character. Gary Stu. Status: Extremely dangerous. Approach with caution and dispatch with extreme prejudice.]

Murtagh flicked the CAD off and, after rolling around the floor for a minute to dodge a particularly vindictive stapler that wanted his hand for unknown reasons, beckoned Titus onto the ground to watch John Freeman’s exploits.

He got an email from his brother that said that aliens and monsters were attacking his place and aksed him for help so he went.

“Ouch, axe in the head,” Titus said, wincing. Looking back up, he suddenly added, “Where’d he go?”

“He went,” Murtagh replied sarcastically. “Oh, wait, he’s back.”

John Freeman got his computer shut down and wet on the platform to go up to the roof of the building where he left his motorcycle and normal people close because he was in his office lab coat.

“John Freeman got his computer shut down…either this writing is unparalleled genius or unparalleled stupidity,” Murtagh said, massaging his forehead. “Oh, wait, he’s gone again.”

Murtagh scanned the Words, looking for a suitable place to catch up with the rapidly-moving Stu. “Ah,” he said, pointing at a spot Titus couldn’t see – for some reason, Titus was unable to see the Words, and had to rely on what his partner said without question – “we’ll meet him in the…contrysides. It just gets worse and worse.” Keying in the co-ordinates, Murtagh opened a blue portal and crawled into it, Titus following him through the hole.

*****

The contrysides were nice and the plants were singing and the birds and the sun was almost down from the top of the sky. the mood was set for John Freemans quest to help his brother where he was.

Titus leaned on a singing tree and vomited.

“What’s the matter, ol’ buddy?” Murtagh asked cloyingly. “The bad spelling and grammar gett…DIVE!”

Murtagh tackled Titus, throwing them both to the ground as a flock of birds fell from the sky onto the patch of grass Titus was standing in. Titus and Murtagh stood up, Titus visibly shaken. Murtagh brushed the grass off his rebel clothes, and looked for a minute at the herds of contrysides roaming the land, eating the grass. “Nice contrysides,” Murtagh commented. “What are they, some sort of sheep-rabbit-tree hybrid?”

Titus, ignoring the inane question, aired a gripe of his own. “How do kamikaze birds, happy sheep-tree things and singing plants set the mood for a perilous and life-threatening mission to save a sibling?”

“Sue logic,” Murtagh shrugged. “Don’t think too much into it. Just relax.”

Titus sighed. “Fine. Wait – is that our Stu?” He pointed at a man in grey civilian clothes, riding a fire-red motorbike that seemed to be alternating between speeds of fast, faster, and speed of sound.

“Indeed it is,” Murtagh said.

“Why is he not carrying an arsenal of weapons with him when he’s going to save his brother from ‘aliens and monsters’?” Titus asked, becoming frustrated with the Stu.

“What’d I say about Sue logic, Titus? Don’t think too much into it, and you’ll be fine,” Murtagh said. “Ooh, here comes one of the best parts,” he added, skimming through the Words.

John Freeman was late so he had to drive really fast. A cop car was hiden near by so when John Freeman went by the cops came and wanted to give him a ticket.

“Cops: Black Mesa is filmed on location with the men and women of law enforcement,” Titus said, in his best Harry Newman voice. “All suspects are innocent until proven guilty in a court of law.”

Here John Freeman saw the first monster because the cop was posessed and had headcrabs.

“See, it’s this kind of attitude that just further influences civil disobedience and dwindling respect for our lawmen and women in today’s children,” Titus continued. “Next he’s going to be calling him a pig and screaming police brutality.”

"I cant give you my lisense officer" John Freeman said

"Why not?" said the headcrab oficer back to John Freeman.

“Because I left it in my other pants,” Titus said, giggling at this now ludicrous exchange between the out-of-character headcrab zombie and the Stu.

"Because you are headcrab zombie" so John Freeman shot the oficer in the head and drove off thinking "my brother is in trouble there" and went faster.

Titus stared at the dead headcrab zombie officer. “Whe…whe…where did the Stu get a gun from?” He stuttered. “I tho…tho…thought he had no weapons? Murtagh? Mu…Murtagh?” Titus snapped his head around to look at his partner, becoming suddenly scared at the apparently magical gun-producing powers of the Sue.

Murtagh, however, was not paying attention to Titus’ ramblings, instead furiously scribbling charges onto the pages of a notebook he’d just pulled out his satchel, muttering them under his breath as he went along – “…non-canon authority figures; bastardisation of the English language; headcrab zombies that can talk and function like human beings; the power to make guns materialise out of nowhere; pointing out the obvious…hey!” Murtagh looked up, seeing Titus preparing to punch him in the arm again. “NO,” he said, sternly, and Titus cowered away, his hands up in the air, looking ready to do a Bernie Bernbaum impression. Murtagh groaned, and went back to scanning the Words. After a few seconds skimming through them, he generated a portal and stepped through it. Titus watched as Murtagh stepped through. And watched. And watched.

Suddenly, an arm shot out of the portal and grabbed Titus, pulling him through the portal.

*****

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGgh…hi.”

Being pulled through the portal had not been an enjoyable experience for Titus, and he had screaming for a good two minutes before he noticed Murtagh was standing over him, pointing a Magnum at his head. Titus poked the gun, and then looked up at Murtagh. “Errr…wanna put that gun away?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m your partner. And it’s scary.”

Murtagh pushed down the hammer, the click resounding through the empty street they had portalled to.

“Murtagh, what are you doing?”

“You know, someone once said that the scariest sound in the world is the sound of the hammer on a gun being pushed down? Wouldn’t believe such a simple click could do so much…”

“Murtagh, stop screwing around and put that down. Please.”

Murtagh pulled the trigger. Titus screamed.

After five seconds, Titus opened his eyes and began feeling around his body for any holes. Satisfied that no bullets had penetrated his skin, he looked up at Murtagh, visibly angry.

“What the fuck?”

Murtagh smirked. “This is a customised Smith & Wesson Model 29 .44 Magnum. The normal ones are double action, but this one is single action. Also, it’s been customised so that the trigger won’t work until the hammer has clicked twice.”

Titus stared blankly at him for a second, and then reverted back to his previous volatile state. “WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO THAT? WHY WOULD YOU EVEN POINT THAT AT ME IN THE FIRST PLACE?”

“I customised it because the click of a hammer is the scariest sound in the world, and I wanted any victim to experience it twice. I pointed it at you to teach you a lesson.”

“WHAT? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU PSYCHO?! YOU POINTED A GUN AT ME!”

“Look, can’t we just put this behind us?”

“NO! Now, another question – where are we?”

“Ravenholm.”

“Oh, just splendid,” Titus said, his temper falling in the same way a killer whale dives before making a kill. “We’re in a town filled with headcrab zombies, booby traps and crazy Russian Orthodox priests, and YOU’RE STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF A STREET, POINTING A FUCKING GUN AT ME, YOUR ONLY BACK-UP! BRAVO! BRAVO, YOU BLOODY GENIUS! WHAT A FANTASTIC PLAN!”

Murtagh let Titus rant on for a good three minutes before the angry agent calmed down and stopped talking. At this point, Murtagh said quietly, “You done now? Because the Stu’s due at a rather special place any minute now.”

Titus breathed deeply and sighed. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Part 2 of this epic saga can be caught at http://pigeon-army.livejournal.com/2015.html. Enjoy.

The PPC Canon War Phase 1: Opening Shots

Wed, 06 Feb 2008 19:43:37 GMT

On Monday, the 4th of February, in two distant locations in New Zealand, two PPC board members - The Trojanhorse and pigeonarmy - became embroiled in all out war after The Trojanhorse decided to correct pigeonarmy's word choice and knowledge of acronyms. As such, a plethora of different canons were collected together by both members - with one PPC board member, JulyFlame, witnessing the unfolding events - and set against each other in a messy, no-holds-barred battle for NZ board member superiority. Only one could win, and here is how it unfolded. The following is lifted from direct communication between the two sides.

On The Trojanhorse's Side -

The Enterprise D and the Voyager;
The Dragonriders of Pern;
The Queen's Riders of Tortall;
Q, the Circle of Magic;
Boar the Fighter;
Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

On pigeonarmy's Side -

The Covenant Armada as of Halo 1, led by the Supreme Commander of the Sangheili.
The Serenity and its crew, led by Captain Malcolm Reynolds.
The Heroes tasked with stopping Sylar, led by Nathan Petrelli, and consisting of -

Peter Petrelli;
Hiro Nakamura;
Matt Parkman;
Claire Bennet;
Noah Bennet;
D.L. Hawkins;
and Niki Sanders.

The Internal Revenue Department.
Phoenix Wright and his crack legal team.
Zap Rowsdower.
Voltron.
And the members of the Satellite of Love - Joel Robinson, Tom Servo, Crow, and Gypsy.
All with on-planet support from The Primatech Paper Company of the Heroes canon.

> There.

<Trojie> but I have DRAGONS and magic!

<Trojie> and also big shiny fuck-off lasers

<pigeonarmy> Let'

<pigeonarmy> *Let's not forgot I have a BFG9000 and the Iron Man suit.

<Trojie> . . . DRAGONS!

<pigeonarmy> "I AM IRON-MAN!"

<pigeonarmy> Psh. Dragons are no match for the Covenant Armada.

<Trojie> *plays Sabbath riff, realises she's playing enemy's theme tune*

<Trojie> *plays Endless Nameless instead*

<pigeonarmy> Meheheh.

<JulyFlame> *me calls upon the Power Rangers and the Lady* >.>

<pigeonarmy> First sign of weakness.

<Trojie> talking to yourself?

<pigeonarmy> Is that the best comeback you've got, Ms. Horse?

<Trojie> I already fired photon torpedoes at you boy, now whatcha gonna do

<pigeonarmy> I shall move the Covenant Armada towards your right flank, while the Serenity and the Satellite of

Love shall move to your left flank.

<Trojie> And then we'll all dance a mazurka!

<Trojie> SHIELDS UP!

<pigeonarmy> I have a question.

<Trojie> Yes?

<pigeonarmy> How do you intend to keep your dragons alive in space?

<pigeonarmy> Meheheh.

<Trojie> They're for planet side, but they can go in space, it's canon. See 'All the Weyrs of Pern'

<JulyFlame> Yup.

<pigeonarmy> O_o

<JulyFlame> Dragons can go into space.

<pigeonarmy> Weird.

<Trojie> Long enough to snap off all your comm systems, definitely

<Trojie> which they have just done, btw

<pigeonarmy> Well, I would like to inform you that my Covenant Armada have just obliterated your right flank.

<pigeonarmy> And I believe Mal and his crew are bording your cornerstone left flank ship right about...now.

<Trojie> I've got two ships . . . how can I have a right flank?

<pigeonarmy> Easy. One ship is your right flank.

<Trojie> They may be boarding but they've been repelled with phasers

<pigeonarmy> Impossible. They're BIG DAMN HEROES.

<JulyFlame> Unfortunately, both sides have BIG DAMN HEROES.

<pigeonarmy> Meanwhile, I shall now advance on the Voyager (assuming that's where you are, Crusher-lover) with Voltron and Zap Rowsdower as support.

<JulyFlame> Suggest you wait till she returns.

<pigeonarmy> WAIT? WAIT?

<pigeonarmy> Okay.

<JulyFlame> Else you're attacking nothing.

[Mon Feb 04 22:40:03 NZDT 2008] Trojie

<pigeonarmy> Ahah!

<Trojie> I got kicked off!

<JulyFlame> K, now you can attack.

<pigeonarmy> Meanwhile, I shall now advance on the Voyager (assuming that's where you are, Crusher-lover) with Voltron and Zap Rowsdower as support.

<Trojie> what just happened; it chucked me off. Can I be brought up to speed during a brief ceasefire please>

<pigeonarmy> That's what just happened.

<Trojie> I am not a Crusher-lover, he just happens to drive the damn ship.

<pigeonarmy> Sure, that's why you go running to him at every canon fight.

<pigeonarmy> :)

<Trojie> And the Voyager has just used heavy duty Borg-killing photon torpedoes and random-frequency shifing phasers.

<Trojie> Wesley Crusher has just been fed to REavers, thus distracting Mal and Co (because they have to save people from Reavers because they're Big Damn Heroes)

<pigeonarmy> MAL! CALL YOUR MEN OFF THE REAVERS! THEY'RE NOT OUR CONCERN!

<Trojie> Big damn heroes, remember? And Mal don't take orders too kindly

<pigeonarmy> I just got an affirmative reply from Captain Reynolds. They understand we have bigger fish to fry.

<Trojie> Meanwhile Data has just beamed aboard your flagship and kidnapped you.

<Trojie> You're now in the brig of the Enterprise D

<pigeonarmy> I have a flagship?

<pigeonarmy> I'm fucking Iron Man, I don't need no flagship.

<Trojie> Well, you're now fucking Iron Man in my brig

<pigeonarmy> *Sabbath chords play in background*

<pigeonarmy> Not the best idea, m'lady.

<Trojie> Yes, we have quite a sophisticated sound system

<pigeonarmy> *Proceeds to obliterate soldiers in brig and move to bridge*

<JulyFlame> *plays Kryptonite*

<Trojie> You have of course been secured in place using big shiny fuck off magnets to hold your iron suit

<pigeonarmy> Okay, the Heroes have just been teleported on board, as Zap Rowsdower had caught and kidnapped Scotty.

<Trojie> Now that you've got out of the brig, I've separated the saucer section of the Enterprise and set the warp core to blow. Voyager and saucer section hightail it off

<Trojie> Enterprise *D* mate, Scotty's long dead

<Trojie> Of course you are no match for Geordi La Forge

<pigeonarmy> Geordi La Forge?

<pigeonarmy> Whojimawhat?

<JulyFlame> D:

<JulyFlame> You don't know?

<Trojie> Chief Engineer, my friend. You never watched the Next Gen?

<pigeonarmy> NO.

<pigeonarmy> I'm no Trekkie.

<JulyFlame> He did Reading Rainbow!

<Trojie> Well, Geordi La Forge has blown up a warp core on your arse, and my boyfriend thinks I'm nuts, so all in all a good night's work

<pigeonarmy> Nevermind, I'll just chase you down. After all, I am Iron Man, and my Heroes (currently in X-Wings surrounded by SEP fields) are coming with me.

<pigeonarmy> Piss off. Geordi La Forge cannot kill me if I do not acknowledge his existence.

<Trojie> Pah. You think you can outrun the Voyager.

<pigeonarmy> ;)

<Trojie> Geordi La Forge can pwn your arse

<pigeonarmy> Covenant Armada, advance!

<Trojie> WARP NINE POINT NINE! Mr Paris, take her out

<pigeonarmy> Mal, Serenity, come! Zap Rowsdower, planetside! Primatech Paper, give me ground-to-space artillery targeted on the bridge of the Voyager!

<Trojie> Lt Torres, ready the EMP pulse!

<Trojie> Dragons, please place these small but effective explosive charges on their fuel tanks

<Trojie> then commence flaming their artillery

<pigeonarmy> Satellite of Love, riff the dragons to death! They cannot stand their flaws being pointed out in humourous one-liners!

<Trojie> The dragons are using their telepathy to avoid your fire in much the same way they avoid thread

<Trojie> Briar Moss has entangled your ground forces in brambles. Daja has melted your cannons

<pigeonarmy> Voltron, on the Voyager bridge!

<pigeonarmy> Maha.

<Trojie> Lt Torres, set EMP charge. Let's see your IronMan suit take that one!

<pigeonarmy> Well, I believe Zap Rowsdower has just boarded the Voyager and has placed ten C4 charges on the power core.

<pigeonarmy> GO ZAP GO!

<pigeonarmy> Zap Actionsdower, indeed.

<Trojie> Well, I believe that they've just been transported off and used to blow up your precious commander

<pigeonarmy> Psh, you can't transport C4 packets with SEPs.

<Trojie> meanwhile you are dying in space.

<Trojie> Damn straight I can!

<pigeonarmy> And besides, they aren't in the teleportation room.

<pigeonarmy> So you're using non-canon technology.

<Trojie> Doesn't matter, Janeway and Seven put com badges on them

<pigeonarmy> LIAR!

<pigeonarmy> You're a liar!

<pigeonarmy> *boom*

<Trojie> nevert

<pigeonarmy> Oops, there goes the Voyager.

<Trojie> Only part of her.

<pigeonarmy> You deny the inevitable.

<Trojie> And the crew have been rescued by dragons and transported down planetside. Let's have some real battle action, shall we?

<pigeonarmy> I like the sound of that.

<Trojie> . . .. *looks at time* ceasefire for tonight, though? I will copy and paste this so we can see it later.

<pigeonarmy> Very well.

<Trojie> we can regroup our forces

<Trojie> Ok, c&pd

<pigeonarmy> Quick count of forces - I've lost a third of my Covenant Armada, D.L. Hawkins and Hiro Nakamura, several members of Serenity, the ground-to-space artillery.

<pigeonarmy> C&PD?

<Trojie> coy and pasted

<Trojie> I've lost the Enterprise and the Voyager, but all my ground forces are intact

PPC Mission 2

Fri, 01 Feb 2008 22:56:22 GMT

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, stick insects and other assorted intelligent creatures of a mutant capacity, welcome to the second Protectors of the Plot Continuum Mission for Agents Murtagh and Titus of Response Centre 360, Department of Floaters. This mission took longer to put together than the last one, mainly because this one's a more quintessentially Sueish fic than my agents' previous outing. As a side-effect of that, the charge lists are rather long, and a lot of the action has been missed on the way because I've tried to deal with the important stuff in the fic only. Nevertheless, it was fun. Enjoy. Feedback is welcomed. Rated PG-13 for mild swearing and Sues.

Disclaimer: The PPC and all related spin-offs and merchandise are not in my possession. They are the possessions of the creators, Agents Jay and Acacia, and for that they must be lauded. Likewise, I do not own the Heroes-verse. That is the property of Tim Kring, NBC, and anyone else who has a legitimate claim to owning it. Little Shop of Horrors is the property of Howard Ashman and Alan Menken (coincidentally, never seen that show/film – just the idea of a giant, singing, man-eating plant named Audrey appeals to me). The brand name Strayer Voigt Infinity belongs to Strayer Voigt Infinity or whatever. ‘Mr. Brightside’ is the property of The Killers, and ‘Birth of the Cool’ is property of the Miles Davis estate. Finally, I do not own the Suefic ‘Shatter’ (that dreaded fic is the property of Lanilae-and-Turizo in The Pit) or the bad slash fic at the beginning, ‘Who’s in Charge Here?’ (that abomination of slash belongs to Threthiel). If you wish to read either, you can find Shatter here - http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3936504/1/Shatter - and Who’s In Charge Here here - http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3730470/1/Whos_In_Charge_Here.

MISSION 2: SHATTER.

In Response Centre 360, located in the depths of the Department of Floaters, there was a slight humming sound, followed by a blue portal opening. From inside the portal, the faint sounds of yelling, screaming and the connecting of DVD boxes with heads could be heard. Then, everything went silent.

It was at this point that Agent Murtagh stormed through the portal, his head down. Heading straight for his red cushioned chair, he fell into it, his back rigid and his hands moving to grip the armrests. His fedora cast a shadow over his face, but he was noticeably shaken. Noticeable mainly because the armrests had started to splinter in his hands.

Agent Titus then charged through the portal, his eyes clenched shut, screaming “EW!” over and over again. The humming noise the portal made as it closed was then interrupted by a series of bangs and crashes, as Titus once again collided with the coat-rack. His head popped up from under the coats and hats, visibly furious.

“HOW THE HELL DID THAT GET THERE?”

Murtagh’s head turned slightly towards Titus. “Narrative Laws of Comedy, Titus. Get used to them.”

Titus mumbled something about shoving the Narrative Laws of Comedy up something as he stood up and brushed himself off. “I hope to God we never encounter that kind of slash again.”

Murtagh recited an excerpt from The Words. “Oh, no. I'm not done with the two of you, yet…why did she have to go and bring Mr. Muggles into it? He’s a bloody dog…”

Titus moved over to the bench, and put his satchel down on it. “Please, it was bad before Mr. Muggles decided it’d be a good idea to have a threesome with two humans. I mean, Lyle Bennet thinking floral print clashed horribly with his features? What kind of teenage boy thinks like that? For that matter, what kind of teenage boy sleeps with his sister’s birth uncle?”

Murtagh shook his head, and let out a pained sigh. “Remind me to talk to the Floating Hyacinth about never doing Heroes Slash again. That was just too painful.”

Titus nodded, as he lifted himself up onto the bench next to the console. “And it was only rated T…”

[BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!!]

Murtagh sighed again, and prised himself out of the chair. He walked over to the console, and tapped the keys for a few seconds – no keys in particular, just keys. After ten seconds, there was a ‘bloop’, and the mission appeared on the screen. Murtagh shrugged wearily, and said, “At least it’s not a bloody slashfic.”

Titus shot up from the ground, and peered at the screen. His eyes grew wide. “MOHINDER…SURRESH? TWO R’S? IT’S NOT EVEN THAT HARD TO SPELL!”

Murtagh rolled his eyes, and kept reading. “Well,” he said, “looks like we’re going to have to pay a visit to Makes-Things.”

Titus immediately forgot the slight on his favourite character of all time. “Oooh, goody.”

*****

There was a knock on the door, followed by silence.

Two more knocks. Still nothing.

Two more knocks. After ten more seconds of silence, a conversation could be heard faintly coming from outside the door.

This was followed by the door being violently kicked open, and a loud voice cooing, “Makes-Things? Makes-Things, where are yooou? Makes-Th…”

“Stop that,” Murtagh snapped. “He’s not going to come out at the behest of your ‘silky’ voice.”

“Shuddup,” Titus retorted. “My voice is just fine. You know, I was once the lead in a production of Little Shop of Horrors.” Titus breathed in, and began singing in a tired tenor voice, “I’ve given you sunshine…I’ve given you dirt…You’ve given me nothing…but…”

“STOP SINGING IN MY…oh, crap.”

While Titus looked offended at this interruption of his obvious singing talents, Murtagh smirked, and walked over to where the outburst had come from. He shoved his hand under a workbench and, after a few seconds, hauled out a small, visibly on-edge Korean man.

“Whaddya want? I haven’t got all day!”

Murtagh smirked. “Makes-Things, Makes-Things, Makes-Things. Where are your manners?’

“Fine,” the small man sarcastically replied, struggling to get out of Murtagh’s grip. “Hello, Murtagh. May I ask what you want?”

“There we go, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Murtagh put Makes-Things down. “I’m after some extra-thick Glopsnerch earmuffs – two pairs. Our latest Sue’s got a bit of a voice on her, it seems.”

Makes-Things nodded and ran over to a set of drawers, opening one and yanking out two pairs of thick red earmuffs. He tossed them Murtagh. “These should do the trick. Now will you and your par…par…”

Makes-Things looked around. There was no partner to be found. Perhaps he had been imag…

“Hey, Makes-Things, can I have these night-vision goggles?”

Makes-Things screamed and shot under the workbench, swearing and breathing heavily. He stammered, “How…di…di…did you get there?”

“Dunno,” Titus shrugged. “Can I have these?” He held up the night-vision goggles.

“Take them, take anything,” Makes-Things said, “just GET OUT OF MY WORKSHOP!”

*****

A portal opened in a badly-defined neighbourhood in Wisconsin. Murtagh and Titus, dressed in Company garb (complete with taser and customised Strayer Voight Infinity .45 calibre semiautomatic pistol), stepped into the street, looking at the small five-room house in front of them. Titus looked down the road, and remarked, “The guys that designed this town are shitty urban planners.”

Murtagh looked down the road to see what Titus was talking about. A block away, a series of large, brick apartment buildings stretched as far as the eye could see, and alleyways and stores dotted the spaces in between. Murtagh snorted in agreement, and looked at the house.

From inside the house, the dulcet tones of a 14 year old girl could be heard singing a song by One Republic. Titus ran over to the oscillating stormwater drain on the side of the road and vomited into it. Murtagh put on the Glopsnerch earmuffs, and Titus followed suit – once he recovered. Murtagh groaned. “Sues singing. It never gets any better.”

Titus nodded in agreement. Suddenly, the muffled sounds of the Sue’s musical recitation, rendered ineffective by the Glopsnerch in the earmuffs, ceased. The two agents cautiously removed their earmuffs. The Sue singing did not start up again, which was a good sign. The bad sign, however, was the very clear sound that replaced it.

…her father called to her from inside. "Stop twidding your thumbs, girl! Get in here! "

The agents looked at each other, and then said in unison, “Abusive father.” Titus continued, “Plus, I thought she was inside, in her room, not outsi…oh.” Titus clamped his mouth shut as half of the Sue appeared outside the wall. “I spoke too soon,” Titus weakly offered.

“Still,” Titus’ scarred partner said, “at least we know she’s a paint-by-numbers Sue. There’s gonna be no problem taking down this one.” Titus nodded.

"And be quick about it! I want you to go to town and buy me a couple hamburgers whne that's done. Then you've got the sinks to scrub, and your room-! Don't get me started on that. "

“So, her father’s nasty and illiterate?” Murtagh proffered, turning to look at Titus. Titus, however, wasn’t paying attention, his eyes glazed over as he watched the picket fence in front of him continuously changing colours. Murtagh rolled his eyes at his dim-witted partner, but noticed the front door of the small 5-room house open. He looked at Titus and slapped him. Titus snapped out of his trance, and turned on Murtagh angrily. “What’d you do that f…oh, she’s coming.”

Titus and Murtagh dived behind a line of spinning rubbish bins, hoping they wouldn’t be noticed. Watching her as she walked past, Titus barely concealed another flood of vomit, while Murtagh uneasily hummed Ode to Joy while opening a bottle of Bleepka and downing the contents.

She begand to skip, black shing hair boucing behind her like curls of ebony satin ribbon. She whirled around, leaping in the air as she sang with all her heart

“EARMUFFS!!” Murtagh said, in what could only be described as the perfect mix of a yell and a whisper, and Titus, obediently, grabbed his earmuffs and forced them on his ears, while Murtagh did the same – and just in time.

If I could write a letter, to me and send it back in time to myself at seventeen,
first i'd prove it's me by saying, llok under your bed

“She can’t even copy-and-paste lyrics from a website,” Titus said with disgust. He turned to Murtagh. “Do we have to stay? Can’t we go to the Kirby Plaza building?”

Murtagh scanned the words. “Let’s see – Sue discovers powers, minor infractions in the characters of Noah Bennet, Sylar and The Haitian, major infraction in the character of Elle Bishop…nothing too eventful. Okay,” he muttered. “But no stealing Company equipment. We don’t want a repeat of last time.”

“That was my first Heroes-verse mission! I was curious! I didn’t know what the hypodermic needle gun was going to do!”

“It took the Medical Department fifteen hours to extract that isotope tracker from your neck. I don’t want to be embarrassed by you again. Got it?”

“Fine. But I get to keep the Surresh mini.”

“Fine. Now, quick, get in the portal. NOW!”

*****

The security cameras covering every single corner of The Company’s Kirby Plaza complex were designed to pick up anything and everything. Today, however, they failed in picking up the entrance of two men who were clearly not Company members, but dressed as though they were.

Titus and Murtagh stood in the centre of a concrete-walled hallway, the portal hissing shut behind them. After several minutes, Titus spoke.

“This isn’t the Kirby Plaza complex.”

“I know,” Murtagh replied, concerned.

“It looks like a mix of the insides of the Primatech building in Odessa and Primatech Research in Hartdale, New York, but…”

“But the Suethor explicitly states that it’s Kirby Plaza later in the fic…”

“So the Sue’s screwed up canon geography quite royally. Another question, Murtagh…”

“Yeah?”

“How come the Company drives her the approximately 1435 kilometres from Wisconsin to Manhattan?”

“Because the Suethor did not do her research.” Murtagh mumbled something about it going on the charge list, and then scanned through the Words. “Ohhhhkay, if we go down a few more corridors, we’ll be able to catch the big character-crushing power test. Let’s go.”

Titus shrugged, and the two started off.

*****

“You’re lost, aren’t you?”

“Noooo…” Murtagh brought up the Words again, and looked behind him.

“Admit it, you’re lost.” The fact that their watches had been stopped and warped by the inexplicable temporal effects of the PPC headquarters didn’t mean Titus couldn’t tell they’d been walking for ages.

“Well, we wouldn’t be lost if it wasn’t for that damned Suethor screwing up the building layou…do you hear that?” Murtagh began edging down the corridor, whipping out his Canon Analysis Device and scanning the hallways.

“Hear what?” Titus was becoming increasingly impatient with Murtagh’s wild goose chase.

“There’s somebody talking down here.” Murtagh stepped around the corner and pointed the CAD down the corridor. He gestured to Titus, and the two moved further down the corridor.

Murtagh continued scanning the walls for Sue activity. Everything was still, until he ran it across the left wall. A sudden shrill beeping began, and he hastily fumbled with the CAD until he found the mute button and hit it. Satisfied that the high-pitched shrieking had ceased, Murtagh checked the CAD read-out.

[Serena ‘Seri’ Lansya. Original Character. Mary Sue. Dangerous power – ultrasonic scream-type thing. Recommended dispatch method: destruction of vocal chords.]

Murtagh and Titus moved forward slightly, up to a window that seemed to look into the room the Sue was in. Crawling up to the window and looking in, they saw the Sue warming up her vocal chords – a practice that caused them to immediately go for their Glopsnerch earmuffs. Titus peered at the Sue’s face, and then looked at Murtagh, puzzled. “What is this eye colour? Bright blue with gold rings?”

“It’s some Suvian colour. Golblu or Blugo or something. That’s not important,” Murtagh replied, focusing on his CAD readout. His CAD was pointing at Bob, who was behind a soundproof window looking into the room.

[Bob Bishop. Human male. Possibly dangerous power – alchemy. OOC: 74%$_@JK#*()$#*(T^RnM30oooOftf4N0oohhw21901$*@()]

Murtagh hastily switched off the CAD as it began fizzing. “I hate it when they mess with The Company,” he muttered under his breath.

The girl tried a high tone, with the same effect.

"You're not trying hard enough! You can do this! "

Seri, tears standing in her eyes, opened her mouth to try once more. Instead, a powerful shock wave of sound ripped out of her throat, sending cracks up the concrete walls and bouncing back into Seri.

“Oh, please,” Murtagh hissed. “Like Bob would force a 14-year-old girl that hard. He only did that to his daughter – he didn’t do it to Molly, he didn’t do it to Monica, he didn’t do it to Micah, he didn’t do it to Claire…There’s no evidence he’d force anyone who wasn’t a family member or an employee. He’s not some sort of maniac.” Titus shot a glance at his infuriated partner, and made a mental note never to knock The Company.

Bob came out of the soundproof and room and grabbed the now-unconscious Sue, and put her on a bench in the room. Five minutes later, Mohinder and Elle had come into the room, and Mohinder and Bob were in ‘earnest conversation’ as the Sue woke up, according to the Words. “Some earnest conversation,” Titus snidely remarked, “Mohinder’s tearing Bob a new one.”

"... pushed too hard... rest... " She could barely make out Mohinder's voice, and as she opened her eyes, Elle voice further foiled her efforts to hear.

"Hey, she's awake! "

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Murtagh said. “She’s messing with Elle, and that’s unacceptable. Let’s get out of…what’s that?”

A small golden-brown Pomeranian dog had appeared from behind the corner of the corridor. He resembled Mr. Muggles in every way, except he was a few centimetres smaller than the much-loved dog. Titus melted.

“OMG, IT’S A MINI-MR. MUGGLES! OMG, I’M SO HAPPY!”

Titus ran and scooped up the Mini-Mr. Muggles, cuddling him and stroking his head. Murtagh looked at him, one eyebrow raised. Titus withdrew slightly, seeing Murtagh’s expression. “Mr. Muggles is cool,” he replied curtly, “and I’m keeping this one. Where’s he from, anyway?”

Murtagh scanned through the words quickly, and nodded. “He’s the Surresh mini. Two rs.”

“Oooh, and he’s so cute, aren’t you, Surresh,” Titus said to the mini, who was lapping up the attention, “yes you are, yes you are, yes you are!”

Murtagh rolled his eyes again and generated a portal. “We’re going to portal outside, twelve hours from now. When Elle breaks the Sue out. You gonna come, or should I leave you to rot here with the dog that likes interspecies threesomes?”

Titus glared at him and snapped bitterly, “That was the Slash author’s fault! You leave little Surresh out of this!”

Murtagh grunted, shrugged, and walked through the portal. Titus turned his back to the portal, and waited a few seconds, confident Murtagh would come back and apologise. When his partner didn’t return, Titus looked back at the portal, and, suddenly, ran through the portal to the other side, stammering quickly, “I’mcomingI’mcomingI’mcoming!”

*****

Murtagh, Titus and Surresh found themselves in the middle of a surprisingly empty Kirby Plaza. Other than two park benches, a lot of people and the unmistakable Kirby Plaza statue and building, there was nothing but shades of grey.

After several seconds, Titus spoke. “Well, this sucks.”

“Bloody Suethor,” Murtagh muttered. “Bloody Sue. Speaking of which…” Murtagh scanned the Words. “Elle’s breaking her out now, in a criminally out-of-character action. She should be here right…about…now.”

Elle's finger's flew over the keyboard, and they were outside, breathing in the free late afternoon air.

“I’ll say this,” Titus admitted, “for a filthy character-screwing Sue, she sure does make an exit. Or an entrance. Or whatever that was.”

"Ok, find a public place, stay out of the alleys and shadows. We can't hunt you down in a crowd. Go! And watch out for Sylar! "

"How will I know who Sylar is? "

"He's a power eater, and uses telepathy, among other things. You'll just know, ok? Oh, and if you see Peter Petrelli, tell him Elle sent you, and stick with him. He'll find you a safe place. "

“She tells her all this now?” Titus stammered in disbelief. “Thanks, lady.”

Murtagh swivelled on Titus, his eyes glowering. “Don’t talk about Elle like she’s a second-class citizen,” he retorted viciously.

Titus stepped back, stunned. Then, after a second, he grinned. “I get it,” he said quietly. “Elle’s your lust-object. You want to bang the sociopathic girl who can generate electricity!”

Murtagh backed off a little. “N-no. Of course not. But you’re holding her responsible for actions the Sue is forcing her to commit.”

Titus didn’t care what Murtagh said now. He began skipping around Murtagh, singing in an alarmingly girlish voice, “Murtagh loves Elle, Murtagh loves Elle.” Even Surresh had gotten in on it, barking happily in tune with the rhyme. Murtagh glowered at Titus again, and went for his Company-issue .45 pistol. Titus stopped immediately, noticing the threatening gesture. He mumbled a “Gee, sorry,” and then went back to observing the Sue with Murtagh, who had now found her way to a park bench, where a horribly motherly Angela Petrelli was talking to her.

"It's rather cold out here, dear. Have you had dinner yet? "

"No... " Seri's natural inclination was to trust this person, but in New York, you never really knew.

“Oh yes,” Murtagh said sardonically, “New York is so much worse than safe Wisconsin, where you can skip and sing wherever you care and you only have to worry about being raped, murdered, and/or abused by your father when you get home. I so totally see how New York could be untrustworthy – even considering the first person to speak to you in New York is an out-of-character kind old lady, whereas in Wisconsin, it’s a pervert man with a knife.”

Murtagh continued on this stream of thought for a minute and a half more, while Titus and Surresh focused on the Sue’s intoxicating influence on Angela.

"Then why don't you dine with me? My name is Angela Petrelli. "

Petrelli! Seri's distrust melted in a flash. " Do you know someone named Peter? I'm looking for him. "

"He is my son, but I don't know where he is right now. Come dear, it's cold out, and you don't have a coat. You can explain to me on the way to dinner. "

The two agents exchanged incredulous glances, and shrugged. “I don’t even want to run the CAD over her,” Murtagh said, “it’d probably do a Death Star on Kirby Plaza.”

Titus, however, wasn’t listening, pulling one of his four CADs out of his satchel and pointing it at Angela. The readout immediately came up.

[Angela Petrelli. Human female. Powers unknown. OOC: %213OHMYGODTURNMEOFFTURNMEOFFARGHITBURNSARGHHHH&_#%&*_fuiojsKfzzzz]

The readout lasted all of five seconds before Titus dropped the rapidly overheating device, making the CAD explode politely and quietly on the grey concrete. Murtagh clapped slowly. “Well done, Titus. Well done.”

Titus poked his tongue out at him and said, grumpily, “I don’t want to be here anymore. Can’t we just skip to the end and kill the Sues?”

“SUES?” Murtagh, in a panic, scanned rapidly through the Words, stopping on an excerpt. His eyes widened in horror. “She has a SISTER?! Oh dear God.”

Murtagh looked up at Titus. “Very well. But we’re going to miss the OOC-Peter/OOC-Sylar showdown…”

Titus sighed. “Okay, we’ll go to that, and then we take care of the Sues.”

“Deal.”

*****

Titus and Murtagh collapsed down under a tree near the lake, the movement of the clouds and the rippling of the water therapeutic for the tired and distressed agents. Titus nonchalantly grabbed a piece of popcorn from the box he’d bought from a cinema en route to the battle between Peter and Sylar.

“That was interesting,” Titus said, nibbling on the popcorn. Surresh barked in agreement.

“Indeed,” Murtagh replied. “Never seen ‘his/her’ used so many times while describing a shapeshifter. Usually it’s just one or the other.”

The partners sighed and said, in unison, “Bloody Suethors.”

After a few seconds of silence, Titus looked at Murtagh. “How much longer do we have to wait?”

“No idea,” Murtagh said, scanning through the Words. “It says they’re here for the sunrise, and that’s a couple of hours from now or thereabouts, judging by the position of the sun. We’ve got a couple of hours to relax and wait for the Sues to arrive.”

“Right.” Titus reached into his satchel and pulled out his iPod, flicking to his collection of The Killers. He began humming quietly along to ‘Mr. Brightside’, and closed his eyes. Surresh walked onto him and curled up on his stomach. Murtagh sniggered, and then pulled his walkman and a copy of Miles Davis’ ‘Birth of the Cool’, zoning out as the jazz-master’s trumpet began. Dammit, if they couldn’t relax in their own response centre, they’d do it on company time, and there was nothing they could do about it, Murtagh thought.

*****

Murtagh woke up, and vomited behind the tree he was leaning on.

This was not through any fault of his own. In fact, he’d woken up at just the right time to see the Sue and Peter sending the Sue’s dead abusive father to the bottom of the lake. But the sunrise…the sunrise was nauseating, a glose-coloured mess of clouds and sun reflecting on the once-blue lake. Murtagh reached into his satchel and grabbed a pair of customised sunglasses Makes-Things had made to combat Sue colour spectrum-induced nausea, putting them on hastily while holding back some more vomit. He then reached into his sleeping partner’s satchel, grabbed his glasses and put them on his partner’s face. At least Titus wouldn’t wake up vomiting all over his lap. Murtagh nudged Titus.

“No, mommy, I don’t want to go on the bumper bo…huh, wah?” Titus looked around, puzzled. Then, he saw the Sue, sitting on the side of the lake. He looked at Murtagh.

“Earmuffs?”

“Best we do.”

Titus turned to his mini-Mr. Muggles. “Now Surresh, you stay here, you good little boy. Okay? Okay.” Surresh barked in agreement, and sat.

“Let’s go,” Murtagh said.

*****

The teenager sat down on a rock by the water's edge, expecting to be relieved at his death, but feeling only a cold loneliness. Her father had never been kind, nor had he ever been a true father, but he was family all the same. Her only family, other than her sister.

Something brushed her hand, and Seri stifled a gasp of shock as a weasel, brown with a white belly and throat placed its paws delicately on her hand. It stared into her eyes with its bright brown ones. A golden flame seemed to flicker in the weasel's eyes for just a moment, then it disappeared.

"It's trying to talk to you. " Peter noted, hearing the weasel's thoughts and clearly disturbed.

"I know. I can hear her. " Seri picked up the little creature, no longer than her forearm. "I guess you had a power after all, didn't you Maggie? "

The weasel gave a purring noise, and crawled into Seri's coat pocket. Maggie stuck her head out as the rest of her body nestled into the soft lining. Call me Izabelle, like Mom. I always hated Maggie, the weasel said with her eyes to Seri.

Peter stroked Izzy's head with his finger thoughtfully. Reincarnation, he thought. Amazing. "Did Sylar take yo…”

“Oh, come on! I don’t like swearing unless something really grinds my gears, but for fuck’s sake, what the fuck is this?”

Seri turned around, and the trio looked up. Two men were standing there, wearing sunglasses and bright red earmuffs. The one who had just rudely interrupted their moment was tall, with scars across the right side of his face and neck and an unforgettable scowl. The other was slightly shorter, with brown hair and a gleam in his eyes that suggested borderline insanity. And both were wearing Company-issue guns.

Peter stood up and immediately began choking the brown-haired one. “Do not touch this girl. I have to look after her.”

The tall one rolled his eyes and grabbed Seri and Izzy. Seri tried to scream, but the earmuffs seemed to dampen her attempts at liquefying his brain. Then, the tall one began to talk to Peter.

“Why do you have to look after her, Peter? She’s not important. She’s just a fourteen-year-old girl with the ability to scream you to death. And her sister? Hell, she doesn’t even have a real power.” The tall one lifted Izzy up to his face. “Reincarnation? Seriously? You expect the audience to buy that? It’s a religious concept, dumb Sue, not some magical result of DNA mutation you can just access anytime you want. Oh, and, by the way, according to Hindu concepts, you reincarnating as a weasel means you lived a bad life as a human. So there.” Izzy began sniffing.

Peter dropped the brown-haired one. Something was wrong. His mind was telling him to save the girl, but he couldn’t help think that maybe it was all a set-up by the Company – or, worse still, by Sylar. Peter looked around, worried. Maybe these men were right. Maybe they…no. They had Company guns – they wanted the girl. He had to stop them. Peter looked back at the men.

Or rather, he would have had they not disappeared. There was a hiss and a yelp across the other side of the lake, and Peter swore he saw the brown-haired one grab a dog that looked suspiciously like Mr. Muggles before slipping back into nothingness, but he couldn’t be sure. He sat down on the rock. Today hadn’t been a very good day.

*****

Titus and Murtagh stepped out of the portal and into the field filled with white tents. There was camp was quiet, and the night sky made stealth movements easier, to the duo’s relief. Titus had the weasel Sue by the neck in one hand and Surresh cupped in the other, while Murtagh was dragging the now-gagged main Sue behind him. Ducking into an empty tent, Murtagh took the weasel Sue off Titus, allowing Titus to dive into his satchel and pull out a length of wire rope. After tying the two Sues together, they picked them up and covertly lugged the Sues to a larger tent a few metres away.

A few minutes later, Seri regained consciousness. She and Izzy had been placed in a hidden spot behind a wall of crates. Murtagh and Titus were standing over the two; their sunglasses were now off, but earmuffs were still on. Seri began concentrating hard, eventually letting out a silent scream that was intended to destroy the brains of the agents. Murtagh let out a condescending laugh.

“Really, you thought you could beat us with your scream? We planned for that, girly. Titus, do you want to do the honours?”

“Gladly,” Titus said. Titus pulled out a piece of paper and cleared his throat, then looked at the weasel. “Maggie slash Izabelle slash Izzy Lansya. You are hereby charged by the Protectors of the Plot Continuum, Department of Floaters, with aiding and abetting a Mary Sue, being a secondary Mary Sue, envying the Mary Sue, having a dysfunctional family past and using it as a source of angst, being an accessory to bad spelling, bad grammar, and bad use of the English language, having multiple names and changing them in a wanton fashion, changing maturity levels upon ‘reincarnation’, passing off religious theories and beliefs as ‘abilities’, accurately conveying complex sentences with your eyes, cheating death at the hands of Sylar – which is impossible, might I add, not even those with rapid cell regeneration can do it – and screwing around with the characters of Peter Petrelli and Gabriel ‘Sylar’ Gray.”

Titus flashed a malevolent smile at the weasel, who was struggling against the tight bonds wildly. Then, he turned to the other Sue, who was currently trying different pitches to see if the earmuffs were weak. Titus coughed again, and Seri reluctantly turned to face her captor. He flashed the same malevolent smile at her. Surresh barked, almost sounding like he was calling the Sues names.

“Serena slash Seri Lansya. You are hereby charged by the Protectors of the Plot Continuum, Department of Floaters, with being a Mary Sue, possessing an unbearably beautiful voice, soliciting audience sympathy in blatant and audience-abusing ways, engaging in wanton abuse of the English language and its laws, using a nickname instead of your normal name, despite introducing yourself by your normal name, having blatant Sue physiology, having a dysfunctional family past and using it as a source of angst, turning your sister into a guy for a sentence due to misappropriation of pronouns, use of redundant sentences, badly-structured time jumps, abuse of commas, sudden accent generation…”

Murtagh stepped forward and said to Seri sternly, “The narrator is not Irish, got it? Stop using the word fairly as an adverb.”

“Thank you, Murtagh,” Titus said angrily. “Now, where was I…ah, yes. Sudden accent generation, treating the reader like idiots, having a badly-defined power, messing with canon events – Noah has never been Elle’s partner, fool, and she shall never be – being a gratuitous cousin of Eden McCain, aka Sarah Ellis, not giving credit to the creators of Heroes or pointing out that you do not own Heroes, using bad scientific explanations and methods, frequent continuity issues, making the Sue more powerful than Peter Petrelli…”

“No-one’s more powerful than Peter Petrelli, you dumb broad,” Murtagh snapped again. Then he turned to Titus. “Must you make this charge list so goddamned long? Hiro and Adam are coming any minute.”

“Hold on,” Titus said, exasperated. “Give me a second, nearly there. Also, endowing yourself with the importance of the cheerleader or the Shanti virus – which, may I point out, you are neither, because you are useless – using Sue colours in glose and grinblo…”

“Grinblo?” Murtagh asked. “Is that what you’re calling her eye colour?”

“Stop interrupting!” Titus retorted. “We’ll work it out back at headquarters. And finally, messing with canon characters, particularly making Elle a nice person, misspelling Mohinder’s last name, making Angela Petrelli motherly, giving Sylar extra powers and intrusive mommy issues, making Bob too pushy towards children, and generally screwing with these characters, as well as Peter Petrelli, Noah Bennet, Sandra Bennet, Molly Walker, The Haitian and Matt Parkman.” Titus stepped back and breathed in.

“Any questions?”

Seri ignored this, still trying to explode the agents’ heads with her ultrasonic scream. Titus shrugged. “Oh well. Suit yourself. Oh, by the way – you’re currently tied up with wire rope in a tent in Whitebeard’s Camp in Japan. The year is 1671. In a few minutes, Hiro Nakamura and Adam Munroe, aka Takezo Kensei, will come storming in here and begin to fight. One of them will knock a flame-pot onto the ground, which will set the hay on the floor alight. Then, the flames will travel to the gunpowder, and blow this place sky-high – and you with it.”

On the other side of the wall of gunpowder containers, rustling could be heard. “Let’s go,” Murtagh said, opening a portal, “before Munroe gets here.”

Titus nodded and, Surresh still in his arms, waved his fingers at the Sues before walking through the portal.

Murtagh glanced at the Sues once more, and then stepped through the portal. The pair were struggling as the portal hissed shut.

*****

Murtagh and Titus looked over Whitebeard’s encampment from a safe vantage point on a hill. Suddenly, the giant white tent in the middle of the camp exploded. Titus screamed “YEEAAAH!” and Surresh yapped in approval. Murtagh smirked at the pyrotechnics, and remarked, “Inventive, Titus. Very inventive.”

“What can I say?” the agent replied. “My mind’s like a vault for ingenious torture and murder methods.”

“Titus?”

“Yah?”

“Never, ever say that again.”

“‘Kay.”

*****

Back in Response Centre 360, Titus was playing with Surresh on the floor, throwing a ball he’d stolen from an earlier Heroes Suefic. Murtagh was sitting in his red chair, eyes closed, with the sounds of the Boston Symphony Orchestra coming through the headphones of his walkman. All was well – Sues had been killed, minis had been saved, popcorn had been eaten.

There was a knock on the response centre door. Murtagh jolted in his seat, yelling a stream of indecipherable words, while Surresh edged behind a bench support and Titus moved uneasily towards the door, opening it.

There was no-one there. Titus turned to Murtagh, who was staring wildly at the open doorway. Titus turned back and looked down. A nondescript parcel was on the floor. Titus cautiously picked it up and brought it inside, kicking the door closed behind him in the process.

Titus slowly opened the parcel. Inside was a collar, a dog basket, a squeaky bone and a few packets of dog food, along with a note.

Agents of Response Centre 360 –

I understand you have come into possession of a mini from the Heroes-verse. Congratulations. I would like to remind you that it is your duty to ensure all necessary measures are taken so that your mini does not endanger the lives and/or livelihoods of fellow agents. As such, I request your presence immediately in the Medical Department.

Post haste.

The Floating Hyacinth.

Titus looked down at Surresh. “We gotta take you to the Medical Department, yes we do, yes we do!” He scooped up Surresh in his arms and walked over to the door. Murtagh got up reluctantly, to go with…

[BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!!]

“SHUT UP! SURRESH NEEDS HIS SHOTS!” Titus was visibly pissed. “WE’LL DEAL WITH YOU WHEN WE GET BACK, DAMMIT!”

[Beep.]

“I mean it.”

[.]

“Thank you.” Titus and Murtagh walked out the response centre door, slamming it behind them.

[BEEP.]

[Murtagh’s A/N – I swear to God, one more Sue messes with the Company, they’re going to be eating the barrels of my Magnums. This one was retch-inducing, and the fanfic world is a better place without her angst and her screaming and her ‘powers’.]

[Titus’ A/N – IGOTTAMINIMRMUGGLES! Even if you don’t like Heroes, you can’t deny Mr. Muggles is cute. And now he’s MINE!

Oh, yeah, and we killed a Sue or two. BUT I GOT A MR. MUGGLES!]

[Murtagh’s A/N – Since Titus was too busy fawning over his dog-thing to say so, feedback is appreciated. Flames will be used to keep the life support machines for HQ’s supply of trumpets operational.]

R.I.P. Heath Ledger - 1979-2008

Wed, 23 Jan 2008 00:02:54 GMT

Academy Award-nominated Heath Ledger, star of Brokeback Mountain, 10 Things I Hate About You, I'm Not There, The Brothers Grimm and the upcoming The Dark Knight, has been found dead, aged 28, in an apartment in Soho, New York. From the New York Times -

"At 3:31 p.m., a masseuse arrived at Apartment 5A of 421 Broome Street in SoHo for an appointment with Ledger, the police said. The masseuse was let in to the home by a housekeeper, who then knocked on the door of Ledger's bedroom. When no one answered, the housekeeper and the masseuse opened the bedroom and found Ledger unresponsive. They shook him, but he did not respond. They immediately called the authorities. The police said they did not suspect foul play and said they found pills near his body."

A tragic loss for the screen industry. Ledger was one of Hollywood's brightest young stars, with talent to match some of the greats. His light has been put out far too early. I remember watching him in A Knight's Tale, and thinking he was one of the only decent actors in it - and then, earlier this year, watching the trailer for The Dark Knight, and thinking he was absolutely perfect as the Joker. This man will be sorely missed.

PPC Mission 1

Tue, 15 Jan 2008 22:18:08 GMT

Hi, everybody! Pigeon Army here, with my first post of what I joined this bloody Live Journal for in the first place - PPCing. My two agents - Murtagh, a Raymond Chandler/Dirty Harry-inspired assassin-turned-floater who carries dual Magnums around with him; and Titus, a spontaneous newbie in the Floaters department who likes imaginative ways to kill people - have been banging around my head for a while now, screaming to be let out, and this Sue just offered to good an opportunity to pass up (plus, she screws with my favourite canon - Heroes - and for that, she must pay. I'm just glad she still hasn't got to what was in her fic summary on The Pit with eight chapters under her belt). Also, much thanks to Araeph at the PPC Message Boards, who gave me permission to write this debut and beta-read it for me. So, here it is. Read and (hopefully) enjoy.

EDIT: Btw, if you want to torture yourself with the Suefic sporked below, you shall find it at - http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3963152/1/Not_My_Body. Turns out she updated it with two chapters after I sporked it, and it JUST. GOT. WORSE. Oh, and she admitted to stealing from the Twilight series of books.

*****

Disclaimer: I do not own the PPC or any of the affiliated groups/people/tofu. That is the property of the creators, Agents Jay and Acacia, and for that they must be praised. Likewise, I do not own the Heroes-verse. That is the property of Tim Kring, NBC, and anyone else who has a legitimate claim to owning it. Finally, I do not own the Smith & Wesson Model 29 .44 Magnum (S&W does), nor do I own the soon-to-be-deceased Sue, her soon-to-be-deceased Stu boyfriend, or any embellishments to the canon that these two initiate (nmyph13 at The Pit does). I do, however, own Agents Murtagh and Titus. May God have mercy on us all.

Rated M for some scenes of gory violence and coarse language.

MISSION 1: NOT MY BODY.

It was very uncommon for a response centre to be both occupied and quiet at the same time – almost as uncommon visiting the Bad Slash Department without bearing witness to an ‘imaginative’ sexual act. However, this balance seemed to have been hit, for once, in a quiet, out-of-the-way response centre in the Department of Floaters.

In this response centre, two agents were asleep – well, as asleep as two agents can be when working for the Protectors of the Plot Continuum. One, a battle-scarred thirty-something in a dark, 1940s-style suit, was slouched in a red chair, a fedora over his face. The other, a short, red-haired man in his early twenties, dressed in a black turtleneck and black pants, was sprawled across an empty bench, twitching and mumbling under his breath, “Believe me, the monkey stole my money,” every so often. It was a picture of uneasy tranquillity.

[BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!!]

Agent Titus’ eyes snapped open. He screamed and fell off the bench, onto a pile of cans he’d cleared off the bench in order for him to sleep on it. He let out a whimper and pushed himself off the hard cans.

Agent Murtagh had also reacted in an unusual manner to this interruption – namely, he had gotten up from his chair and, in a matter of seconds, had pulled out his two Smith & Wesson Model 29 .44 Magnums and begun wildly spinning around, looking for an intruder to shoot. After a few more seconds of wild spinning, Murtagh stopped, and holstered his weapons, mumbling something about intruders, the Floating Hyacinth, and whales on stilts.

Agent Titus managed to limp over to the console. As he went to tap on the keyboard to find out what the hell the Hyacinth wanted them to do now, there was a sudden –

[BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!!]

Agent Titus squealed and staggered back into a coat rack, falling along with the trenchcoats and the fedoras on it. Agent Murtagh rolled his eyes and walked over to the console. Leaning over the keyboard, he tapped a few buttons and a message appeared on the console screen. He began reading it, and then sniggered as he got to the bottom. He looked over at the avalanche of coats.

“Titus, stop screwing around and get over here.”

Titus slowly extracted himself from the pile of coats and hats and walked over to the console. He began reading, but, when he was about halfway through the message, he squealed again and collapsed back into the pile of coats. Murtagh raised an eyebrow. Titus extracted himself again, and, his face pale, stuttered, “S-s-she screws with M-M-Mohinder.”

Murtagh rolled his eyes. He had only been with Titus for four missions, but his obsession with Mohinder was getting ridiculous. “Look, Titus,” Murtagh said, “it’s not like she gets him to have rough sex with Sylar, is it? It’s just messing around with his accent and making him superstitious. It’s nothing major.”

Titus glared at Murtagh. “Any screwing with Mohinder is major in my books,” he replied, and walked over to another bench on the far side of the response centre, grabbing his satchel and checking he had all of the necessities. After ensuring every last vial of nerve agent and all four of his Canon Analysis Devices, stolen from Makes-Things as revenge for the faulty night-vision goggles the technician gave him, were in the satchel, he slung it over his left shoulder, and grabbed his oak crossbow from its hook on the wall. Slinging that over his right shoulder, he stood at the portal gate, and began tapping his left foot.

“Take the crossbow off, Titus. You’re not going to be able to get away with it in there.”

“But I…” Titus was ridiculously protective of his crossbow, and didn’t want any other PPC agent to get their hands on it while they were gone Sue-hunting.

Murtagh sighed. “Look, that’s the Heroes-verse in there. It’s a real world, not some Robin Hood’s England or Middle Earth where you can get away with those weapons. Do you think the Sue’s gonna shut up if she spies you sneaking around with a goddamned crossbow on your back?”

Titus looked imploringly at Murtagh, but, after about five seconds of this, he gave in, and, muttering to himself, “Can’t get away with it in Middle Earth, can’t get away with it in Narnia, can’t get away with it here,” he hung the crossbow back up. Murtagh smirked. “Good. Now, have you packed the hypodermic needle gun? I think we might dispatch of the Sue with some poetic justice.”

Titus smiled. He loved poetic justice.

*****

In an alleyway outside an apartment building in New York, a blue square suddenly opened up, and two men stepped out. One looked like he’d stepped out of a Raymond Chandler novel, complete with trenchcoat and fedora. The other was dressed in all black, and looked like an absurdly enthusiastic cat thief. The blue square disappeared behind them, and the two walked onto the footpath outside the building.

“So,” Titus said, “are we outside the Sue’s apartment?”

Murtagh scanned through the Words. “Yep. On an indiscernible floor, we have the apartment of one Dr. Isabella Swan and her Gary Stu boyfriend, John.”

“We have to get rid of two of them?” Titus asked, confused.

Murtagh looked back at Titus. “Looks like it. We should take out the boyfriend first. He’s outta the story after he leaves that apartment.” Murtagh let his unmistakable smirk creep across his face again. Looking directly at Titus, he said ominously, “Want to test the laws of physics with a Stu?”

*****

John walks along the footpath, carrying a briefcase. He was tall, dark and handsome, yet has a sensitive look about him.

Murtagh watches him walk past, and nods. Suddenly, John is tackled from out of nowhere by a black blur. The blur disappears, and John slowly gets back up off the footpath, shocked. Then something wooden smashes across his head, and, as he falls, Titus comes out from in front of him, holding a thick piece of 2 by 4.

Titus suddenly gripped his head in pain. “Great. The tense changes to present when he walks past us, and now it’s back to past again? Is he trying to kill us?”

Murtagh walked over to Titus and John. “No,” Murtagh said, “he’s just unconscious. Any tense changing effects he has, he only has while in a full state of consciousness. And that includes all the random tense changing this fic seems to do. So, shall we test this Stu?”

Titus, grinning, picked up John, while Murtagh, pulling out the Remote Portal Activator, activated a portal to the balcony of the Empire State Building. Murtagh, Titus, and the unconscious John went through the portal and walked out onto the Empire State Building.

Once they had safely hogtied John with pieces of rope Titus had in his seemingly bottomless satchel, Murtagh began slapping John. At about slap number eleven, John’s eyes opened. “Hi,” Murtagh said, waving.

John’s eyes get very wide.

“What do you want?” John asks.

“Owwww,” Titus moans, grabbing his forehead. “Tense change...why did we have to go and let him regain consciousness? Now he’s just screwing up our good past tense.”

“No, we have to read him his charges, Titus,” Murtagh says. “I’m enjoying the tense change about as much as the flowers enjoy giving us pay, but we have no choice.”

Murtagh clears his throat and pulls out a small list he had previously compiled while waiting for John and skimming through the Words. “John…ah…John Stu,” Murtagh says, in a voice that oozes menace, “you are hereby charged by the Protectors of the Plot Continuum, Department of Floaters, with aiding and abetting a Mary Sue, being a secondary Gary Stu, being an accessory to bad spelling, bad grammar, and bad use of the English language – seriously, what does ‘touched in the head’ mean? Is that even a real phrase? – being a ‘demi-god’, being able to switch between brushing your teeth and shaving in a heartbeat, and being ridiculously good-looking. Any questions?”

John looks stunned. Murtagh shrugs. “Very well then. Titus? Pick him up and bring him over to the railing.”

Titus does so, and the three of them move over to the railing of the balcony. Murtagh looks at John. “Do you know how high up we are, John?” Murtagh asks. John shakes his head, justifiably frightened.

“Go on. Have a guess,” Murtagh says. John looks at him and says, quietly, “One thousand feet?”

“Close,” Murtagh says in a reassuring tone. “We’re around 1,250 feet up, John,” Murtagh tells him. “And around thirty people have jumped from this building. Right to the very bottom. Do you know how many survived, John?”

John shakes. “N-none?”

Murtagh smirks patronisingly, and looks at Titus. “We got a smart cookie here, Titus,” he says, to which Titus nods, a sadistic smile across his face. “You’re right, John,” Murtagh says. “None. How’d you like to be number 31?”

John’s eyes widen to what should be physically impossible levels. Titus heaves John up over the high balcony railing, and pushes John over, sending him falling down to the footpath. Around ten seconds later, there is a resounding thud, and Murtagh and Titus both grabbed a rail.

“Ow,” Titus moaned, “another tense change. And in the middle of a sentence. These really smart.”

“Don’t worry,” Murtagh said, weakly. “This isn’t even a bad fic for tense changes. I was in a Heroes fic once where the tense changed every sentence. Had a migraine for two weeks.” Murtagh grinned painfully at Titus, and the agents looked over the balcony. There was a red mess on the footpath below. Murtagh smirked, and opened up a portal. “Come on, Titus. Let’s go take down that Sue.”

Titus nodded, and walked over to the portal. Before he stepped through, he looked at Murtagh, and said quietly, “You know, I’m sure I’ve heard of that method being used before.”

Murtagh shrugged. “Probably some other agents in some other Department,” he said. “Gravity tests aren’t that uncommon.” And with that, the two stepped through the portal to the hospital that the Sue worked at.

*****

Murtagh and Titus walked out of the men’s restroom on the third floor of this nondescript hospital. Murtagh sighed at the lack of description, everything a dull shade of grey and the walls shifting position every so often. He looked up at a shape-changing clock on the wall.

“Twelve past one,” Murtagh said. “Right on time.” Murtagh went to sit down on a poorly-defined seat, while Titus walked up to a writhing grey wall, watching it move with fascination.

Three minutes later, the hospital shuddered. Titus falls into the wall, grabbing his head and moaning. “Tense…shift…hurt,” he manages to get out, before slumping to the floor.

“She’s here,” Murtagh says, also feeling the effects of the monumental tense shift the Sue brings.

“Can we get her here?” Titus asks, pulling himself off the ground.

“No, no,” Murtagh replies, “We need to wait for her to breach canon big-time, and that happens in around two hours. Let’s watch her at work…well, speak of the devil.”

Bella checks in at the front desk, where Petunia, a desk nurse who wears flowered scrubs is on duty.

Titus and Murtagh look at the Sue. She’s a short brunette with startling blue eyes. Titus cringes at the Words. “First tense shifts, now bad puns and missing commas?” he asks rhetorically.

Murtagh looks over at Titus, then back at the Sue. “At least you missed watching her indecision about Mohinder’s accent and then her painting of Mohinder as some sort of quack doctor.”

Titus snorts. “She’s going to pay dearly for that. I mean, since when did Mohinder use the term ‘superpowers’? The guy’s a geneticist; he uses words like evolutionary development and mutation. He’s a science guy, not bloody Charles Xavier.”

Bella gives a sigh of irritation and asks her, “Didn’t Benny tell him that I was reviewing a hospice nurse this morning?”

Bella winces. She usually isn’t this late, even when she had an appointment with a patient.

“Owies,” Titus said, staggering back a couple of steps. “Can’t this Sue get her tenses right for one measly paragraph?”

“Obviously not,” Murtagh mumbled. “And she can’t stop sighing, either – that’s her nineteenth sigh in eight chapters.”

Murtagh and Titus both flinch; the tenses change again. Then, suddenly, Murtagh sees the Sue walking away. “Ooh, quick, she’s moving. We’ve gotta keep tabs on her.”

Titus and Murtagh walk off after the Sue, tailing her until she gets to her office.

She gets to her office to find several of her residents standing outside her door, waiting for her. They ambushed her as soon as they saw her.

“Seriously,” Titus says, his head throbbing, “she changes tenses quicker than a Formula One pit crew changes tyres.”

Suddenly, the room shudders again, spins a few times, and settles, everything in the hospital looking completely different. Murtagh and Titus pick themselves up off the ground and looks through the Words. “Ah,” he says. “Sudden temporal distortion with minimum warning.”

Titus looks at Murtagh, one eyebrow raised. Murtagh looks at him, and, noticing his confusion, dumbs it down. “We just jumped forward an hour with jack-all warning.”

“Oh.” Titus nods, and then looks around. “Er…where’s the Sue?”

Murtagh skims through the words. “Back at the main desk,” he says. “Quickly, we’re going to miss her being bullied by the big Dr. Marks.”

Murtagh and Titus run to the front desk, just in time to see a tall, blonde man tap the Sue stop behind the Sue and smile.

Before the person had a chance to open his mouth, she says, “Just can’t wait to point out my mistakes, can you?” turning around with an unhappy grimace on her face, she finds herself facing Dr. Marks. He is tall, blonde and has an ego the size of the moon. He only had a few more years of experience on Bella, but he always thought himself the superior doctor. Now, he was looking down at her and smiling.

Titus and Murtagh walk back and press themselves up against a wall. “Too…many…sudden…tense shifts…destroying…brain cells…,” Titus stammers.

Murtagh ignores Titus’ lamentations and looks through the Words. “Oh, he’s only got a few more years of experience on her, how dare he think he’s the better doctor?” Murtagh says sardonically. “Please. She may have cured a strand of the cold virus at university, but hospitals have hierarchies for a reason.”

“Not this one,” Titus replies. “Hell, her job entails house calls, reviewing hospice nurses and looking after residents. Her job’s about as well-defined as this hospital.”

“Point taken,” Murtagh says. “That’s definitely going on the charge list.” Murtagh pulls out a piece of paper and a pen, and writes down the charge, “No respect for authority and no understanding of how a hospital works.” He puts the pen and paper back in his pocket.

He follows, strutting beside her. "Since when did you review hospice nurses?"

"Since the chief of medicine assigned me to do it several weeks ago," she retorts, trying to ignore him. "When are you going to have the stick removed from your ass?"

“Ouch,” Murtagh says. “Our Sue’s got a bit of a temper on her. Not to mention a badly defined power,” he adds, noting that the Sue has now possessed Dr. Marks.

Bella feels her mind slip from her body and into Dr. Marks’s. She finds herself suddenly looking back at her body, angry and eyes glazed over. She staggers back in his body, surprised. Mentally, Bella wills him to stop harassing her, putting a pressure on his brain to make him obey. Then, she slips back out and back into her own body to continue the staring match.

“Well, this is interesting,” Murtagh says. Titus looks at Murtagh, puzzled. “I thought she had to be in a sleep-like state before she could possess someone?” he asks. Murtagh looks back at him, shrugs, and looks up at the badly defined clock.

“Every time she uses the power, she changes it. I mean, she possesses Peter later, and she can’t control him. Oh well,” Murtagh sighs. “Let’s get to the alleyway. We’ll pick her up there.”

As the Sue walks away, a blue portal opens in the centre of the hospital corridor, and Murtagh and Titus step through it.

*****

Titus and Murtagh look at the tall buildings surrounding them. Then, Murtagh looks up. “Crap,” he says.

Titus looks at Murtagh. “What’s wrong?”

Murtagh looks back at Titus, his brow furrowed. “Peter’s already up there,” he says, pointing at the man standing on the edge of the roof of a building, “which means the Sue’s not far away.”

Titus looks at Murtagh, a blank expression on his face. Murtagh rolls his eyes. “Which means we have to get out of this alleyway now if we’re going to catch her after she screws with this key canon event.”

“Oh.” Titus nods, and the two run out of the alleyway, stopping at a storefront on the opposite side of the road. Murtagh leans against a brick pillar, and watches the alleyway. A butterfly flies past, and Titus, enthralled, begins chasing it.

Arriving at the alley several minutes later, she finds it to be deserted. All that is in the alley is trash cans and dumpsters, along with the fire escapes of the buildings whose walls form it.

“Titus!” Murtagh hisses. Titus wheels back, and points at the butterfly. “Butterfly,” he says, imploring. “No time!” Murtagh replies. “The Sue’s here!”

“Ooh!” Titus says, and he skips over to Murtagh’s side.

Stumbling suddenly, Bella puts a hand to her head as a man on his cell phone walks into the alley from the other end. She faints, her mind leaving her body again.

“Oh, see, now she uses the whole sleep-like state thing,” Titus moans. The pair keeps watching. Suddenly, the Sue gets back up. And Peter falls.

Titus claps with glee, as another man, Nathan Petrelli, soars up to catch Peter. Nathan drops Peter, but Peter flies up several feet before dropping again. The Sue runs over to the fallen Peter.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it happened at the end of Genesis,” Murtagh says. “I’m pretty sure Nathan and Peter flew at the same time…”

“Who cares?” Titus says, a malevolent grin spreading across his face. “Let’s get the Sue now, before it’s too late!”

Murtagh nods his head. The two agents walk briskly over to the accident scene.

She nods, and then turns back to Peter. His head was bleeding profusely and he was unconscious from a concussion that he most likely received from the fall. She only met him today, but she prays that he will…

Murtagh and Titus begin to clap. The Sue turns around and looks at the two agents, her eyes narrowing. Nathan looks up at them, puzzled.

“Excellent diagnosis, world-famous Dr. Isabella Swan,” Murtagh says patronisingly. “I probably wouldn’t have deduced that he most likely received his concussion from the fall, given that he only smashed his head on the concrete after falling. Bravo.”

“Don’t stand there doing nothing!” The Sue asks violently. “Help us! Call the police. He will need immediate medical attention!”

“She’s already said that, Murtagh,” Titus says, befuddled.

“She’s probably on loop or something. And it’s kind of sad, given how very little sense that comment makes. Shouldn’t you call the ambulance if someone needs immediate medical attention?”

“Who are you?” Nathan asks, still confused.

“Ah,” Murtagh says. “Glad you asked. My name is Agent Murtagh, and his name is Agent Titus. We’re here to speak to Dr. Isabella Swan. We have some…issues we need to clear up with her.”

The Sue looks at them for a second, and then turns to Nathan. “Make sure you get him immediate medical attention,” she says. Nathan nods, and she stands up. “So, where are we going?”

“Well, if you could just step around the corner there, we’ll tell you. It’s strictly confidential,” Murtagh says, smirking.

“Alright,” the Sue says, and she walks out of the alleyway and around the corner, flanked by the two agents. They walk around the corner to the outside of an apartment building. Suddenly, Titus grabs the Sue, and, as Murtagh follows, he forces her into the apartment building and into a grungy toilet block inside the building. Titus pushes her to the ground. By the time she has recovered herself and stood back up, Titus is holding a hypodermic needle gun, and Murtagh a .44 Magnum – and both are aimed right at her.

“Dr. Isabella Swan?” Murtagh asks with a hint of malice on his voice.

“Who are you people?” the Sue asks, her voice quavering.

“We’re here to take you out, symbolic-style,” Titus says, sneering. He looks at Murtagh, whose gaze is still firmly on the Sue. “Did you like that? Was that a little overdramatic?”

“No, no, it was alright,” Murtagh says, shrugging. “Needs some development, though. Maybe change the word symbolic to something else.”

“Okay,” Titus replies. His gaze suddenly locks back on the Sue. “Dr. Isabella Swan, you are hereby charged by the Protectors of the Plot Continuum, Department of Floaters, with being a Mary Sue, being a bloody magnet for spelling mistakes, grammar mistakes, badly written sentences and redundant statements, creating approximately 36 different tense shifts, bad metaphors, stealing the original character’s name from an unrelated work and not giving appropriate credit – didn’t think we’d notice that, did you, Bella Swan – not giving credit to the creators of Heroes or pointing out that you do not own Heroes, sighing constantly, being an arrogant bitch…”

“Titus,” Murtagh reprimands, “we’re not meant to swear at the Sues…”

“I don’t care,” Titus snaps, “she deserves it. Now, where was I? Ah, yes – being an arrogant bitch, showing jack-all knowledge about how hospitals work, being amazingly stupid, despite being a world-famous doctor, being famous and revered, snapping at anyone who doesn’t revere you, slandering fat people, producing a secondary sue in your boyfriend, John…”

“Who, may I just add,” Murtagh says, “should be being scraped off of the footpath in front of the Empire State Building about now…”

The Sue looks horrified, but Titus continues, “attempting to thwart Mary Sue status by dressing badly, interfering in key canon events, stealing roles and lines – we know about you stealing Peter’s place in Mohinder’s taxi – and, most importantly, screwing around with canon characters, including the Deveauxs, Peter and Mohinder. And nobody messes with Mohinder.”

Titus lets that final sentence hang in the air for a beat, as the Sue takes everything in. Titus takes a step forward. “Any last words, Swan?”

“You can’t do this to me! This is…”

“Murtagh, hold her down.”

Murtagh walks across the tiles on the toilet floor and grabs the Sue, forcing her arms behind her back. Titus walks up to her left arm, brandishing the hypodermic needle gun. The Sue begins screaming, and the screams only increase in volume as Titus plunges the needle into her arm, injecting her with a clear fluid. He removes the needle and walks around to the front of the Sue. He holds up the gun.

“You know what was in this?” Titus asks. The Sue shakes her head. “I’ll tell you then,” Titus says, smiling wide. “In here was the nerve poison soman. The nerve agents in soman basically prevent your glands and muscles from stopping, but I’m sure you already knew that, right, doctor? Anyway, in a few minutes, you’ll begin to experience some of the symptoms – runny nose, blurred vision, vomiting, drooling…”

“She’s drooling now, Titus,” Murtagh points out. “Make it quick.”

“Right,” Titus says. “So, eventually, you’ll lose consciousness and begin convulsing. Then, a couple of minutes after, you’ll be paralysed, and then, maybe one, two minutes after that, your respiratory system will shut down. You’re going to suffocate to death, Dr. Swan. Have fun.”

Murtagh drops the Sue onto the ground. He nods to Titus, and Titus nods back. The two walk to the other side of the toilet block, and Murtagh pulls out the Remote Portal Activator. Punching in the combinations to the response centre, Murtagh takes one last glance at the Sue. She vomits, and then begins convulsing. He sighs. “Why must we always be so cruel, Titus?” he asks his partner.

Titus shrugs. Murtagh continues looking at the body. Titus suddenly pipes up, “Are we going to dispose of her somewhere?”

Murtagh looks back at Titus. “No. Let the forensics experts take care of her. They’ll relish the opportunity.” Looking back one last time at the writhing Sue, Murtagh opens the portal, and the duo step through.

*****

With the portal closed and the Sue dead, the tenses had finally returned to normal for Murtagh and Titus. Titus threw his satchel back on the far bench, and sat down on the bench that had previously been his bed. Murtagh took off his trenchcoat and hung it up on the coat rack, proceeding to slouch back into his chair. Putting his fedora back over his face, he went to sleep, while Titus, legs swinging under the bench, began fiddling around with a Rubik’s Cube that was on the desk.

[BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!!]

Murtagh snapped up. “Oh, f…”

[A/N – My first mission. Woot. But seriously, this was a lot of fun, even if I couldn’t do cover all of the funny stuff in this, quite frankly, terrible Suefic (there’s this great sentence in the fic’s first chapter about how this guy’s voice becomes all rough and “horse” – fantastic). Thank you to Jay and Acacia, as always, they’re fantastic. And thanks to the PPC Message Board, and also to my friends Ben and Chris for being less pessimistic than everyone else - the Rubik's Cube is for you guys. Reviews are welcome; fics to spork equally so; flames shall be used to power my latest invention, the flame-powered hypodermic needle gun. Wheee.]