Adventures of ahnold: The terminator days
Lähetetty: Ma 12.03.2007 10:12
Now, here is the second part to the adventures of Ahnold, the heroic space marine. The story is not as good as the first one, I'm afraid, nor as smooth, but I did my best. Hopefully it'll give you few laughs!
Adventures of Ahnold: The terminator days
Ahnold, the heroic terminator, the hope of humanity, and the foremost champion of law and order, made haste. For he was chasing dastardly eldar pirates. The eldrichly lighted plateau echoed to his mighty footfalls as he run on.
Well, I say run. It was more of a lumber, really. It is not very easy to run in a terminator armour, you see. They are not built for moving, but rather for staying. Which is why terminators, afore a battle, are always trying to hitch a ride, to the dismay of other marines, whom rather not have an armoured half-dread that weights to anything up to a ton, sitting upon the backs of their bikes, making the rear wheels go all oval-like.
Funny that there's never a marine biker around when you'd need a lift, thought Ahnold as he lumbered forwards along the ridge, raising grey dust as he sped on. Well, I say sped. Still, moving on! For ahead of Ahnold, there suddenly loomed a fell fastness of the fey eldar raiders. And what fastness it was. It was a dark place, I tell you, full of fell towers and spires, the cusps of which combed the high clouds in eerie manner. It was a sight that would have dismayed a lesser mortal, but Ahnold, the heroic space marine terminator, only laboured to increase his speed.
Well, I say speed. Frankly, an infant could have walked faster. And indeed, when Ahnold happened to glance sideways, he espied a young hapless toddler making a headway as it toddled parallel to him. The infant was a cute little boy, with auburn, curly hair and ruddy mien. All the women amongst the onlookers went instantly quite silly, as is women's wont when in the presence of a babe. Some of them even made a sort of cooing noises, which, frankly, this story could have done without. Ahnold swore and willed his mighty leg muscles to a greater effort. He wasn't going to lose a footrace to a toddler! Not today, pal!
'Become a terminator!' cussed Ahnold as he laboured up the plateau. 'Be all you can be!' Oh yes, fine it had sounded to him when he had been endorsed with the chance of becoming one of the mightiest, a legend undying, a warrior unyelding, a terminator hero. Less fine it seemed now.
For in this new armour, Ahnold could verily neither move nor fight in the flashy, heroic manner as was his wont of old. Neither could he show off his enormous musculature, trained to perfection without the use of steroids whatsoever, as the terminator armour veiled his whole manly body.
And let us not forget the ladies. For afore, when Ahnold had been a regular marine, albeit a heroic one, he had gotten all the feminine attention and affection he had wanted. And then some. But now, alas! Now, if he made as to talk to a lady, the lady in question, more often than not, would run away laughing. And how was he to make chase? In a terminator armour? Yeah, right!
And talking of ladies, Ahnold had noticed, that even though he still had a handsome face, women in general shunned him. For to them he looked now a moster, and a humpbacked one to boot. What with his face peering out from the region of his stomach in this mighty terminator armour. It was most depressing.
Yet, there had been a reasons enough for Ahnold to choose the way of the terminator. Chief of which was his splendid physique. For his muscles had, towards the end, become so huge, that only thing in his old armour that had still fitted him had been his codpiece. And that just barely! And it was not seemly, even for a space marine, to be seen upon battlefields with naught but a codpiece on. Or so his superiors had claimed anyway.
Not that the civilians of thousands diverse battlefields had been complaining of Ahnolds rather a limited attire. Quite the contrary. Many women, and even some men, had been very keen to follow the scantily armoured marine around, as he went about his business of heroic rescues and impressive kills, taking holographs of him in risque poses and so forth. It had been quite pleasant, if a bit breezy, to Ahnold, whom liked the attentions of the fairer sex, but finally his superiors had decided to put an end to it. Out of jealousy, if Ahnold's mother was to be believed, they had done it. Which brings us neatly back to the present day.
With the cheers of the sporting onlookers giving him speed, Ahnold had finally reached, if not breached, the fastness of the fell pirates, the Bad-a-boom. As he had made his approach, he had had the chance to finally be glad of his apparell. For the crenels of the fortress had been filled with craven aliens, and showers of high velocity chrystal projectiles had throughoutly showered Ahnolds mighty terminator armour. All in vain, for it is not said for naught that the terminator armour is hard as nails. It really is. Only harder. And thus the alien ammunition did not so much as make a scratch to Ahnolds mighty cuirass. Verily did Ahnold grin with mirth at the dismay of the cowardly xenos.
So came Ahnold to the mighty gates of the fell fastness of the eldar. And what gates they were. A beam upon a beam, a lock upon a lock they were. But as that sounds plain silly, lets just agree that they were one mother of a doorset. Verily would a lesser warrior been dismayed at the sight, for nigh impregnable aegis seemed this portal. Seriously.
But Ahnold was not come unprepared upon the fastness. Oh, no. Setting his mighty legs fast upon the leeway, Ahnold the terminator swung his mighty power fist. BOOM went the doors, and dust rippled down from aloft. Again Ahnold swung. BOOM went the mighty gates and yet more dust rippled down from above.
This went on for quite a while, and understandably some of the onlookers started to bore. Few even drifted away to coo at the toddler whom was by now playing with a skull he had dug out of the desert plateau. But let us return to our hero. After all, you'll not very interested in babes, I'd wager!
So. A lot of banging and booming had gone on, yet the portal seemed unharmed. And again, a lesser warrior would have dismayed. Not so Ahnold. For even adamant as the xenos doors were, more enduring was Ahnold. As the northern wind upon a mighty oak he was; for the wind will not cease ere the oak falls, if I may wax poetic.
But of a sudden, there came a voice, a clamour from within the fortress. Ahnold froze, listening, and halted from his travail. Slowly, then, the gates swung open afore Ahnold, whom readied his portable autocannon for a veritable assault. But no assault came. For only a wizened old eldar appeared.
'All right!' crieth the elderly eldar with a strongly accented gothic as he made to push the port fully open. 'All right! Enough of the infernal racket already! We are open, all right, OPEN!' And with that, the strange ancient limped away, muttering half to himself, 'I do not know, banging upon the door night and day, as if there were not a serviceable doorbell over yonder. Not that you had needed it. It's not that the port is ever locked these days. Natter natter natter...'
At this point, there camea loud, polite appalause from the onlookers, along with cheerful laughs. Ahnold's brow wrinkled, and he looked sharply upon the wizened alien. And lo! It was no alien at all, but an old character actor from the times of black and white holopics. Bertil Spry, Ahnold though he was of name, best known from his role as Goop the Wonder Servitor. Old Bertil had made a cameo to the delight of the audiences gathered! How dandy! The onlookers seemed very pleased a this and pressed in for autographs. Ahnold felt a pang of jealousy: In former times, it would have been he giving out the signatures. Alas, times change, and thus there was naught for Ahnold, the heroic terminator hero, than to leave the fan stuff to old Bertil and to make his way into the dark corridors of the fell fastness, the Bad-a-boom.
Which he did.
Ahnold, the heroic terminator, marched mightily throught the narrow, cavernlike passages of the fell fortress. Pistons hissing, servoes purring and footfalls echoing he made headway, the strobe-like lights upon his armour piercing the near dark corridors in a very exciting manner. It all looked very cool and cyberpunk, and many of the onlookers were mightily impressed of it all. Up to the point when Ahnold realized he had walked into a dead end.
Now, to a regular marine a dead end would have posed no broblem. A regular marine would have simply spun around. But Ahnold was enclosed in a terminartor armour. In which spinning is not adviced activity. Trust me on this. And as for turning? Well, few know this, but the turning radius of terminator armour is a whopping ten metres. I kid you not! Meaning you need a lot of room if you're wanting to change direction. This fact is usually lost to wargamers, ie people whom like to play with miniature soldiers. They just tend to spin their terminator models in place, which is like totally unrealistic. But that is neither here nor there.
'Well, of all the thrice cursed felonies that could have happened,' cussed Ahnold as he stood against the wall, his nose almost touching the eldrich surface material. It smelled of frash paint. 'A dead end.'
'Now, as I see it, I have two options,' pondered our hero; 'One, to walk backwards till I come to a larger space. Not a very good one, as I could not see where I'm going and thus I would just fall over at the first obstacle. The second option is to try and spin upon my foot and hope to come to a better heading. Well, no use pondering over it. Here goes nothing!'
Ahnold put his weight upon his right foot and spun, using his power fist for leverage. The tunnel floor was slippery, which helped his momentum. Too much, as it happened. for Ahnold spun around full 360 degrees, slammed into the wall, face first, and keeled slowly, but noisily, over. And there he lay, upon the floor, like a flipped turtle, his arms and legs swaying in the air in a most humorous manner. Mind you, Ahnold did not find the situation at all funny. He was a bit miffed of it all, to tell the truth.
Of a sudden, there came a clamour from up the corridor. The craven aliens had seen all, and were now converging upon the hapless terminator. Up they came, their twisted faces leering. They made as if to plummet Ahnold with their weapons, but halted, commanded by a commanding voice. There was a hasty conversation it an alien language. Then the xenos scumm returned, took hold of Ahnold, and lifted him up. There came a bang to his heroic forehead, and he knew no more.
Later, Ahnold could recall little of the following journey. Only a fleeting images of narrow, twisted tunnels, and evil, leering faces arching over him. It seemed to go on forever, and time lost all it's meaning. Therefore, he could not tell how long it took for them to finally reach a huge, well lit cavern, filled with a reedy crowd. But he thought it took something like six minutes and fifteen, give or take a few seconds.
When Ahnold came to, he soon realised, to his dismay, that he could not move. For the dastardly aliens had binded him unto a chilly, metallic torture bench, and had leeched out all the power from his terminator armour to boot. Ahnold was verily made a prisoner of his own armour!
Looking around, Ahnold could see he was in a large, cavern-like room. Upon the center floor, there were many of the xenos breed, from lowly warriors to the elite incubi. Around this floor, there rose tiers and tiers of lecterns, filled with spectators, both human and alien. Ahnold could even discern Bertil Spry among them. The old character actor was munching a peppermint, with a whole bag to go. Seeing Ahnolds look, Bertil lifted the bag in a questioning manner. Ahnold just shook his head. This was no time for peppermints!
Of a sudden, a grotesque alien female appeared! The awful harridan had a visage like a, well, arse, to tell the truth, and upon her twisted, skinny hands, there were a multitude of needles and other stuff of torture. Ahnold regognized the breed; this was surely a haemonculus, a mistress of torture. And she verily meant business. Ahnold wrung his muscled arms inside his armour, but to no avail. He could not move! Helplessly he watched as a nasty looking needle descended towars his eyes. And there was no way to escape!
'There is always a way, Ahnold.'
The sound came as if from nowhere. Ahnold lifted his head, perplexed. 'Who are you,' he whispered.
'Don't be silly Ahnold,' the voice answered. 'It's me, your mom!'
'Oh!' cried Ahnold. 'You're in my commbead!'
'Well doh!' his mother scolded, 'Where else? You haven't hurt your head again, now have you?'
'Fraid I did. And more besides. I'm in a bit of a fix here, mum, so if you could just repeat your advice, it would be most appreciated.'
'Very well, dear,' answered Ahnold's mother, and adopting a a mysterious voice, said; 'There is always a way. That's it. I'm out.'
'A way,' pondered Ahnold. 'Now what does that remind me of?' And lo! Ahnolds mind was suddenly filled with vivacious memories of his childhood upon the desert planet Arsekiss. And the training he had received there from his mother and his other mentors. The training of how to best build up body mass, how to pose, and how to wave.
An important skill, waving. I kid you not! For many a would-be hero has been branded gay by the press because of a too girlish waving. And that kind of publicity does a hero-in-making no good. I'm serious! You just try it! Go ahead! Find yourself a mirror and try make a wave that does NOT look gay. It's not easy. Takes a lot of training. Took our Ahnold two years! But anyways...
And the Other training, reminisced Ahnold. The Bene-Whazzit training... the Bene-Whazzit Way. Ahhhh...
Nodding sagely, Ahnold concentrated his mental prowess and said unto the nearing haemonculus; 'Do Not Take Off My Armour!'
And then the people gathered on the lecterns were amazed; for when they heard Ahnolds words they felt a sudden, urgent impulse to hasten down and NOT rip off the terminator's armour. And then they wondered, for they regognized in Ahnolds words the secret Bene-Whazzit training. And then they did speak unto each other, saying such things like 'Is this the Quikazz-Hardinuff?' and 'Is this the Dude-Messiah?' and 'Is this the one whose coming has been foretold in the prophesies?'
But the haemonculus just laughed contemptously and spoke thusly; 'Youre good, monkey bones. Very good. You might even be the Quikazz-Hardinuff, the Dude-Messiah of the ancient prophesies! However, be that as it may, I do not think you're in a position to fill any prophesies right now! Tee-hee! But why so anxious of your armour, monkey warrior? Hmmm... Maybe I should take it off, would you like that, eh, my hero?'
'NO!'
The word was like a whip, smiting upon the aliens. Many fell down, unconsious, blood pouring out from their ears and noses. Even the haemonculus flinched, nearly fainting. Truly Ahnold was powerfull in the ways of the Bene-Whazzit!
'Snarl!' snarled the haemonculus, enraged, and shook her ugly head. 'You'll not tell me what I can or cannot do in my torture chamber!' And with that, the fell female went into a frenzy of activity, and started stripping off Ahnolds teminator armour, piece by piece.
Seeing this, the audiences went wild! Speedlights flashed as those with cameras started to record the moment for their family albums! Some elderly ladies even went as far as to throw their underwear towards Ahnold, excited as they were by the emergence of his manly muscles! Thankfully, none of these soft projectiles reached Ahnold, what with the athropied musculature of the elderly foiling their throws!
In the crowd, there were also a man whom had had the foresight to take along a holomovie recording camera. Pushing and fighting his way to the front row, he started to feverishly shoot the stripping act. Fortunately for him, the lighting was passable, and thus the resulting holomovie came out really well. The next day, the man in question made hundreds of copies of the said movie, and started to sell it around. And as the fame of the movie spread, so did the sales figures. Years later, the would be holomovie director had sold more than million copies of his stripfilm, and had made more than ten million creds with it. Which was pretty fab, let me tell you! He was a very happy man indeed! Right up to the moment when Ahnold's mother finally caught up with him and gave him a right seeing to. But moving on.
And as if that was not shameful enough, there was also a gang of ratlings on the rafters, freebooting the show. Seeing that Ahnold was about to be stripped down to his unmentionables, the dastardly, stunted soldiers struck up an improptu band, and started to hum, hoot and drum a fanciful carnival tone to accomppany the proceedings. It was most annoying. I mean, such jokes went out of fashion even before Ahnolds mother! And that's saying something!
Finally, though, the humiliation ended. Ahnold lay upon the table, quite naked, except for his gargantuan codpiece (well, this IS family entertainment!). He was bound, hand and leg. But there was something wrong with the picture. For Ahnold was grinning!
'Free!' cried Ahnold. 'I'm finally free! Free of that stinking, suffocating, cumbersome armour!' And with that, Ahnold ripped his bonds with a contemptous heave of his astonishingly huge muscles. The xenos scumm could but look, dismayed. Soon their dismay turned into hatred, however, especially since the first thing Ahnold did after unbinding was to headbutt the nasty looking haemonculus. It looked quite nasty, so the eldar pirates charged!
Laughing out loud, Ahnold launched into action! he kicked, ducked and punched, crushed cartilages, smashed solar plexuses and caved skulls! Now and then he made a sudden halt, striking a striking pose as he did so! Speedlights flashed hither and thither! This was so going make the headlights in the morning papers!
Maybe even the late edition the very evening!
'This is more like it!' grinned Ahnold as he ripped a hand off a passing eldar syrabite. 'It's like the old days! Girls going nuts and the yellow press verily drooling for a good shot for the morning front page! Maybe they'll even put out a late edition this very evening, just cause of me, if I give them good enough show!'
And with that Ahnold went into a posing frenzy. Recalling every last posture of his childhood mentors, he twisted a hip, pulled a curl, took the aspect of a discus thower and so forth. And if the audiences had been wild before, now they went completely nuts! For Ahnold had not been idle during his terminator days. Oh no. It had been seven hours a day at the gym, if it had been a minute! Pumping iron like a nutjob! Feeling the burn! Yeah. And in consequence, Ahnold was now a veritable giant! Chest like an oil barrel! Calves like meltabombs! Thighs like a bunch of bananas in a pinky sack! Biceps like another pair of meltabombs, only bigger! Breasts like silicon jobs! No, scratch that last! Wheee!!!!
And the yellow press was verily gobbing it up! Some of the shady reporters even swore to start training the next day themselves, at the company gym. Seriosly! Change of life! Now is the time! And I mean it! Only, next day, every last of them had carefully forgotten all such promises and were ready, once again, to go chase the latest silicon sensation, wiz: Ahnold.
Finally, the cavern had been emptied of enemies. Bloody but alive, Ahnold took stock. Deciding to arm himself, he picked a pair of splinter rifles from the floor and kicked the wooden exit door to pieces. The splinter of the said door flew through air, in slow motion, and then suddenly picked up velocity and SPLAM! went through the torsoes of the hapless eldars that had been standing behind the portal in ambush. Suckers!
Ahnold kept on, and went through the doorframe flying. Hitting a corner in the twisting labyrinth of corridors, he twisted in the air, and let fly a lethal shower of high velocity chrystal death. Yet another bunch of alien scumm went down, scytched throughoutly by the high velocity ammunition. Ahnold rolled and came up. Dropping the rifles, he reached for his codpiece and pulled from within a pair of bolt pistols.
Yes, that's why the codpiece was so huge. It was a clever stash! Made by Whisperer, Ahnolds best friend and a sort of daddy figure. Whisperer was an old, bearded veteran bound into a wheelchair. A genius too. Could build a gun out of a standard guardsman rifle! No, he really could! But moving on!
Ahnold entered a hall, filled with pillars and other soft cover. Xenos were abound therein, flitting from pillar to pillar in craven fashion. Ahnold just marched on, toting his guns in double fashion. Every shot he made, counted. Soon the alien scumm fled, dismayed.
At this point it came to Ahnold that he had been encased in the termnator armour for quite a while. He felt a sudden, urgent need. Looking aroung, he saw a door marked with a very rude symbol. Surely therein was relief found?
Without further ado, Ahnold marched into the lavatory. Alas! it was no lavatory for men. For it was filled with female eldars, the breed called wyches. Scantily clad they were, but none the less lethal for it. Lots of makeup too. And silicons. Ahnold goggled, thankful of his codpiece. And of the fact he had taken out his bolt pistols!
But Ahnold was not the only goggler. For the female xenos goggled too! Verily had they never seen a male such as this. For their mates had always been craven and skinny alien whelps. But this was something else! Licking their full, sensuous lips the alien ladies sashayed nearer, and started, ahem, to pat and pet Ahnolds masculine form.
Ahnold was stymied. Verily, he did not want to make out with these witches. His mother would be livid if he did! But how to escape? For the women were all around, hanging unto him with all their xenos strenght. And he could not verily hit them, now could he? I mean he was a gentleman, and gentlemen do not hit ladies. Well, pretty ladies at any rate!
So, was there a way out for Ahnold? A Way, you say? Ahhh!
And Ahnold said unto them: 'Please, ladies, there is no need to Fight Over Me.'
The wyches halted their gropings, filled with a sudden knowledge that they MUST fight over Ahnold. And as the alien ladies fell into a screeching heap, the onlookers wondered, amazed. For they regognized the secret Bene-Whazzit training in the voiced words of Ahnold. And then they did speak unto each other, saying such things like; 'Is this the Quikazz-Hardinuff?' and 'Is this the Dude-Messiah?' and 'Didn't you just hark about that, like minute ago, you old geezers?' And the old geezers were filled with wonder, for lo! they had indeed!
So, is Ahnold the the Quikazz-Hardinuff, the Dude-Messiah, and the one mentioned in the prophesies? Well, let me see... No. I do not believe he is. For there is but one Dude-Messiah, and that is...
Oh no! I missed the cat fight! NOOOO! All the wyches are now just laying there, unconsious, poisoned, or dead! Darn! And I was so looking forward to the writing of the said fight! I mean, bouncing breasts, silken thighs and stuff! Man! Well, that's what happens when you start about religious issues. But moving on!
But whence did our hero go? Oi! You there! Yes, you with the beard! Stop oggling the comatose ladies and tell me where Ahnold went?
'My emperor?' stammered the bearded man in question, falling to his knees. He was not accustomed to hearing voices inside his head. Unlike some of the onlookers, I might add.
Yes, yes, your emperor here, if yo like. Now, where is Ahnold? For I much desire to write about him.
'Oh!' cried the hapless man, eager to please his emperor. 'I believe he went out of doors, my emperor. He said something about a good press coverage.'
Thanks. Go forth in peace and all that. Now, let us see if we can locate our man. Oh, there he is! Upon that dune yonder, posing for the press for all that it's worth, and signing autographs for exitable young ladies with quite deep cleavages.
'This is more like it,' grinned Ahnold, winking to a particualry cute female. 'It's like I'm back in the old days! Or did I just say that?'
And so it was. Like the old days, I mean. Feeling all euforic, Ahnold was kept busy all afternoon with the fan stuff. Finally, though, dusk came, and the crowd felt it better to scarper. This was, after all, alien territory and a contested hot zone to boot. Ahnold was left alone, but for a lone marine biker whom had been admiring Ahnold, in a purely heterosexual manner, all arvo.
'Need a lift, sir?' The biker asked, as he spun his bike to Ahnold in a very flashy style.
'Heck yeah!' enthused Ahnold. He had been dreading the question of returning home. Getting back his armour and carrying it all the way to base, and with bare feet too. But now, miraculously, a lift had appeared.
'Then hop on and well be off before the sun sets and the locale is filled with xenos!' the biker boy said, grinning, and looking cool in his mirrored shades.
'Just a mo,' said Ahnold. 'I have to go and pick up my terminator armour form that fortress yonder.'
'You're a terminator?!?' stammered the biker, a look of dismay appearing upon his face. He glanced at his rear wheel, which was, as yet, quite circular of shape.
'Yep,' answered Ahnold. 'So if you would just wait here. I'll be back!'
'Sure,' mumbled the biker, in a sulky manner. However, all of a sudden, the biker seemed to get an urgent call to his comm bead. 'Whats that!' he cried. 'The base has been hit with a ork rok? Darn! I'll be right up!'
And without sparing a look to Ahnold, the biker let his engine roar, his wheels spin, and was out of sight before Ahnold could say nought. Covered in dust of the hasty take-off, the marine hero was left standing upon the deserted desert plateau, quite deserted. The sun set, and darkness came. From the wilderness, the cries of fell hunters echoed. And over yonder, the mighty gates of the alien fortress closed with a deep BOOM.
Now is that a cliffhanger or what!
But for now, it is... The End
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By the way, did you notice how the story began and ended with a variation of the same joke? That's quality, that is! Wheeee!!!! But there goes me shoes again! Bye for now!
Adventures of Ahnold: The terminator days
Ahnold, the heroic terminator, the hope of humanity, and the foremost champion of law and order, made haste. For he was chasing dastardly eldar pirates. The eldrichly lighted plateau echoed to his mighty footfalls as he run on.
Well, I say run. It was more of a lumber, really. It is not very easy to run in a terminator armour, you see. They are not built for moving, but rather for staying. Which is why terminators, afore a battle, are always trying to hitch a ride, to the dismay of other marines, whom rather not have an armoured half-dread that weights to anything up to a ton, sitting upon the backs of their bikes, making the rear wheels go all oval-like.
Funny that there's never a marine biker around when you'd need a lift, thought Ahnold as he lumbered forwards along the ridge, raising grey dust as he sped on. Well, I say sped. Still, moving on! For ahead of Ahnold, there suddenly loomed a fell fastness of the fey eldar raiders. And what fastness it was. It was a dark place, I tell you, full of fell towers and spires, the cusps of which combed the high clouds in eerie manner. It was a sight that would have dismayed a lesser mortal, but Ahnold, the heroic space marine terminator, only laboured to increase his speed.
Well, I say speed. Frankly, an infant could have walked faster. And indeed, when Ahnold happened to glance sideways, he espied a young hapless toddler making a headway as it toddled parallel to him. The infant was a cute little boy, with auburn, curly hair and ruddy mien. All the women amongst the onlookers went instantly quite silly, as is women's wont when in the presence of a babe. Some of them even made a sort of cooing noises, which, frankly, this story could have done without. Ahnold swore and willed his mighty leg muscles to a greater effort. He wasn't going to lose a footrace to a toddler! Not today, pal!
'Become a terminator!' cussed Ahnold as he laboured up the plateau. 'Be all you can be!' Oh yes, fine it had sounded to him when he had been endorsed with the chance of becoming one of the mightiest, a legend undying, a warrior unyelding, a terminator hero. Less fine it seemed now.
For in this new armour, Ahnold could verily neither move nor fight in the flashy, heroic manner as was his wont of old. Neither could he show off his enormous musculature, trained to perfection without the use of steroids whatsoever, as the terminator armour veiled his whole manly body.
And let us not forget the ladies. For afore, when Ahnold had been a regular marine, albeit a heroic one, he had gotten all the feminine attention and affection he had wanted. And then some. But now, alas! Now, if he made as to talk to a lady, the lady in question, more often than not, would run away laughing. And how was he to make chase? In a terminator armour? Yeah, right!
And talking of ladies, Ahnold had noticed, that even though he still had a handsome face, women in general shunned him. For to them he looked now a moster, and a humpbacked one to boot. What with his face peering out from the region of his stomach in this mighty terminator armour. It was most depressing.
Yet, there had been a reasons enough for Ahnold to choose the way of the terminator. Chief of which was his splendid physique. For his muscles had, towards the end, become so huge, that only thing in his old armour that had still fitted him had been his codpiece. And that just barely! And it was not seemly, even for a space marine, to be seen upon battlefields with naught but a codpiece on. Or so his superiors had claimed anyway.
Not that the civilians of thousands diverse battlefields had been complaining of Ahnolds rather a limited attire. Quite the contrary. Many women, and even some men, had been very keen to follow the scantily armoured marine around, as he went about his business of heroic rescues and impressive kills, taking holographs of him in risque poses and so forth. It had been quite pleasant, if a bit breezy, to Ahnold, whom liked the attentions of the fairer sex, but finally his superiors had decided to put an end to it. Out of jealousy, if Ahnold's mother was to be believed, they had done it. Which brings us neatly back to the present day.
With the cheers of the sporting onlookers giving him speed, Ahnold had finally reached, if not breached, the fastness of the fell pirates, the Bad-a-boom. As he had made his approach, he had had the chance to finally be glad of his apparell. For the crenels of the fortress had been filled with craven aliens, and showers of high velocity chrystal projectiles had throughoutly showered Ahnolds mighty terminator armour. All in vain, for it is not said for naught that the terminator armour is hard as nails. It really is. Only harder. And thus the alien ammunition did not so much as make a scratch to Ahnolds mighty cuirass. Verily did Ahnold grin with mirth at the dismay of the cowardly xenos.
So came Ahnold to the mighty gates of the fell fastness of the eldar. And what gates they were. A beam upon a beam, a lock upon a lock they were. But as that sounds plain silly, lets just agree that they were one mother of a doorset. Verily would a lesser warrior been dismayed at the sight, for nigh impregnable aegis seemed this portal. Seriously.
But Ahnold was not come unprepared upon the fastness. Oh, no. Setting his mighty legs fast upon the leeway, Ahnold the terminator swung his mighty power fist. BOOM went the doors, and dust rippled down from aloft. Again Ahnold swung. BOOM went the mighty gates and yet more dust rippled down from above.
This went on for quite a while, and understandably some of the onlookers started to bore. Few even drifted away to coo at the toddler whom was by now playing with a skull he had dug out of the desert plateau. But let us return to our hero. After all, you'll not very interested in babes, I'd wager!
So. A lot of banging and booming had gone on, yet the portal seemed unharmed. And again, a lesser warrior would have dismayed. Not so Ahnold. For even adamant as the xenos doors were, more enduring was Ahnold. As the northern wind upon a mighty oak he was; for the wind will not cease ere the oak falls, if I may wax poetic.
But of a sudden, there came a voice, a clamour from within the fortress. Ahnold froze, listening, and halted from his travail. Slowly, then, the gates swung open afore Ahnold, whom readied his portable autocannon for a veritable assault. But no assault came. For only a wizened old eldar appeared.
'All right!' crieth the elderly eldar with a strongly accented gothic as he made to push the port fully open. 'All right! Enough of the infernal racket already! We are open, all right, OPEN!' And with that, the strange ancient limped away, muttering half to himself, 'I do not know, banging upon the door night and day, as if there were not a serviceable doorbell over yonder. Not that you had needed it. It's not that the port is ever locked these days. Natter natter natter...'
At this point, there camea loud, polite appalause from the onlookers, along with cheerful laughs. Ahnold's brow wrinkled, and he looked sharply upon the wizened alien. And lo! It was no alien at all, but an old character actor from the times of black and white holopics. Bertil Spry, Ahnold though he was of name, best known from his role as Goop the Wonder Servitor. Old Bertil had made a cameo to the delight of the audiences gathered! How dandy! The onlookers seemed very pleased a this and pressed in for autographs. Ahnold felt a pang of jealousy: In former times, it would have been he giving out the signatures. Alas, times change, and thus there was naught for Ahnold, the heroic terminator hero, than to leave the fan stuff to old Bertil and to make his way into the dark corridors of the fell fastness, the Bad-a-boom.
Which he did.
Ahnold, the heroic terminator, marched mightily throught the narrow, cavernlike passages of the fell fortress. Pistons hissing, servoes purring and footfalls echoing he made headway, the strobe-like lights upon his armour piercing the near dark corridors in a very exciting manner. It all looked very cool and cyberpunk, and many of the onlookers were mightily impressed of it all. Up to the point when Ahnold realized he had walked into a dead end.
Now, to a regular marine a dead end would have posed no broblem. A regular marine would have simply spun around. But Ahnold was enclosed in a terminartor armour. In which spinning is not adviced activity. Trust me on this. And as for turning? Well, few know this, but the turning radius of terminator armour is a whopping ten metres. I kid you not! Meaning you need a lot of room if you're wanting to change direction. This fact is usually lost to wargamers, ie people whom like to play with miniature soldiers. They just tend to spin their terminator models in place, which is like totally unrealistic. But that is neither here nor there.
'Well, of all the thrice cursed felonies that could have happened,' cussed Ahnold as he stood against the wall, his nose almost touching the eldrich surface material. It smelled of frash paint. 'A dead end.'
'Now, as I see it, I have two options,' pondered our hero; 'One, to walk backwards till I come to a larger space. Not a very good one, as I could not see where I'm going and thus I would just fall over at the first obstacle. The second option is to try and spin upon my foot and hope to come to a better heading. Well, no use pondering over it. Here goes nothing!'
Ahnold put his weight upon his right foot and spun, using his power fist for leverage. The tunnel floor was slippery, which helped his momentum. Too much, as it happened. for Ahnold spun around full 360 degrees, slammed into the wall, face first, and keeled slowly, but noisily, over. And there he lay, upon the floor, like a flipped turtle, his arms and legs swaying in the air in a most humorous manner. Mind you, Ahnold did not find the situation at all funny. He was a bit miffed of it all, to tell the truth.
Of a sudden, there came a clamour from up the corridor. The craven aliens had seen all, and were now converging upon the hapless terminator. Up they came, their twisted faces leering. They made as if to plummet Ahnold with their weapons, but halted, commanded by a commanding voice. There was a hasty conversation it an alien language. Then the xenos scumm returned, took hold of Ahnold, and lifted him up. There came a bang to his heroic forehead, and he knew no more.
Later, Ahnold could recall little of the following journey. Only a fleeting images of narrow, twisted tunnels, and evil, leering faces arching over him. It seemed to go on forever, and time lost all it's meaning. Therefore, he could not tell how long it took for them to finally reach a huge, well lit cavern, filled with a reedy crowd. But he thought it took something like six minutes and fifteen, give or take a few seconds.
When Ahnold came to, he soon realised, to his dismay, that he could not move. For the dastardly aliens had binded him unto a chilly, metallic torture bench, and had leeched out all the power from his terminator armour to boot. Ahnold was verily made a prisoner of his own armour!
Looking around, Ahnold could see he was in a large, cavern-like room. Upon the center floor, there were many of the xenos breed, from lowly warriors to the elite incubi. Around this floor, there rose tiers and tiers of lecterns, filled with spectators, both human and alien. Ahnold could even discern Bertil Spry among them. The old character actor was munching a peppermint, with a whole bag to go. Seeing Ahnolds look, Bertil lifted the bag in a questioning manner. Ahnold just shook his head. This was no time for peppermints!
Of a sudden, a grotesque alien female appeared! The awful harridan had a visage like a, well, arse, to tell the truth, and upon her twisted, skinny hands, there were a multitude of needles and other stuff of torture. Ahnold regognized the breed; this was surely a haemonculus, a mistress of torture. And she verily meant business. Ahnold wrung his muscled arms inside his armour, but to no avail. He could not move! Helplessly he watched as a nasty looking needle descended towars his eyes. And there was no way to escape!
'There is always a way, Ahnold.'
The sound came as if from nowhere. Ahnold lifted his head, perplexed. 'Who are you,' he whispered.
'Don't be silly Ahnold,' the voice answered. 'It's me, your mom!'
'Oh!' cried Ahnold. 'You're in my commbead!'
'Well doh!' his mother scolded, 'Where else? You haven't hurt your head again, now have you?'
'Fraid I did. And more besides. I'm in a bit of a fix here, mum, so if you could just repeat your advice, it would be most appreciated.'
'Very well, dear,' answered Ahnold's mother, and adopting a a mysterious voice, said; 'There is always a way. That's it. I'm out.'
'A way,' pondered Ahnold. 'Now what does that remind me of?' And lo! Ahnolds mind was suddenly filled with vivacious memories of his childhood upon the desert planet Arsekiss. And the training he had received there from his mother and his other mentors. The training of how to best build up body mass, how to pose, and how to wave.
An important skill, waving. I kid you not! For many a would-be hero has been branded gay by the press because of a too girlish waving. And that kind of publicity does a hero-in-making no good. I'm serious! You just try it! Go ahead! Find yourself a mirror and try make a wave that does NOT look gay. It's not easy. Takes a lot of training. Took our Ahnold two years! But anyways...
And the Other training, reminisced Ahnold. The Bene-Whazzit training... the Bene-Whazzit Way. Ahhhh...
Nodding sagely, Ahnold concentrated his mental prowess and said unto the nearing haemonculus; 'Do Not Take Off My Armour!'
And then the people gathered on the lecterns were amazed; for when they heard Ahnolds words they felt a sudden, urgent impulse to hasten down and NOT rip off the terminator's armour. And then they wondered, for they regognized in Ahnolds words the secret Bene-Whazzit training. And then they did speak unto each other, saying such things like 'Is this the Quikazz-Hardinuff?' and 'Is this the Dude-Messiah?' and 'Is this the one whose coming has been foretold in the prophesies?'
But the haemonculus just laughed contemptously and spoke thusly; 'Youre good, monkey bones. Very good. You might even be the Quikazz-Hardinuff, the Dude-Messiah of the ancient prophesies! However, be that as it may, I do not think you're in a position to fill any prophesies right now! Tee-hee! But why so anxious of your armour, monkey warrior? Hmmm... Maybe I should take it off, would you like that, eh, my hero?'
'NO!'
The word was like a whip, smiting upon the aliens. Many fell down, unconsious, blood pouring out from their ears and noses. Even the haemonculus flinched, nearly fainting. Truly Ahnold was powerfull in the ways of the Bene-Whazzit!
'Snarl!' snarled the haemonculus, enraged, and shook her ugly head. 'You'll not tell me what I can or cannot do in my torture chamber!' And with that, the fell female went into a frenzy of activity, and started stripping off Ahnolds teminator armour, piece by piece.
Seeing this, the audiences went wild! Speedlights flashed as those with cameras started to record the moment for their family albums! Some elderly ladies even went as far as to throw their underwear towards Ahnold, excited as they were by the emergence of his manly muscles! Thankfully, none of these soft projectiles reached Ahnold, what with the athropied musculature of the elderly foiling their throws!
In the crowd, there were also a man whom had had the foresight to take along a holomovie recording camera. Pushing and fighting his way to the front row, he started to feverishly shoot the stripping act. Fortunately for him, the lighting was passable, and thus the resulting holomovie came out really well. The next day, the man in question made hundreds of copies of the said movie, and started to sell it around. And as the fame of the movie spread, so did the sales figures. Years later, the would be holomovie director had sold more than million copies of his stripfilm, and had made more than ten million creds with it. Which was pretty fab, let me tell you! He was a very happy man indeed! Right up to the moment when Ahnold's mother finally caught up with him and gave him a right seeing to. But moving on.
And as if that was not shameful enough, there was also a gang of ratlings on the rafters, freebooting the show. Seeing that Ahnold was about to be stripped down to his unmentionables, the dastardly, stunted soldiers struck up an improptu band, and started to hum, hoot and drum a fanciful carnival tone to accomppany the proceedings. It was most annoying. I mean, such jokes went out of fashion even before Ahnolds mother! And that's saying something!
Finally, though, the humiliation ended. Ahnold lay upon the table, quite naked, except for his gargantuan codpiece (well, this IS family entertainment!). He was bound, hand and leg. But there was something wrong with the picture. For Ahnold was grinning!
'Free!' cried Ahnold. 'I'm finally free! Free of that stinking, suffocating, cumbersome armour!' And with that, Ahnold ripped his bonds with a contemptous heave of his astonishingly huge muscles. The xenos scumm could but look, dismayed. Soon their dismay turned into hatred, however, especially since the first thing Ahnold did after unbinding was to headbutt the nasty looking haemonculus. It looked quite nasty, so the eldar pirates charged!
Laughing out loud, Ahnold launched into action! he kicked, ducked and punched, crushed cartilages, smashed solar plexuses and caved skulls! Now and then he made a sudden halt, striking a striking pose as he did so! Speedlights flashed hither and thither! This was so going make the headlights in the morning papers!
Maybe even the late edition the very evening!
'This is more like it!' grinned Ahnold as he ripped a hand off a passing eldar syrabite. 'It's like the old days! Girls going nuts and the yellow press verily drooling for a good shot for the morning front page! Maybe they'll even put out a late edition this very evening, just cause of me, if I give them good enough show!'
And with that Ahnold went into a posing frenzy. Recalling every last posture of his childhood mentors, he twisted a hip, pulled a curl, took the aspect of a discus thower and so forth. And if the audiences had been wild before, now they went completely nuts! For Ahnold had not been idle during his terminator days. Oh no. It had been seven hours a day at the gym, if it had been a minute! Pumping iron like a nutjob! Feeling the burn! Yeah. And in consequence, Ahnold was now a veritable giant! Chest like an oil barrel! Calves like meltabombs! Thighs like a bunch of bananas in a pinky sack! Biceps like another pair of meltabombs, only bigger! Breasts like silicon jobs! No, scratch that last! Wheee!!!!
And the yellow press was verily gobbing it up! Some of the shady reporters even swore to start training the next day themselves, at the company gym. Seriosly! Change of life! Now is the time! And I mean it! Only, next day, every last of them had carefully forgotten all such promises and were ready, once again, to go chase the latest silicon sensation, wiz: Ahnold.
Finally, the cavern had been emptied of enemies. Bloody but alive, Ahnold took stock. Deciding to arm himself, he picked a pair of splinter rifles from the floor and kicked the wooden exit door to pieces. The splinter of the said door flew through air, in slow motion, and then suddenly picked up velocity and SPLAM! went through the torsoes of the hapless eldars that had been standing behind the portal in ambush. Suckers!
Ahnold kept on, and went through the doorframe flying. Hitting a corner in the twisting labyrinth of corridors, he twisted in the air, and let fly a lethal shower of high velocity chrystal death. Yet another bunch of alien scumm went down, scytched throughoutly by the high velocity ammunition. Ahnold rolled and came up. Dropping the rifles, he reached for his codpiece and pulled from within a pair of bolt pistols.
Yes, that's why the codpiece was so huge. It was a clever stash! Made by Whisperer, Ahnolds best friend and a sort of daddy figure. Whisperer was an old, bearded veteran bound into a wheelchair. A genius too. Could build a gun out of a standard guardsman rifle! No, he really could! But moving on!
Ahnold entered a hall, filled with pillars and other soft cover. Xenos were abound therein, flitting from pillar to pillar in craven fashion. Ahnold just marched on, toting his guns in double fashion. Every shot he made, counted. Soon the alien scumm fled, dismayed.
At this point it came to Ahnold that he had been encased in the termnator armour for quite a while. He felt a sudden, urgent need. Looking aroung, he saw a door marked with a very rude symbol. Surely therein was relief found?
Without further ado, Ahnold marched into the lavatory. Alas! it was no lavatory for men. For it was filled with female eldars, the breed called wyches. Scantily clad they were, but none the less lethal for it. Lots of makeup too. And silicons. Ahnold goggled, thankful of his codpiece. And of the fact he had taken out his bolt pistols!
But Ahnold was not the only goggler. For the female xenos goggled too! Verily had they never seen a male such as this. For their mates had always been craven and skinny alien whelps. But this was something else! Licking their full, sensuous lips the alien ladies sashayed nearer, and started, ahem, to pat and pet Ahnolds masculine form.
Ahnold was stymied. Verily, he did not want to make out with these witches. His mother would be livid if he did! But how to escape? For the women were all around, hanging unto him with all their xenos strenght. And he could not verily hit them, now could he? I mean he was a gentleman, and gentlemen do not hit ladies. Well, pretty ladies at any rate!
So, was there a way out for Ahnold? A Way, you say? Ahhh!
And Ahnold said unto them: 'Please, ladies, there is no need to Fight Over Me.'
The wyches halted their gropings, filled with a sudden knowledge that they MUST fight over Ahnold. And as the alien ladies fell into a screeching heap, the onlookers wondered, amazed. For they regognized the secret Bene-Whazzit training in the voiced words of Ahnold. And then they did speak unto each other, saying such things like; 'Is this the Quikazz-Hardinuff?' and 'Is this the Dude-Messiah?' and 'Didn't you just hark about that, like minute ago, you old geezers?' And the old geezers were filled with wonder, for lo! they had indeed!
So, is Ahnold the the Quikazz-Hardinuff, the Dude-Messiah, and the one mentioned in the prophesies? Well, let me see... No. I do not believe he is. For there is but one Dude-Messiah, and that is...
Oh no! I missed the cat fight! NOOOO! All the wyches are now just laying there, unconsious, poisoned, or dead! Darn! And I was so looking forward to the writing of the said fight! I mean, bouncing breasts, silken thighs and stuff! Man! Well, that's what happens when you start about religious issues. But moving on!
But whence did our hero go? Oi! You there! Yes, you with the beard! Stop oggling the comatose ladies and tell me where Ahnold went?
'My emperor?' stammered the bearded man in question, falling to his knees. He was not accustomed to hearing voices inside his head. Unlike some of the onlookers, I might add.
Yes, yes, your emperor here, if yo like. Now, where is Ahnold? For I much desire to write about him.
'Oh!' cried the hapless man, eager to please his emperor. 'I believe he went out of doors, my emperor. He said something about a good press coverage.'
Thanks. Go forth in peace and all that. Now, let us see if we can locate our man. Oh, there he is! Upon that dune yonder, posing for the press for all that it's worth, and signing autographs for exitable young ladies with quite deep cleavages.
'This is more like it,' grinned Ahnold, winking to a particualry cute female. 'It's like I'm back in the old days! Or did I just say that?'
And so it was. Like the old days, I mean. Feeling all euforic, Ahnold was kept busy all afternoon with the fan stuff. Finally, though, dusk came, and the crowd felt it better to scarper. This was, after all, alien territory and a contested hot zone to boot. Ahnold was left alone, but for a lone marine biker whom had been admiring Ahnold, in a purely heterosexual manner, all arvo.
'Need a lift, sir?' The biker asked, as he spun his bike to Ahnold in a very flashy style.
'Heck yeah!' enthused Ahnold. He had been dreading the question of returning home. Getting back his armour and carrying it all the way to base, and with bare feet too. But now, miraculously, a lift had appeared.
'Then hop on and well be off before the sun sets and the locale is filled with xenos!' the biker boy said, grinning, and looking cool in his mirrored shades.
'Just a mo,' said Ahnold. 'I have to go and pick up my terminator armour form that fortress yonder.'
'You're a terminator?!?' stammered the biker, a look of dismay appearing upon his face. He glanced at his rear wheel, which was, as yet, quite circular of shape.
'Yep,' answered Ahnold. 'So if you would just wait here. I'll be back!'
'Sure,' mumbled the biker, in a sulky manner. However, all of a sudden, the biker seemed to get an urgent call to his comm bead. 'Whats that!' he cried. 'The base has been hit with a ork rok? Darn! I'll be right up!'
And without sparing a look to Ahnold, the biker let his engine roar, his wheels spin, and was out of sight before Ahnold could say nought. Covered in dust of the hasty take-off, the marine hero was left standing upon the deserted desert plateau, quite deserted. The sun set, and darkness came. From the wilderness, the cries of fell hunters echoed. And over yonder, the mighty gates of the alien fortress closed with a deep BOOM.
Now is that a cliffhanger or what!
But for now, it is... The End
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By the way, did you notice how the story began and ended with a variation of the same joke? That's quality, that is! Wheeee!!!! But there goes me shoes again! Bye for now!
