Tales of Woot: Fun

"Mr. Johnson! Beelzebob from HellCo calling, and may I say, it is an utter delight to talk to you today?

Mr. Johnson, there is no reason whatsoever to employ snideness with me. I am simply happy that we will be able to resolve your HellCo account today, to what I am sure will be our mutual satisfaction.

Who is the "our" in that sentence? You wound me, Mr. Johnson. "Mr. Johnson." How formal I sound, when by this point the two of us are practically intimates! May I call you Ira, Mr. Johnson? Mr. J? No? And the wounding continues.

You'll recall, Mr. Johnson, that I needed to discuss your account with my supervisor, Eligos, Duke of Hell, to figure out WHY the HellCo Brand Reanimated Friendship Operative assigned to your case went... off protocol... by building so many free HellCo Brand Conveniencers on your property (I mean, at the very least, he should have invoiced for them.) At first, we simply assumed that it was due to gross negligence or breach of contract on your part, Mr. Johnson. After all, it's not without precedent, is it?

But Mr. E happened to mention this little problem to his golfing partner, Baalberith, HellCo Chief Archivist, and he managed to dig up a rather amusing factoid about the Reanimated Friendship Vessel in question! Apparently, this particular sack of skin and blood was instrumental in alerting the Head Office to the suitability of your nauseating dimension for HellCo operations in the first place! And once the Tra'Han/Mitchells Debacle had cleared the board for us, we were easily able to move in and begin the aggressive marketization of human resources you've come to know and love, Mr. Johnson. Isn't that a heart-warming tale?

But, more relevant to the matter at hand, the corpse in question also, by either sheer bizarre coincidence, or as a practical joke by those hilarious boys down in the Necromancy Department, had a strong pre-existing attachment to the land your home is built on! I know, Mr. Johnson, I was speechless too, when Mr. Baalberith told me about it from one of his many mouths. And, as we both know, a Reanimated Friendship Vessel with a strong attachment to a particular area can, in certain rare cases, wrest control away from the Possessor Class operative controlling it and act of its own volition. I'm sure you can see where this is going, Mr. Johnson. It's clear as crystal! Or a piece of glass. Or air, Mr. Johnson. AIR.

The RFV decided to "spruce up" your home, free of charge, out of some sentimental attachment to the place. It did so by installing a wide variety of high quality HellCo Brand Conveniencers, turning your home into a perfect model of state-of-the-pit technology. Normally, we'd track the Reanimated Friendship Vessel's family down and force them to pay for all this, but, given how many years its been since he was actually alive, and how intense the disruptions to the human population since then have been, we've decided on a more... merciful... strategy.

Pay attention, Mr. Johnson. This is the part we think you'll like. I've grown quite fond of you, Mr. Johnson. For a disgusting pile of bones and tissue, you have a sympathetic quality that stirs deep and horrible emotions deep within my carapace. So, I convinced the higher ups to give you... A Deal.

You see, Ira (I don't care what you say, Mr. Johnson, I'm Bob, you're Ira, and, as of now, we're intimate), HellCo would like to use you. Your home, that is! As the setting for our latest series of HellCo Catalogs! The rogue RFV (now disassembled, of course) did such a good job on the Conveniencers he illegally installed, we're going to let you keep them all - and all for the meager cost of a few weeks of letting HellCo Brand Photography Slugs slither through your house, taking pictures. Considering that the cost for all those improvements would normally be 4,212 souls... I think you'll agree it's a steal, Ira.

Now, is your house slug-accessible, Ira, my intimate friend? No? Well, it will be. Don't worry, we'll just add the cost to your bill.

Well, of course you still have a bill, Ira. The fact that you're getting the Conveniencers for free doesn't mean you don't need to pay for having your lawn mowed. And the Drinks Mixer. And the Drinks Mixer Drink Mix. And the interest on the Drinks Mixer Drink Mix. Be reasonable, Ira.

But don't worry, my dear, sweet, intimate friend. The total bill is really quite small. 3 souls. That's not so bad, is it? You can find 3 measly little souls for your dear buddy Bob and his friendly corporation, right? Turn to your family, Ira. They'll support you, if they know what'll happen to you if you don't pay your debts. Children can be such a comfort at times like this... Because Hell knows they'll sign anything you tell them to, without even bothering to read it.

And Ira? Thank you for choosing HellCo for all your lawncare needs. As we always say: "You had a choice. Now, let us help you live with it."

Goodbye, Mr. Johnson."

-Click-

(The End)

Last time, on Tales of Woot

And now, the continuation . . .

Captain's Log, Stardate four seven nine oh six point three. I have been stranded. After a routine mission analyzing a globular cluster in the Caldora sector, I decided to give my crew a day to relax and catch up on some much needed R&R. I took the opportunity to try out a new Holodeck program I found recently, recreating the late-twentieth century phenomenon known as "Battlebots." However, the Holodeck malfunctioned, causing my ship, the U.S.S. Bozeman, to be overwhelmed with killer robots. My chief engineer decided to, rather cleverly, solve the problem using the ship's transporter, to beam me out of the dangerous area of the ship. However, since we were so close to the R-415 Globular Cluster, excess epsilon radiation overwhelmed our tertiary field grid, and I woke up here, on this unknown world.

It is a picturesque world, full of gentle hillsides and unassuming foliage. I have no way of knowing exactly what planet this is, however, so I must be careful.

I seem to be in good shape. I am still in the period clothes I was wearing in the Holodeck, so I do not have access to my com-badge or tricorder. As a result, I am committing this log entirely to my memory, as I was trained to do in the Academy. Duty dictates that I am not caught without having taken a log of the proceedings. Still, something about my condition feels . . . strange.

I am standing in some sort of ruins. Whatever civilization existed here must be gone now. The faint smell of smouldering wood was in the air, though it might have just been a regular scent in this world's atmosphere. This was an interesting world. Of course, as a Starfleet Officer, my primary duty was to explore this place and find out what I could learn.

Near the ruins a spiral staircase was leading underground. I hoped that I could find some secrets to this world somewhere below. I carefully followed the stairs.

The stairs led to a small tunnel, lit with torches. Perhaps this ruin wasn't so deserted after all. These torches certainly couldn't have been here long, considering how much they were burning.

From there I saw a most curious sight. The tunnel led to a small storage room, where two humanoid skeletons were dueling with bows and arrows. They were taking turns launching volleys at each other. I couldn't even tell if the arrows were having any effect, because the skeletons had no flesh to pierce.

However, the closer skeleton won the strange duel, and I finished him off with my hands before he could turn his weapon to me. A third skeleton was around the corner, apparently waiting to take on the winner of the duel. I dispatched it, as well.

Inside the chests were some useful looking supplies, especially if I would be facing any more animated skeletons. I decided that my safety was more important than any potential violations of the Prime Directive. This whole area seemed to be an abandoned ruin (except for my undead friends), so it was clear nobody would miss it.

I also found a supply of the torches I saw earlier, which seem to magically light themselves when placed on the ground. I knew these would come in handy, especially to keep the area lit at night.

Back on the surface, I noticed a strange cross shape inside the ruin. I realized that it was, in fact, an arrow. This must be some sort of message left to guide someone. Guide them to what? To safety? To a village of some sort? I decided the only way to find out would be to follow it.

Outside the ruins, I could see mountains looming in the distance. More ruins sat atop them. This must be where the arrow was pointing.

A long staircase led to the top of the mountain. With my bow in hand, I followed the steps up.

On top of the mountain was a large cave. Some pig-like creatures were roaming around. They looked somehow happy to see me, despite the fact that I was somewhat armed. It was almost as if they were grateful for something. They were at least a welcome sight after the encounter with murderous skeletons.

Speaking of which, another skeleton was waiting inside the cave. I quickly dispatched this one with my bow.

I dropped a torch to mark the site of my victory. I quite like using these magic torches.

The cave opened up on the side of the mountain. There was a very nice view from here.

This planet was full of strange surprises. On the cliff face outside the cave, I could see several animals perched precariously. I suppose the pig I met earlier was happy to see me because it meant he wasn't falling off the side of a mountain.

The cave grew much darker further in. Luckily I still had plenty of those torches with me.

Those torches stuck to the walls of the cave just as easily as they stick to the floor. I'll have to try to get my Chief Engineer to work up a prototype when I get back to the USS Bozeman.

Wait, what was that sound? It sounded like a spider, but it was much, much bigger. I really hope there aren't spiders here. I really, really hate spiders.

SOMETHING MOVED OH GOD SPIDERS

WHERE IS THE EXIT WHERE IS THE EXIT SPIDERS OH GOD SPIDERS

OH THANK GOD I SEE LIGHT

. . . oh right, the cliff . . .

Captain's log, stardate two seven nine one four point five.

I am standing in some sort of ruins. It is raining. I will make a log about what happened later. For now, my primary duty as a Starfleet Officer is to get out of the rain. I really hope this isn't one of those planets that's constantly raining. I am stuck in late twentieth century clothing, which is horrendously prone to soaking up water and getting really obnoxiously cold.

The ruins contain some sort of arrow built out of wood. I decided to head in the direction it pointed, hoping that it would lead to some shelter.

While heading in the direction pointed by the arrow, I saw a small cave under a tree. It would be adequate shelter where I could wait for the rain to hopefully die down.

I was finally out of the rain, but my stupid twentieth century outfit was completely soaked.

This world is rich with raw materials. Inside the cave I found a deposit of diamond. Under normal circumstances these would be absolutely priceless, but to me they were as useless as any other rock.

Elsewhere in the cave system, I found this deep shaft. I could see some lava pouring through the rock at the bottom. Perhaps my judgement was clouded by my soaking wet clothes, but it sure looked nice and cozy down there, so I decided to climb down.

Well, great. Now I am on fire. Why won't the fire go out? Why didn't the Academy teach us how to stop from being on fire? Stupid Professor Data and his big positronic ass --