After yesterday’s complaints about the Castlevania II World of Power book, I thought I’d try my hand at it. Maybe it’s not as easy as I think.
Here’s part one of Contra: Worlds of Power!
~
Bill and Lance were the two bad-ass-est warriors of all time. With their machine guns and bandanas, the last thing they needed was some kid tagging along.
“I’m telling you,” Bill said, “This shit, we’re in the shit. The last thing we need is some kid tagging along.”
Lance, the cooler of the pair, said, “Balls yeah!”
It was a new thing he was trying out. Like “Hell Yeah” except balls.
The sarge wasn’t having it.
“You two are loose cannons. Always running around with no shirt, shooting wildly in all directions. It’s a goddamn miracle you haven’t shot each other yet.”
Bill and Lance high-fived. It was a miracle, and they both knew it.
The sarge then handed a photo across the desk to Lance. “And just what the hell is this?”
In the photo, Lance was clearly leaping over a chasm. Not just leaping, doing a flip. While shooting a machine gun.
“Is this how you’re conducting yourself on the battlefield?”
Lance, always the cool customer, responded, “Sarge. It’s been scientifically proven that the forward flip is, by far, the best way to leap. On the battlefield. While firing a machine gun.”
The sarge frowned. He pointed a finger at lance, and he stood up.
“The only thing you’re leaping into is a goddamn coffin if this keeps up!”
Bill laughed. He couldn’t help it. Bill always thought the sarge was kind of funny when he talked like that. He was always saying something like, “If you’re not careful, the only shooting you’ll be doing is wedding photos. From a goddamn wheelchair because you blew your legs off, you careless oaf!”
Bill laughed, and then the sarge turned his attention toward the blonde bombshell.
“And you. Don’t think I don’t have some shit to say to you, blondie.”
The sarge threw another photo down on the desk. In the photo, Bill was shooting two machine guns from hip-level, and in his mouth he had several cigars.
The sarge stood to his full height. He rubbed his hand over his mouth, over the pencil mustache he kept in perfect trim. He said, “Tell me. Go ahead and tell me how many cigars are in your mouth right there.”
Bill stayed in his seat. He stared at the picture and tried to remember what he’d been shooting with those two machine guns. Not that he could. He’d done that very thing so many times there was no way he’d remember. But he thought maybe trying to remember would keep him from laughing.
The sarge said, “No, really. Count. I’ll wait.”
Bill leaned forward in his chair. “Ffff…five. Five, sir?”
“Five. Goddamn. Cigars.”
Lance pounded his fist on the desk, “Hey, we saved the president’s daughter! Twice!”
The sarge pounded both his fists on the desk, even harder than Lance did.
“I don’t give a shit HOW many President’s daughters you saved. I’ve got the American Cancer Society all over my ass. 1-800-Quit? You heard of that shit? Me neither, not until you decided to have some kind of cigar contest with yourself our there. Now I’ve got them calling me every day, telling me how Bill Rizer has to quit and how Bill Rizer has to tell kids that smoking is bad and how Bill Rizer needs to get his act-
“Motherfucker! Are you even CONSIDERING lighting that cigar in here!?”
Bill, a match near the end of a fresh stogie, looked up at the sarge.
“You two get the hell out of my office. No more flips. No more shooting double machine guns. And goddamn it, Rizer, no more cigars!”
The two partners stood, and as they walked out of the office, the sarge said, “Oh, one more thing. The government has decided to bring in a new kid from another dimension to be your partner.”
Lance said, “But they-”
“End of discussion!” the sarge shouted. “They’re getting him right now. His name is Billy. And he’s from a place called…Earth.”