…damn it, Tony!
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The Doclopedia #2,127
That Time We Did That Thing: In The Forest
By Kevin Rice
It was 1377 AD, the place The Ardennes Forest.
HQ had gotten word that Time Anarchists were headed to here and now to do SOMETHING. The Time Corps had assigned me to stop them. In typical fashion they dropped me in zone with no back up, little Intel and no idea what exactly I had to stop.
I made my way to a nearby village, reactivating my language chip to make sure I could speak French with a regional accent and time appropriate idioms. I hate the damn thing, after the mission I’d have a migraine for 3 days, but you can’t do the job without it.
It was a market day, and the locals were abuzz about strange events in the forest, up to and including sightings of Werewolves practicing unholy magic. A quick side note on Time Anarchists: most of them are a strain of Lupine sentient who evolved after a nuclear war on a divergent timeline, and they spend a lot of time trying to trigger their evolution earlier.
So, great. Huge, powerful Dog-men in the forest, up to no good….and they were already up to their shenanigans.
I continued to surveil the village. And that’s when I get a HELL of a surprise. My nano-flies detected two apparent locals speaking Galactic 2. Yeah, not normal … I casually walked up and whispered in Galactic 3, ‘we need to talk, meet me by the barn.’
The female said to the male, “Busted, Daddy.”
Long story short, turned out to be Doc Cross and his Daughter/Dog (Honestly, no clue) Dr. Sasha Cross. And they were here for the same reason I was. Something about this event had triggered their warning systems.
Even longer story short: the Time Anarchists knew that all of WWII was surrounded by the harshest of Time Quarantine measures, but it was their primary objective to have it end in nuclear flames. Turns out that they were trying to bury a series of heavily shielded anti-tank weapons. Looking to change the outcome of the tank battle in the forest.
Let me just say that I thought that *I* didn’t like the Time Anarchists, but Dr. Sasha Cross, well, I still shudder thinking about what she did to those abominations.
Of course I left them out of my official report, but I’ll never forget them.
The Doclopedia #2,128
That Time We Did That Thing: Driving Down Interstate 5
By Drew Sanderson
The comic book and me were hauling down I-5, not looking for adventure and whatever came our way. We were supposed to be on a beach drinking beers colder than my ex’s heart, but fate had other plans.
Fate and Harvey, currently sunbaking on the roof, catching more bugs than rays. I was tempted to unhook the 20-footer, and watch him and it disappear into the distance. He’d probably just show up again in six months time with an even shittier favor to ask. Like this one.
Harvey (or Frank, Bugs or Roger as the comic book referred to him, depending on the level of blood in his chemical stream), was an uncommon-common crook; he was nothing special, but managed to attract interesting scams like a fresh bee turd attracted flies. It’d be funny if I wasn’t one of the flies that kept getting caught up. And the comic book? I’ve no idea why he showed up; either the thrill, or the chance to escape his Dolly Parton life; it wasn’t the money.
“Just do it,” the comic book, shaking what could’ve been a Camel from his pack and sparking it with a one-handed Zippo trick.
“Wha-at?” Maybe the comic book was wearing off on me, or his chemicals that filled the cab. It’s not like he could read minds.
“Billboard. ‘Just do it.’ Like us with Caerbannog up there. Just fucking do it. Put some tunes on. I’m not a fucking mind reader.”
“Wha-at?” I looked at the comic book, and to the wing mirror for a billboard. Harvey filled the mirror and I hopped into the middle of the cab as he swung inside; I looked for the best way to disguise my need to change my shorts.
“The fuck we doing on 99?”
Harvey jerked on the wheel and we plowed off into E 8th, and I jumped to the other side of him. Comic book switched his Camel-not-Camel to the other side of his face, and jerked the wheel to straighten us up.
Harvey and the comic book proceeded to yank, pull, tug, and otherwise hurtle us down streets, side streets, and other roads where either or both of them should’ve been watching the road. My pants were fuller of shit than a politician at poll time. I had only one option. Duck and roll, amigo. Not sure if I screamed as I hit or was too busy trying to catch glimpses of my life as it flashed by.
I didn’t catch many glimpses, but got a lot of gravel. The last thing I saw before my head hit pavement was the truck hitting a building.
My eyes flickered back open and my head tried not to explode. The truck was gone, but the 20-footer was still there. I stumbled, trying to make out the letters scrawled on the side.
‘National Yo-Yo Museum’.
I laughed, hard, and farted like a small dog barking. Comic book.