Notes
Okay, so here's the story behind this one. I follow illyrilex's Tumblr, and occasionally she posts/reblogs Writer's Ask games. A while back, one of them included, "Come up with a story based on this title:". I chose my favorite title to anything ever: Drug-Induced Chipmunk Bastards. (It's not a real title, of course; just something one of those old Video Game Name Generators spat at me.) She came up with a story for it, I did the same, and we decided to write them someday :) You may still see her version pop up at some point, but for now you'll have to settle for mine.
As you might expect, the story's total crack (though actual crack is not involved). But it also turned out kinda savage near the end! Who knew drugs could make you dangerous, lol. I'm just hoping I've got my facts straight about the effects; I have zero experience with the stuff, I'm afraid. As always, feel free to correct me if not.
Hope you enjoy!
Drug-Induced Chipmunk Bastards
It was midnight at the Illusion, and Terry Bogard was drunk off his ass.
He had good reason for it, too, or at least he thought he did. He'd had a fight with Mary today, he'd lost a fight with Rock yesterday (and boy would he not shut up about it), and tonight he'd learned his barber was quitting. Moving on to greener pastures, he said...a city where he might not get robbed every other week. Couldn't he have just moved to a better neighborhood⁇ He'd been the only guy that could keep Terry's long, golden locks tamed without making him feel like a girl about it. What was he supposed to do now, huh? Go to a salon⁇ He'd get laughed out of the KOF circuit!
Now Terry sat heavily at the bar, trying not to fidget with his ponytail. He'd worn his usual tee and jeans, but no cap for some reason; he tried to convince himself it wasn't to show off his hair while he still could, but had little success. SIghing, he downed the rest of his mug and ordered another...but King, who was working the bar that night, frowned. "Don't you think you've had enough, Terry?"
"Ahhh, you 'unno," Terry slurred, staring into his mug. "You'nno whaddi been through. Wha'is done t'...*hic* ...I'mma drink this glass till I can see through it."
"You already did," King pointed out. "You just ordered another, remember?"
"...oh." Terry looked down and frowned. "Well where izzit then?"
"How many fingers am I holding up?"
"...ummm...seventeen?"
"Yyyep, it's cutoff time - "
"'s three, y'jerk," Terry cut off, sneering. "...'m not that drunk."
"Could've fooled me," King murmured as she reluctantly poured another glass. "This is the last one, though, alright?"
"Yeah, yeah," Terry sighed, looking back down at it sadly.
Meanwhile, at a table across the bar, four rowdy-looking men looked at Terry with savage grins. They were stereotypical street punks, a group of young, stupid things with more swagger than sense. But they were also the new kids in town; they'd roughed up a few people, made a few threats - but hadn't made a name for themselves. They were out for blood, they had everything to prove...and they absolutely sucked at fighting.
Unfortunately, right now, so did Terry.
"Can you imagine if we took out Terry Bogard⁇" said Thing 1, the one with the mohawk.
"We'd be kings overnight!" said Thing 2, the one with the leather jacket. "We could run the whole damn town!"
"They'd never call us sissies again‼" said Thing 3, the one with the height, the muscles - and the voice of a twelve-year-old girl.
"Hang on, fellas," said Thing Alpha, the oldest and most clean-cut of the group. "Don't count your chickens before they're hatched. This guy's not just a name. I hear he's gone into bar fights looking just like that and come out without a scratch."
"Ah, c'mon boss - we can take him!" Mohawk insisted.
"Yeah...probably. But I say we add a little insurance." He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small ziplock baggie, which had a number of tiny white pills inside.
"What the hell is that...?" asked Jacket.
"Ketamine," Alpha answered with a grin. "One of those 'date rape' drugs. It'll take the fight out of 'im for sure."
"Uhhh...I don't really wanna rape him, boss," Muscles said with a frown.
"Of course not, you twit!" Alpha snapped, slapping him upside the head. "But if we did, he couldn't stop us. And if he can't stop that, he can't stop us from kicking his ass, now can he⁇"
All three Things grinned at that.
Quickly, they formulated a plan. Muscles, the most conspicuous of the group, would go to the bar and strike up a conversation with Terry and King. Meanwhile Jacket, the least conspicuous, would sneak up behind the man. Terry was sitting almost smack in the middle of the bar, so if Muscles sat at the end, it'd be easy for Jacket to sidle up and spike his drink. Then he'd split, Muscles would follow, and they'd play the waiting game.
...and it worked, too. Terry and King both stared with rapt attention as Muscles talked about nothing, and Jacket slipped the pill in Terry's drink with no problems. Normally both fighters (especially bar-owner King) would've been paying more attention...but they were too distracted by the sound of Muscles' voice. It was like hearing Mike Tyson for the first time, if he had inhaled a bunch of helium first.
Then he was gone, leaving King and Terry staring at each other. Terry looked aside, scratching the back of his neck. "...'m I drunker than I thought, or'd that guy sound like Alvin and the Chipmunks?"
"No, I heard it too," King replied, trying not to snicker. "Southtown's gonna eat him alive someday..."
Then King went back to her work, and Terry went back to his drink. After the first gulp, he scowled; after a few more, he complained. "This's gotta be crappiest beer 'vever tasted," he grumbled the next time King passed by.
"Gee, thanks," King said dryly.
"Not y'r fault," Terry shrugged. "You don' make Buwwise...Bud weighs...whatev'r th' hell this is."
"True enough. Thanks for that. ...but I'm still just giving you water from here on."
"Well this's better than that," Terry said with a grimace.
He kept knocking back his drink, doing less chatting and more wallowing in misery now. Meanwhile the street punks watched him anxiously, waiting for the inevitable. Terry didn't show any effects at first; then he started holding his forehead, his eyes closing and then startling open several times. "Ugh...I think yer right, King. I oughta get home," he admitted, shrugging on his new maroon jacket as he wobbled to his feet.
"Sure you don't need a cab for that?"
"Naah, 'll hoof it. I don' live far."
He started off, moving slowly but at least keeping his balance. "Be careful, Terry," King called after him.
"Yes, mom," he griped without looking back.
King narrowed her eyes. She'd have to get him back for that one.
A moment later, Terry stumbled out of the bar, watching the world spin around him. Damn, he was drunk. That last beer was definitely a bad idea. And it was hitting him harder with each step he took, he thought as he shambled down the sidewalk towards home. After a minute, the world finally stopped spinning...but then, slowly, it started melting instead.
And then he passed by the alley next to the bar - and a hand reached out and grabbed him.
It yanked him hard by the wrist, pulling him deep into the alley. He couldn't see what was happening, couldn't see who did it. The next thing he saw clearly was the pavement, as the rough hand threw him to the ground. He tried to get up quickly, groaning and shaking his head...but a heavy boot stepped on his back, pinning him to the floor.
"You ain't goin' nowhere, champ."
Terry's eyes widened into saucers. He knew that voice...that gruff, smug, ridiculously high voice. Where had he heard it? Was it tonight? Decades ago? And what had it reminded him of again?
Something about...Alvin...?
The other three punks walked up slowly, grinning and savoring the moment. "Awww...what's wrong, old man?" Alpha sneered. "Is big-shit tough-guy Terry Bogard not feeling so tough anymore...?"
Terry looked up at them, trembling, his eyes still wide. He dropped his jaw as he saw them, clearly scared out of his wits. ...but at the same time, he didn't really seem to be seeing them at all.
"Well I got news for you, buddy: we spiked your drink awhile ago," Alpha told him with twisted pride. "Thanks to these little beauties, you're never gonna be tough again."
He reached forward and held out his hand, showing Terry the baggie of -
...huh?
Wait a sec. Was this what he had used before? No...no, these pills were brighter. Bigger. But this was the ketamine, he was sure of it. The smaller pills were...
"...oh, shit. Oh, shit," Alpha murmured, backing up a bit.
"What⁇ What is it, boss!?"
"Uh, guys? I might've screwed up a bit," he said, as he broke out in a cold sweat. "I don't think we gave him ketamine."
"Then what was it⁇"
"...I think it was LSD."
Chipmunks.
He was surrounded by chipmunks.
They were looking down at him, towering over him, grinning like Chip and Dale. They were chittering about something, but he had no idea what. Then more chitters sounded off from above him, panicky and really high-pitched. That's when he realized: one of them was standing on him.
"Gaaahhh‼" Terry screamed, scrambling off the ground in a flash. The one on top of him was bowled over, falling to the pavement and skidding into a trash can. The others backed away from him, squeaking but still wearing that horrible grin.
"What do you want from me!?" Terry howled.
And that's when they started to talk.
"L-l-l-look, pal," Alpha stammered, his hands raised. "This was...it was an accident, okay?"
"What the hell does that mean!?" Terry roared.
All four punks cringed (even Muscles, from the floor). "I didn't mean it!" Jacket insisted. "It was...it was all his idea!"
"Oh, thanks a lot," Alpha growled, glaring at Jacket's pointing finger.
"No, I do not have twenty-pound nuts‼"
The punks stopped; turned to Terry. "Uhhh...what?" one of them asked.
"And where the hell'm I supposed to find 'em, huh? The grocery store⁇"
They stared at him blankly - and then Mohawk laughed. "Oh, man! He's already wasted!" he exclaimed.
"Ohhhhhh," Jacket and Muscles chorused.
"Don't you shake your tails at me‼" Terry snapped.
Meanwhile Alpha's face broke out in an evil grin. "Well, well. Looks like this'll work out after all," he muttered, cracking his knuckles. "Get him, guys!"
He had tried to be reasonable. ...he didn't know why, he was talking to animals. But even though they'd barked orders at him, he hadn't told them to stuff it. He'd simply explained (quite calmly, he thought) that he couldn't get them any food. Apparently that wasn't good enough for them...and apparently, talk time was over.
"You wanna come at me, huh?" Terry growled, getting back into his stance. "All right, you chipmunk bastards...let's go!"
The big one got to him first, throwing a furry haymaker. Terry dodged it with ease, hitting the critter with three rapid-fire gut punches in return (strange, its stomach didn't feel that soft). As it reeled, two more came at him, the one with the puffed-up hair going high while the one with the thick coat went low. In one motion, Terry slipped away from the kick and caught the punch in his hand; from there he twisted the 'munk's arm, then threw it down by the paw, sending it into the legs of its comrade and knocking both of them over. By then the big one was back, rushing in with a high-pitched screech - but Terry intercepted it with a spinning backfist, knocking it to the ground (but not knocking the grin off its face).
Just like that, three of them were down, whimpering in pain. The fourth one (the leader maybe?) quickly backed off, chittering under its breath. It had a nervous, dumbstruck tone to its voice - but all it said was "Muffins," or at least that's all Terry heard. Damn things STILL aren't making any sense...
"You're not getting off that easy," he snapped. "Powaa Wave!"
The 'munk's eyes widened as a searing blast of energy rushed towards it. With an inhuman scream, it dove off to the side, the projectile missing it by inches. Scrambling, it tried to get up and run...but Terry didn't give it the chance.
"Bahn Knackuu!"
The rushing chi-fueled punch plowed into the 'munk's jaw, knocking out its buck teeth. It staggered backward, squeaking in rage; when it turned back around, it finally threw out a paw - but it didn't even come close.
"Rising Tackuu...!"
He flipped into a handstand, then launched into the air, spinning like a top with his arms outstretched. The unfortunate animal was caught up in the ride, rising up in the air with him as he pelted it with punches. Finally, he flipped himself out of it in midair, landing on his feet; his opponent landed about a second later, and did not get up.
Terry started to wipe his brow...until he heard noises behind him. He turned to find that the other 'munks had recovered - and were trying to get away. He would've let them go, would've been a humanitarian. ...but they were still grinning at him.
"Oh, no you don't!" Terry barked. "Powaa Chaage!"
He kicked around the hapless punks for several minutes, filling the alley with wailing moans and shouted technique names. Finally the noise carried into the bar - and brought King out of it. Frowning, she got Sally to cover for her and marched for the back door, preparing for the worst but expecting the stupidest.
Instead she saw something worse than she could've imagined: Terry, looking like he'd never had a drink in his life - and beating the crap out of four punks who were clearly unconscious.
"Terry⁇ What in the hell are you doing!?"
He was kneeling on the ground, trying to punch away one of the grins, when he heard it. Another series of squeaks, this one more feminine (but not nearly as high as the one that started this mess). Frantic, he whipped his head around - and his eyes nearly bugged out of his skull.
...was that a mouse with blond hair wearing a pair of pink coveralls⁇
"Oh, hell no," he snarled. "Powaa Giezaa‼"
King barely got out of the way in time.
She tried to brawl with him for a second, but knew it was insane after taking one punch. Recovering quickly, she ducked under a spinning roundhouse, then came up and hit him with the mace she kept as backup. Terry staggered backward, crying out and clawing at his eyes - and then she followed with her own roundhouse, crashing her foot into his temple and putting out his lights.
Breathing hard, King put away the mace and straightened her shirt - then winced as she touched her bruised ribs. If he actually broke one, he's REALLY gonna get it. Scowling now, she walked over to the most lively-looking thug and shook him awake, kneeling down next to him so she didn't have to move his body.
"Hey! ...hey! What the hell happened out here?"
The random punk groaned, his eyes fluttering open. "...nuts. He...he didn't have any nuts..."
Then they fluttered shut again, and King sighed as she stood up and took out her phone.
Ambulances took away all five men - with Terry heavily sedated, on King's advice. The elder Bogard was very lucky she hadn't cheaped out on security: cameras caught the punks both spiking his drink and starting the fight. ...he was unlucky too, though, as the cameras also caught his drugged, drunken ramblings. King got her revenge by putting the video online. (He went more viral than he had when he'd knocked out Joe with one punch.)
Terry recovered in a couple days - it took much longer for the punks - and went home. The next day he visited King, coming to the Illusion shortly after it opened. Robert happened to be there, waiting for Yuri...and he busted out laughing the second he saw him.
"Yeah, yeah, get your yuks out," he grumbled, sitting down a couple stools away from him at the bar. Then he turned and looked at King. "You really suck, you know that?" he told her - but with a sheepish grin on his face.
"If I sucked, you'd be paying for the damage to my door," King pointed out, idly cleaning a glass. "You'd just better be glad there was a camera to begin with."
"True enough. Thanks for that. ...and thanks for kicking my ass," Terry chuckled.
"Thank whoever invented pepper spray," King replied, shaking her head. "You were a wild man, Terry."
"So they tell me," he said, his voice heavy with guilt. ...and maybe a little bit of pride.
"I just wish I knew what you saw out there," Robert laughed. "Do you remember any of it?"
"Not much," Terry told him. "Something about chipmunks - "
"Chipmunk bastards."
"Shut up. ...and I think...mice, maybe? I dunno."
"I do not have mice," King objected with a smirk.
"Duh. I was on acid, remember?" Terry told her, tapping his head. "Actually, come to think of it - I think you were the mouse."
King stared at him, deadpan, for three full seconds.
"...get the hell out of my bar."
End Notes
That's twice now that King's saved my favorite characters' asses. That's King, folks - your Friendly Neighborhood Beerslinger :)
Look, I'm sorry, but I just couldn't help making fun of Terry's voice acting. That crazed, broken English is half the reason I got into the character. The particular samples I used for reference are from Capcom Vs. SNK, one of his more insane appearances. ...ahh, CvS2...those were the days ;_;
Next time...no idea. My profile still says I'm working on Ungloved, lol. Maybe that'll be it, who knows.
Thanks for reading!