The Console Wars
Prepare yourselves.
This is a tale of a battle, a battle which has been waged since times long past and which will continue to be fought into the eternal future. Two- no, three titans clash in the sewers of an ancient city, locked in endless combat. And it all started with three innocent humans who just wanted to have some fun.
Allen Donahue was just a man who played in his spare time. He had just gotten his precious system back from debugging and was fleeing the city with it when it changed.
It was Roberto Muasher's daughter's birthday and he had gotten something special for her. It was in the trunk of his taxi when he was forced to abandon it by a crazy vending machine.
And Andrea Fulton was a business executive with a stay-at-home husband. She just wanted to watch DVDs in high definition on their fifty-eight inch plasma screen; he wanted to play Clown Combat with ridiculous graphics. They compromised, but she and her shopping bag had never made it to her car.
These three unfortunates caused an epic adventure to unfold. Though deceased, their final technological acquisitions live on in: The Console Wars.
Much like the feuds of the multi-billion dollar electronic conglomerates that had long gone extinct, there is still no end in sight.
Far in the future, a roundish white creature stealthily peers around a chunk of stone wedged in the broken grille of a sewer duct. Finding his twiggy target still trying to triangulate his position, he carefully aims the plasma cannon that forms the end of his tiny arm. Zzplat! His victim manages to duck and roll out of the way, but the projectile makes contact with the wall behind him. The acidic, radioactive residue burns a green X-shaped hole into the concrete. Furious, Xbot dashes to another bit of cover and starts firing wildly.
Wiimotron engages in wild acrobatics to avoid the deadly, globular projectiles. Intent on finishing Xbot360 while he is blinded by rage, the faster little robot ninjas through the rapid fire and begins slashing at the other white combatant with his twin cyber-nunchaku whirling in the grip of his four capable arms. Upon closer examination, the ends of this weapons are edged with bright blue blades of crackling energy, which cut deep slashes in the metal beam behind which Xbot is hiding.
But a dark shape lurks behind Wiimotron. He doesn't have the firepower or spastic movement capability of the other participants in the futuristic battle royale. He may not have seen as much combat or landed as many hits, but he hadn't taken as many either. If there was one thing Playstator Tritos was good at, it was laying in wait. He could easily blend into the dark corners of the sewers, moving into position while his enemies forget all about him.
And he is bigger than they are.
Unlike the pair of bipedal white gladiators, the comparable behemoth slinks around like a sleek, heavily-armored, four-legged black crab. When he springs at Wiimotron, his aim is to crush the flimsy, upright gymnast under the bulk of his gleaming black carapace. The quick-thinking spaz manages to roll mostly out of the way, but finds one of his arms uselessly crushed after the surprise belly-flop attack.
Xbot takes this opportunity to move, but his plasma blasts only sizzle and slide off the black shell on which he fires, while Wiimotron's vicious, whirling weapon shears off part of sensor arrays protruding from the sides of his head.
Out in the open, the three circle each other and revel in the thrill of unending rivalry. Clicking and whirring and wailing wordless threats and mockery alike green, blue, and silver eyes meet in delight and understanding.
Competition is glorious.
Finding themselves at an impasse, Xbot vanishes faster than anyone can see in a blinding flash of green. Wiimotron races away to find them in a flurry of darting and rolling, punctuated by slashes of blue light in the air. And Playstator Tritos glides slowly away, melting effortlessly into the shadows.
The three do not wish each other death and damnation though curses to that effect ricochet down the forgotten sewer lines, no doubt mostly from Xbot. Victory and defeat are not in their programming, so they fight on in harmonious violence. They were not made to kill, to destroy, or to fight pointless wars across time and space.
They were made to play. And how better to play this game of tactics, skill, and brawn than as friends?
Thus the Game goes on.
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So I wanted to let everyone know that I'm a complete airhead and forgot my laptop at home. It's on its way here, but the delay combined with some…. problems with the next chapter of "Transmission Breakdown" will cause a longer wait than usual.
Yeah, I accidently deleted half of it. I was trying to fix some formatting problems and did something stupid. And now I don't have it here to fix it right away. I apologize.
But it will be worth it! Next week I'll probably feel wicked bad, have a backlog anyway, and post it all up sporadically to appease the fanfiction gods. Yay. It has turned out to be more than the promised ten pages; first some important info intro and then some stuff we've all been waiting for. (coughProwlhackhackJazzcoughwheeze) Like you didn't know I was going to try that anyway. I just don't know if it'll work…
And I've been writing ahead a bit and just pretty much doomed everyone. Just thought I'd let you know.
So, in celebration of my first crazy post-apocalyptic miniformer fiction, why don't you tell me what you think? I know it's short and nothing really happens but I'm writing in the science library and have no skin on my right palm, which is wrapped, so it's slow going. Should I try this again sometime? I have a really cute idea for a follow up to this one, but do you want to see any of my other little originals in short stories? Let me know!
Miniformers of the week are: duh, Wiimotron the Nintendo Wii and Playstator Trios the Playstation 3, friends and opponents of the non-original Xbot360 in an eternal battle royale under the ruins of Las Vegas. Watch yourselves. They're still out there.