April Fears

A Psychonauts Crack Fic

Psychonauts and all characters © Majesco

Bad jokes, horrible attempts at writing and the normal author angst thinking that I suck © Me. Or © Digitaldreamer. runs and hides

Author Notes:

Whatever the term crack fic means, I'm going to use it to describe what my brain just spat out. Do not expect any continuity, good jokes, or sanity in here. In fact, please leave your sanity by the door. Please leave hands and arms inside the cart during the ride and DO NOT stick them out, because we just installed the new slicing spikes. Oh, and do not think that I'll finish this. Or, the Lord beware, even update regularly.

Real Author Notes: This is my first attempt at writing. When I made a Account I only wanted to use it to review properly, but the author of the Fic I reviewed on a regular basis (Lyre-19's fabulous "Loyalties and Where They Lie") suggested to write a crack fic.

Also, I am nor from an English-speaking country and taught English to myself, so you might have some /facepalm moments in here. Oh, and also all Campers are miraculously 16 or 15 for no reason other then enabling me to widen the field from simple childish tomfoolery too… other stuff hint, hint.

It was a quiet night at Mumbling Stone Psychic Spring camp. Almost too quiet, would you think, taking into account that it was a secret PSYCHIC spring camp, located in some undisclosed place in the USA. All was quiet, a chilly breeze made the branches of the big oak trees rustle slightly, and through the omnipresent announcement system, loud snoring could be heard. The night was entirely dark, but- a small glimmer of light shone brightly behind some trees, cutting through the darkness like a knife through fake cheese. In a room that looked like a science classroom hat thrown up, Agent Razputin Aquato stood in a neatly organized chaos consisting of notes lying everywhere, mixtures, flasks, bottles, vials and tubes scattered across various surfaces and a smell of burning socks. His face was clenched in concentration, sweat drops formed on his wrinkled forehead, and his everlasting keepsake, his beloved red-tinted goggles, had been put over his eyes, the glass being dirtied by droplets and splashed of something. A chemistry book in his hands and a laptop with several opened internet pages on his lap, he read through the contents of both in a carefully trained speed, his eyes whirling through letters in a blurred motion. Then a smirk set across his lips as he threw the book in a high arc behind him and put the laptop aside. Grabbing several bottles and chemicals, he began to carefully set up his experiment. A mere five minutes later, fluids were gurgling through tubes, mixing, being heated and cooled, and finally, with a series of fine hisses, a black liquid was poured into a small vial. As it cooled down and hardened to a sticky black mass, Razputin, after carefully putting a stopper on top of the container, threw back his head and brought into a maniacal laughter he had carefully practised. But sadly the effect of it was diminished by the fact that a fly came to the conclusion that the Psychonauts' open throat would be the perfect place for a rest, and the fear-inducing atmosphere was promptly slain by a rather harsh series of cough, courtesy of our hero.

It was a dull, grey morning when Coach Oleander's alarm clock went off. He sluggishly pulled the covers over his head and tried to ignore the noise that drilled into his heads, but after ten minutes he decided that it was no use and stood up, which promptly proved to be a fatal error. Because after he had done what he considerer morning gymnastics (Shutting the alarm clock, which he had placed on the third-to-top shelf), his gaze fell upon something on the wall.

Agents Mila Vodello and Sasha Nein were used to be ripped from their peaceful slumber. As a matter of fact, they were used to it so much, they had trained themselves to get put of bet, dress and go to whoever had caused their psychic alert to go off whilst still sleeping. Although that method had some flaws (which once resulted in flooding the internet and several lifestyle magazines with the article "Boxers or Briefs – Sasha Neins choice finally clear), it saved them some peaceful minutes and a worthy chunk of stamina. When they finally arrived at Morceau Oleanders cabin, Milla and Sasha stretched, yawned, and, whilst carefully avoiding each others gaze, swapped shoes and decided to screw the subconscious alert answering. After two minutes of embarrassed silence, however, their view fell upon Coach O., who looked like he'd just seen a butcher running after a bunch of rabbits with shining cleavers. He sat in a corner, his one hand still gripping his alarm button, the other one's thumb stuck in his mouth as he rocketed back and forth. Quickly, Sasha and Milla scanned the entire area for malevolent psychic signatures, but except for the constant dark aura of Lili Zanotto, the whole camp was clean. "Weird", said Milla, and looked into Sashas sunglass-covered eyes. "What could have rendered him like this? Nothing psychic, so much is sure… Maybe something supernatural?" Sasha casted her a stern look, or what she believed to be one, through his sunglasses. "Even more supernatural then normal for us? Milla, there is no scientific evidence for anything supernatural… Well, more supernatural then us." Mills frowned and looked at him, tilting her head to the side, a pose that always blew into the a special little spark deep in the Sanctuary of Sashas cube. Then, however, he looked at the small, rectangular object that hung over Oleanders shivering form. And he let out a girly, scream and fainted.

Sasha awoke when he met a bucket of water head-first. He flinched, spit out a stream of water, which he subconsciously aimed directly at a nearby bowl. His mind tried feverishly to cope with why he was lying on the floor and why there was water all over him. Then it made click. A quick look around showed him that Milla stood next to him. In her face, an expression of horror that matched the one if Oleanders' hung, barely balanced by years of training. "Milla…" he gasped, fear ringing in all of his words, "is it true? Has… it returned again?"

"Yes, Sasha… It's the First of April again."

And a feeling of nearing Doom settled on them, and that not just because Elka peeked around the corner.