The 99th Platoon – The FlatFeet Saga
Act Three: Into the Lair

(A/N After a very, very, very long withdrawal from the writing scene, I now find myself propelled back into the thick of things, with summer in its healthy throng and the hours of spare time I have increasing. Much has changed in Plat99n life since then, another monster-sized mission has been completed, and our fanfiction works are now hosted on If you came here from there, I suggest checking out some of the other good fanfiction on this site, but if you're here from don't be afraid to visit one of the best unofficial Conker websites out there. With that minor update, I leave you be, to read, relax and review.)

Chapter 13: All in the Mind

They cried out in pain as electricity surged through their temples. Their screams melded together into one electric pitch...metallic, sonorous...

All was quiet.

They were in.

Sarge looked around him, performing a quick head count. All fourteen of them looked okay. The same didn't apply as to where the heck they were.
The roads were an endless maze...stretching off into infinity. Tall granite grey buildings rose into a bloody rust-red sky.
"We have entered the mind of Mr. Evans..." the Professor whispered.
They stood still for a second absorbing that fact. Someone whistled.
"Damn! FlatFeet's really up if ya ask me."

bwuhooo...sniff ah, hahaurg...sniff sniff waaah...

The hair at the back of Sarge's neck rose. He trudged off towards the source of the whimpering. He pointed two fingers; Dark and the Professor came with him.
Crouched down at the end of the alley was a white, pearly and transparent image of a defeated and crushed Squirrel.
The real FlatFeet.
He looked up, reached out a hand, and vanished.

"Screw this !" CoolGuy squeaked, "I'm getting the hell outta here!"
"CoolGuy! Wait!" RedStorm yelled, reaching for him. Kenny 'CoolGuy' Johnson ran straight past him. RedStorm swore, turning to find the main unit.
CoolGuy ran on. Soon he was walking along a road, a long road. Twisted shapes resembling trees ran along the sides of it. It began to grow dark…so much darker… It grew quiet.
Oh so quiet. CoolGuy tripped on a root that seemed to rise out of the ground and into his way. He felt rain on the back of his neck. His hand reached for the medium sized Shaolin blade donated to him while he was searching for Sarge in a Buddhist monastery.

"Is anybody out there?" he whispered.
…

Sarge looked round for the weeping Squirrel. Nothing. He had vanished.
How did you get here!
The voice was guttural, brutal - filled with primal fury. The voice emanated from thin air...
"We're here for FlatFeet. Give him back."
Leave...
"I don't think I can d-"
LEAVE NOW!
"Not until I-"
If that is how you shall be...
A laugh. Filled with evil...pure evil.
Step into my lair said the spider to the fly!
The laugh continued even as the floor under Sarge's feet vanished, even as he saw himself tumbling...falling into a bottomless pit, a pit filled with sulphur coloured flames!
"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRGGGHHH!" he screamed.
Rico! He's trying to expel you!
The voice was far away...
Rico! It's an illusion, a trick of the mind! Stay with me, listen to my voice!
It became clearer...nearer...
Fake. It isn't there...
Sarge collapsed into a heap. He was trembling all over. After a minute on his own he managed to shakily stand on one knee...then stand erect. He breathed out.
"We're gonna need bigger guns."

Pyst scanned the area. Sarge, Dark, RedStorm, and Cool Guy had all gone missing.
"Bloody hell..." he cursed. They were barely into the mission and already some of the team had gone missing. He looked at the area Sarge had followed the voice to. An impassable wall stood in the way.
"Hey Oreos! Was that wall always there?"
Pyst turned to Oreos, only to not find Oreos, but a hideous demon resembling Oreos. Pyst raised his rifle into the demon's face. In the blink of an eye, the demon disappeared and Oreos stared down the barrel of Pyst's gun.
"What'd I do?"
"Uh…nothing. Sorry. Was that wall over there, there a minute ago?"
"I don't know, didn't Sarge go that way?"
"I think so... I'm betting that FlatFeet is trying to separate us, pick us off one by one..."
"Well that's comforting," Oreos said bluntly. Pyst turned and looks at the impassable wall.
"As long as we stick together we..."
Pyst turned around. Oreos, and the rest of the Platoon, had disappeared.
"Guys? Where the hell'd you guys go?...$!"

Oreos couldn't believe it. Everybody else was gone, just like that.
"Where'd they go? man... This place is freaking me out."
He looked around. Same old ruined buildings, with a damp red sky overhead. A bead of sweat dripped down from the side of Oreos' cheeks, as he felt his stomach do another 180. Of all the missions, this was the first one he was nervous about.
"But why?" he asked himself out loud. He paused. "Maybe...cuz FlatFeet's in trouble..."
No...
"Who said that!" Oreos gripped his K7 and spun around.
Why are you afraid? Oreos? Relax, I'll take care of you...
"Shut up!"
A moaning came from the left. Two zombie squirrels approached the lone squirrel. Oreos took a step back. Suddenly, two paws grabbed him from behind in a tight bear hug. His K7 hit the ground.
"Don't panic. That's the number 1 rule!" he squeaked hysterically.
He elbowed whoever it was holding him, but the grip didn't weaken. Oreos looked in front of him to see that a horde of zombies had assembled, and were closing in on him ever so slowly... with nothing but an empty look and the soft moan for flesh.
The one holding him took a bit out of his neck. One pulled his hair and bit on his cheeks. Yes. For the first time ever, Oreos let out a loud, long scream. Or rather, a silent one, as no one around had heard him.
That's the deal right? Tree falls, no one around. No sound at all... Oreos thought this over as he felt more teeth dig into his skin. A flash of white ended this nightmare.
The double O opened his eyes, to see his K7 lying on the ground beside him. He was cuddled up, lying on the dirty and cracked cement, shivering.
I made them go away. I am here to help you...
"Guys..." Oreos whimpered, "Where are you?"

Blaze stood amidst what remained of the main team. He folded his arms across his chest, the red and black spikes running down his back rising and falling as he breathed. The latest recruit began to address Deja, arming her grenade launcher, Ricy, eating a donut, WWW, no longer living in dementia, and Ajax, flicking a lighter on and off nervously.
"They are weak of mind. Therefore they are susceptible to what can only be know as 'It'. It's an illusion. Or is it? It feels real, looks real. Nothing can be done to prevent it except beat it."
Ajax stared cynically.
"I've got a Michael Jackson joked lined up here, but I'm gonna keep my mouth shut."
Blaze continued.
"We are being drawn in to his world. His twisted, demented thoughts will become reality. Once you are in there is only one thing to do - the only thing that you can. Typically, these dream worlds are straightforward; your goal clear from the start. However, some are non-linear. If you find yourself in one of these types of dreams you must find what to do. It will not be presented for you. Once you defeat the world, however, it will shatter, leaving you right where you were when you entered."
"So," Deja said sliding her combat knife into her belt, "Basically if we don't die, we'll make it out of here sometime?"
"Exactly."
Ricy wiped sugar off of his beak with his three-clawed hand.
"That's reassuring to know."
"Tell me about it," the Tediz defector scoffed.
"We have to find the neural Core. It's probably represented here in some demented fashion…" He turned to the others. "I'll be back in a flash."
Blaze ran, nothing visible but a black and red streak as he sped away.

CoolGuy stared into the darkness. He could make out a round, plump figure smiling at him from the darkness.
"Buddha?" CoolGuy whispered in awe. The figure smiled, nodding. It moved towards CoolGuy slowly, with controlled motions.
The sunglass-donning Venezuelan had taken time to stay with the monks at the monastery Sarge had been hiding from society in. There he had acquired some of the basic principles of Buddhism, finding peace in the monk's teachings. Yet he was, and is, a fighter. He could never accept a vow of non-violence. Hence only the teachings remained with him, and the monk's gift of a medium sized Shaolin blade. He looked at the moving statue. It eyes glowed red.
CoolGuy flicked his blade out of his belt, ramming it through the statues head. The figure shattered, and a harsh laugh was heard.
"Good move FlatFeet…but you forgot an old saying: 'If you see Buddha on the side of the road, kill him, because Buddha only lives within each of us." He sheathed his sword, and found himself standing beside Dark, the Professor, and a panting Sarge.

"God this feels good…" Mon sighed, stretching his legs. He knew that this illusion was only temporary, and when they went back he'd still be stuck in that damn wheel chair for another two weeks, but he still felt grateful for the opportunity. His legs had wandered, taking him away from the Platoon. He hastily started doubling back.
The ruined city buildings had vanished, leaving a towering Gothic cathedral in its place, its windows shattered, its stone structure black and crumbling.
He swallowed, hitched all his equipment and went inside.
When he entered, he noticed that the place was badly lit, no one was there and yet out of some corner someone was softly singing Latin hymns.
He approached the shrine and out of habit did the sigh of the cross. But as he looked to the shrine again, he noticed something about the crucified Jesus. Something else was there. Something else was on it. He moved closer and felt his stomach flip.
Sarg's limp body hung over one side of the cross, stake through. He spun round, screaming. Mon squinted his eyes, the sudden brightness of Pyst as a burning corpse blinding him. He tried to back off but only bumped into Chael, or what was left of him.
He started to panic. He kept telling himself that it was just an illusion.
"I can't help it!" he cried, " It's so damn real…"
He closed his eyes tightly as hot tears started to well up. An evil laughter literally shook the cathedral and when he opened his eyes, he was back on the streets, half a block from the Platoon.
He sat down on the foot of a building shaking his head and whimpering. He wiped his eyes shortly and dashed back to the others.
If the voice that laughed at him had a face, it would be smiling malevolently.
I've won that one now. He is mine to bend as I please .

RedStorm gripped his M16 as he looked around his surroundings. Darkness and tall grey building surrounded him. He called once for anyone but was only greeted by the whimpering, screaming and laughter. He raised an eyebrow.
He began walking through the dark and lonely place when a familiar yell was heard nearby.
"Sarge!" He began running in the direction he heard him. Turning a corner he found Sarge and the others. CoolGuy appeared behind him.
"Red!" CoolGuy hissed, "Where the hell is everyone!"

A mind of nearly fastidious mess crawled between the cracks in the buildings. Algae like worms. The air was profound in the worst way imaginable. Stealth was nervous; his body had never felt so twisted or humid. The breeze swept Stealth off his feet, he sunk down like a puddle, sweat dripped like a river off his forehead. Something was wrong here. Something terrible. FlatFeet had a great mind, but there was evil at work here. Stealth unsheathed his ivory-handled blade awkwardly. He nearly fell to the ground, but soon vertigo was erased from his mind. Stealth cried aloud, but only an echo called back.
He slashed the air behind him, as that foul wind whipped round his neck once more. His nose twitched and his tail flicked through the air. Peering round the corner he could make out a shadowy group of figures gathered in a circle. Stealth swallowed.
"Sarge? Is that you?"
Stealth walked away from the twisted buildings as a single granite grey tile appeared floating in midair. It quickly folded out, forming a larger square of yellow light. It expanded like an iris, opening wide.
Red eyes stared at the surroundings. Black wrap-around shades slid onto a ghost-white muzzle. The gate behind Chael closed.
He was learning at a rapid rate, his thirst for knowledge and power through knowledge growing. Getting inside FlatFeet's mind…inside the mind of the Omega progenitor virus was a once in a lifetime opportunity and he would be damned if he was going to sit back and watch the base with Twisted, Snickers, Squeaky and Cartman.
"Amateurs," he scoffed, fixing up the white lab coat he wore over a blue shirt and black jeans.
He walked off on his own, his boots crunching along the gravel.