Ever Had a Day Like This? by Sterfrye36
Ever Had a Day Like This? 2
Date: 7 July 2005, 8:08 pm
AN: Yeah, a year later and I decided to make a sequel to "Ever Had a Day Like This?" You can find it here:
Why'd I decide to do this? 'Cause I'm too darn lazy to pick back up on Longsword R, but I'm working on it...just...very...slowly...
Of the two kids on the psychiatrist's couch, the kid on the right was most relaxed. The kid on the left was most confused. Most confused, indeed.
how do I double-fist something again?"
"Y. And it's called dual-wielding, my friend."
"Well, I wanted to use two Rose Thorn Launchers at the same time, and—"
"They're called Needlers, good buddy."
"Yeah. And you hold down the Y button down while standing over a dual-wieldable weapon to dual-wield it."
"They look more like Rose Thorn Launchers. Oooh, or hood ornaments!" The kid on the right looked at the kid on the left with a raised eyebrow. Calling a Needler a hood ornament was a new low, even for the kid on the left, who had once mistaken the term "re-spawning" to refer to Todd McFarlane's Spawn.
It had been a little over a year since he had last seen the kid on the left. The reason for the long separation was because, at the end of their last encounter, the kid on the right had attempted to hang the kid on the left by tying his neck to the ceiling fan with his controller. Exactly a year, a month, five days, an intense psychological readjustment program, and several bouts of dementia later, he was finally ready to re-enter society.
Almost ready, actually. It was his final test: he had to survive a single, thirty-minute long Halo 2 co-op session with the kid on the left. An unloaded pistol had been placed on a table beside him. If he grabbed the pistol and pointed it at the kid on the left, he would have to go through another year of reprogramming.
The kid on the left, who hadn't even needed counseling for nearly being murdered, readily agreed to assist in the final test. The psychiatrist, who was sitting right next to the pistol and taking notes, had made a note to himself earlier that day to make sure that the kid on the left wasn't on some sort of illegal narcotic. He was just
too darn happy all the time. It was scary, almost like he was possessed.
"Yeah, hood ornaments!" he continued. "They look like they out to belong on the front of a
oh, what's it called?" The kid on the right thought for a second. The only hood ornament that he thought looked remotely like a Needler were on the Jaguar. But they faced the other way
"A Jaguar?" The kid on the left shook his head vigorously.
"No, it's called
uh, it's called
an Ocelot!" The psychologist glanced up at that one.
"What?" At the very least, the kid on the right had expected him to mistake the car for a "Puma" in some sort of weird subconscious reference to Red Versus Blue, but no, he hadn't even done something that simple. An Ocelot? An Ocelot?
The kid on the right began to feel strange feelings rising up from within him. He immediately closed his eyes and breathed deeply, doing as the psychologist had told him, to cleanse himself. It worked quickly, and he returned to playing the game.
They were playing Quarantine Zone, and the kid on the right was dreading the moment that they first reached the open able columns
"Hey, the game glitched! We can't go any further!"
"No it didn't. We have to shoot the hologr—"
"Yes it did, yes it did, yes it did!"
"I'm telling you, you have to shoot the holograms!"
"That's stupid! Why don't they just put a doorknob on it!"
actually, that's kind of a good point. I wonder why they didn't just put a console there or—"
"Oooh, or maybe they could scatter pieces of an ancient medallion throughout the level, and if you miss any of the pieces, you have to go back through the entire level and look for them! Then you can put it together to open the last door, which will lead to a cool boss battle, and then
" The kid on the right tried desperately to block him out, but it wasn't working. The old familiar twitch in his left eye was coming back, and stronger than ever.
"And another thing," the kid on the left continued in his mad diatribe. "Why can't he do melee combos like they said he was going to be able to do?"
"I told you already, Bungie said that they couldn't do it justice, so they—" But it was no use trying to argue with the kid on the left.
"That's stupid! They should've kept it in! Then he could run on the wall with the assault rifles—"
"Battle rifle! It's got the scope on it, and it fires in—"
"That's the sniper rifle!"
"No! The sniper rifle has a longer barrel, better zoom, and—"
"That's the anti-material rifle!"
"What?! Halo doesn't have an anti-material rifle!"
"Well, it should! You can take out tanks with it!"
"I told you, that was a lucky shot! I had already nailed it twice with the rocket launcher!"
"You mean the Stinger missiles?" The kid on the right could feel himself falling apart at the seams.
"Look, they're rockets that lock on. Not SAM missiles, okay?"
Several minutes passed in peace while the kid on the right desperately tried to pull himself back together. But it was only a matter of time before
"Cool, I can hold two assault rifles!" The kid on the right began to whimper.
"Assault rifles aren't even in Halo Two."
"It's an assault rifle! And you can double-fist them, John Woo style!" The kid on the right mustered all the strength he had left.
"Those are SMGs!"
"Assault rifles!" the kid on the left screamed at the top of his lungs. "And he could run on the wall like Neo and jump into the phone lines, but—"
"—each time he uses focus, the parasite in his chest will grow, and if you use focus too often, he'll die!"
"This isn't the Matrix or Resident Evil Four, you lousy
"And the re-generatable shields are stupid. You should have to use Combine chargers to put them back into place, like Dr. Gordon Freeman!" The kid on the right felt an immense wave of nausea rise up from his stomach.
"I wish I was a free man
" the patient muttered, when suddenly, the idea of grabbing the pistol and blowing the idiot's head off seemed very inviting.
"Yeah, me too. Half-Life Two is waaaaay better than Corona Two." Corona Two, the kid on the right thought. Where the heck did he come up with Corona?
"Yeah. Corona Two stinks."
Then, something in the kid on the right snapped. Eyes wild, he heard a metallic chick, and a voice scream, "I can't take it anymore!" It wasn't for another split-second that he realized that the voice wasn't his. He spun around to grab the pistol, but it wasn't there! Where was it!?
It was at that point that he noticed that the psychologist was standing with the gun in his hand. Instinctively, he threw himself off of the couch and out of the line of fire. The psychologist pulled the trigger multiple times, hitting the kid on the left as he launched into something about "Corona's guns stink. Killzone's guns at least have an interchange fire!" The moron went flying over the back of the couch, his body lifeless.
The kid on the right, mouth open, eyes agape, stared at the psychologist who was breathing heavily. "Why?" he finally asked.
"I couldn't stand it. Too much stupidity to be allowed to live. And you were close to cracking. So, I loaded the gun and killed him. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go commit myself." The psychologist strolled past the kid on the right on his way out. "You've got nothing to worry about," he said as he left the room. "You're perfectly healthy, and nobody like him will ever bother you again."
TO BE CONTINUED