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The Best of the Best Part 2 of 3
Posted By: CoLd BlooDed<broken_lizard12@hotmail.com>
Date: 31 August 2004, 5:11 AM

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Just a note: I know this series isn't the best of my writing ability, but it's just a fun thing I've done to make me laugh, and hopefully you too. It doesn't matter if you actually do find this funny, it just means you have my extremely warped sense of humor. Oh, and to anyone confused out there reading this, THotB is a comedy. Enjoy!
-CoLd BlooDed

The Best of the Best Part 2 of 3

      The screen flickered violently, signaling the Field Master, Bob Knickers, or in Covenant, Bob 'Knickersee, that hostiles had shown up.
      "There they are." he reported to his associate, Ivanna 'Bettername. "There they are."
      "Where are who?"
      "The hostiles."
      "What hostiles?"
      "What? Where?"
      "See? They're right there!"
      "Right there!"
      "I still don't see them, Excellency."
      "How can you not see them?"
      "See who?"
      "Argh! Just shut up!"
      There was a long, irritated silence, and then Ivanna spoke.
      "Oooohhh, there they are!" he laughed.
      "Show me."
      He pointed at the screen; almost cautiously.
      "That's not it, you imbecile." Bob replied, "That's the famous painting of the Mona Lisa."
      "It sure is beautiful, isn't it, sir?"
      "Indeed, it's one of the seven most important artifacts created by the Forerunners."
      There was a silence, and then Ivanna pointed to another thing on the massive screen.
      "Yes, there they are."
      "Aw, they're so cute!"
      The semi-naked babies in the picture looked around with wide, adorable eyes and cooed babyishly. 'Knickersee and his Covenant associate sighed as the diapers around the baby fell off, Ivanna's mandibles drooped and he spoke out.
      "What is that?!"
      "That, I believe," the Field Master replied seriously, "is the mouth."
      "Wow, very interesting."
      A three character word popped up on the screen, white in color with a dark blue box enveloping the human text, it said


      "What the hell does that say?" asked Ivanna in awe.
      "I have no idea; this television reception is shot to shit. Picks up human signals, I think." Bob said angrily, and then added: "But, get some troops to send some other troops, and then get them to send some other troops, and we can all get drunk off some cold fusions while those troops take care of the other intruders."
      "Yes, Excellency," Ivanna replied loyally, "they will be out in less than five minutes."
      "In five what?!"
      "Sorry, Excellency, I meant units. After all, I am fluent in human language."
      "Right," Bob said, "now get out of my sight, now."
      'Bettername walked obediently out of the room with his head high, he quickly disappeared into the shadow under the doorway and was concealed due to the poor amount of light that filtered into the room. Bob sighed, only able to listen to the footsteps outside of his enclosed room. The screen in front of him switched to a man holding some kind of human food, stuff that was packed between two loaves of what looked like Grunt meat and green Jackal wings, the Field Master sighed frustratingly and hit the holographic diode frustratingly. The man disappeared only to be surrounded by the text

                  i'm lovin' it

      "Piece of infernal creation!" cursed Bob, "This crap must be at least five-hundred light years old."

      They followed Sergeant Andrews down the hall, slowly and unaware. Best of the best my ass, thought the Sarge grimly, these tenderfoots don't even know how to hold a frickin' gun.
      He looked behind him and rubbed his free hand—his other clung to the Battle Rifle—into his face, sighing. Burk was holding his Pistol out like it was a bomb ready to detonate with any sudden movement... or like it was crap concealed in a diaper—Andrews laughed but no one noticed. Leech was holding his rifle backwards, with the muzzle of the weapon pressed into his shoulder and the trigger being awkwardly held with his twitching fingers ("This is one weird ass gun," Leech had said earlier, "Must be a Covenant make or somethin'."). Private Thomas Jefferson, the Marine he had named earlier in his mind, had his Sniper Rifle held upside down—troubling him greatly when the soldier tried to look through the scope. Hey-ho, let's go, off to Hell we stroll, he chanted in his mind, but the voice was serious, hey-ho, you know, these Marines suck.
      "Maybe an assist, here, Lord?" he asked, looking up towards the ceiling. "I'm gonna need one big ass assist, please."
      "Who you talkin' to, Sarge?" asked Scottie.
      "No one you'd know of, soldier. You talk to his brother, I'm sure of it."
      The Private didn't say anything further, and the UNSK squad moved forwards, continuing to hold their weapons in uncomfortable locations. The footfalls of the doomed Alpha Squad echoed off the narrow corridor that they had just recently entered; the presence didn't seem at all welcoming. In fact—it was even unwelcoming.
      Andrews gasped at this thought. It was all so clear! Everything fit together like a jigsaw puzzle—no, not one of those two-thousand piece ones, the really fancy, 3-D versions, but one of the old school, 2-D, 5 piece versions. It clicked together in his mind.
      "Colonel Ackerson is gay! The uniform, the haircut, the use of the English language... it's so obvious!" he shouted aloud. Everyone gasped. "Now take up positions in this hallway!"
      They did just as heavy metallic footfalls began clanging down the hallway. The Sergeant turned to look at his troops who were covered behind large purple crates and hidden from the glow cast by the exuberant blue lights fixated into the ceiling—the only thing wrong was that Downsman wasn't where he was supposed to be.
      Don't ask any questions, just smile and nod, smile and nod. And everything will be okay.
      But this wouldn't help; it wasn't like his old interview to join the UNSK.
      So ask—
      "Leech!" he hissed, "Where the hell did Scottie get to?"
      —a question, and get—
      "I don't know, he just said he was goin' to the washroom."
      —a stupid answer.
      "What?! While we're on a fucking operation in a Forerunner structure?!"
      "Yeah, he said it was an emergency... number two."
      Large blue orbs whizzed down the hall in bright sapphire flashes, most went stray and exploded into the wall at the other side. Charred fragments of metal torpidly trickled down the groove that had been hastily formed—they stopped on the floor in a pile of crudely lacerated steel. The Elites at the far end of the hall didn't stop firing until the cores of their plasma rifles overheated, and they stood there. Waiting.
      "Who is there?" an Elite asked, its voice was garbled slightly due to the translator attached to its armor.
The Sergeant put his plan into action; a grenade pin was extracted and tossed, then the frag was sent down the hallway.
      Three, two, one, zero, minus-one, minus-two...
      There was an explosion.
      "Maybe you should've thrown the grenade at the Elites!" yelled Burk over the blast.
      "I knew that!" Andrews replied, he slapped himself both mentally and physically. "Just... just fire at the fuckers!"
And as Alpha Squad engaged the enemy that had them pinned down, Scottie Downsman had just finished up on his business.

      Downsman opened his eye and looked at the sleeping Grunt he was standing over, glistening brightly in the orange light. Its armor casting strange shapes upon the aliens face and body, which heaved up and down in relaxed breaths—it awoke suddenly and looked with fear at the Private. He backed away as it shouted at him.
      The Grunt ran away from him, waddling with its overgrown legs and fancy methane tank. Downsman sighed, pulled up his pants, and frowned.
      "Why can't I make any friends?" he asked rhetorically, but an answer came anyways—well, not really an answer, but a voice nonetheless.
      "Hey, Scottie, over here." a happy voice spoke. "Come on, don't be afraid!"
      "Who are you?"
      "I'm The Wall."
      "What? Walls don't speak." the confused Private said childishly, "This is all a drug-related hallucination."
      Yes, it was true, Scottie had been wandering the barracks this morning before everyone was up; which was around 1 o'clock in the afternoon. He had gone into Alpha Squad's personal belongings, found a bottle of prescription drugs containing Valium and SmartPills—he had taken both, swallowing one of each before heading out. So yes, it was drug-related, but yes, he was going to go along with it.
      "¿Sabe usted c"mo hablar espa-ol?" asked The Wall.
      The high Private scratched his head carefully so he didn't burrow into his skull with his finger.
      "Enough of your gibberish," he said, but his voice seemed far away, "I don't understand what you're saying."
      "Seguro usted hace."
      In his mind the translation was: Sure you do. And funny enough, it was. Scottie had taken Spanish—or in unreality, Covenant—back in Boot, it was one of his electives. His subconscious was just revealing it, but he didn't know that.
      "So, are you going to say something relevant?"
      "There's pie in the refrigerator." the voice was deep and rumbling.
      "Really? Where?"
      "I was merely joking."
      "You were Merely Joking?"
      "No." The Wall replied, "I am The Wall."
      "Oh, right."
      "Now let me show you the path to enlightenment."
      "Sounds good!"
      The Wall made sounds that Scottie could see, and made colors that he could feel. Scottie would be damned if he hadn't taken some fucking PCP. But then he remembered hours later that these were Leech's drugs—and that definitely was going to be a hit to someone who didn't need them.
      "Come, Junkie, come."
      Junkie went.
      Then Scottie.

      "Retreat!" yelled Andrews over the staccato rip of assault weapons fire. "Retreat, damn you!"
      His team dashed out of cover smartly, covering each other carefully. How they managed to shoot straight and professionally still remained as a mystery to the Sarge, especially Leech who held his Battle Rifle backwards, the soldier was turned around but firing normally. They retreated expertly, but there was only one thing.
      "Other way, other way!" shrieked the Sergeant; he waved his hands madly to express himself.
      They all stopped, looked at laughing Elites in front of them, and turned back. But the aliens were laughing too hard to fire at them.

      "Alright, so you're telling me that the way to find eternal enlightenment is to play poker upside-down with a midget who has no eyes but a really keen sense of smell?" Scottie asked once more.
      "That is correct." The Wall replied softly, "So I suggest you get crackin'."
      "Are you coming on to me?"
      Scottie shifted his eyes, blinked twice, laughed, coughed, cried, ate, and then stopped. He noticed The Wall was closer.
      The expression of The Wall went from flat and boring and grey to happy and joyful and grey. "Yes?"
      The Marine stuck out his arm with a serious look and spoke: "Arms length away!"
      The Wall's reaction was quick, he backed up. "Sorry."
      Downsman looked around at the assortment of colors that continued to swirl around his body in a mist of fine fog. He felt himself lifted off the ground, and before he could react, The Wall pulled him into a room. Large glowing blue shapes rolled back and forth like balls, and the noises that came to Scottie's ears was off—it was as if he was stuck inside a jar and people were trying to communicate to him.
      This is all a dream, he thought, I might as well make some fun with it.
      "Hey, everybody!" he called out, the shapes moved towards him, yelling gibberish.

      "Yeah, right!" scoffed a Grunt, conversing with a veteran Elite who looked anything but happy. "I'll believe you when a human barges into this very compound intoxicated... and singing, and without a weapon—and when that happens, I'll cut off my paws and paste them on my forehead to make it look like I have very big—and pointy sharp—ears."
      "I tell the tru—" the veteran began, but was cut off at the sound coming from nearest corridor.
      "Sinnnnngggiiinnnggg iinnn the rainnn..."
      The metal access door that separated the room from the hallways opened suddenly, and there stood a swaying enemy soldier—without a weapon, and singing. Ivanna, who had overheard the outrageous conversation between the Grunt and Elite, looked back, and saw that the lesser ranking Covenant soldier had already glued his own hands to his head, sulking.
      Ivanna 'Bettername looked at the shaking human which had come through the hatch—he grinned savagely as the other Elites in the room aimed at him. However, 'Bettername looked at the enemy, and realized immediately he wasn't a threat.
      One of the Grunts moved towards the human and growled.
      "Are you the midget I'm supposed to be playing poker with?" the enemy soldier said stupidly. Ivanna interpreted what he said perfectly. "You know, I've heard you can't trust a midget—they're due to backstab you... in the knees."
      'Bettername stood suddenly and ordered the other soldiers to halt, calling out: "This human is not a threat! Look at him; he's obviously tripping on acid."
      One of the higher-ranked Elite soldiers looked back in a confused manner, and asked: "'Tripping on acid'? What in the Prophets name of Oggledorf is that?"
      The human suddenly spun and jumped, and then he yelled: "Let's go streaking!" Soon he had his military pants down by his ankles, and was running around in circles.
      "With haste, soldiers of the Covenant, capture that human and his little dog too!"
      "Not Toto!" screamed the hostile, but it was too late, he was already being dragged into his cell.

      The human soldier was crouched in the far-right corner, rocking back and forth, muttering to himself. Bob 'Knickersee clicked his mandibles and growled, turning quickly to Ivanna.
      "Good job, 'Bettername. But I have to ask..." Bob motioned to the locked-up hostile with his right hand, "how in the name of Oggledorf did you get him so easily?"
      "I don't know. He just kinda... stumbled into the room, shouting oddities."
      "Wow," spoke Bob, "that must've required some major talent."
      Ivanna ignored him and suggested: "We should contact the other humans in this structure—maybe threaten them... then telling them to leave the structure unless they wish for their comrade to be slain."
      "Very well, 'Bettername." the Elite Commander spun around, his eyes narrowing to evaluate the situation. Everything was calm again; they had a prisoner, Covenant soldiers patrolled silently around the perimeter of the room, and all the equipment that had been placed in his room was fixed. He spoke again, "Take a note; I want you to get in touch with the human invaders and tell them this..."
      "Yes, Excellency." Ivanna prepared to take the orders, scrambling to take out a plasma pen and a metal plate.
      "Tell them that if they wish to see their fellow human again," 'Knickersee paced, his hands behind his back, "then they must evacuate the structure immediately. Otherwise, we will kill the captive, and then them, and procure whatever technology we could exploit to our benefit. They will suffer a horrible death, beginning with cruel and bloody torture, and they will surely suffer the consequences of ignoring our subtle intention for them to turn back safely. Nothing—and I mean nothing—will rid the world of these inferior slobs, or their civilization, and that's why it is up to us to stop them before they create something completely revolutionary to the way this war is happening. We will kill them swiftly, brutally, and easily, without a doubt." Bob paused, and then turned to Ivanna with a heroic smile. "Got all that, 'Bettername?"
      "Got it, Excellency." Ivanna clicked his mandibles and left the room, looking cautiously at the tablet he held in his hands, containing the interpretation he had written down from Bob's glamorous speech.

                  Get out of structure, assholes!

      Yes, that would do fine.

      "Okay," Andrews spoke, panting, "Let's take a breather."
      Alpha Squad had managed to penetrate the bowels of the structure, and surprisingly, it didn't stink—which is exactly why they had set up a small defensive perimeter, perfect for resistance against the Covenant soldiers. It was a small room with only one entrance, a purple light casting its glow upon the patterned floor. His troops rested, and for a moment, everything seemed sane—right until a holo-panel, one installed into the wall, snapped on beside his face. In the flickering image was an Elite, and it spoke perfect English, basic American.
      "You human fellow are captive, name... Scott Downsiemans, he wander into us room and take way to cell. You see him live, get out of structure, assholes!"
      Andrews picked up the scent of what the Elite was really trying to say. He wanted them out, in order to see Scottie, who had somehow managed to survive an encounter with the enemy by himself.
      The holo-panel went back to it's original state, immediately darkening the section it had brightened. The Sergeant turned to his troops.
      "Well," he said, almost unbelieving, "it seems Private Scottie has gotten wound up with the Covenant—and they expect us to leave the structure in order to see him alive. It's just the enemies luck we are the best of the best, and that we don't leave any of our men behind. So let's go, Marines, and save Downsman. Whaddya say?"
      Silence, the troops ignored him.
      "Hello? Am I talking to myself?" Andrews asked to the quiet room.
      Joe Leech looked at him, eating something, and spoke in a garbled tone, but his expression was serious.
      "You could be..." he turned, grabbed a juice box, put the straw in, and drank until the cardboard liquid holder was empty. Then he looked back at Andrews. "If you were clinically insane."
      "Leech," he said in hidden frustration, "you just plain suck."
      "I needed the money."
      Andrews stared at him blankly, and then spoke, trying to ignore Joe's last statement.
      "I'll contact Vananabanana, then we pack up, soldiers, and we're out of here."

      A message came in through the communication network that had been successfully linked through the ONI satellite—it was like getting free cable; you just had to find the right plug. The UNSK was especially good at this task, considering that everything they had electronically was being processed through another organizations power. It was funny, really, but that's for another time. Funny, that is. No funny in this story.
      One of the General's informants called for him, and after Vananabanana got to the desk, the message had finished, telling him that a Private had been captured, unscathed, and they were going to rescue him. They also requested backup and an immediate evacuation—but Vananabanana had a much better idea.
      "Watson?" he beckoned.
      "Send out the seagulls!"
      "But sir—they're running low on ammunition!"
      The General pondered over this for several seconds, his chin being caressed by his hand, then he turned to his informant and spoke.
      "Bring out the beans..."
      And with that, havoc ensued upon Alpha Squad and the Forerunner facility.