Discussion in 'SciFi & Fantasy' started by Thor, May 19, 2004.
Log in or Sign up to hide all adverts.
Space Vice-Admiral (or whatever I was) The Flemster woke up from his stasis slumber, farted loudly and hit the snooze button.
Now that's some powerful thread necromancy if I ever saw it!
Though... this is an interesting idea... is there any interest for it? If so, I could try and whip up a new thread, maybe a little backstory/environment etc? Sort of run it similar to a D20 based game, but, well, through the web... and with far less rules. Idea would be people post their characters actions (as descriptive as they like) and then a Game Master would "resolve" those actions.
Isnt that what you already do as moderator?
How far sighted you were in 2004 to foresee the new replacement to Airforce One that Trumpy has pulled the plug on.
Back to the drawing board.
Space Admiral The Flemster woke once more. This time, it was the incessant chiming of a comms unit nearby that broke him from his filthy dream about circus midgets and a donkey.
He pressed some buttons and the sleep capsule things slid open with a hiss, discharging dry ice everywhere.
The Flemster swung his underused legs over and onto the cold floor, wincing a bit as he did so.
His head was thumping with sobriety, something he wasn't used to. Also, his stomach was burbling. He recognised the symptoms immediately and made haste for a small trash bin in the corner of the room...
Later, once he had cleaned and dressed himself, as well as dousing the now-unusable bin in scented powder, he sat studying the comms unit.
He read something about someone called "Trump". He wasn't too sure but he seemed to recall from ancient history class that Trump was responsible for the US - Sino War of 2017. He discarded the thought and studied the other message.
It seemed he wasn't alone in the universe anymore. There were people out there!
Just how many, he wasn't sure. But he had to find out. He had to find the members of the SciForums Fleet, no matter where they were...
The Flemster, now full of sense and purpose, slammed his fist down on the desk, missed and punched himself really hard in the nuts.
He doubled over and collapsed onto the floor, whimpering like a little girl.
Nearly ten weeks passed before The Flemster's plums stopped hurting enough for him to do anything.
Now, he strode over to the comms unit, studying the readout screen. There was nothing. No signs of communications anywhere in the galaxy.
He eyed the Emergency Distress button, big and red and inviting as it was.
The Flemster slammed his fist down on the button, taking care with his aim, lest he smack himself in the balls again.
Nothing seemed to happen for a bit. Then the screen displayed the message that was being broadcast galaxy-wide;
"Ship in distress. Please help. SciForums Space Station Earth. Ship in distress. Please help. SciForums Space Station Earth..." it cycled endlessly.
The Flemster fished out a packet of Space Crisps and sat back in a chair near the window, looking out into the infinite void...
>Thank you for calling Galactic Emergency Services.
>Your call is important to us.
>RIP IN DRESS
>We have despatched
>NEEDLE AND THREAD
>Our agent will be with you in approximately
>Please note - some services may be chargeable.
The Flemster read and re-read the automated reply. He even printed it out and read it over and over again in hard copy.
Then he got bored and decided to eat some more Space Crisps.
Meanwhile, the automated distress thing continued pumping out its, frankly, seemingly fucking pointless message...
Separate names with a comma.