June 1, 2633
My name is Lance Bean. I have been dispatched to an archipelago near New Zealand with my partner, Bill “Mad Dog” Rizer. Why is he called Mad Dog? Because he was responsible for packing for this mission, and the dumbass didn’t even bring any shirts for us. Multi-purpose gun? Check. Suntan lotion? Bug spray? A friggen towel? Nope. I am traveling with an animal.
And our superiors apparently recognized that. Mad Dog is here to shoot stuff, but I have been distinctly tasked with documenting this journey. Apparently, prior to two years ago, this was a completely abandoned island. Then a meteorite crashed on the area, and the place has been hopping ever since. Now satellite images show that there appears to be a heavily armed militia preparing for an invasion, and nobody much likes that. However, no one can figure out the exact affiliation of this army, so there is some conjecture among the science types that these dorks arrived here on that previously mentioned space rock. Do I truck with that theory? Of course not. But I have been tasked with documenting this mission and any “weirdness” (their exact words) that may be involved. I’m not holding my breath there, but it at least gives me a reason to send Bill out in front while I scribble down some notes.
Mad Dog, I’m going to spend most of this mission looking for a t-shirt shop thanks to you, so you’re going to deal with these dorks and their stupid exploding bridges.
June 2, 2633
Bill and I have ventured through two distinct areas, and I have learned two things:
1. The “army” doesn’t seem to be affiliated with any known superpower, but they do call themselves Red Falcon.
2. Red Falcon hella loves backpacks.
Other than that? Nothing to report. Where we landed was some dense forest, and it was crowded with guys running around doing nothing. Guess we interrupted Red Falcon calisthenics? And then Bill blew ‘em all to whatever afterlife is relevant to backpack worshippers. There were a few turret guns and a literal gun wall, but nothing we couldn’t handle. I mean, look, our boys back home keep sending gun modulations through flying orb thingys, so we’re not going to be impressed when confronted with a cannon that can aim in a whole three directions.
Once we got on the other side of that defensive wall, we at least saw Red Falcon had some interesting tech. I emphasize “had”, though, because we blew it all to Kingdom Come. It is not my fault if you seal all your doors with extremely volatile, glowing red buttons. Oh, and head’s up, Red Falcon? Some weirdo doing jumping jacks across a wall is not the impenetrable defense you seem to think it is. Incidentally, as per my orders, I did want to stop and take a look at all this tech sprinkled around the base, but Bill… well… Bill apparently got a flamethrower modulator on his gun, and having a flamethrower pissed him off so much, he had to burn the whole base down. First world problems…
Regardless, nothing extraordinary about Red Falcon to report so far. There was some kind of weird, angry eyeball thing at the end of this labyrinth fortress, but it was probably a robot or a hologram or something. It shot bubbles? Literally nothing to write home about. Apparently we’re going back outside tomorrow, so looking forward to that.
June 3, 2633
Mad Dog is a dick.
Look, Bill, this is really straightforward: you jump and tumble and whatever and shoot the bad guys, and I hang back and write up these mission reports. I have to stand there and take notes. It is my job. And it’s cool that you get to flip around like a coked-up acrobat on floating rocks or whatever, but do not leave me behind. This is pretty basic stuff. I am your partner. I am helping. And I will literally die if you run ahead of me and leave me to get blasted while I’m trying to catalogue that 800th backpack dude. Yes, I know you think this is stupid, but it is important to the mission, and that means it is important to you. You want to get medals, Bill? Oh, no, I guess you don’t, because you can’t even remember to bring a shirt. Dammit, Bill.
Stop calling me “scorpion”, Bill. Is that supposed to be an insult? No, scorpions are not known for being slow. That isn’t a thing.
For the record, the waterfall was nice and pleasant. Nothing too exciting going on here, but the “gun wall” from that first base was replaced with some kind of mobile dragon statue. Red Falcon apparently is really into robotic masonry, but this has otherwise been a pretty uninteresting day. Now for another day, another base.
June 4, 2633
First task of the day: another dumbass series of hallways. Who cares? This is, like, exactly like the last base, but with more guns. Been there, done that. There was even some kind of hologram monster thingy shooting bubbles at the end. Red Falcon apparently has decent technology, but it uses it all for bubble cyclopes and dragon statues. I admire that, though it isn’t particularly effective in the face of Mad Dog.
But speaking of Mad Dog, I was cursing my dear companion for most of the day (again), because today’s adventure was blanketed in snow. How does that work? We were looking at a reasonable 50-60 when we touched down (yes, Bill, I understand that it is Summer at home, but we’re in the southern hemisphere, genius), but now we are trudging through a blizzard. Technically, we are also close to where that meteor touched down, so it is possible there was some manner of ecological event here, and, (conjecture) the meteor is somehow “draining” the life (and temperature) out of the area. Or maybe Red Falcon invested in a weather machine, and is training its grunts for snowy backpacking. Really could be a lot of explanations here.
Regardless, Bill couldn’t care less, and he seems to keep warm by pressing himself up against “spike trucks” (his words) and firing away. I guess the adrenaline is keeping his shirtless self going. There was some kind of “hover ship” at the entrance to the next base, but that thing barely warrants a mention. However, it does seem like that base is going down into the Earth and “following” that meteor that hit the archipelago two years ago, so we might see some answers tomorrow.
And maybe, once we’re inside, Red Falcon will turn up the thermostat.
June 5, 2633
This has been a… memorable day.
So our first stop was some kind of factory or power company or… something. It’s hard to tell, because whatever was ever supposed to be going on here appears to be partially broken now. There are pipes that are half broken, expelling… something that is deadly. You do not want to touch that stuff. And, whether the place is actually functioning or not, there were a pile of soldiers defending the area. Maybe they like the energy blasts? Trying to warm the place up? This Energy Zone (Bill’s naming scheme, based on the fact that he woke up and “crushed” some stupid energy drink) is a complete mystery, and I can’t see any humans actively working within this “factory”.
Oh, and the reason I note that “human” thing? There was what appeared to be a person in a football uniform guarding the following area… except he was about three times the size of your average human. This goliath tossed some disc thing around the area, but the biggest threat was the fact that he was just… big. I could have reasonably described everything “big” we faced up to this point as some kind of robot, but this was definitely a biological entity. He (it?) smelled alive, at least. Is this the effect of the meteor on a human? Some genetically manipulated malcontent? However this beast came into existence, we put it in the ground, albeit after it soaked way too much artillery.
By comparison, the following area was fairly mundane. It seemed to be a deliberate “trap zone” (how does that work for you, Bill? Hangar Zone? No, that’s stupid) to keep invaders like us out. Of course, the whole area seemed… off. Like maybe someone on the planning board had read about how to repel invaders, but didn’t quite understand what was actually going to be useful. Spiked walls? Deadly. A mine cart that just putters along at 5 MPH and doesn’t go anywhere? Maybe head back to the drawing board, Red Falcon. You’ll get us next time, I’m sure.
Regardless, one final door busting, and we’re good to go. Given all these fortifications, I’m guessing we’ll see the heart of this mission tomorrow.
June 6, 2633
That was… something.
I will keep this report brief: yes, the meteorite apparently brought some aliens with it. I have no idea how to even describe these things, but Bill called the big sausage-looking thing “Java”. Why? It made me spill my morning coffee, and Bill was having a laugh. He has been a jackass to the very end. Also, I would love to document more of what we experienced on that wretched island, but our favorite jackass blew up the whole island. Was that part of his mission? Destroy every last trace of the nightmare I just experienced? Good job, Mad Dog, you shot a pulsating, mammoth heart until an entire archipelago detonated. Oh, did I not mention the solitary heart the size of a Hummer? And how it was protected by an army of spider-aliens that were continually spawning from acid-dripping eggs? And how I had to spend like twenty minutes prying one of those suckers off Bill’s face? That was not a fun time for anybody involved.
I am done with this nonsense. Yes, there were aliens. Yes, a lot of those “backpack dudes” were probably aliens, too. It was, probably very literally, aliens all the way down. And I am done. I’m not doing that again. You want to send this “Scorpion” against an army of aliens again, you can count me out. I know that meteor had to come from somewhere, but If these aliens strike back, that’s super, but I’m staying home.
I’m going to need thirty lifetimes’ worth of therapy now…
FGC #576 Contra
What’s next? Random ROB has chosen… Rock ‘n Roll Racing for the 16-bit system of your choice! First we are going to rock, then we are going to blow up a race car, and then we might roll. Please look forward to it!