Anti-trope Stories, Part 1
That Satellite is Still Mine
The intercom buzzed in the middle of the night:
"Sir, we have one serious situation"
"What is that, Lieutenant?"
"A terrorist groups claims they have taken control of the Space Hornet satellite!"
"Prepare to switch to manual control. I'm coming down"
The General strode into the Mission Control room and stared hard at the Lieutenant.
"Sir, we are ready to switch controls"
He then sat at his commander console, and as soon as he saw the men in Arab robes showing off AKs and laptop computers on the screen, he gave the order:
"Give me manual control. Now!"
In a few seconds, when the status lights began turning from red to green, one of the jihadi techies began looking more and more uncomfortable - while the leader just went on rambling and shrieking about Great Satan, rivers of blood and all the usual stuff.
All the status light turned green, and the General finally opened the microphone:
"You pathetic dumbfucks. My backup manual control works. Thanks for giving us your exact location, and Allah Snackbar".
The General gave the fire sequence order, and five seconds later the panicked faces of the jihadis disappeared into a snowy screen. And for the first time in months the General conceded himself a wholehearted smile.
"Right mate, they said there's a bomb on this level of the building. So keep your eyes open for it"
"I'm gonna find that bloody thing"
Time passes and the two intrepid rescuers get separated. Then, David calls James on his walkie-talkie:
"I saw no bomb, mate. Just a funny black box with a couple of lights on it. Some little chav pulled a prank on us"
"Yeah, the scums... How's this black box like, tho?"
"It's all black, the size of a shoebox. It's got one red light with POWER beside it and a red one labelled ARMED. Does it look like a bomb to you?"
"Not that much, mate. Shall we go to the local for a pint?"
Get Rid of Him Fast
The got him at last. He expended all the ammo of his MP5, all the magazines of his Glock .40, his survival knife broke and he kicked and punched until he fell exhausted. He left a trail of dead goons in his steps, but in the end the minions of His Excellence in their ash-grey uniforms reminding of Wehermacht soldiers were simply too many. And now, tied and beaten but unbroken, Tony was being taken to His Excellence himself, in his inner sanctum. And that was going to be his last chance; he already managed to slip half of his right hand off the cuff, and mentally rehearsed how to elbow one guard and grab the Uzi from the hands of the other. He only needed a bit more time.
His Excellence strode forward from his lavish throne, his harem of Japanese concubines in skimpy kimonos watching coriously. His Excellence was tall, lean and mean. Obsessed with 80's glam rock, he wore Converse shoes, purple spandex pants, an ammo belt and a black mesh T-shirt. And big platinum blonde curly hair. But he was no joke, and the last man to ridicule his look ended up as the eunuch sex slave of his second concubine. His Excellence held a pump shotgun in hand, almost casually.
One of the guards kicked Tony behind his knees making him fall kneeling in front of His Excellence, who then pointed the shotgun at Tony's face. But his hand was almost free now.
"Tony, I admire you. You've made it so far, you're a worthy enemy. But not good enough."
"Sam, tell me, why all this? Why you want your band to be the only one listened to on the whole Earth? It's insane".
"You know Tony, it's because..."
But at that point His Excellence pulled the trigger, and most of Tony's brain splattered behind him on the mirror-polished floor of Italian tiles. For good measure, His Excellence pumped another round in the chamber and shot Tony again in the back.
"Do you think I'm so stupid to fall for your plan? I have watched enough B-movies".
Then he gestured his chief lieutenant, and his song "I Rule The World" began playing at ludicrous volume sending His Excellence in a paroxysm of air guitar.
Well, with this last story my warped fantasy was taking over. Stay tuned for more - if you've got that special masochistic vein and canes and stilettos simply have gotten old and overused. You know what I mean, no?