Mental Crimes, Mental Times - Part 2

A.T is delighted. "Brilliant! My Air Tremor is parked just a few blocks away. Let's do thi..."

"What?" J.S interrupts. "What are you doing with an Air Tremor? You can barely control your own pins, never mind a hover vehicle."

"Calm down, J.S, it's a piece of piss even in my case."

"I can't believe I'm taking your word for that." Says J.S. "We'll head for the motor once I have my supplies."

A.T tilts his head in bemusement. "Supplies?"

"Yes. I called one of my dealers to fix me up with some LSD." J.S explains frustratedly.

A.T sniggers while shaking his head. "And you give me a hard time for being on the sauce."

J.S gives a dirty look. "Shut up." He mutters.

Mere moments later, a tall figure appears under the street lights only yards from where they are standing.

"Gif, not before time."

Gif is the local drug supplier and former member of the old empire which was situated where they stand. His build is similar to that of a human - due to the use of a drug containing human DNA which has been out of circulation for 8 years now - but he is primarily a super evolved Giraffe. His neck is much shorter than your average Giraffe, although the head is typical of the animal. He wears a black hooded fleece with light grey jogging bottoms and black sports trainers. He searches his pockets and pulls out several strips of LSD.

"5 strips of 9, yeah?" Enquires Gif in his deep, gruff tone.

J.S nods his head in a positive motion.

"What's it to be? 'Astro Goat' or the 'Men of Dust' logo?" Gif asks whilst panning 'round suspiciously.

J.S pauses for a moment. "Who gives a shit? As long as it does the job, man."

They quickly trade the drugs and pelts (the currency of Earth at this time) and Gif disappears into the darkness as if no scenario had occurred.

"Okay, A.T. Let's go and get this over with." Says J.S.

A.T shakes his head. "I wish it were going to be as simple as that."

"Well, you say we've got a few blocks to travel, how about you fill the time by explaining what the fuck you mean by that?" Asks, a clearly irritated, J.S.

A.T accepts the request. "Ok, I will. For the past year or so, A.R.S.E have been working on an important case - the tracking down and comprimising of Carlton Crow. Crow is the owner of C.C Weaponry which, obviously, designs and manufactures military firearms. On a side note, I like to imagine the 'C.C' part stands for 'Caniving Cunt'. There were rumors he was building the most advanced and destructable weapons ever constructed, so a few of the agent iguanas were sent there to scope around. They never returned. The boss seemed to think they'd boycotted the mission without any permission, an assumption I thought was bullshit, so he decided to send a few more agents to search for them whilst the Secret Squadron attempted to infiltrate the C.C Weaponry HQ. This time, only one of the iguanas returned critically wounded. His only words were 'they're alive'. Over and over he said those exact words. So, basically, the mission is two-fold - kill Crow and deal with whatever it is that is 'alive'."

J.S thinks to himself for a few seconds and seeks to make sure he understands the situation. "Let me see if I've got this right. You want me to help you achieve what multiple agents and military soldiers couldn't, which is launch a successful attack on an establishment containing dangerous armed constructs which are apparently 'alive', terminate all of them and their creator?"

A.T produces a smirk. "You catch on quick for being an unemployed junkie."

"That's only due to the fact that you are an alcoholic with the inability to sugar coat an explanation in order to make it sound a bit less like a brutal fucking suicide." Says J.S.

"What have you got to lose?" Asks A.T.

"According to the drugs, my awesome life and a drum kit made from the scales of a coy fish." J.S responds sarcastically.

They reach A.T's Air Tremor and jump inside. It is metallic blue and looks like a small sports car with a rubber dingy attatched to the bottom instead of wheels. A split second after A.T turns the key, a dark figure appears in front of the vehicle. Both of them recieve a shock and A.T accidentally slams his foot on the accelerator and, before he can hit the brake, the hover craft crashes into the figure sending it up and overhead. It lands with a grim thud a few yards behind them.

J.S looks in the rear view mirror. "What the fuck was that, man!?"

A.T looks worried. "Hopefully nothing important. We should take a peek."

They slowly emerge from the Air Tremor and make their way to the scene of where the thing landed. There is nothing to be seen except poison covered streets.

To be continued...

Mental Crimes, Mental Times - Part 1

In the year 3018, Earth has drastically changed. Humans had their time and couldn't escape their inevitable armageddon in 2022. A few species of wild animals and insects, somehow, managed to survive whilst the so-called dominant species perished in its entirety. The survivors continued to live and evolve for the next near-century with some surprising results.

In this present day - in 3018 - new civilisations can be seen flourishing in the form of completely modernised cities with blinding lights, deafening sounds and gargantuan buildings that would make real-life Dubai shit itself. Little is left of what was 96 years ago and in its place we find a brand new kingdom which belongs entirely to the evolution of animals. There are Cheetahs walking on hind legs wearing Gazelle-skin tuxedos and carrying briefcases down the busy streets. Sheep are piloting hovercraft style taxis taking tracksuited Iguanas to the gym. A mind-fuck for anyone who remembers Earth as controlled by human beings.

Sadly, not every town is blossoming quite so well.  Here, in the town of Phuk, it is a wasted sight - kind of like a futuristic ghost town or a giant back alley from the world in which it lies. Things are not so wonderful here. Wild, yes. Wonderful, fuck no. The streets are running with so much liquid polution that the fumes would melt your taste buds off of your tongue in the space of 3 minutes. It's no surprise that the welcome video sign when entering features the word 'Phuked!' splatting onto the 30ft screen in a continuous loop. It is here, however, that our story begins.

Near the centre of town, there stands an abandoned factory building which was previously used as headquarters for a drugs empire until it was infiltrated and cleared by the cold-blooded crime fighting squad, A.R.S.E (Armed Reptilian Service Enterprise). The windows and doors have since been sealed off with ultra-steel (a recently discovered impenetrable material) 5 inches thick. Something is standing in one of the doorways, or 'someone' I should say. Meet Junkie Snail - a highly evolved upright snail and former detective agent for A.R.S.E who was fired for failing to control his drug addictions. No, snails are not reptiles, but A.R.S.E wanted to avoid discrimination without changing the name of their organisation as they felt it had a nice ring to it (pun). Junkie Snail, we'll call him J.S in future, stands awkwardly leaning against the steel doors with his shoulder. He stares at the rippling sewage as the rainfall enters its flow with a joint hanging from his mouth which has almost completely burnt out. He wears a kakhi coloured overcoat with a dark green scarf and a light brown fedora hat with a dark brown stripe around the circumference.

"Hey, J.S!" Yells a male's voice from close by.

He throws his joint into the polution and lifts his head in search of the voice's source.

"A.T, good to see ya." He replies.

From the shadows emerges some kind of mutant turtle with a bottle of beer in hand - same likeness as the 'teenage ninja' kind only without the bandanas, weapons and martial arts capabilities. This is Alkie Turtle, hence 'A.T' and the beer. He was J.S's partner at A.R.S.E before J.S was sacked and is still under employment with them, albeit in a limited capacity due to ongoing alcohol problems. He always dresses in a grey suit with a white shirt and green tie in order to cover up his 'demons', ie. so folk don't recognise he is an alcoholic. Although, the fact that he's almost constantly pissed and never changes his grubby suit gives the game away ever so slightly.

"J.S, something's gone wrong with a case I was assigned to. I need your help." A.T utters not without a burp.

"C'mon, A.T, you know I can't help you. I can't fucking help myself. Besides, I was fired, wasn't I?" J.S responds rhetorically.

"And I'm in a better position?" A.T enquires. "My liver talks to me in my sleep, man! They don't have to know a thing."

"At least your liver exists, for now, but a black bear with a magic penis and the arms of the Hulk does not. Forget it."

"I thought you loved this job." Says A.T "You made it a fucking art."

"Yeah, I did. Except it's not my job anymore, not since I blamed and captured the boss' daughter in-law for the Chite bombings claiming that cenataur prints led me to her." J.S explains.

"That doesn't mean you have to stop. You could continue for the good of your own health - not literally, of course, 'cause both of our healths are fucked. You know I'm making sense, J.S."

"For fuck's sake, alright!" exclaims J.S reluctantly.

To be continued...