Guacamolia Chapter 2 “Complete”

For those of you who have yet to read chapter 1 of Guacamolia, scroll down a bit and the fourth post is Guacamolia Chapter 1: Complete. I am terribly sorry for letting Guacamolia hang in the dry for so long.


Shroons woke up to green stuff, very green stuff, and very close to his eyes the green stuff is almost a blur; as a matter of fact, his pointy nose is forked right into the green stuff. Shroons took in a whiff of air through his nose, but all he got is green stuff clogging up his nostrils; not a pleasant smell. So the green stuff is moss, Shroons thought to himself, he tested his limps, but they are limp; for now a bit, it looked like he has to breath through his mouth, which, fortunately, is not buried air-duct deep in green moss, and wait for his limps to re-circulate again for him to pull his nose out of the green moss. Shroons diverted his eyes to the sides and caught a glance at his surroundings, yes, his home-forest, towering green trees covering the sky with their towering branches, and that’s about it. Wait, how did I get out here? He thought to himself, then, shuffling the short-term memory storage space in his apple-sized brain (which takes up 75 percent of his head), he replayed the mayhem two days ago (he didn’t know that it happened two days ago, Shroons thought he passed out for a few hours, but that was after he came to the conclusion that he passed out at all); Weedy with his left arm severed, the colony bombed to shreds, fairy folks slaughtered, bloody green erupting through the air from the heads of fairy folks whose heads were smashed and blasted open like gourds, Shroons saw these rather terrible images flash through his mind at a rate of one hundred frames per second, then he came to the part where Aria, member of the Fairy High Council, slapped his face and gave him an important message to deliver, Shroons patted his bottom (where he always puts his delivery mail) to check that the leaf envelope is still there, and finding that he can move his arms, pulled his nose out of the green moss his nose had taken shelter in for the past two days. Shroons never read the mails he was supposed to deliver, he never found much interest in it, so he didn’t this time; what he is worried about is what happened to the colony…and his bowl of hyperactive pineapples especially, so finding that he can move his wings freely, Shroons tested his flight joints with a few circles in the air and flew in the direction of the colony; he knew where it is because once before he also crashed into the same tree he crashed into two days ago and landed in the same patch of moss, that time he had broken his nose, so he had to fly back to the colony to get some leaf-tissue and restart the delivery voyage, the route he takes now is the route he took that time; fairies have photographic memory, and always have film with it.


Mara woke up still fastened to her seat by her seatbelt, still intact. The setting of the plane had changed greatly, though. A wreck of the plane is what remains of the Airbus 340 she was on; the iron frame is not destroyed, but hangs out in the open and sunlight pours through a big gaping hole in the ceiling of the plane, as well as down the walkway, where the front half seem to have detached itself from the rest of the plane body. From the outside, the Airbus looks like the sunken Titanic; plane version. Mara unfastened her seatbelt and tried to stand up, she fell down and her head landed in someone’s lap, this unfortunate someone happened to have had her head beheaded by a large shard of metal earlier during crash course, and her upper-body is stained like an erupted volcano with bloody red blood cells and fragments of brains; where her head was beheaded, there is the top of this bloody volcano, the bloodiest part of this body, a stump with a piece of windpipe dangling to the side. Upon glancing at this horrendous sight, Mara screamed and although she could not stand a moment earlier, she tore away from this seat and ran full-speed up the aisle, tripping a few times, passing numerous bodies still logged in their seats; here was a man impaled through the chest by a golf club (this instrument should be in the cargo hold and not in economy class, but from this it can be inferred that the cargo hold is no longer effective, so leave it at that), there was a flight attendant with a broken neck somehow cramped into the baggage space by force of the crash or deliberately, and in the third row middle column is a child crushed by the lunch trolley, all this and many other horrible deaths littered the exposed innards of the downed wreck of the tail half of the plane, the outside saw a worse sight yet when Mara cleared the wreckage and stumbled down in the tall yellow grass-bed flattened by impact around the crash. The visible ground is littered with visible bodies and half-bodies of passengers tossed carelessly like rag-dolls among the tall grass, luggage, scattered belongings that no longer belong, and small blackened fires that still burn after the initial explosion. It is a small, but terrifying scene to come across in the mid of Guacamolia’s grassland savanna, where the slight wind rustle the thick blades of grass forming allusions of waves on the surface, and the sky shone bright blue with the sun up. Mara sat up and gazed in no particular direction for a while, her face showed no particular emotion other than the shock that comes out of being electrocuted by high voltage cable, her wandering gaze focused on two figures gradually; two slow-moving figures moving across the thicket grass in the general direction of the plane wreck. At first inspection she assumed they are survivors of the plane crash, she waved weakly; at this wave, the figures seem to quicken their pace towards the general direction of the plane wreck. At closer inspection, Mara observed that the figures (a slim male and a slightly shorter female, judged through the length of their strangely grey hair) which are now closer by ten feet that they appear to be dressed in tattered rags, and their faces pale in the sunlight; that is understandable, for when Mara looked at her own clothing, they are torn beyond recognition. At even closer inspection, she observed the moan that came now and then from the figures, and the way in which their arms are raised, like sleepwalkers under the influence of alcohol…and the male figure seem to be missing a part of his chest, where ribs show through a big ripped hole in his barely recognizable flannel shirt…and his flesh apparently…now something isn’t right there…

Erick and Erick’s Sister

It is almost impossible to render the thoughts of a zombie, it is almost impossible for an expert to render the thoughts of a zombie; because they have no thought, well, not really until the huge-mega-gigantic breakthrough that is going to come very, very soon, yes, except for that exception, it is impossible to translate or interpret the thoughts of a zombie. So I will tell what Erick and his sister did as to what they thought before they did it, because zombies act rather on instinct than logic, what they do is what they think, that’s the best way to put it. When Erick and his sister first saw Mara by the plane wreck, they thought it was another zombie, but I bet they didn’t really think that, they just started off in that direction, half-lurching and half-stumbling. When Mara got a clear picture of what the two figures she was looking at, it added horror to the terrified state she was already in, so she screamed a scream mostly reserved for werewolf cubs and ran. Erick raised his hand (with no particular meaning) and attempted what appeared to be a wave gesture, and shouted in Gibberish “Hallo there!” Mara did not understand Gibberish and kept running away from what she thought was the walking dead people from ‘movies’. Erick’s legs started a rather surprisingly rapid run after Mara, one leg after the other, it grew into a chase. “I don’t know I can do that…” Erick said contently (if it is possible that zombies have a happy emotion) “Try this sister!” Erick shouted to his sister, who followed his example and ran after him and Mara. “What’re we doing?” Erick’s sister asked Erick. “I don’t say,” and then he turned his head to Mara, who was fading off into the tall grass, and shouted again “hallo there!” only this time, Erick had said something he was unaware he did, he shouted ‘hallo there’ in English, and that made Mara stop abruptly to look back, puzzled. Seeing that Mara had slowed down, Erick shouted again “hallo there!’

There is no explanation as to why Erick shouted ‘hallo there’ in English (his native language) and not Gibberish, could it be possible that zombies have traces of themselves left from their previous life? Well, for Erick, that seemed to be the case, and he shouted it once more, also in English. This is the brink of a ‘scientific breakthrough’ right here, too bad there are no ‘scientists’ about.


Wolfe always hated squirrels who threw nuts at him, it seems impossible for squirrels not to dislike werewolves when they are in their wolf form, when werewolves are human, they look like humans and vampires, except a bit darker in shades; otherwise, werewolves are human, it’s just the lycanthrope and giant-wolf appearance that really ticks nature off. And werewolves pray every weekend to Brother Wolf to settle a deal with Mother Nature, so angry forest animals won’t throw nuts at them anymore; it disturbs the hunt.  

Wolfe always hated squirrels throwing nuts at him right after his triumph with the grey goose, but he never anticipated flying metal people throwing rounds of laser at him. The shooting stars he saw a moment ago flew in his direction, enlarged quickly into distinguishable people, and shot out beams of laser aimed at him, to him the lasers look like glowworms high on hyperactive pineapples, an accurate comparison. Wolfe ducked out of the was just in time for a yellow beam to only scorch his backside with a black burn mark, not a fatal injury, but a fatal injury to handsomeness; Wolfe let out an animalistic howl, climbed a tree with amazing speed and agility, and leaped mid-air onto the back of one of the flying metal people in the rear flank, he clawed on. The flying metal person tried in vain to shake Wolfe off, and it did perform some pretty amazing stunts in doing so; dropping in a torpedo dive after an initial climb to five hundred feet with Wolfe hanging on by the buttocks and torso, the flying metal person then did a seven-twenty degree spin and flew narrowly between two intersecting trees and vibrated like a hummingbird all the way during this flight, still Wolfe held on. Zig-zaging between enormous trees in the forest, through branches, over and under logs, in its effort to loosen Wolfe from its back, the flying metal person had long since lost his flank and sped aimlessly through a remote part of the forest. Wolfe’s teeth clattered from the vibration and his muscular arms tightened to rock from his effort of holding on to an object going a hundred-twenty kilometers per minute, risking a hard fall, Wolfe unlatched one hand from the torso of his about-to-be-claimed prize and punched at the thing in-between the legs, where the weak spot must be located. The flying metal person’s armor was hard as granite, and Wolfe’s punches only produced a small dent in the smooth and shiny surface of the thing. All this while, the flying metal person continued to attempt shaking Wolfe off, but with less effort, whether it was that it had almost given up or that it thought Wolfe’s single-grip was loosening, it never got to find out, because a granite-tipped crossbow arrow weighing twenty grams impaled its head, the thing slowed to a non-maneuvered glide and then a drop through the air of the all quiet forest, like an out-of-fuel Iron Man, and crash-landed at the base of a thousand-year old tree, static energy fizzling out in its skull, with Wolfe still hanging on with one arm. The shooter of the crossbow strolled over, and Wolfe lifted his head for a moment to acknowledge the shooter with an “Aww! Darn it cousin! Did you have to ruin this one for me?” and he collapsed with exhaustion.


Like I said not-enough-times, my guardians are hypocrites and over-protective freaks; the roof of our house exploded just a moment ago, and I re-opened my eyes to the ground all full of bits of stone and wood and the air thick with dust I can’t see a thing, I stood up and shakily took a few steps before being tackled to the ground again by pa…see what I mean? Pa picked me up and crashed through the stone wall of our house and ran in the direction of the forest (our house was on the edge of Shadytown, ma argued that it will be more dangerous in case of a werewolf attack but pa said we could get away into the woods easier if our house were at the fringe of the village, pa won over mum), he cleared the tree line in the next moment, with the explosions and strange, unnatural metallic sounds of projectiles being launched behind us, and continued sprinting at twenty kilometers a minute deeper into the forest, soon, the commotion was behind us and can be heard only faintly. Pa suddenly stopped at the base of a gigantic thousand-year old tree and tapped at its side, a door perfectly concealed within the bark popped open and he threw me inside, with a worried smile, he assured he, “Okay Lez, just stay here and be very, very quiet, I’ll go back and sort out the…whatever there is to sort out, remember stay here, I won’t be gone for long…”

“Pa, what’s going on?” I asked him, back against the hollow inside of the tree (pa must have dug this place for something along the lines of this event); I can see he didn’t want to answer my question, well, he never did.

“Er…can I tell you later when everything’s…less emergency?”

“There might not be a next…”

“Sorry Lez, gotta run, don’t want to miss a fight!” for a thousand and six hundred fifty-two year old vampire, that’s a childish thing to say to a child. I sighed. If I were ever to be a good, efficient narrator, I got to see the action, not sit in a hole like this while my childish pa and mum are off gleefully fighting another werewolf attack, where did those fur balls come up with the bombs anyway? 


<<termination, termination, termination of hostile species in progress>>

Published in: on 2011/05/30 at 10:14 PM  Leave a Comment  

Guacamolia Chapter 1: Complete

By Malvoyant Berserker


>mission name: operation invasion>mission date: March 3rd 2012 earth days – 2500402 cyberhour since last upgradion>mission planning began: January 1st 2012 earth days – 2500100 cyberhour since last upgradion>mission headquarters: moon of earth; far side opposite sun>mission landing location: earth; unnamed pacific continent surrounded by water (prior experiments have shown that organisms of this planet can not survive alive without the substance water; southern coast/northern coast (per infantry division)>mission time (approximate): 40 earth minutes – 0.25 cyberhour>mission objective: establish cyber-base on earth, chosen continent and eliminate any hostile or possibly hostile native species>mission head: A9borg – head commander, A45comm – director of communication, A70gen – 1st infantry division commander, A79gen – 2nd infantry division commander, A256cal – cavalry commander from space

Switch to personal recording of K9jr – junior officer 2nd infantry division>speed: 259 cybermile/cyberhour>thermal reading: -60 below 0; heat sensor on>wind speed: 132 cybermile/cyberhour>sound speed: 236 cybermile/cyberhour>position: earth; lower atmosphere>vision monitor: low resolution> > <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> >direction: 46 degrees due north>speed: 50 cybermile/cyberhour>thermal reading: 15 degrees>


I was dozing off with the movie still playing on the small screen when a huge CRASH woke me up and knocked me out again, in my unconscious state, I think I dreamed that the plane was falling at a really high-speed; people were screaming, things were being hurled about, and those oxygen thingies that you put over your mouth when the plane’s in an emergency situation dangled from the little trapdoor next to the fan, but no one was using them. As to what made the plane fall from the sky like how it did in my dream, I only saw a blurry and shiny giant egg-like thing tore through the ceiling of the plane and crashed out the other end a few rows ahead of me, the thing punctured the plane like a needle through a balloon on both sides, that’s how I pictured it. And some people were lifted out of their seats and out sucked out of that hole in the plane, screaming along the way; it was horrible, and luckily I got my seat belt on all this time. A question ran through my head; was I going to die? Oh what have this vacation turned into?


If there’s one thing you learn from watching the skies, for whatever reason, it’s that shooting stars don’t occur during daytime; and not in hundreds all at once. I happen to be searching the sky for game when I saw it, or many it; tens, perhaps hundreds of what appears to be flaming balls of fire hurling across the blue sky towards the south, to where the undead roam, and far beyond where the little people lives. I thought to myself, when did shooting stars start shooting during daytime? And usually they shoot across the sky, not down from it, that’s odd, but just then I saw a grey goose flying overhead, my thoughts were immediately divided, and I raised my bow with three arrows in the sling, and fired. Pow-Squawk! The grey goose shouted its last words of surprise, perhaps acknowledging the fact that all three of my arrows pierced its body, two on the wings and one in the rump, and crashed in the nearby bushes. What a kill! At that exact moment, a ray of sunlight shined onto my fur, I stood there bathing in the circle of sunlight; Brother Wolf was impressed by my kill, I thought to myself with beaming happiness, why wouldn’t the Wolf God be? I’m the handsomest, strongest, and fastest wolfling in the tribe, and all other tribes around, I have the perfect coat of grey fur (and head-fur) that shines in the sun, reflecting sharp white fangs, a perfectly pointed nose, fierce eyes like stars in the night, obtuse and round ears, and my name, Wolfe, is the name of the greatest wolf leaders in history! I am next in line to become a wolf legend. Savoring my glorious moment for a moment, then I ran, on my hinge legs, to the spot among the tall grass where my kill had fallen. Blood was still pouring from the wound in its rump, I decided not to waste a good drink, so I plucked the one arrow in the goose’s rump, and drank the remaining blood in its system, sucking the arrow hole dry. Animal blood is not as tasty as vampire blood, but the meat is excellent; not that vampire meat can be eaten, those suckers burst into flames and explode to pieces when they die, sunny or not. No wolf in the history of wolves liked charred meat. Securing the dead goose on my hunting strap and wiping my bloody fangs free of blood, I turned my attention back to the still shooting, still ongoing shooting stars. Odd, I thought, but even odder I thought when some of the flaming and glowing amber stars seem to change their course of direction and started heading this way, my way.


My parents…cough…guardians, are freaks. They’re overprotective, that’s all that’s freaky about them. I’m two hundred years old, not so old, but certainly no longer a toddler, do all vampires have to be thousand years old before they can stop drink blood from a bottle? No, just my guardians, mostly pa though, mum is always busy cleaning the house, like whose mum isn’t? Pa is two thousand, ten times my age, and he thinks because of that multiple of ten he can decide everything for me, I’m treated like pottery, easily breakable, but not actually, the sooner I turn one thousand, the better, and the sooner than sooner I run away, the better yet. And as if on cue, it happened, one cloudy morning…

There was an explosion. I bet the blacksmith overcooked his breakfast again, so I opened our heavy front door (that took all my strength to even lift it, yes, for security, pa made the door so you got to lift it –if you can- before opening it, or else it won’t budge) just in time to see pa fly tackle me back in, with his foot, he hooked the door and slammed it close (I can never deny his strength, even for a mid aged vampire that’s pretty impressive). I’m about to ask he to get off me when he covered my mouth with his hands.

‘Shh, we are under attack.’ He whispered.

And as if on cue, the roof of our house exploded.    

Erick and Erick’s Sister

‘Shooting stars!’ Erick shouted.

‘What are shooting stars?’ Erick’s sister asked.

‘I’m not sure, but wow, look at all those shooting stars!’

‘I am!’

‘Aren’t they cool?’

‘Yeah, but what are they?’

‘Shooting stars.’ The words found their way to Erick’s mouth before he knew, or once knew, what they are.

‘You just said you don’t know what a shooting star is! How could you know something you don’t know what it is?’

‘I-I don’t know, these words just puked out of my mouth, I can’t explain it.’

‘You can’t explain anything! Just like you can’t explain why we’re here!’

‘So can’t you!’



‘I don’t really know.’

‘Me neither.’

‘Let’s keeping going.’

‘Hey, maybe we’ll find out what those shooting stars really are.’

Of course, zombies don’t know what shooting stars are, but they once knew, and a brain is a dictionary, always the words once known are never forgotten, catalogued with permanent marker or something.


Shroons was lying on his straw mattress bed, in his dimly lit hut, eating a big bow of hyperactive pineapples (lying down-if his mother were still alive, she’d have had a fit), when several simultaneous explosions made him sit up, his two wings alert, ready to fly when necessary. His hut-mate, Weedy, came stumbling into hut through the non-existent front door; a piece of cloth hanging over the door frame. Weedy’s eyes are dancing wildly around the room, his vision distorted, and the usual green, glowing blood flowed from a gash in his head, Shroons found Weedy’s appearance peculiar, he did after a few moments of pause and while Weedy wheezed and panted notice that Weedy’s left arm was…gone, there was a bloody green stump where his slim elfin shoulder used to be, Shroons found this peculiar too; fairies, fairy magica, by law, are not allowed to harm another fairy of any kind using magic, it is a capital offense punishable by removal of the magica gland in the fairy that produces magic; the worst of the worst punishments.

If Shroons had not eaten too much hyperactive pineapples in the last ten minutes, he might have arrived at a conclusion sooner that the colony is under attack, but hyperactive pineapples, apart from giving an energy mega-boost, also dimes the user’s common sense for the first twenty minutes of intake, so Shroons was slow to piece everything together, from the ongoing explosions and blasts of magic outside, to the screams and alien noises, to Weedy collapsed on the hut floor…still with a missing left arm, but Shroons failed to do all that before his hut exploded and propelled him thirty feet into the air, upon hitting a hard metallic moving object, knocking it off its course in to a tree and exploding, Shroons reflected off the hard metal moving object at a 90 degree angle and smashed a hole and himself into the trunk of Big Hollow, the colony’s oldest and most sacred dead tree. Before Shroons got picked up by another fairy and slapped into full attention, he saw what appears to be the sky raining golem-sized fireballs upon the colony, hitting and smashing its many huts and thousand-year old trees to smithereens. Well, that didn’t clear anything up, after this particular fairy roughly picket him up and slapped his round head twice to bring him to attention; the hallucination is wearing off, and the stimulation is coming rushing like a cyclone into his joints, Shroons thought, with a foolish smile on his face, hyperactive pineapples really comes in handy at times like these…

‘Snap out of it, messenger Shroons!’ The elf slapped Shroons in the face again.

‘Hey! Aria! What’s happening?’ Shroons said casually (remember when I said a few sentences ago that the hyperactive pineapple hallucination effect wears off after half an hour, well, for sprites like Shroons, who are never much thinkers, it takes another ten to fifteen minutes for their consciousness and awareness to return to function). Aria is one of the close neighbors of Shroons’ and one of the Elf High Council members, if she’s slapping Shroons, then there’s got to be something important need delivering, because Shroons, being able to fly and therefore being a messenger elf and also being not the best messenger elf, is rarely looked upon to deliver an important message from one of the High Council members.

‘Listen!’ Aria slapped Shroons’ face again, ‘I need you to send this distress note to the nearest colony! We are under attack! You know where the nearest colony is…HEY ARE YOU LISTENING???’ Aria slapped his face once again (the author lost count). ‘This is very important Shroons! LOOK AROUND, YOU WALNUT BRAIN! Your colony is under ATTACK! GO…’ Aria didn’t finish her sentence, but that might have been it though, ‘go’ can stand alone. The reason she didn’t finish her sentence was because one of the attacking cyborgs, as Shroons see them, dipped down on the two of them (Big Hollow’s ceiling was sawed off sometime during Aria’s shouting at Shroons) and raised its left arm which split in half to reveal a high-tech laser blaster. Before his eyes, Shroons saw Aria being hit by the laser blaster, the cyborg zoomed away inches from Shroons’ head, and when his eyes turned back to Aria (Shroons followed the cyborg for a moment as it flew off amidst hundreds of clashing elves and cyborgs fighting a brutal airway battle, the background featuring the sacred Elf High Council tree on fire, tens of huts falling from the once mighty branches of thousand-year old trees, whose branches are falling with the huts, and the elves that are falling from the airway battle raging in its full height; for the moment Shroons took to observe the scenery before him, it looked as if the sky was on fire, and it sure was, the thousand-year old treetops that shielded the fairy colonies for entries with its numerous branched green leaves now burn bright and incinerating with flames), she was gone, and all that remains was a clumsily clustered pile of ashes, looks like the Elf High Council member just got incinerated by laser.

‘I will fulfill my duty and deliver this message!’ Shroons declared to the pile of ash before him, ‘and I shall not fail, or Mother Magica may take my soul eternally! Trust me, Aria of the Elf High Council!’ And Shroons flew off in the direction of the colony gates.

Despite the violence and mayhem and blood/diesel spilling happening around him, Shroons felt perfectly safe and sound, he made his way to the circular colony gates that covered the exit and opening to his colony, flying carefully to avoid traffic, the fifty meter high gates are also inflamed, and Shroons flew between the columns of the oak wooden gates. As Shroons flew on, he could hear thousand-year old trees falling behind the colony gates he passed moments ago, as well heard was a peculiar metallic sound which sound like cheers of victory, and suddenly, Shroons was wide awake. With his consciousness back, the surprise overcame him with such a powerful blow he crashed into a five meter thick oak and fell thirty meter to the rainforest floor, the thick humid moss provided a soft bed for passing out and Shroons passed out.

Published in: on 2011/04/28 at 9:42 PM  Comments (9)  



By Malvoyant Berserker


(if you’ve already read the intro, scroll to ‘Before the curtains’ for more details)


The Eighth Continent on Earth

There are eight continents on Earth, Guacamolia is one of them. Being the smallest of the eight land masses on Earth, it is located in the middle of the Pacific Ocean on the Equator, roughly half the size of Antarctica. It has three different environments; the northern areas are temperate forests of coniferous and deciduous trees, home to the werewolf tribes and vampire villages. The median grassland and mountains (and some big abandoned cities) are home to zombies (not the brainless flesh-eating idiots you expect in most books). The southern rainforests and desert is home to fairies. 

Introduction of the Species 

Werewolves, according to humans, are mutated monsters that turn into wolves when the moon is full, these ‘monsters’ feed on humans and anyone wounded by them turn into werewolves, these facts are all true, however, werewolves according to werewolves can turn into werewolves anytime they like; even during daytime, they don’t target primarily humans but they are indeed carnivores (humans deny think they eat humans only because when humans see werewolves, they are usually eating another human, and therefore causing an all-to-often misunderstanding). Anyone bitten by a werewolf will turn into a werewolf, although that is not always a bad thing, because werewolves have abilities humans would not get even if they take lots of steroids, and werewolves age twice as slow as humans do, they can live up to three centuries and still be physically fit enough to hunt and kill a panther. Being a werewolf can be quite nice, there are no wolf and wolf conflicts, only with vampires. Werewolves are nomadic creatures; they live in tribes similar to that of North American, Australian and African aboriginals, they hunt in packs and lead simple lives. Werewolves, unless provoked, are not violent. Their diet includes any kind of meat (except zombie meat).

Vampires are humanoid creatures with pale skin and an appetite for blood. According to humans, they are demons disguised as humans who creep into people’s houses at night to drink their blood to live, shoot them (in the chest) on sight. Vampires are actually non-violent social beings and are not likely to kill unless hunting or in an act to self-defense. They live in stationery communities that resemble 18th century European villages. The grudge against werewolves has been the only factor of violence in history since the first vampire. Anyone bitten by a vampire will become a vampire; they are immortal, there-fore never ages or dies unless killed using fire or extensive sunburn. Vampires determine their age according to how long they have become vampires, for example, a child who has been a vampire for two thousand years is older than an adult who’s been a vampire for three centuries. Their pale skin is sensitive to sunlight, which makes them a common sight in dark, cloudy areas, especially in forests. The macabre is an annual event in which humans and vampires dance together for one hour on midnight (without killing each other). Vampires can drink blood of any animals (including that of werewolves) except for zombie blood, which is poisonous; they can drink the blood of their own kind but vampire laws forbid that (vampires are not cannibals). Vampires don’t eat anything else.

Zombies, according to humans, are sick, disgusting corpses that can walk for supernatural reasons. A recent theory suggested a virus called solanum, which shuts down all bodily functions in a human except the brain, causes infected humans to become flesh feeding zombies. That theory and everything humans believe are true about zombies are urban legends made up to scare little kids; except for the solanum virus, that part is actually partially true. According to zombies, zombies are humans infected by the solanum virus (most of the infected are civilians, and therefore has no idea what caused them their undead-ness). The zombie brain is about as intelligent as the human brain, minus a few IQ points for every year the zombie is a ‘zombie’; the only thing different about them and humans is that they do not feel pain nor can they be killed or wounded (unless hit in the brain). Zombies, patients of the solanum virus, are not flesh-eating monsters as human describes them to be. Because zombies have a dead digestive track and a working common sense, (they have no need to eat, drink, sleep or seek shelter at all) their brain will tell them that they are not ‘humanitarians’ (if vegetarians eat vegetables, what do humanitarians eat?). The virus in their brains keeps the brain active all year round, there is no need for rest. Zombies are not violent nor are they carnivores, any records of zombies attacking humans is simply in acts of self-defense, anger or boredom, they have no basic needs, and does not often know what to do. Infected humans will first faint and their organs will stop, then after roughly five hours they reanimate and wake up with little or no memory of their previous self, like a newborn arriving to this earth. The longer zombies are zombies, the more they become idiots, unless they find a purpose in ‘life’. Zombies do not die unless killed, solanum infected flesh is harmful to decomposer bacteria, so zombies overtime do not rot away. Zombies are able to operate any physical skill their former self can operate (a learned skill does not fade away like a memory, although zombies rarely know why they possess the skills they have), if a surgeon is zombie-fied, the reanimated doctor will know how to do surgery. Zombies are not native inhabitants of Guacamolia; NATO operates a top-secret division in the national security branch whose purpose is to hunt solanum infected humans and deport them to Guacamolia. In short, Guacamolia is a continent only the government knows about.

Fairies, consisting of elves, gnomes, sprites, dwarfs, pixie, trolls and other such folks from Lord of the Rings and other fantasy movies, are southern dwelling creatures that prefer warm weather and isolation; they live in colonies numbers between 100-1000 fairies per colony, each subspecies of fairy live separately. Their bodies are designed to convert energy they take in into magic, the source of their abilities. They are herbivores. 

Cyborgs are aliens from the planet of Cyber-earth eleven light years away from earth. A technologically advanced race of species, these humanoid beings resembles Transformers, little is know about them, other than the fact that they have some kick ass weapons and choose to colonize earth, starting with Guacamolia. NATO doesn’t know this, only the inhabitants of Guacamolia are aware of the cyborgs’ existence, and they think cyborgs are from mainland Europe, sent here to exterminate the races. Cyborgs are made entirely out of mechanical ‘parts’, they are robots with brains. Each cyborg has a unique brain-chip which is their central intelligence, or brain, robots don‘t have a self functioning brain, that is the difference. Other than the need for grease electricity and diesel to power their joints and gears, cyborgs have no need to feed. Their ranks; from 1st class – 100th class, is determined by the technological advancement of their bodily weapons. As long as cyborgs keep themselves oiled, they will never expire, unless their brain chip gets damaged. 

Before the curtains

Cyborgs from the planet of Cyberearth travel through the universe in search of planets with intelligent life; their reason being to colonize the found planet to power their next upcoming technological mega-burst, or upgrading of Cyberearth; Cyberearth is a planet on the far corner of the Milky Way, every few thousand years, the planet’s metallic substance upgrades itself, to upgrade/evolve, it must absorb certain energy, energy of living things. For many thousand years, cyborgs of Cyberearth gives up a part of their own central intelligence energy as a union to upgrade Cyberearth, but in the past earth century, the population of cyborgs in Cyberearth declined at an alarming rate due to a disease called rust; through this upcoming upgrading, Cyberearth will become a stainless steel planet, to prevent the rust epidemic from occurring again. But for now, the rapidly rusting cyborgs of Cyberearth face a problem; there is not enough cyborg central intelligence to upgrade Cyberearth to stainless steel status, so they must seek an alternative; find energy source from other intelligent creatures. After a twenty earth year search across the galaxy, they found earth, and after another two earth year analysis, they found earth suitable to harvest its intelligent creatures to fuel Cyberearth’s upgrading, and since earth’s population is so great in number, the cyborgs decided to only use the energy of earth’s intelligent creatures and leave themselves out of the sacrifice, this of course is what the cyborg head-central, Borg, is thinking; however ‘inhumane’ it sounds. Noting the humans are much less technologically developed, the cyborgs, camped on the moon for a while, decided to avoid direct conflict and sneak up from within, by establishing a base on earth, they chose Guacamolia, the smallest continent on earth with little human activity; except for some ‘unknown’ creatures that inhabit the land mass, the land is mostly ‘natural undeveloped soil’. The first wave of cyborg battle-bots departed from the moon and arrived at Guacamolia’s southern rainforests…the war with fairies began and ended in a week. 

The characters

Shroons-is one of the winged fairies who survived the massacre that happened in the South during the cyborg siege of southern Guacamolia, he is a messenger fairy; one of the many sent from their colony for help right before it got mowed down by gigantic robots they’ve never seen before. Finding almost all major fairy colonies destroyed and their inhabitants missing, Shroons is at a loss as to what to do.

Erick with both a c and a k-Erick is a one year-three month-two week-five day-four hour-twenty four minute-six second old zombie and a seventeen year old ex-human; he is one of the four million zombies wandering around in the grasslands, with his companion, Erick’s sister.

Erick’s sister-Erick’s companion, one year-three month-two week-five day-four hour-twenty three minute-forty two second old zombie and eleven year old ex-human, unlike Erick, who has a name tag on his shirt he woke up in that says Erick, Erick’s sister doesn’t have a name and can’t think of one, so Erick and she assumed that she is Erick’s sister. Erick and Erick’s sister argue a lot about remembering what happened right before Erick fainted and Erick’s sister fainted right afterwards (they were both infected by the solanum virus), they never get much out of it but Erick insists the because Erick’s sister fainted before he did, she must remember more than he does.

Wolfe (pronounced ‘wolfie’)-a young, ambitious and very wolf werewolf in the wolf-pack hunters (the werewolf army), when the cyborgs simultaneously landed in the northern forests to begin their colonization/extermination here, they met much stronger resistance; in one of the resistance teams, Wolfe is the second in second-in-command.

Lezlie-a two hundred year old vampire (a toddler), previously a twelve-year-old girl, from one of the vamp-villages in the northern forests, when the cyborgs invaded, she can’t believe her overprotective guardians won’t let her participate in the action (after all those decades of not being allowed to do anything), finally she can’t take it anymore so she ran away from her home village, Shadyville, to join the jolly diesel drinkers, a band of vampires who drink cyborg diesel (diesel is not a harmful drink to all species of living things) and kill cyborgs while they are at it.

K9jr-recently promoted cyborg lieutenant, 8th rank, after excellence in battle at the fairy-week-war and the battle of Dipping Ridge with the werewolves; a major breakthrough in the guerrilla warfare with the werewolves. K9 is to be one of the leading officers in the upcoming battle of Avocado Hill, first major battle with the zombies.  

Borg-leading general of the Cyberearth military, this rank 1st cyborg is…very metallic

Mara-during the cyborg penetration of Earth’s atmosphere to Guacamolia, the passenger plane she’s in just happens to be flying above the clouds that hang overhead in the zombie grassland, and it just so happens that K9jr’s plasma shielded form slammed into the economy class, creating a big gaping hole. The Boeing 747 went down and she didn’t die. Unfortunately, she landed in the second most isolated land mass on the planet and where a war is about to go full-scale, Guacamolia. And there are no fellow humans around.

If anyone is interested, I’ll release the plot.

Published in: on 2011/04/22 at 12:35 AM  Comments (24)