CQ 2-3

[Atariangamer]

Alright, let's get crackin, shall we?

- - - - - - - - -
ORIGINAL (Time Paradox, though)
[spoiler]
    You did it. You came, you saw, you conquered. As you climb out of the manhole, the pain and exhaustion sets in. You've ran across all of Chex City, taking out the invading flemoids. Your armor is soggy, and you flop over onto the pavement. slime oozes off your boots, and your depleted zorcher clatters from your hand. But you did it. Slowly, you work your way over to the diner, and grab some milk from behind the counter. A few swigs, and you're feeling better.
...but only a little better.

    You shed your armor and set it on the seat beside you. You notice that the flemoids had slowly eaten away at the back, and were only a few seconds away from splitting it wide open, and exposing you to what might have been certain stickiness. You shudder at the thought. As you walk down the street, heading for the IFoC office, a few people salute you. But where is everyone? You deserve a hero's welcome. What's going on? Did nobody notice the massive flemoid invasion of downtown? You finally stagger to the door of the IFoC...to find it locked. You bang on it, demand entry, and eventually enter your galactic override. Then you see where everyone is: cowering in fear in the grand hall of the Intergalactic Federation of Cereals. People are gawking at you, your scarred armor, your weak stature, and your distinct lack of zorchers. You barely remember dropping them all in the scramble to try and get out of that darned sewer. But, from somewhere, you don't know where from, you pull just enough strength out to issue the proclamation: They're gone, every last one of 'em...gone. At this, a loud cheer goes up, but you don't hear it. Slowly succumbing to the extreme tiredness, you slump to the floor, and remember no more.

   You wake up in the infirmary, laying under cool sheets, relieved of your heavy gear, and feeling in perfect health. A mineral compound is being slowly dripped into you via intravenous needles. You feel strong enough to pull it out and take on the world, but know that the Flaki medics are renowned for their conditioning techniques...they know how to put a cereal back together right. You hear a noise, and look to your left, and who is it but your Squadron Leader, coming in to get the necessary files to make a report, and wish you well. You can't help the sick feeling that you've been in the same position many, MANY times before. You immediately detail the entire flemoid invasion to your knowlege, but are at a loss for one thing...how did the flemoids get to Ralston before you did? He doesn't know, but wishes you well, and leaves. You sink into your sheets, feeling a little uneasy about the days to come...

-----
6 Months Later
-----

    After a massive re-training, and developing a whole new research field on the properties of zorch (and its other applications), you are recertified as a Squadron Member. You walk out of the academy feeling better than you have in years, almost as good as when you walked out almost 13 years ago. You check your PDA and notice that you already have an appointment loaded. You've been called to debreif what is basically the entirety of the IFoC scientific community about the exact and precise details of the flemoid invasion and the effects of zorch and nutrients, their behaviors...and the list goes on. You sigh heavily, and march off towards the hanger bay. You check in with the attendant, and stroll right over to the lower right service dock. You tell the tech to fuel 'er up, and prepare for deep space transit to the Space Station. As he carries out your orders, you caress the hull of the fighter ship. The ship is nearly 10 years old, one of the first Chexonite Astral-96 applications in the universe. Despite being what in modern terms is a prototype, it still whips any hotshot wanting a race. You smirk as you pass over the area where you clipped an asteroid in lower space orbit, nearly destroying the multi-thousand dollar investment. You personally saw to it that it stayed in pristine condition otherwise, and it remains today as a testament to the early deep space fighter era. You climb in, start the navicomp, and signal to the tech to clear the area. You warm up the hover projectors, and prepare for a show for em all. You tweak the deflectors till the ship is completely vertical, and start spinning it like a top. The heavy lateral Gs feel good after 6 months of solid Ralston gravity. You then punch the afterburners, and the Astral-96s spat blue flame as it rocketed towards the upper atmosphere. You put her though the paces of a normal test flight, and love the response to the yoke. Your PDA beeps, rocking you from your nostalgia trip, and you course correct and blast straight for the station.

    You land in the only open bay, and prepare yourself in full armor, as is customary for these IFoC gatherings. You don your highly polished Chex weave, equip your zorcher and spoon, as well as your boots and protective arm and leg covers. As you walk out, you find the lack of a welcoming committee...disturbing. With so much protocol flying around these meetings, you'd think the speaker would have a little escort or something. you cautiously peer around the corner, and see your worst nightmare: flemoids. You retreat quickly and lock the door for a moment. Your PDA soon connects to the internal network, and you pull up all the latest data. In your HUD display, the images of a large green meteor flash, and tech readouts of its trajectory and landing site hit home. Literally. Its on a collision course for a park in northwestern Ralston. First, though, you need to get a new ship, and clear out the station. You load a recharge into your mini zorcher, and unlock the door. It was time yet again.
[/spoiler]

*NEW! Now factoring in the 10 years between CQ2 and 3:

    You did it. You came, you saw, you conquered. As you climb out of the manhole, the pain and exhaustion sets in. You've ran across all of Chex City, taking out the invading flemoids. Your armor is soggy, and you flop over onto the pavement. slime oozes off your boots, and your depleted zorcher clatters from your hand. But you did it. Slowly, you work your way over to the diner, and grab some milk from behind the counter. A few swigs, and you're feeling better.
...but only a little better.

    You shed your armor and set it on the seat beside you. You notice that the flemoids had slowly eaten away at the back, and were only a few seconds away from splitting it wide open, and exposing you to what might have been certain stickiness. You shudder at the thought. As you walk down the street, heading for the IFoC office, a few people salute you. But where is everyone? You deserve a hero's welcome. What's going on? Did nobody notice the massive flemoid invasion of downtown? You finally stagger to the door of the IFoC...to find it locked. You bang on it, demand entry, and eventually enter your galactic override. Then you see where everyone is: cowering in fear in the grand hall of the Intergalactic Federation of Cereals. People are gawking at you, your scarred armor, your weak stature, and your distinct lack of zorchers. You barely remember dropping them all in the scramble to try and get out of that darned sewer. But, from somewhere, you don't know where from, you pull just enough strength out to issue the proclamation: They're gone, every last one of 'em...gone. At this, a loud cheer goes up, but you don't hear it. Slowly succumbing to the extreme tiredness, you slump to the floor, and remember no more.

   You wake up in the infirmary, laying under cool sheets, relieved of your heavy gear, and feeling in perfect health. A mineral compound is being slowly dripped into you via intravenous needles. You feel strong enough to pull it out and take on the world, but know that the Flaki medics are renowned for their conditioning techniques...they know how to put a cereal back together right. You hear a noise, and look to your left, and who is it but your Squadron Leader, coming in to get the necessary files to make a report, and wish you well. You can't help the sick feeling that you've been in the same position many, MANY times before. You immediately detail the entire flemoid invasion to your knowlege, but are at a loss for one thing...how did the flemoids get to Ralston before you did? He doesn't know, but wishes you well, and leaves. You sink into your sheets, feeling a little uneasy about the days to come...

-----
10 Years Later...
-----

     You wake up in quarters that are close, by a very loose definition of the term. There has to be at least 5 other guys in here with you, in a space no larger than a small basement. The others are still sleeping, then again, they are the night shift of security, and probably came in just moments earlier. You quietly slip on your exercise uniform, and creep out the dormitory. You pull from your pocket an old 8-DAT disc player. You quickly dial a playlist, and slot it in, as some upbeat music pumps you up for your daily morning run. Your sneakers make a soft noise against the hard concrete, and as you stretch, you glance up at the large screen overhanging the other dorm areas. At 5:35AM, you're late. You sprint down the corridors in a predestined path where nobody should be. After all, when you're in a research laboratory half underground, you gotta stay fit. You turn another corner...and crash straight into the lead scientist. He spins as he falls, and hits the floor hard. You manage to grab your player before it hits the ground, and stow it in your pocket again. You help him up, and brush him off, but notice some green goop on your hand. He quickly wipes it off, stashing it in a fresh test tube, saying he had some samples in his pocket for analysis. You ask where it came from, and he stares at you blankly. You then walk away, wondering what his problem was. As you return to your room, you see that your laptop is glowing. You got a new message! Finally, you think...something that could get me topside. After organizing the entire construction of the research center, developing the instruction course, as well as taking more science and math than you could EVER possibly need as a non-scientist, days in space were becoming harder and harder to come by. The message, however, brings hope, but confusingly. You've never heard of the impending asteroid shower expecting to hit within the next few days, nor the invitation to make a PSA to the IFoC on the Space Station. This message was a last request. You fire off your acceptance, and start packing. You dash down the halls yet again, this time upwards toward the hangar bays. You run down the rows, finding the Charlie row, then the Foxtrot elevator. you press on your year, 93, and see alot of fighters flow past until you see it. Your pride and joy, the Chexonian A-96. The sleek prototype was top of the line when you first flew it in 1996, against the flemoid's first invasion at bazoik, and flew it home again to take them out here. Even though you had to stay and set up the Zorch research department, the IFoC research and data center, as well as develop countless training and education procedures for "in the event of a flemoid invasion". And after that first hectic 2 years, the past 8 have been extremely routine. You made sure to keep your ship in tip-top shape, even though it hadn't required service in forever. You clamber into the cockpit and ease the ship towards the ejection shaft. After a few minutes, you start pulling some maneuvers, feeling that something just wasn't right about the ship. as you near the Station, you receive no transmissions, no instructions, no response...just silence. You land in the only open bay, and prepare yourself in full armor, as is customary for these IFoC gatherings. You don your highly polished Chex weave, equip your zorcher and spoon, as well as your boots and protective arm and leg covers. As you walk out, you find the lack of a welcoming committee...disturbing. With so much protocol flying around these meetings, you'd think the speaker would have a little escort or something. you cautiously peer around the corner, and see your worst nightmare: flemoids. You retreat quickly and lock the door for a moment. Your PDA soon connects to the internal network, and you pull up all the latest data. In your HUD display, the images of a large green meteor flash, and tech readouts of its trajectory and landing site hit home. Literally. Its on a collision course for a park in northwestern Ralston. First, though, you need to get a new ship, and clear out the station. You load a recharge into your mini zorcher, and unlock the door. It was time yet again.

- - - - - - - -


OK, I kinda got bored, read my old PreGame/PostGame stories, and tried to do one for the CQ2-CQ3 Crossover...who knows if I did it right
I'm gonna finish up this with a connection between the end of CQ3 and the beginning of my story for CQ4. Could be interesting, who knows.

Tell me if ya liked, didn't like, had an issue, want more, want less, think its weird, ANYTHING.

[matthias720]

*Matthias720 likes this*

[mob720]

dude yum

No really it's carefully thought out... nice.

*APPROVES*

[noob1234]

 :whale seal of approval

[Kuwabara]

I nostalgia'd.

[Atariangamer]

thanks guys!

I'm currently thinking of how to end 3, and lead into my story of CQ4

[LAZ Trooper]

CQ3 takes place 10 years after CQ2...

[Atariangamer]

...really? Where?

Well, then I can amend that. First I'd like some proof (not being snobbish, its just that I honestly never saw that...)

[Datra]

An epic piece of work Atari!

And I have to agree with the CQ3 being 10 years after CQ2 thing.

Don't quite remember where it says it though... does it say at the end of CQ2?

[LAZ Trooper]

Yes, the text at the end of CQ2:

Ten years pass in peace and prosperity.
But the Flemoids were not defeated and
their desire to control the nutritionally
rich cereal dimension has not diminished.
They have gathered all their forces, opened
a gigantic inter-dimensional rift in space
and now a great ball of slime is headed
straight for the cereals' planet!

Heh, reading that right now made me think of the Star Trek: First Contact movie where a Borg sphere creates a time vortex... just replace that with a slime ball, and hey presto! CQ3 intro movie!

[Atariangamer]

I fixed it...kinda. Changed alot, but it explains a whole lot more of what he did during 10 years. It also opens up to my next story line...

[noob1234]

 :whale :whale