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Ack's Random Crack Fic One-Shots

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Any time I have a silly idea, or someone else comes up with one, that I think is worth putting a...
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    • Ack

    Ack

    (Verified Ratbag) (Unverified Great Old One)
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  • Threadmarks
    • Talk Like an Aussie Day
  • Threadmarks
    • Angush said:
    New crackfic idea: a master runs around making everyone talk and act like a stereotypical aussie.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    "Mate."

    Armsmaster turned to look at Velocity in horror. "What did you say?"

    The speedster struggled visibly with himself for a moment. "I - crikey, mate. Me throat feels like the Nullarbor in the dry season. Chuck us a tinny, will ya?" His face twisted in panic. "Strike me pink. I've bloody well been Mastered."

    Armsmaster laid a hand on the stricken hero's shoulder. "Just hang tight. We'll get you treatment."

    Velocity nodded. Against his will, he spoke again. "Well, get a bloody move along, will ya?"

    He submitted willingly enough to detention, despite the occasional indecipherable utterance; as Armsmaster walked away, he heard from behind him, "And don't forget that bloody tinny, will ya?"

    <><>​

    Across town, the villains were having equal difficulties.

    Hookwolf frowned at Kaiser. "I've got no idea what you just said."

    The head of the Empire Eighty-Eight rolled his eyes. "Flamin' heck, if I have ta repeat it one more time, I'm gonna dong you one. I said, we're about due for a stoush with the Nips down the road. So get the blokes together - and the sheilas too - and let's go kick their dunny down."

    Hookwolf hesitated, utterly baffled. "Uh ... "

    <><>​

    Piggot looked up as Armsmaster entered her office. "So, have you made any headway in tracking down the mastermind behind this bizarre version of English?" She sighed, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. "I have to say, crime has dropped off, if only because the criminals can barely understand each other." She looked up at him. "Tell me you have good news."

    Armsmaster nodded. "She'll be right, love."

    "Oh, god." Piggot buried her face in her hands. "Not you too."

    He cleared his throat. "Actually, we've got him in custody and we're undoing the effects of his power now."

    He only just made it out the door before the hurled paperweight crashed into it.​
     
  • Threadmarks
    • The Great Tattletale Caper, Part One
  • Threadmarks
    • The Great Tattletale Caper



    Part One



    Allow me to introduce myself. The name's Wednesday, Fred Wednesday. I'm a private investigator. I hang my shingle in Brockton Bay. In fact, I'm the only private eye in Brockton Bay. I used to wonder why that was; after all, with the crime stats in this city, you'd think that the place would be a haven for guys like me.

    And then I found out why.

    No-one else is stupid enough to try and be a private eye in this godforsaken hellhole of a city.

    <><>​

    It all started one Wednesday … the day, I mean, not my name. I was relaxing in my office, feet up on the desk, seeing just how far back I could tilt my chair before it creaked too alarmingly. Or worse. You know, important private eye stuff. Right at the moment of maximum creak, someone banged heavily on the office door.

    After I picked myself up off the floor, I set the chair back on its wheels, and made a mental note to see my chiropractor. Then I made another mental note, this time to concoct a story about six muggers and a sock full of pennies to explain my lower back pain. Straightening with an effort, I hobbled over to the door and opened it.

    Outside the door stood a man and a girl. I picked the guy as trouble straight away; he was taller than me by a good six inches. Any man taller than me is bound to be a problem, especially if I have a hard time looking up at them due to a non-chair-related 'gangland beating'.

    He was also skinny as a rake, had a weak chin and – I thought I got a glimpse of scalp – was going bald. My finely-tuned private detective instincts told me that he was obviously an accountant, possibly working for the Empire Eighty-Eight. That mystery solved, I turned my attention to the girl.

    Other private eyes get tall, sexy, leggy, legal blondes with a smart mouth and a disdain for underwear. This girl ticked the box for 'tall'. That was it. She was bundled into a hoodie that would have fitted a girl twice her weight and had obviously mugged the same girl for her jeans. Round-lensed glasses framed her eyes, and she refused to look at me. I picked her as trouble as well. There was something shifty about those eyes that I just didn't trust. Or maybe it was those glasses. They made her look like an owl, and I hate birds.

    "Are you all right?" asked the man. "We heard a noise."

    "Perfectly okay," I grunted. "Just, uh, moving furniture."

    "You were leaning back in the chair and you fell over when Dad knocked on the door," the girl said in a toneless voice, without even looking up from the floor.

    I stared at her, then at the door, to make sure nobody had installed another peephole in it. Do you know, I had the last one for three months before I realised that it had been installed backward, so that people could see in but I couldn't see out? Who does that, anyway? I will definitely be having words with that contractor when he comes back. Free peephole fitting, my ass.

    "Uh, come in," I blurted, deciding that the girl was definitely trouble. Maybe her glasses were Tinkertech, designed to see through doors. I hate it when people pry into other people's private affairs, don't you? "What seems to be the matter?"

    "Uh, my name's Daniel Hebert," the man began. "This is my daughter, Taylor."

    So far, this didn't seem to be overly problematic, so I sat down gingerly in my chair, hoping it hadn't suffered too much in the fall. Picking up my pen, I turned the pad to a fresh page and wrote their names down. "Go on," I urged them.

    The story was a weird one, even for Brockton Bay. The girl had been shoved into her own locker, along with a lot of really smelly stuff, and locked in there. Nobody saw anything, nobody had been suspended or expelled, and the cops had apparently just asked a few questions, taken samples, then gone away. I was starting to seriously doubt this guy's story when something occurred to me.

    "'Scuse me, Mr Herbert," I interrupted.

    "Uh, my name's Hebert," he corrected me.

    That was funny; I looked down at where I had written their names. It said 'Herbert', right there on the page. "Are you sure?"

    I saw a look of pain pass over his face. It was probably indigestion; my own lunch kicked back on me from time to time. "Yes. I'm sure. I've had it all my life."

    "Oh, okay." It didn't matter much to me what the guy called himself, so I scratched out the 'r' and added a few extra decorative lines around where I'd written their names. "Go on."

    He hesitated. I wasn't surprised that he had problems; the guy probably dithered for hours before he got anything done. "Uh, you were going to ask me a question, I think?"

    "I was?"

    "Yeah." The guy was kinda getting pushy now. "You were."

    I didn't know where he was getting that from, but as I looked at him, a question did occur to me. Hah – the gimlet mind of Fred Wednesday misses nothing. "Just as a matter of detail, which school does your daughter attend?"

    He frowned. "I told you. Winslow."

    "No, you didn't." I looked down at the notebook page. There was no 'Winslow' written down, but then I noticed the little doodle depicting tiny demons pitchforking souls into hell. "Ah, right. Yes, you did." It wasn't surprising that I'd missed it the first time around, given that the rest of the page was covered in other doodles.

    And this also solved the mystery. The girl went to Winslow. She'd been locked into her locker. It was pretty well cut and dried. People attending Winslow did so at their own risk; this was common knowledge.

    "So, can you do something about it?"

    I looked at him. "Your kid got locked in her locker. I can't exactly make that not have happened."

    Though I was puzzled about one thing. Who'd have the balls to pick on the kid of an accountant working for the Empire Eighty-Eight?

    His fists clenched. "I know that. I'm asking you, can you take the case?"

    Now I was totally confused. "What case?"

    "Find out who did it," he replied slowly, as if speaking to a child. Oh, right. His daughter was right there. She was probably suffering a bit of trauma from the whole locker thing, so he was speaking slowly so as to reassure her that everything was being done.

    Pleased with my insight, I nodded. "Ah. Right. Yes, I can take the case." I had suspects already. The ABB hate the Empire, so they're picking on his kid.

    "Good." The guy got up, along with his daughter. She didn't look at me once, the whole time.

    I didn't let that bother me; I had a job to do.

    It was time to go and get some answers out of Lung.



    End of Part One
     
  • Threadmarks
    • This has a lot of potential for things to go wrong. I peg him as the Inspector from the old Pink Panther cartoons - bumbling his way through things, causing problems for everyone, but managing to get it mostly right in the end.
     
    I was thinking either him or Maxwell Smart.
     
    God, I absolutely have to write a thinker!Taylor expy of Dirk Gently. She can meet Lisa and totally ruin her entire perspective and interpretation of reality. And of course holistic detecting is so backwards it trumps every other thinker power.
     
    A Very Brockton Christmas
  • Threadmarks
    • A Very Brockton Christmas



    Part the First



    'Twas the night before Christmas

    And throughout Brockton Bay,

    The villains were awaiting

    Saint Nick and his sleigh.



    Bakuda was Tinkering late in her lair,

    While visions of explosions danced in her head.

    Lung drew his plans, slowly but sure,

    To see the jolly fat man captured or dead.



    At a meeting that was called of the Empire Eighty-Eight,

    Kaiser made a sword, the steel shining bright.

    "He's eluded us before, this fat man in red,

    But he'll be in our hands by the end of the night."



    The Merchants had plans to capture him as well,

    And force him to give them the best drugs to be found.

    But Skidmark got wasted and Squealer forgot,

    So they were asleep when the time came around.



    Uber and L33t wanted to capture him too,

    So the Tinker began working on a cold-ray device.

    It exploded of course, as they often did,

    So Uber was left to chip him out of the ice.



    Part the Second



    As Santa loaded the sled high with his gifts,

    Mrs Claus came out with a frown on her face.

    "I wish you wouldn't go out to Brockton Bay,

    No good ever came of that horrible place."



    He took her in his arms and kissed her so sweet,

    And in a deep loving voice the fat man did say,

    "My presents are given all over the world,

    So I have to go everywhere – yes, even the Bay."



    "I thought you'd say that," she said with a sigh,

    "But while you are gone, I won't be able to rest."

    So saying, she dug in a bag at her feet,

    And gave him a helmet, and a thick Kevlar vest.



    His belly jiggled as he let out a laugh.

    "I'll be careful, my love, to come back to you."

    And he gathered her in, to kiss her once more.

    Then he pulled on the helmet and the vest went on too.



    On to the sleigh he sprang with a shout.

    "On Rudolph! On Dasher! On Donner, away!"

    The sleigh gave a jerk then off it did fly,

    While Mrs Claus watched as it went on its way.



    Part the Third



    They came into Brockton flying nap of the earth,

    Rudolph had his nose tuned to infra-red light.

    "On Blitzen, on Vixen, on Dancer, hooray!"

    He whispered, as the stealth sleigh flew through the night.



    Side-mounted launchers fired off the gifts,

    Homing nose-cones guiding them to land.

    To each and every house they flew without fail;

    You didn't really think he delivered them by hand?



    But the villains were waiting, to the right and the left,

    They arose with a roar, to capture his sleigh.

    He pulled on the lever to double the output,

    Every present would be delivered, if he had his way.



    As the presents flew away, he grabbed at the reins,

    Gave them a twitch, to give him some pace.

    As Lung swooped in to grab at Saint Nick,

    He swivelled a launcher, and gave him coal in the face.



    Kaiser was next, with a barricade of blades;

    Santa rolled the sleigh, and scraped through with a sigh.

    Rune sent a dumpster, two cars and a van;

    He evaded them all with a loop through the sky.



    The launchers were still throwing presents galore;

    Plus coal for the villains (he had more than a ton).

    He dived down again to taunt them anew,

    His laughter boomed out – this was quite fun!



    Lung dived again, his fire blazing hot,

    So Santa gave him snow from the northernmost Pole.

    It streamed from the launcher, his hands growing chill

    Until Lung fell away, fleeing the cold.



    Again and again he evaded the foe,

    Till the last of the gifts had gone with a 'chuff'.

    "Come let's away, we've more presents to share."

    Of the coal-covered villains, "I think they've had enough."



    And the last that the villains saw of Saint Nick,

    Was his happy round face, full of good cheer.

    "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night,

    And I'll see all you rogues again in a year!"



    End
     
  • Threadmarks
    • My FF.net review (bcause I didn't realize it was Ack who wrote it at the time), posted and replied to here in case anyone wants ton try there hand at this:
    My FF.net review said:
    Shoulda had Skitter capture him by mistake at the end and have her ask for something incredibly sappy.

    I'd try my hand at it as an omake, but I suck at writing poetically.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Ack's reply said:
    Fly into a giant spider web? :p
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Maybe she saw all the gang activity, and not knowing what was going on, Skitter started setting up traps and such to help deal with the "expected gang war."

    Upon seeing things kicking off, she triggers her traps, thinking she was targeting one of Squealer's monstrosities, capturing Santa.

    She's devastated and apologetic when she sees just WHO she caught. Santa sensing a tormented, but noble and "nice", soul (despite the villain label she's acquired), offers her a request.

    Taylor, feeling no one should go hungry or cold on Christmas, asks that every homeless and poor person in the entire bay gets a warm blanket and filling meal.

    Surprised at her selfless request, Santa grants it; and as he leaves, Santa hands her a small wrapped gift, with a gentle smile.

    Taylor, upon opening the gift, breaks down crying, before pulling herself together, smiling widely, and playing a christmas song on her mother's restored flute.

    Santa, upon returning to a very relieved Mrs Claus, comments on how Brockton Bay may be the most dangerous place he delivers presents to, then thinks of Taylor, and says it also presents some of his most rewarding work, and reminds him of why he does this in the first place.

    ------

    The feels!:)
     
    The Ultimate Weapon



    It is an odd fact of the multiverse that only on one location in all of the galaxies can be found the singular bird called the 'chicken'. Only on the planet called 'Earth' or one of its many variations, only in one tiny corner of the infinite cosmos, does such a creature exist.

    The multidimensional beings arising from the death of their planet to spread across the universe in their endless quest for an escape from the heat death of the universe had no conception of such a thing. None of their projections of the future could even begin to encompass the very idea of a chicken.

    And so, when they encountered them for the very first time, things began to go catastrophically wrong.

    Unfortunately, because of their inability to even perceive chickens, they had no idea why.

    <><>​

    The entities approached the planet, shedding Shards that would bond with hosts in the fullness of time. The Warrior slid over a dimension or two, aiming for one version, while the Thinker picked another. Making use of the future-projection Shard, the Thinker surveyed its landing site. For the first time, it faltered.

    Dak straightened up and wiped his brow. The fence was mended, ensuring that none of his chickens would escape. He and his brother Rey owned the largest chicken farm in the Three Kingdoms, providing eggs and chickens for slaughter to all the towns around. Covering two large hills and the valley between, the farm held thousands and thousands of chickens.

    Around him, the chickens started to make alarmed noises, looking upward. Hawk? The predatory birds were a constant menace, despite the fact that they'd been thinned out considerably. Dak looked upward, shading his eyes. All of a sudden, the sun was blotted out by a truly massive object, dropping faster than anything he had ever seen before.

    "Oh, sh-"

    The Thinker tried to change course, but could not. The corrupted data coming in from the future projection shard was interrupting its thinking process with static. The valley beneath it looked too close, at the same time as it looked to be an infinite distance away. It tried to do fifteen different things at once, only two of them related to landing safely, and failed at all of them.

    The impact was colossal. Around the edges of the entity, such as it was, feathers drifted into the air.

    <><>​

    Thirty Years Later

    It was an odd anomaly, but Contessa's Paths never worked right around farms, or around fast-food restaurants. She had come to understand that years before, but not why. Whenever she asked her power about that, it came back with "divide by zero, error". Which made no sense, and gave her a splitting headache into the bargain. So she didn't do that any more.

    "Door me."

    Doormaker reached out to Clairvoyant. Need a safe location in Chicago. The communication did not take up these exact words, but they were close enough.

    Clairvoyant located an area within Chicago where he could find absolutely nobody and nothing. That seemed safe enough. There.

    The Doorway opened up in the middle of a farmer's market. Stepping through, she promptly tripped over a chicken. As the offending bird ran off clucking in alarm, she wondered why she was lying prone on the ground. What happened? There was a hole in her perceptions, and her Path was even now having to realign itself. Seventeen new steps were required because of the delay.

    Climbing to her feet, she tried to walk through a chicken pen, and tripped over again. Bystanders watched with bemusement as the snappily dressed woman in the fedora climbed to her feet again, now covered in feathers and not a little chicken dung, and tripped over the other end of the enclosure.

    The farmer who owned the chickens came hurrying along, shouting as his chickens began to escape. She struggled to her feet yet again, not sure what was going on, but with the dire suspicion that a broad-area Master effect had fallen over the location, and hurried off.

    Fortunately, she encountered no more chickens. Unfortunately, nobody told her about the feathers and chicken shit still decorating her clothes. She could not figure out why extra steps kept cropping up on her Path, whenever someone reacted to the mess on her clothing. Finally, she abandoned the Path and Doored back to Cauldron, deciding to get drunk and forget the whole day.

    <><>​

    Dressed in my costume, I lurked in the alleyway. My weapon complained at my side; I shushed it. Ahead of me, I saw the man with the dragon tattoos all over his chest and arms. The steel mask kind of nailed it; this was Lung. I mean, who was he kidding? The tattoos were kind of a giveaway. He was making some sort of spiel about killing a bunch of kids. This was not going to fly.

    "Halt, evildoers!" I shouted, marching from the alleyway. The gang members all turned to look at me, dressed in my carefully-assembled costume of chicken feathers, and burst out laughing. Only Lung did not; in fact, he looked oddly at the men around him and demanded to know why they were laughing.

    I had been right, after all. My observations had borne fruit. I continued stomping forward, brandishing my weapon in my right hand. The gang members were laughing too hard to stop me. Marching right up to Lung, I drew back my arm, and hit him across the head with a live chicken. The chicken protested, loudly. Lung … fell over.

    The gang members stared at me, then at the chicken, then at Lung. I raised the clucking bird menacingly. They bolted.

    "Ugh … what happened?" asked Lung, sitting up somewhat dazedly.

    I hit him again. This time, he stayed down.

    My theories were correct. It was time to start breeding the attack chickens.

    <><>​

    "Hah! You can't even begin to hurt me!" Butcher sneered at me. I was wearing a trenchcoat over my costume. She could see me perfectly well.

    Makes sense. Now let's try this out. Taking the coat off, I pulled my mask over my face. Butcher looked confused. "Huh?" she mumbled.

    Pointing at her, I yelled, "Attack!"

    My feathery legions, three feet tall and armed with razor-sharp beaks and claws, poured into the alleyway. Butcher didn't even see them coming. She reacted to the pecks and claws, but not in any defensive way; more with confusion than anything else. It wasn't long before the end; it seemed that her vaunted Brute rating didn't count against chickens.

    The Butcher shard lunged toward the human who … the host who … it wandered in circles, confused. Where was the one who killed its host?

    Finally, it meandered away, the other shards that had been connected to it going their separate ways.

    <><>​

    It had been a long, hard road. The Slaughterhouse Nine had been vanquished by my chicken minions, even Crawler torn apart one peck at a time. One by one, the Endbringers had fallen to me, to the utter and total disbelief of the media covering the event. Now, I faced the biggest threat of them all.

    Wearing his white bodysuit, Scion hovered over the city. I readied my weapon. He was too far away to hit him with a live chicken, so I had to resort to the device I had used against Shatterbird and the Simurgh.

    Taking careful aim, I pulled the trigger on my chicken gun.



    The End
     
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