NationStates Jolt Archive

A Panda-man (http://www.ftn.tv/images/doublethefist/template_image.jpg) huffed into his hands; even with the body glove and Elite armour it was terribly cold this time of year. He made his way up a dune to a hovering lookout tower.

“What ho, comrade?” he asked.

Another Panda-man looked down the grav-lift. His face was exactly the same.

“Nothing, my brother. The land still slumbers. How about you, Two-thousand and sixty-five?”

A third Panda-man arrived; he carried a particle beam rifle, not like the plasma rifles of the other two.

“Something is happening. The Emperor stirs.”

A purple grav-lift opened up. Emperor Yuric Frankenstorm (http://smh.com.au/ffximage/2004/12/16/stevenberkoff_narrowweb__200x298.jpg) landed on the ground, flanked by his twelve honour guards. A pale man stood with them.

“The Banshee 2.0 project is coming along nicely. The personal shielding system from the recovered Elite armour has been found compatible with the alloy of the Banshee—”

“You bore me,” Yuric said, dismissing the man. “We cannot take to the air, nor to space. The Martians will be looking for us. It is only a matter of days until they find the Assault carrier, it is hardly inconspicuous.”

An ornately armoured panda-man considered this. It was not his place to agree or disagree. He stayed neutral.

“Yes, Emperor,” he said.

Yuric approached a console. He typed in a command, and another grav-lift pulled the group into a hanger. A Banshee was flying around in the confined space. Seeing Yuric, a panda-man ordered the pilot down.

“How goes the flight, soldier?” Yuric asked.

“Flies like a dream, Emperor,” the panda-man said, standing at perfect attention. “My flight group will take to these new craft very quickly.”

“Your Emperor provides,” Yuric said.

“And the panda-men are grateful, creator.”

A technician handed Yuric a data-pad of schematics. Yuric skimmed it and turned, his bodyguards following him out the door. Yuric placed his frail hand on a panda-man’s shoulder.

“You, One, shall deliver us into the air, to space, and to conquest.”

One puffed out his chest.

“My strike team should be able to assassinate President McGinty of the Martians quite quickly. As your race says ‘They won’t know what h--’”

“No. This is the next phase of my plan. Follow me.”

Yuric stopped the bodyguards. He and One entered a room that resembled a hospital ward or science lab. A few human scientists were buzzing around an elderly man.

“McGinty!” One yelled, drawing a plasma pistol. Yuric stayed One’s hand.

“This is ‘The Replacement’. I want your team to infiltrate the Presidential building. Bring McGinty to me, leave this man behind.”

“I don’t trust him! He is our enemy! He will betray us!”

“You doubt me, One?” Yuric asked.

One calmed himself down.

“No, creator. It’s just, he--’’

“Who is your master, clone?” Yuric asked the McGinty clone.

“You, Emperor.”

Yuric turned to One, and smirked. He left the room. One gave the clone a last dirty look, and followed him.

----------

One, four other Panda-men, and the McGinty clone stood at the outskirts of Martian colony 43’s capital city. They were clad in the armour once used by the Elites during the wars with the UNSC.

“Engage active camouflage. Seventy-six, Twenty-four, disable any guards, do not fire unless fired upon. Use stun-sticks only. Eighty-six, you come with me, secure McGinty. Impostor, you re-dress yourself in McGinty’s clothing. You have your orders, move out.”

The group advanced into the city.

Kake Micks was confused. It was his job as a Presidential Guard to patrol the halls of the Presidential palace; usually no one took it into their heads to invade the capitol builiding of any country, so the job was fairly easy. But tonight Kake kept hearing strange shuffles, as though someone was walking right behind him ...

He strolled past a portrait of Romulus Von Droodle, the founder of Martian colony 43, admiring the brushstrokes. He lit up a cigarette, and leant against a broom cupboard. The door was hanging open; Kake fell in, on top of a prone body. Kake gasped, it was a fellow guard, Kake felt his neck for a pulse. The other guard was alive. Kake got to his feet, ready to sound the alarm --

And was tasered in the back by a cloaked Panda-man.

"Sleep, Primate," Eighty-Six said as Kake fell back into the broom cupboard. Eighty-Six silently locked the door and moved on to the next guard.

----------

Robzor McGinty was suspicious as hell. It had turned out to be quite a good day, there was almost a complete lack of paperwork, and he'd just found out that his eldest grandson was going to be a Jedi. Things turned out horribly on good days.

He quickly snatched his jacket and bowler hat off a hook, hellbent on leaving before something bad could happen at his office. He turned the brass knob of the door, and walked into an empty corridor ...

This wasn't right. Usually there was a complement of Presidential palace guards standing at perfect attention, waiting for him to get out. But today, every one of them was missing. Robzor swiftly opened up his door. He bolted back into his office and opened up the secret passage behind his desk. He entered a dark room filled with his collection of weapons from past and present, exotic and normal, and pulled out an Electrostaff; he was ready for anything --

Except, of course, the cloaked panda-man behind him, tasering him in the back.

Robzor opened his eyes, very slowly. His head hadn't hurt this much since his eighteenth birthday. He took in his surroundings: he was currently being dragged along by two armoured panda-men through a strange village. Huts and mud-brick houses were mingled with Covenant technology, a panda-man in a loincloth was setting up a holo-pedestal to his left, and a fully armoured panda-man was sitting patiently on the ground to his right, cooking bird parts on a bonfire.

Robzor and his captors were coming up on a crashed Covenant Assault Carrier, a huge ship at least five kilometres long. One of the panda-men said something into his com, a grav-lift enveloped the three of them, and dragged them inside.

When the three reached the top of the lift, Yuric and his entourage were waiting for them.

"Hello, Robzor," said Yuric, smiling.

Yuric came forward and drove an armoured hand into Robzor's stomach. Robzor coughed up some blood.

"I hope I find you well," he continued, slapping Robzor across the face. "Please enjoy your stay here. I think you'll find our prisons quite hospitable."

The two Panda-men gripping Robzor's arms dragged him into an onboard cell block. They threw him into a cell that was little more than a cage.

Yuric turned to his bodyguards.

"Thirty-one, tell your men to mobilize the space teams. Begin construction of our first shipyard. Fifty-seven, order the production and deployment of Banshee 2.0's. Soon we shall gain a foothold here on Mars, we will take more and more Martian territory. Eventually, Pandamic will conquer the galaxy. Huntaer, Mini Miehm, Sephrioth, any and all foes will soon be united under the banner of Pandamic."

Yuric spat into Robzor's cage, and left to his chambers.

OOC: Geez Yuric, calm down. You don't even have any ships yet.

Back at the palace...

Kake sprinted into the President's office to find ... the President packing up his things, ready to go home.

"Mr. President, are you okay?" Kake asked.

"Just fine, just fine," the Robzor clone said. "Why do you ask?"

"Something stunned me and Watkins from behind, sir. I haven't checked with the other guards yet."

"Oh?" Robzor asked. "Asleep on the job, were you?"

"No sir, I ..."

"Dismissed, soldier."

----------

"Strange energy spikes have been recorded by our Probots in this sector," said John McClane, the Minister of Defence. "Small support craft and space faring personnel have been spotted in the space above. Seems to be Covenant tech. We have Probots and troops en route."

"Call them back," the Robzor clone replied, grooming his nails.

"What?!" McClane sputtered.

The Robzor clone sighed and laid down his nail file.

"There are forty-two other known colonies on Mars. This is probably them. Sending troops and probes would most likely be viewed as an act of war."

"Yes, but --"

"No buts, Minister. You are dismissed."

John rose from his chair, confused and angry. He didn't remember Robzor ever being this reckless; come to think of it, he didn't remember the last time Robzor had called him "Minister". He exited the room.

----------

"Guard. What do you know of Metallicus?" Robzor asked the guard outside his cell.

The panda-man, Four thousand, turned to Robzor. He had been deep in thought.

"They are a plague upon this planet. They will eventually be smote righteously by the gods of Greenday, Good Charlotte, and Simple Plan. The music of Metallicus is known to cause bleeding of the ears, insanity, and diarrhea,” Four thousand replied, as though he'd been quoting a textbook.

Robzor muttered to himself; occasionally the words "heathen" and "mainstream brainwash" could be heard.

"Quiet, primate," Four thousand snapped.

"Tell me, guard, have you ever played noughts and crosses?" Robzor asked, completely bored out of his mind.

"What is this, 'Noughts and crosses'?" Four thousand asked.

Robzor sighed, but a wave of inspiration hit him.

"It is an ancient Martian strategy game. Bring a blank piece of paper and a pen tomorrow. I will teach you to be a Noughtian Grandmaster of the Thirteenth degree."

----------

Robzor Clone look across his desk at the fresh-faced officer in front of him. He was a newly promoted general, still impressionable, still malleable.

“We have reason to believe this is one of the other colonies. Avoid any military action within this sector, or the space above it.” Robzor Clone said to him.

“Yes, sir.” The general replied.

Robzor Clone smiled as the new general left his office. McClane would have to be taken care of; he was getting wise to the situation. Clone smirked, and filled in the necessary paperwork

----------

John McClane stared in horror at the lime green form in front of him. It was detailing the terms and conditions of his new promotion. He was being moved to Fort ReKlyne, supposedly it was a great honour, but everyone knew about the people in Fort ReKlyne, retired military and government folk, those who were too lazy or stupid to do anything but were appointed or promoted out of pity by influential relatives, and religious zealots. There were many jokes among the armed forces about “The swine of ReKlyne”, John had laughed at all of them, until today.

Funky Rhinestone, Minister of foreign affairs, and close friend to Robzor and John, walked in with an identical expression and form, as did generals Buff Whitlam and Luke Nukem.

“As’ Robzoh’ gowen’ insayin’?” Funky asked, adjusting his pimp cane to a more comfortable position.

“I should CRUsh him WITH my MIGHty MUHscles!” Luke Nukem spat.

“Let’s just stay calm,” John said.

“No, dawg. Even you gots tah’ admit dat’ Robzoh’s actin’ cray-zeh,” Funky replied.

John sighed. He and his friends rose, they had to pack.

----------

There was an almighty struggle in the prison block. Man and panda-man grunted. A bead of sweat rolled down Robzor’s brow.

“Bottom left,” He said.

Four thousand drew a cross in the bottom left square, he had to do Robzor’s moves for him, as Robzor was trapped behind a force-field.

“And I win,” Four thousand said with an air of finality. He drew his circle in the center square. A line of circles took the middle row.

“Bugger,” cursed Robzor. He had meant to lose, of course. If he was to convince Four thousand to let him go, he needed him to be smug. “You’re obviously very good. I am able to beat the very numerous opponents in my country.”

This caught Four thousand’s attention. He liked this game of noughts and crosses. Robzor had told him how, back in ancient times, two Martian kings would play each other in three rounds of noughts and crosses if their armies were at a stalemate. Also, he didn’t much like fighting. He’d been bred for it, but he was afraid, that’s why he’d applied for prison duty, Pandamic didn’t take many prisoners. This game was an alternative to it, and, he was told, Martians practically lived to play it.

“Perhaps, when Pandamic conquers your country, I could set up a Noughts and Crosses dojo ...” Four thousand said wistfully.

“I, uh, I look forward to it.” Robzor responded.

Five Martian trucks stopped. The drivers had been ordered to drive to a very secluded area of Mars, there weren't too many roads, there wasn't much of anything. They had been told to dump their cargo at some cliffs.

"You know why we're out here?" a truck driver, Big Jim Beef, asked over his radio.

"Don't know a damn thing," replied another driver, Moderate Jim Beef.

The trucks upended their cargo holds. Tonnes of heavy metals fell to the ground.

"And...I'm...empty!" Small Jim Beef cried.

This was happening in many locations, the drivers and trucks from many companies. Sometimes the cargo was not metal; sometimes it was food or electrical components, blankets and utensils. They were all secret, and all traced back to the same source...

----------

John gaped at the building. The large sign above the front road said "YOU ARE NOW ENTERING FORT REKLYNE"; a colourful pig was graffitied on the wall near it.

Ah, we're pigs now, John thought sadly.

John walked past the guard, he didn't even ask for John's I.D. The guard wasn't even standing to attention, and John sure as hell wouldn't have used the word "awake" to describe him. He walked into the building with Funky and the generals.

An obese red-headed gentleman was sitting with his feet on a desk. He quietly munched on some crystallized pineapple and turned the page of his trashy romance novel. He looked up at them.

“New bacon, huh?” he asked, smirking.

“How did you know?” John asked, shifting uncomfortably.

The red-headed gent laughed. He put down his book and looked seriously at them.

“No one ever comes here unless they work here,” he replied. He took a register and looked for their names. “You’re at those desks. This is the place were ‘The Paperwork’ is lost.”

John frowned. He and his took their places at the desks, and got to not working.

----------

Yuric was grinning from ear to ear. The supplies from Martian Colony 43 had been dumped at the locations Yuric had specified, capital ship production was underway, and no-one had yet found out about the kidnapping.

He entered the prison block, practically skipping. He stopped when he heard laughter. The panda-man on guard stopped laughing when he saw Yuric coming, Robzor started cringing and groaning, as though he was in pain.

“What is going on here?” Yuric demanded.

The panda-man shuffled nervously.

“Uh, nothing, creator. I was just beating the prisoner for his insolence.”

Robzor groaned and coughed, to prove Four thousand’s story.

“What is that piece of paper?” Yuric asked, pointing to a stray page.

Four thousand picked up the games of noughts and crosses. He had no excuse.

“They’re my last wishes,” Robzor croaked from his cell.

Yuric chuckled.

“Ignore them, guard. Robzor, witness, Pandamic takes to the stars,”

Yuric activated a screen. It displayed a panda-man in Covenant space gear, modified for panda-men, giving orders to several other space-faring panda-men.

“Oxygen,” he ordered.

A panda-man typed some controls into a console. The head panda-man took of his helmet, and turned to Yuric.

“Hello, creator, greetings from the shipyard Bamboo Justice. The construction facility has been completed, on schedule. The first battleship is under construction.”

“Very good, Twelve thousand. You should expect rewards upon your arrival,” Yuric replied. He grinned manically and looked at Robzor. “Soon a mighty fleet shall be constructed.”

Yuric switched off the screen. He exited the room.

“Sod,” Robzor muttered.

----------

“Look at this,” John said, holding up a piece of paperwork. “This says most of the fleet has been grounded. Scouting and reconnaissance teams have been cut by seventy-five percent. Vehicle upkeep isn’t continuing, but the guard at the capital palace has been completely replaced and increased significantly.”

“And dis’,” Funky started. “Says dat’ resources of all kinds are jus’ goin’ nowhaya. Metal, food, fabrics. Everyting’.

“All of this can be traced back to the government...” Buff Whitlam concluded, poring over another page.

“Robzor has lost his mind...he was normal up until a few days ago. It’s like somebody just snapped up the Robzor we knew and gave us this guy,” John sighed.

Funky looked at John, this gave him an idea.

“Maybe sometin’ did...you know anyting’ bout’ brainwash?” he asked.

----------

“Introducing...” The scientist announced. “The Micro Fuel-rod beam launcher!”

Yuric smiled politely at the harmlessly insane man.

“What?” he asked.

The scientist frowned, Yuric hadn’t adhered to the proper dramatic affect needed. He place a thick glove, connected to a small weapon system and fuel rod magazine, on Yuric’s desk.

“It’s a smaller version of the weapon wielded by the Hunters of the Covenant. We think it could be issued to the humans here, forget Greenday, the panda-men would think we are the gods, with these weapons!”

Yuric smiled. He placed the glove weapon on his right hand, and fired. The green beam hit just above the arch of the door, evaporating a chunk of the solid metal wall.

“Excellent. Do it,” he said.

He quite liked the idea of being a god.

---------

“Will you fight my people, Four thousand? Kill the men and women of my armies?” Robzor asked.

“If need be,” Four thousand replied, without much conviction.

“And, after that? You’ll be tired, hungry, hurt, and maybe dead. Yuric will have you keep fighting, he will have your brothers die around you, and, when the fighting is over, where will you be?”

This stunned Four thousand. Robzor was not lying, but... Yuric wouldn’t hurt the panda-men; he was the messenger of Greenday...

“You’ll still be a prison guard, Galactic Empire of Pandamic or not.”

----------

“You, carrot top. Where can we find out the names and addresses of the palace guards?” Buff Whitlam asked the obese red-head.

“Super computer,” Carrot-top replied.

“What?” Buff gasped.

“Through there,” Carrot-top said, pointing down a corridor. “Now leave me alone. I’m trying to watch my stories.”

As one man, Funky, John, Buff, and Luke shrugged. They set off down the corridor

Robzor Clone couldn't believe it was this easy. He'd managed to persuade the young general to ground the fleets, even to disengage their power systems! It would take days to get these fleets off the ground again. And, by a combination of manipulation and drugging, he'd convinced several key members of the cabinet to defect to Pandamic if, Greenday forbid, something went awry.

McClane and the rest weren't giving him any trouble, at least, he hoped not. The daily reports on them that he requested seemed to be rather lacking in detail. Perhaps he should have placed a spy at Fort ReKlyne instead of asking one of the swine there. He went over today's report again.

Daily Report

Today Mr. McClane showed me how to do up my bow-tie. This means I don't have to ask Bethany in Advanced Firework Monitoring how to do it, which is a shame, I do like her...

It just went on like that.

---------

"So, why didn't we know about this?" John asked as Funky typed away at the Martian super computer.

"Well, according to this file here," Buff said, reaching a brown folder out of a cabinet, "the DotCom super computer was supposed to be able to control and organize the entire Martian database. It fell into disuse because of the lack of interest, and now people just use it for solitaire and looking up porn.”

“I’ve got da’ addresses of da’ men that were moved from da’ Palace guard...one of dem’ is here, in da’ Minor Card Dealing department. Name’s Kake Micks,” Funky said.

The four men set off for the Minor Card Dealing department.

----------

Two thousand and sixty-five was strolling along the borders. His friends, Two thousand and seventy-four and Six thousand and twelve, were in a hovering lookout post. He made his way towards them; they were idly chatting as usual.

“Two thousand has been acting strange of late, has he not?” Six thousand and twelve asked the panda-men on the ground.

“Indeed,” Two thousand and seventy-four answered. “In fact, during our last game of Quickball, he introduced a Martian strategy game to us. It was most unusual. Also, he pursues books of religion. He asks many questions about Greenday, he talks of Metallicus very often too.”

“Hmm,” Two thousand and sixty-five began. “It would seem that the prisoner is warping his mind. I think it will do him well to see him executed tomorrow night.”

“Agreed,” The other two said together.

----------

Kake Micks laid down a card, looked at it, and wrote down his findings. Such was the life of a Minor Card Dealing officer. He pried himself away from the pack of cards he was working on to greet the four men that had just entered his “office”.

“How can I help you gentlemen?” he asked.

“What happened on the night of the Ninth of July?” Buff demanded, getting straight to the point.

Kake raised his eyebrows. So something did happen, then?

“Uh ... I was just patrolling the palace. I found Watkins unconscious in a broom cupboard, and ... then I was knocked out. I asked the other guys before we got shipped out, and they said they didn’t remember anything much either ... they were knocked out, too.”

“Giving an attacker an opportunity to get to Robzor ...” Buff mused.

“We didn’t know what got us, when we checked the security recordings, the file had been corrupted, Robzor told us to ignore it,” Kake added.

John nibbled his tongue.

“Funky, get back to the super-computer, remote control a probe, find out what Robzor wants to keep secret, I don’t reckon that’s another colony with the Covenant tech. Buff, Luke, come with me, we’re going to ‘borrow’ a Skipray Blastboat, you’re coming too Kake, we’ll fill you in on the way to the airfield.”

---------

“So … I’m being killed tomorrow?” Robzor asked, almost casually .

“Most definitely,” Four thousand replied glumly. He would not admit it, but he liked this Robzor gentleman.

“Any chance you could let me out?” Robzor piped up, his last hope.

“None,” Four thousand responded.

“Bugger.”

----------

Funky hacked into the military database. He remote activated a military Probot, and set a course for the area John had pointed out. A camera on the Probot gave a live feed of what was going on.

----------

“I can’t let you in here. It’s military property,” the zealous guard at the gate said.

“Dammit soldier, we’re government officials! We’re here to monitor how far tiny screws bounce on the leather seats of support craft! Get out of our way!” John screamed, carefully making his face a portrait of righteous indignation. He flashed his I.D, as did the other three men. The guard hastily stepped out of the way.

The four men opened up a Skipray Blastboat. They took various positions at the consoles. John was the pilot; he’d flown a fighter before. At least, he’d been shown … well, he’d read the instructions. This couldn’t be much more difficult; he switched on the engines. At the back of the vehicle blue flames leaped out. The craft took to the air, much to the surprise of the current guard, whose shift had just finished and who had wanted to see how everyone was getting on.

---------

Funky nibbled his tongue. He’d managed to get the Probot mobile, and was heading towards the area that Robzor had said to ignore; whatever had happened to Robzor, this place might have some answers.

Funky stopped the Probot. It had encountered something out there … Covenant Light amplifiers. Funky was in dangerous territory now. The Probot moved forward, hovering over a dune. Funky zoomed the camera in; a large settlement of primitive huts and mud-brick houses loomed ahead.

“What is this apparition?!” a voice over the microphone said.

Funky turned the Probot. Standing there was a Panda-man. That couldn’t be right, those … things were said to have gone off-world. They seemed to have stumbled on some Covenant tech, which meant that Yuric --

The camera was cut off as the Panda-man opened fire with a Plasma rifle.

In space …

John eased the Skipray to a hidden location. Most sensors wouldn’t label a Skipray as a threat because it was so small, but John wasn’t taking any chances. Funky’s voice crackled from the com.

“Dis’ is Funky. I sent da’ Probot to investigate da’ Covenant tech. Da’ Probot was destroyed, by a Panda-man.”

John gasped audibly, as did the other men. The eighteen existing Panda-men were supposed to have fled the planet almost a year ago, along with Yuric Frankenstorm and the scientists loyal to him. No-one could have guessed that they’d still be on the planet, and by the looks of things, they’d cloned a hell of a lot more Panda-men.

The Skipray’s sensors focused on a build-up of Covenant ships and tech. A space station was being constructed, while it was constructing a ship. A near-completed CCS Battle cruiser loomed ahead of them.

“Sweet mother of Metallica…” Kake stammered.

“So this is where all the Martian supplies have been going. It’s confirmed, Robzor’s been tampered with,” John said through gritted teeth. “We’re going to that Panda-man infested country, and we’re bringing back the man responsible.”

“Oo-rah!” Kake shouted.

The other three men stared at him. Luke calmly leaned forward and slapped Kake across the head.

----------

One grinned, McGinty would finally be slain in a few hours, leaving the way open for the forging of a new Empire, of which a section would be given to One for his personal rule. One didn’t know much about the Galaxy, so he didn’t really understand what Yuric had meant when he was talking about how One would be given Mini Miehm.

“If you can beat them, you can have them,” Yuric had said.

One put this out of his mind, and began practising his aim with a Covenant Carbine.

----------

The Skipray had landed in a forest clearing close to the Martian capital city of Kapy Toll. Kake, John, Luke, and Buff were met by Funky, who was dragging a large case behind him.

“Gear up, dogs. We’re takin’ Robzoh’ to da’ panda country. Whoever hypn’tized him’s gon’ put him right, y’hear?”

He stopped dragging the case. He kicked the top of it. Inside it was black ops gear, heat vision goggles and E-11 blaster rifles.

“Let’s go get him,” John said.

----------

Robzor clone laughed. This was far too easy. Martian colony 43 was in the palm of his hand. He pushed away the paperwork that Robzor once would have done, and prepared to go home. He heard a noise. Voices.

“I thought you used to crawl around in vents all the time!”

“The vents at the Nakitomi building were a lot cleaner. They also had better lighting, I can barely read this map!”

“Quit yo’ bitchin’ dogs. We’re at the office.”

Robzor clone froze in terror as the grate on the air vents fell off, and John McClane, dusty as all hell, advanced towards him. Funky Rhinestone and Buff Whitlam had his back.

“Hey Rob, call this an intervention,” John said, opening up the secret doorway behind the desk and pulling out Robzor’s Electrostaff.

Robzor clone froze, where were his guards?

John tasered him in the back.

----------

“And so,” Kake said. “Where is the card now?”

One of the new palace guards pulled up the hat Kake had hidden a card under; the card was not there. Kake grinned and reached towards the guard.

“What’s that under your helmet?”

The guard pulled up his helmet, the card was indeed there. The other Presidential Palace guards who should have been guarding laughed and clapped.

“Thank you, thank you, you’ve been great,” Kake said.

He walked out of the corridor, and when he was sure no-one was looking, broke into a furious run out of the Palace.

----------

“Last meal primate. Savour it,” a panda-man said.

The panda-man placed a plate of partially cooked canned spaghetti on the ground, deactivated the force field, and pushed it towards Robzor. Robzor crawled on his stomach towards the plate, the panda-man kicked Robzor in the face, surprisingly, it didn’t hurt as much as it did with the other panda-men, this one seemed much less muscular than the others. The panda-man kicked relentlessly, drawing blood from Robzor’s nose with a satisfyingly loud “click”.

Four thousand watched. He could not tolerate this, he had to do something. He extended his stun-stick, and dug the shocking barbs into the other panda-man’s flesh, it fell over, unconscious. Four thousand spat on him.

“How I detest the worker strain!”

He pulled Robzor up, letting him lean against Four thousand, as his legs were badly hurt.

----------

John had taken point. Buff and Luke easily carried the unconscious Robzor clone. The five men (six if you count Robzor clone) advanced into the city.