"Open the hatch!!!" Admin Laowai yelled at the blackness in front of him.
BANG BANG! KNOCK KNOCK!!!
A loud "CLANG" responded and a thin shaft of light shattered the darkness as a viewing window slid open. Admin Laowai squinted, shielding his eyes from the suddenly bright light.
"Who's that?" a voice from outside and beyond the light said.
"Er... Its me" Admin Laowai replied.
"Good answer smarty"... said the voice... "Who's me?"
"Admin Laowai!" Admin Laowai replied.
"Admin Who?" said the voice
"Laowai" Admin Laowai said again.
There was a grumbling sound.... "Wait a minute" said the voice and the viewing slat slammed shut again, plunging Admin Laowai into darkness once more. He sat back down on the cold metal floor of one of the holds in the lost battle star. Using the title always confuses them... the thought..... But its because there is this stupid Corsair with the same name and.....
CRACK!
The slat shot open again, the light stabbing back across the room. The voice called out. "Right, yes, you.... Whaddaya want?"
Admin Laowai paused for a moment. "Well, I was sent down here to clean... and... i think i fell asleep..."
"Clean??!" the voice said, "By who?"
"Admin Hoodlum" said Admin Laowai....
"Who?" said the voice.
Things must have really changed, thought Admin Laowai to himself. What could be happening above decks? How long had he been asleep? Or.... (he shuddered) what happened if he had awoken in a parallel universe in some kind of alternate parallel lost Battlestar?!.
"Admin Hoodlum" he said again.... "You know, scary guy, glowing eyes, carries around a big hammer...."
The voice grumbled again. "Oh him" it said. "He aint been around in ages.... What'd he say you had to clean?"
Admin Laowai felt reassured... at least he was in the right universe. "This hold" he said, "... and some others, I did 'em, but I think I fell asleep."
"Hmmph" the voice grunted. "Well... it says here you had to clean the flood pipes as well... did you clean them?"
The flood pipes????? Admin Laowai groaned.... No one had actually SEEN the flood pipes that were rumoured to run all throughout the lost BattleStar. Legend has it they carried the worst of "flood" from the forum controls and vented it into space, but it was all legend, myth even among the Admins, and most shuddered at the idea of them, let alone finding them and making them shiny.
"Er.... Admin Hoodlum didn't mention that..." Admin Laowai said meekly.
"Hmmph" said the voice behind the door again... "He didn't did he? Well that would be right...."
"So..." said Admin Laowai. "Could you, open the door? I fell asleep but im feeling a bit more awake now...."
"What?" said the voice? "Open the door? what are you? Daft? I cant do that, I dont have the correct codes, im just here avoiding the OORP pipes"....
Admin Laowai groaned.... he didn't even want to consider the OORP pipes......
"Look" said the voice... "You just sit tight and someone will be a long shortly....."
Admin Laowai sighed, sitting down once more on the cold metal floor he pondered interesting variations on the .kill command that could be applied to doors.
Taking advantage of the apparent Neural Network fail he heard many rumors about, Marburg & secures a seal on one of the unused hatches on the underside of the Lost Battlestar.
He sends in a standard, bottom of the line Sirian robot whose only modification is that its head has been replaced with a plasma widescreen that shows the features of a swine when activated.
He likes to call it Pigface.
Anyway, after unloading the 'bot, he quickly unlatches his gunboat from the seal & travels a good distance away from the Admin Base of Operations, & from his cockpit, controls Pigface by remote.
It walks down the hallway stealthily...well, stealthily in the sense that its metal feet clang loudly on the metal deck plates & happens to yell "beep!" every twenty to twenty five meters or so.
Pigface makes its way to the Admin locker room & dusts the floor with itching powder.
It makes it's way to the Admin lounge & strategically sets a few whoopee cushions under some seats.
It goes to the observation window & spray paints "MODS RULE, ADMINS DROOL"
It opens the communications console and wires itself into the Battlestars' ship wide speaker system, turns the volume to maximum & ques up a repeating loop of 'Jump In My Car' by David Hasselhoff.
Pigface yells "BEEP!" & Marburg flies off out of system as fast as his ship will carry him while giggling like a drunk monkey.
Still half asleep, in a slumber and drunken glory that even heroes of the old world such a C.Sheen cannot beat, he gets off his bed, bottle of whisky still held firmly in hand. Vigil against his throat and epic morning headache, the liquid soothes away the pain and inconvenience of a biological liver and circulatory system after a few gulps of the remaining ounces of the bottle.
Being dizy, a simple inconvenience he thinks, he flips... rather clumsily... the bottle in his hand to hold it upside down and in a proud effort and short moment of glory, throws the bottle like a knife at the waste evacuation hole set in the wall... or at least...tries to. He in fact hit instead the sole lamp providing lighting to his windowless room... which was in fact not even standing in the same way.
Swearing in a language known only in Gallia, he then tries to find a way out of his room, toward the hatch. Ultimately, he fails as he stumble on a big crate left on the ground. He did not know why the crate was there, nor who left it there, or why. Lying on the floor, gathering himself, the man suddenly realize why he has awakened...
"HASSELHOFF!!!!!!!!" He yells out loud at the speakers and with much efforts he reaches the hatch... or rather, crashes in it, and finally finds light on the other side. He then gets on his leg to walk the 5 minute distance toward the room where the communication console is.
... 30 minutes later.
King blasts the room's door, with explosives stashed in the first aid boxes spread around the ship, his idea, and then storms into the room... naked.
The sight was... a marvel. A huge graffiti saying something about ruling the world and burning fools was painted on the window...or so he thought. He smiled at once, feeling empowered in his naked grandeur. After a few moments of contemplation at the message written on the window, he sought the console playing music and smashed on it until it got a song that suited him better. The song, luckily, was from one of his favorite artist of the old world.
Turning his head to see behind him he lost his footing and fell on his back. At this point, King noticed the weird robot with a pig face being displayed on its head. He crawled...slowly... toward the bot and tied him with an auxiliary cable 100ft long and plugged the bot to the console...thus sending music to the person controlling the machine.
He then collapsed on the floor, drunk, naked, with girls singing and moaning in the background music
With excitement, Garrett exited his ship and entered the Lost Battlestar. Yesterday, he received a summons from Cannon'Meet me at A.D.M.I.N. headquarters for a special assignment. That was the extent of the memo, but it was enough for him to stop everything and fly like a cheetah on cardimine to find out what was going on.
A new assignment? Garrett giggled with anticipation. He whispered the word just once for effect'¦ADMIN. Could it be that, finally, all his hard work had paid off? At last, he was about to attain the goal that he always dreamed about. Wait. No. He shook himself. Don't go there. You're just setting yourself up for disappointment Garrett. Be patient. Your time will come. Still, he could scarcely hold back his anticipatory grin at the potential prospect.
Cannon stood waiting by the docking bay doors. He was an imposing figure, almost radiant, with an aura of authority emanating from his form. Garrett found himself almost wanting to kneel before him as he approached.
He tried to keep his voice from shaking. 'Here as ordered, Admin Cannon.'
'Please, just call me Cannon, Garrett.' He smiled. 'You made good time getting here.'
'Yes sir.' This was starting out well. 'Ready to start this new assignment you have for me.'
'Excellent. Follow me and we'll get you going right away.'
Garrett practically floated along as Cannon led him through the halls of the Lost Battlestar. He wondered what it would be like to fly one of those invincible Admin ships, to be able to magically beam someone from one end of Sirius to the other and to have the wondrous ability to kill with just a word. His hands were sweating with excitement. Oh boy.
Finally, they arrived at the mess hall. Garrett's mouth opened agape. There, seated at various tables, was the legendary team of Admins. Never before had Garrett seen so many powerful people in one place. There was JihadJoe, Athenian, Dieter, Laowai, King Vaillant, and Doc Holiday, all eating and conversing with one another.
Cannon got their attention. 'Hello gents. We've got a new member here to add to our crew.'
Six heads turned towards Garrett. Smiles quickly followed, with cheers and congratulations.
Garrett had never been happier. The day finally arrived. At last, he could add the title, [Admin] to his name, and share in the wondrous power and glory that it wielded.
Cannon walked over to a nearby door and opened it. 'Well, if you're going to be able to do the job, you're going to have to have the right tools.' Fishing around for awhile, he finally pulled out what he had been looking for.
Garrett frowned. A paint bucket and brush? What the heck.
Cannon misread Garrett's face. 'No worries, Mate. We don't expect perfection here. Just do the best you can.' He led Garrett to a hallway where the words, 'Mods Rule, Admins Drool' were spray painted on the wall.
He took the paint and brush from Cannon. 'Who did this?'
'Why, a Mod of course,' he replied flatly. With that, he turned sharply and headed back to the mess hall. 'Oh, one more thing before I forget.'
Garrett looked hopeful. 'Yes?'
'Stay away from the coffee. It's for Admins only.'
Posts: 8,207
Threads: 733
Joined: Aug 2008
Staff roles: Moderator
Doc was at his desk, going through another pile of paperwork. His office was a bit dim, only the old oil lamp above his desk burning.
"How many times must we tell people," he groaned, "use the proper form to file a report. No form, no action."
With that, he took his red rubber stamp and stamped "Closed" over the form.
He had had enough for one night, taking a sip of some Gallic wine.
He sat back a moment in thought. "Well, there was that one guy, Antfred, whom I found without proper paperwork on his ship. He listened and got himself some." There is some hope I guess.
Hey kids, have I ever told you how new administrators are made? But I thought all the administrators lived forever! Heh, it might seem that way, but boy have I got a story for you. Does it involve a Mommy Administrator and a Daddy Administrator loving each other very much? No, no, it's a little more interesting than that. It goes a little something like this.
In the depths of the Battlestar sat Gheis on a rusting metal chair bolted to the floor. Shackled to it by his ankle, he slaved away at the computer in front of him. The only source of illumination was its monochrome cathode-ray, the only sound to be heard the heavy clack of mechanical keys. Thus was the daily routine of the young moderator, punctuated only by arrivals of oatmeal and water through a slot in the wall as well as a single visitor.
It was on this, a slow moderation day following a recent round of particularly heavy bans, when he came in. An administrator. Grumpy as always, the administrator slammed the iron door open and stepped over its threshold into the suddenly illuminated cell. He stood for a moment, hands behind his back, eyes peering down from beneath a floppy hat. "Y-Yes?" Gheis stammered. The administrator raised one hand to his chin, stroked his bushy beard, and grinned.
"You haven't made your quota today, Gheis."
"B-But, sir, w-we just banned everyo-one. There's nobody caus-"
"You know what, though?" the Administrator cut him off. "It's okay, I don't mind the days you miss your quota. Because then I get to hear something enjoyable."
'No. Not that. Anything but that. I'll lock everything, I promise, I'll do it. Anything." The moderator's pleas fell on deaf ears, as the hand remaining behind the Administrator's back revealed itself, and the oh-so-familiar implement of Gheis' misfortune, and came down with a solid *thunk*
"AAAAHHHHHH. I'm s-sorry! It's n-not your fault! It's n-"
*thunk*, the Administrator brought down the wrench again. "What was that?"
Gheis wailed again. "I-it's not your fault!"
"I don't think you mean it." The administrator raised his arm again, when suddenly the Moderator did something unexpected.
He said "No."
That caused the Administrator to pause, surprised that the young moderator would have said anything. "What was that, you twerp?"
"N-no." Gheis turned to look at the administrator, who was lowering his arm and staring in disbelief.
"How dare you talk to me li-"
"No." Gheis repeated, stronger than before.
"Oh, you're gonna get it no-"
And with newfound determination, Gheis rose to his feet staring down the administrator, and commanded, "No. Not this time. This time, it is your fault." The room became as brightly lit as it had ever been as Gheis began to glow, the air in the room swirling as he siphoned the strength of the administrator. Dropping his wrench, the bearded tormentor backed down, tripping over a discarded bowl of oatmeal long gone cold.
Turning from the cowering administrator, Gheis looked down at his shackle, pointed, and commanded that it was gone, and so it was. Fading back to his normal appearance, the new administrator turned one last time and sneered at the older man, then walked out of the cell he had known as home for so long.
And thus he stepped onto the server, and became generally indifferent to the world.
And that, kids, is how new administrators are made. No it isn't, Gramps. Yes it is. Now go see if Grams needs any help making dinner. Awwww maaaaaaan!
Garrett stumbled upon an unexpected announcement when he fired up his terminal. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he tried to focus on the words as they gradually became clearer.
Garrett has been selected to serve as Admin.
What in blazes! What kind of sick joke is this?
Before he could dismiss it entirely, the door slammed open, with Cannon standing at his threshold.
"Don't screw this up!"
And, with that, he was gone.
"So that's it, huh?" he muttered to no one. "For some reason, I thought there would be a little more direction than that."
He walked out the door of his office, noticed Dieter passed out again in the corridor still holding onto a bottle of Dab beer.
Yuck! Why did he insist on drinking that garbage?
He stepped over the incapacitated, and quite frankly, smelly body and pressed on toward the docking bay.
He had one goal.
The Admin ship.
The most powerful guns, the strongest shield, cloak, beam, kill. Yes! Finally! He shivered with the thought of ultimate power.
Just as he was about to enter the docking bay, a voice called out from behind.
"Aha! Garrett."
It was Reverend Del, back from a lengthy hiatus. With him, was Fellow Hoodlum.
"Wondering if you might want to join us in handling some sanction reports?"
With a sigh, Garrett assented. He could forego his dream ship for a few minutes.
Two and half emotionally draining hours later...
Garrett finally freed himself from a pair of grateful Admins and started again toward the docking bay.
Another voice stopped him in his tracks.
It was Zelot carrying a forbidding stack of manuals.
"Garrett!" he bellowed. "Where do you think you're going? You need to read these tutorials right away."
"Now?" Garrett looked dismayed.
"Now!"
Again, he set aside his dream of flying the Admin ship, and dutifully went to his room and poured over the tutorials.
Hours later....
Mentally drained, Garrett looked longingly at his bed.
No. Not yet. He promised himself a jaunt on his new Admin ship, and that was exactly what he intended to do.
He practically sprinted down the corridor, ducking and dodging every time he suspected an Admin might cross his path, praying to avoid any further encounters.
Finally, he made it to the docking bay and there it sat. His very own, brand new, fully kitted, Admin ship.
He slid into the cockpit, closed the hatch and started singing an old Earth tune. "We are the Champions."
The engines fired up, thrusters engaged and down the runway he soared.
He finally made it.
Now, he thought. Time to unleash the POWER!
A message appeared on comms.
It was sent from an unfamiliar person. "Uh...Can I have a Venator?"
What?!? What sort of nonsense is this. He ignored it.
He turned his attention back to his ship, when another message appeared.
Someone else was speaking. "Hey, my Osiris needs more power, can you get on that?"
Oh my god! "No," Garrett replied.
Almost immediately, another comm interrupted his dream.
"Hey, I can't find the jumpgate in Kansas System. Can you tell me where it is?"
Before Garrett could reply, a pilot in a Rhino appeared and started ramming his ship repeatedly.
Garrett's finger inched ever closer to the kill command.
More comm messages appeared. He tried to answer them all, even the ridiculous ones.
He barely restrained himself from obliterating the suicidal Rhino pilot and sending his remains to Bastille.
I have to get out of here, he thought.
With haste, he beelined it back to the Lost Battlestar.
"Home Sweet Home," he muttered.
He went to his room, exhausted from everything that took place that day.
The sanction reports, the tutorials, the general questions from the populace that were thrust upon him nonstop...
He looked back at the events of the day with a tired satisfaction.
He decided to fire up his terminal for one last look at the news.
Discouragement hit him like a sledgehammer.
Accusations of Admin abuse, complaints about unfair treatment and arguments about rules filled the headlines.
After all the work he did that day... *sigh*
Depressed, Garrett walked out his door back into the corridor. Dieter hadn't moved an inch.
He dropped down, grabbed the bottle of Dab beer from his hands and drank heavily.
Dieter, with a eye half opened, slurred out a single sentence...
Hoodlum had awoken from what appeared to be a slightly longer than usual hibernation period. He couldn't
really put his finger on it, as nothing had really changed in any way at all.
Putting your finger on it, or not being able to, was something to do with the Dean Uncertainty Principle. It
seemed to leave you with the feeling something was sort of there, possibly in the corner of your eye, but
you couldn't actually, well, kind of put your fing... You get the drift anyway.
The Planet Forum Whine Drive which kept the place operating now, seemed to be running at it's usual one
hundred and three percent efficiency level, something that never failed to amaze. How come it couldn't be
tapped elsewhere. It's awesome capabilities surpassed even that of theoretical cold fusion.
He reached for the Miller tap, and poured himself another cup of coffee ...
"Good to see the really important things don't change."
He muttered to no one in particular, as the Canarian caffeine, with the minuscule addition of Cardamine hit
the spot.
He leaned over and hit the comm button ...
"Del, about that cock up. We could always blame the new guy, easy target. Or I have a list of feasible excuses
here from the Great Book of Extenuation, you know, being left handed, borrowed laptop, no mouse, first taste
of Windows 7. The list goes on. All very viable according to the tome."
He sipped his coffee again, and slipped into contemplating the meaning of green holes in the universe.
And the twenty three beautiful permanently blooming daffodils in their Discordian urn.
Sadly some things do change ...
Some say he is a proud member of: "The most paranoid group of people in the Community."
Modburg is kicked back on a couch lounging somewhere aboard the Erinloch Roadhouse in orbit above Copinsay, Orkney; sipping a beer with one hand & smoking some smooth Kalisti Gold with the other while watching an ancient form of entertainment titled "Dune" for the millionth time. Quietly mouthing the dialogue in time with the movie, he gets to the part where Muad'Dib declares, "Father,The sleeper has awakened!" & Burg digresses into a coughing fit because he forgot to expel the smoke from his lungs before he yelled in unison along with it.
This produced within him what can only be described properly as a hacking combination 'giggle-croup'
Hitting the pause button to take a break for some air, he flips onto the forums & something immediately catches his eye:
' Wrote:Hoodlum had awoken from what appeared to be a slightly longer than usual hibernation period...
"Ok, now that's just 'effin weird, man." he mutters to himself with a smile at the obvious synchronicity.
"Oi! Holo me to the Lost Battlestar!" he addresses to the empty room, and just like that, the Neural-Net projects his image onto...you guessed it, the Admins Lost Battlestar. Go figure.
If Modburg had real feet at that particular moment, he'd be standing on Dieter, who is apparently passed out in the middle of a corridor cradling a bottle of Dab beer. 'It's a good thing Dab's not here to see this' he thought to himself. 'If Dab saw that bottle, we'd probably never hear the end of it.'
Leaving Dieter's inebriated slumber undisturbed, he makes his way to where some of the other Admins are gathered and declares to the room: "HEY! Any 'o y'all wanna go play putt-putt on the south course by engineering?"
"How do you expect to hold a putter without a physical body Marburg?" Said Reverend Del casually, glancing up from his reading.
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