Books written by Ray Sullivan

Saturday, 21 July 2012

Project: Evil – The Mindless Bloody Finale Meeting part 1

Project: Evil – The Mindless Bloody Finale Meeting part 1

Bund swam slowly along the underwater tunnel, critically aware that he was nearly out of air and, perhaps more importantly, Ventalin. He surfaced alongside a concrete walled canal, security lights blazing down on him. A cursory scan of the waterway revealed that Brian hadn’t thought to provide any chrome-plated steps along the waterway; probably a budgetary thing, thought Bund as he slipped the knife from his mouth and slapped it onto the concrete surface, followed by his inhaler. After failing to pull himself out of the water several times, Bund reluctantly accepted the assistance of a passing uninhabitant guard, thanking him politely before slitting his throat. Or his arm, Bund couldn’t tell as he’d forgotten to get his glasses prescription changed before starting the mission.
As Bund unzipped the dry suit and shrugged it off his shoulders, an underspecified and poorly funded Safari Suit detector, against all odds, improbably sent a warning signal that should have gone straight to the control centre but which, thanks to an inadequate specification, the use of unskilled uninhabitant tradespersons and a severely constrained alarm budget instead triggered the ignition of an unattended gas filament matrix and started the rotisserie, upon which was mounted a shaft of ambiguous meat, probably goat, rotating. Within minutes the meat was cooking and the smell of kebabs wafted across the compound, alerting hundreds of slumbering uninhabitant guards to the promise of an early morning snack.
As the unihabitant guards formed an orderly queue the smell continued to permeate the control centre, initially detected by Mrs O’Feld who dropped the mouse she’d been mauling and directed her towards the kebab construction facility. Alerted by the sound of the slamming bedroom door, and finding Mrs O’Feld’s bedspace cold, O’Feld roused and followed the commotion building up outside as the queue now encircled the whole periphery of Mission Control and the uninhabitants were becoming extremely agitated as the kebab shop showed no signs of opening the shutters.
Taking one look at the queue and smelling the aroma, O’Feld stormed over to Brian’s accommodation, kicking in the door and scattering the whisky bottles as he entered.
‘Brian, did you order the flaming Greek twats to sell kebabs in the middle of the night?’ he shouted, startling Brian out of his slumber. ‘It’s bad enough they’ve screwed the European economy without them disrupting my attempt to destroy the planet,’ he stormed.  As the words and the aroma combined to form some kind of sense, Brian scoured his memory.
‘No, I told the kebab guys they were to manage the security detail tonight. They’ll be fast asleep in Mission Control,’ he answered, adding, ‘but I could murder a kebab, though.’
‘So could I,’ said O’Feld, impatiently, ‘but have you seen the length of the queue,’ he said, waving his arm at the uninhabitants lining the Mission Control hall. Brian couldn’t believe what he was hearing; here they were, in the middle of the South Seas on an uninhabited island, the head of an evil empire deliberating over the quandary of a large queue of uninhabitants when the solution was obvious.
‘Mrs O’Feld is pretty near the front of the queue,’ he said, nodding in her direction, her tail just visible before the queue disappeared around the corner.
‘Good thinking,’ said O’Feld, slapping Brian on the shoulder, ‘go and ask her to get us one too,’ he said, beaming.
‘Make that three,’ said Daw, straightening his pyjamas and rubbing sleep out of his eyes.
From a point of concealment Bund took in the view of pretty much every worker in the facility queuing to obtain a kebab from an unmanned stall. This looked like it could be a walkover; one burst of machine gun fire and he could take out a high percentage of the guards in one go, as well as the senior management team from O’Feld Industries, ending the mission in minutes rather than hours. But then again his pick-up wasn’t due for some time and the kebab did smell fantastic.
Bund joined the queue.
Daw couldn’t believe the cheek of the man as he watched him push his way to the front, angering all the uninhabitants stood in line.
‘Unbelievable, would you warrant his bloody nerve,’ he gasped.  O’Feld looked to where Daw was pointing.
‘What am I looking at?’ he asked. 
‘See the old guy in the Safari Suit?’ he said, pointing at Bund.  O’Feld nodded.  ‘Look ahead of him about five, no six people,’ he said.
‘Froshdu, the greedy bastard,’ exclaimed O’Feld as he clocked the fat scientist barging his way to the front of the queue.  ‘Brian, get that order to Mrs O’Feld before he eats the whole flaming stall.’  Suddenly a siren sounded, an ear numbing wail that resounded around the whole complex.
‘Are we under attack?’ asked Brian, looking for his project plan: he was sure an attack wasn’t scheduled until nearer the launch countdown.  Public sector man shuffled up in his jim-jams and sandals.
‘It’s the kebab stall warning, put in place to warn of imminent loss of kebabs.’  O’Feld held his hands over his ears, a pained look on his face.
‘How do we stop it?’ he asked.
‘Well, you could kill Froshdu, it’s being triggered by him, or,’ he said carefully, ‘you could start the countdown.’
‘Why would I want to do that?’ asked O’Feld.
‘Because he’s a fat, greedy bastard and probably has given you everything he’s going to give you,’ answered public sector man, a quizzical look on his face.


The characters, companies and places referred to in Project: Evil are fictitious and any resemblance to people, companies, businesses or places is entirely coincidental.

If you know someone who has a warped sense of humour please pass them the link to my blog so that they can enjoy 'Project: Evil'.

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