The Bodyguard
Another screaming horde of fans greeted them at the hotel entrance. Wild Wombat spoke quietly into his throat mike, directing Monkson and black smoke into a wedge formation to help them get through the lobby and out to the waiting limo. In the middle of it all, the harlequin jester himself, DJ MM77, cavorted and played to the crowd as if he had been born to revel in the spotlight. As they reached the pavement outside, the fans began the usual throwing of chocolate M&Ms to their favourite DJ. It wasn't as if Wombat didn't like chocolate, although he was a little suspicious that some of those multicoloured spheres might have turned up some far more interesting constituents in the toxicology analyser.
Eventually they made the relative calm of the bullet proof limo and it pulled slowly away from the kerb.
"Was that not FANTASTIC!" yelled the multicoloured one. "Hey, come on - give me some [IRON PAW MODE]@!@@ Give me some [IRON PAW MODE] !!! YEAH!!$%(@#!!%^!!."
Wombat sighed. Bodyguard assignments were not the worst sort of work for trained operatives, depending on the principal one was asked to protect. Besides, Special Forces was somewhat...down on its luck, and one could not afford to be too choosy. This contract was simple; DJ MM77 was to perform at a rave, and SpecFor guaranteed it would go off without a hitch. Raves were interesting to Wild Wombat - a warehouse location would be chosen a few hours before concert time, and phone messages would go out across the city, notifying the faithful where and when to meet. Special Forces had scoped out the proposed venue, and Cypher and Piers were there now, checking arrangements one last time.
As the limo pulled off the main highway to enter the small side road to the chosen warehouse, a black motorcycle pulled alongside. Wombat signalled to the rider and Ginata nodded back, her Ducati 996 peeling off to conduct a perimeter sweep of the surrounding access roads. The limo deposited MM77 at the back of the warehouse and the DJ went to check his sets for the show.
Wombat filed through the gathering crowds and checked out the first aid room, the amphetamine room, the ecstasy room, the heroin injecting room and the resuscitation room and ambulance bay. Thank goodness it was a dry rave, although Wombat was already thirsting for a beer. He wandered into the main hall, sensing the mounting excitement of the crowd, who were already stripping down and rubbing baby oil over each other.
Wombat sat down and resisted the urge to scratch. He had learned that if the Iron Paw jangled the Golden Balls, it set up a metallic discordant vibration that incapacitated everyone within a hundred metres. He got up and wandered over to Cypher standing outside the first aid room. "Mate, did you manage to sneak in any cold beer?"
Cypher rummaged in Piers' rucksack, and threw a bottle over to Wombat. Suddenly, the lighting dimmed and a booming voice filled the warehouse.
"Citizens of the MMpire...give it up for...EMM...EMM...SEVENTY...SEVEN!!!!!" A laser light show flashed as a heavy techno beat pounded throughout the house, driven by the DJ's mad vocals...which was the signal for thousands of oil slicked bodies to start gyrating and writhing in delight.
Wombat sculled down his beer, which he immediately noted seemed...odd. A slight dizzyness overtook him...and he was suddenly jerked back to awareness by the Bundy Bear grabbing his elbow. "Wombat! Quack just intercepted a threat call from a short wave receiver nearby, transmitting a signal to a receiver INSIDE the warehouse. The venue is compromised! We've got to get the principal outa here!"
Wild Wombat rocked unsteadily and grabbed a nearby rail to steady himself. He worked his throat mike. "Jaws, Hurley, Killa - we need backup - now!...Ben...you and I will institute a search of the front half of the warehouse...Cypher, Jeff and Piers the rear half...err...unnnh..."
He slid to the floor. He glanced at the bottom of the beer bottle. "Return to Q Branch to claim 25c refund." Crikey, he thought...bloody Piers' Wacko Jacko Camo...as he slumped forwards.
His vision recovered quickly but all did not seem...right. Even clenching his Iron Paw felt kind of soft...until he realised it was covered by a sequinned glove. He tried to move towards the front of the warehouse, and suddenly the gyrating bodies in front of him seemed to make a strange kind of pattern, one that was possible to pass through. He moved with grace he'd never known as a wombat, slipping and sliding, moonwalking to meet up with the others at the front of the stage.
Samurai Ben grabbed him by the collar. "Wombat - are you all right? What the hell's going on?"
Wombat brushed him off:
"I'm full of funky fever
And fire burns inside me
Boogies got me in a super trance!"
Ben's eyes narrowed. "You've been taking Piers' darn Camo again, haven't ya? For cryin' out loud - do we know who's responsible for the situation?"
Wombat burped, and sang out:
"Don't blame it on the sunshine
Don't blame it on moonlight
Don't blame it on good times
Blame it on the boogie"
Piers looked at Samurai Ben. "Listen...I had some really old prototype Camo I was going to chuck out on the way home. It should wear off soon - Ben, we've got to stick to the mission. Where is the principal?"
At this, Wombat piped up again:
"He rocks in the treetops all day long
Hoppin and a-boppin and singing his song
All the little birdies on Jaybird Street
Love to hear the robin go tweet tweet tweet"
"It must be old Camo - he's doing Jackson Five stuff." said Ben. "For Pete's sake! Look - you three search the back of the warehouse - I'll take Wombat and check the front. Where the hell are the others? Never mind - just hit the communicators if you find something." He grabbed Wombat and dragged him off to search the front stage area amid the pulsing music and mass of writhing bodies.
Wombat's vision began to clear somewhat. He looked up at MM77 on stage...and spied Jaws, Hurley and Killa singing doo-waps together on a spare mike. "Not that kind of BACKUP! " yelled Ben.
Together they searched the front stage area...and uncovered a black box wired into MM77's central sound system, complete with a prerecorded CD designed to be played over the system when triggered.
Wombat eyed the package suspiciously, and sang:
"Ben, the two of us need look no more
We've both found what we were looking for..."
Samurai Ben nodded. He carefully explored the wiring pattern and disconnected the black box, delicately removing the CD and rendering the device inert. Wombat's head started to clear and he looked carefully at the CD.
"It was a big one all right," said Ben. "Look at it...Puccini. Yep...broadcasting this opera over the speakers at a rave would have ruined MM77's career right then and there."
Piers and Jeff joined them and inspected the black box and CD. "We found each of the rear entrances' sound systems rigged with operettas." said Jeff. "The plan would have been to blast Puccini at them here, then, as they ran screaming out of the exits - they get nailed by Gilbert and Sullivan. Fiendish - but how could it have been organised?"
"Where's that sound engineer?" said Wombat weakly. "You know...scouse git, mullet hairdo...Cypher - find him!"
It didnt take the very large bear long to haul the sound engineer over to the waiting SpecFor operatives.
"i dunno wat youse want wid me. i iz done nothing. i iz just the sound man...really..." the man protested loudly.
"Oh really?" Cypher expertly frisked the man. "Then how do you explain these two tickets in your pocket...to LA BOHEME!"
"...its a fair cop..." the man said mournfully. " i iz got to do somefink for cultcha in dis town..."
"Take him away!" Ben motioned to Jeff and Piers. Wombat struggled to his feet. "I'll finish the job - time to get the principal outa here and to safety."
Wombat picked up MM77 and carrying him, ploughed through the crowd towards the doorway and the safety of the limo. As he moved through the crowd, MM77 sang back over his shoulder:
"Aaaannnnd IIIIIII
Willlll always
Looooooovvve yoooouuuuuu......."
Stardock Forums
Welcome to the home of Special Forces. 
LOL
