Yos on 29/11/2004 at 20:07

---

The SDK! That's a good one! :thumb: :laff:

Goliath The Thief on 30/11/2004 at 02:46

---

This is most excellent stuff, must I say!

I love how you really tell the story from the player point of view.

Clockwork Mifune on 30/11/2004 at 06:54

---

Sheer brilliance XD.

Karlfox on 30/11/2004 at 19:39

---

Fantastic indeed fett :thumb:

fett on 1/12/2004 at 19:06

---

Chapter 5
Republican National Headquarters – 2:05am
Auditorium Grounds/Penthouses

Republican National Headquarters. This is where the conservative fanatics keep the Spittoon – a so called ‘Republican Relic’ used by Ronald Reagan during his administration. I have to steal it if I want to read the Keeper’s super secret books. Republicans are usually filthy stinking rich, so I’ll grab as much swag as I can while I’m in here to boot. The Convention is this week, and the place is crawling with right-wing nut jobs. That might work in my favor if they’re all busy praying, instead of looking for liberals to convert. Chances are they’ll have the Spittoon locked up real tight. I’ve got to make sure they don’t do the same thing with me. I’m not interested in the Conservative brand of morality.

The façade of the building was intimidating to say the least. No way of slipping past the front door security this time. Garrett had many fake I.D.’s, but couldn’t bring himself to get an RNP one made. You had to draw the line somewhere. There had to be another way in. He looked around for the typical alternate entries. No well house. No canal. No servants quarters (at least not ones with doors opening to the outside). No sewer system snaking its way into the building. Could he be so lucky twice in a row? Score! An open window just to the left of the front door. Maybe I should just start checking there first…

Over the balcony and through the open window. A book lay open on the floor, as if waiting for him. Nothing like a little Republican propaganda to put a man in the mood to steal things from people. He took a glance:

[indent]Hussein spoke, “I am innocent. Do not bomb my country on this day.”
The joint security chief tested Hussein by saying, “If you are innocent, you can prove it by showing us the WMD’s.”
Hussein replied, “But I have no WMD’s. That’s what makes me innocent!”
The joint security chief said, “Ah! Evidence is the hallmark of an innocent dictator. Even if you are innocent of crimes, surely you we thinking of doing Something Bad, so bombing your country will ensure that you can’t.”
With that, the joint chief began laying Hussein’s country to waste, and so it was proven that even though he may or may not have been innocent, he wasn’t about to get away with anything sneaky.”[/indent]

Garrett smiled. Ah, those Republicans. You could always count on them to strike before the iron was hot. The City wouldn’t be the same without them. It would actually make some sense.

He made his way to the main auditorium, jumping from shadow to shadow. He couldn’t get a look at the platform – it was very crowded – but could just hear the tail end of the invocation drifting across the room…

“…and Lord give us the courage to eradicate our enemies in thy name. God grant us protection from those who look different from us and eat foods with funny names, and from the evil of those who do their evil works in their evil caves and hidey-holes. Amen.”

As the hooping and hollering died down, another voice addressed the crowd. “So shall God keep and watch over us, and send to hell all those who use profanity and watch television shows depicting gay lifestyles.

Dammit! thought Garrett, I forgot to tape Queer Eye tonight…

The drawl continued on, “Let Ronnie’s example serve as evidence of what the Lord can do. Ronnie spat in the Spittoon and brought godliness and prosperity to the land.”

Garrett slipped out a side door, unnoticed among the cheers and ‘Amen!’s erupting from the crowd. He headed for the penthouses. Most of the big wigs stayed here during convention week. There should be some swag laying about in the more expensive suites.

He took the stairs up and emerged on a dark balcony just above the lobby. Two senators were checking in at the desk.

“Did you hear?” said the one with the beer belly, “The president has sent a memo to all the senators saying he going to spit in Ronnie’s Spittoon.”

“That’s crazy!” said the one with the bigger beer belly, “The Spittoon has been barred these last 6 years, since Bob Dole got it in his head that HE should spit in it.”

“Supposedly, he wants us ALL to spit in it. Wants to prove himself a worthy successor to his dad.”

“That’s his ego talking. What is his press secretary saying about all this?”

“Not much. It’s dangerous to bring the Spittoon out. That thing has served as a good luck charm during the house and senate elections for the past 10 years. The Democrats would love to get their hands on it.”

“Ha! The Democrats! Bring ‘em on! We’ll beat ‘em just like we did in Ronnie’s day!”

So the Spittoon was here. He just had to get to it before the president. This might be messier than I bargained for. What with all the spitting.

He rode the elevator down with the sound of grinding gears and crashing metal, but went unnoticed by the Homeland Security guards keeping an eye out for anybody who might be flying a plane into the lobby.

The penthouses were virtually empty since the majority of the politicians were at the rally in the auditorium. Even the president’s suite was easy pickings, and Garrett fortunately found the key to the security panel protecting the Spittoon. Garrett assessed from several security documents laying around that the Spittoon was in the Media Control center locked up tight. No problem. Getting the key was 90% of the job and that much was in the can.

In another room he found what appeared to be a military weapon prototype. Apparently modeled after the bombs used by the Green Goblin, Garrett’s arch nemesis from years earlier, it glowed with green stripes. Maybe it would come in handy. It tucked it away amongst all the gold nuggets, priceless tapestries, and prescription drugs he’d found lying around the senator’s rooms.

He emerged into the courtyard adjacent to the Media Control center, but had to wait out another conversation before he could cross.

“Did you see? Bill O’Reilly was here earlier!” it was a security guard and what looked to be a reporter.

“Does that surprise you? I knew he’d be here. The Spittoon is going to be brought out. He knows that it’s the source of our secret power over the people.”

“I don’t recall him showing up this early before. Caused quite a stir.”

“It was good to see him, but I wish he would drop this whole conspiracy about someone going around stealing peoples pants…it’s just silly.”

“Well, you know how he can get when he’s convinced something is true – yet, we all know the pants thief is but a children’s story –simple nonsense to win over the swing voters.”

The security guard seemed to ponder this for .04 seconds before turning back to his patrol. Garrett headed for the door of the Media Center. More blue mist. Great.

Republican National Headquarters – 2:56am
Media Control Center

Garrett emerged from the blue stasis as sounds of fax machines, printers, and cappuccino machines spilled out from the mass of cubicles and TV monitoring stations around the complex. Luckily, the foyer where he had entered was the darkest part of the entire building, so no one saw him step through the door.

Voices drifted in from the office to his left.

“Why do we have to work so late on the first night of the convention? Shouldn’t these guys be out picking up hookers or giving themselves raises or something?” asked the first.

“Don’t you wish. But there’s still a lot of activity tonight we need to cover. And Ridge has instructed me that propaganda must be ready to go at any moment,” said the other in a tired voice.

Tom Ridge? I knew it!

“Tom wants too much. And I never see him around here helping out.”

“True. But the president isn’t slacking off so neither can we if we’re going to keep our jobs. The Democrats may reveal their true plan at any moment. We may be forced to raise the terror alert level.”

“Good point. I’m walking around here with nothing to do, and I can’t seem to get this Springsteen song out of my head…”

No way the Spittoon is being kept near here. Maybe somewhere in the administration wing.

He wove his way between the scores of Osama Bin Laden videos, live feeds of the rally, and broadcasts of the 700 Club to a relatively quiet hallway, the spine of a vacated office area.

My kind of place…

He found the Spittoon in a trophy case at the back of the break lounge, alongside other notable memorabilia like Oswald’s gun and the Contract With America. It was a silver number, smaller than he had expected.

He examined the complicated security device. The key hole was obvious, but this other slot, roughly the thickness of an encyclopedia, set beneath a laser scanner puzzled him. He thought he’d seen everything after the Murus incident, but this was a new one to him. He noticed a small note hanging on the wall to the side of the case.

[indent]In the evint that these items need to be ramoved, you must first insert a copy of ‘The Book of Virtues’ by William Bennett. Copys are availabel in the supplie room on the West side of the Media senter. A key may also be obtaned from the standing presadent. – Dan Quayle[/indent]


He took off in the opposite direction, hoping to use the maintenance shafts to avoid the Media Control Center. Nothing. Why is it that every other building in the world has maintenance shafts except the ones I break into?

He found the supply room, grabbed a copy of the book, a banana daiquiri, and headed back for the Spittoon. A name placard on the wall caught his attention.

“O’Reilly?” Why did Limbaugh have an office at the Republican National Headquarters? “This I’ve got to see.” He could talk out loud every once in a while because the place was empty.

O’Reilly’s office was small and empty. Lots of books lying around. The one on the desk was especially interesting:

[indent]My investigation continues relentlessly into years long gone. More pantlessness that I have learned of fit the pattern. Swaggart. Baker. Clinton. The City Watch care for naught beyond the tips of their noses. In an incident 10 years past the pants of the victim were destroyed or removed. In another not 4 years ago the report says only that the pants were torn or ripped, though it does note the presence of a pot-bellied, pork chop side-burned man in his mid-40’s wearing a rhinestone studded leisure suit with a huge collar. The trail is going cold, but I will get to the bottom of this. I fear it is the great plot of the liberals to remove the pants of god-fearing men and women everywhere. The nakedness of Janet Jackson during the superbowl was only the beginning. Soon, we will all be pantsless. Time is running short.[/indent]

Pants thief huh? I knew I shouldn’t have switched from the cloak to this custom made thief jumpsuit. First my arms are bare, now I’m going to lose my pants. Maybe I can hang on to the cool arm bands. I’ll need them if I’m ever to land my dream job of singing for Quiet Riot…

It was short work getting the Spittoon once he had the Bennett book. A nearby staircase conveniently led back to the penthouses and it didn’t take him long to find the open window.

“Now for the Jackelope’s Paw,” he said as he disappeared between the ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ buttons that had suddenly appeared in the air before him.
____________________