Granite Odyssey.

Granite Odyssey.
An interprative story by the Crusading Crumpet.

Somewhere, between the folds of heaven and hell, exists a place where all Crumpet's shortcomings as a writer and human being, impulsive ideas, and need for a creative outlet, all come together to create Wankworld, which is sort of like the Marvel Cinematic Universe but terrible! It is in this realm that our Odyssey takes place. Nobody in Wankworld has a particularly good standard of living, but there is one person who draws the short straw a little too often to call it chance and more like lazy writing...

Chapter One.

Gastonzo plodded over to the microwave to retrieve his 'dinner'. This mix of vaguely meat like cubes, followed by something that I guess sort of resembles rice if you squint really hard, was enough to bring anyone's spirit down a few rungs. Gastonzo ate in silence, his cable bill was unpaid as he had spent the money for it on a cool toy car that he had been mugged for on his way home. Finishing up with his meal, Gastonzo decided to leave the plate for later and take a shower.

Midway through his basking in the water, he had an idea! Why do the dishes? He could simply shower with them! Five minutes later, and Gastonzo had managed to cram his entire dirty dish mountain into his cheap apartment's shower. He had to hold his favourite mug, but it all fit. All was well, the water washed both his weedy body and his dishes perfectly, until Gastonzo managed to drop the mug on his foot, shattering both cup and bone.
Howling like a Tie Fighter, Gastonzo fell, smashing all of his dishes, and cutting up his back. Lying in his dish pile, bleeding and cold, he began to cry. Suddenly, a pounding on the opposite side of his bathroom wall interrupted his self pity.
His Columbian neighbor. "shut the fuck up!' he screamed. Giving the wall another kick that sent the shampoo bottle off the holder and into poor Gastonzo's eyes, the neighbor left. Gastonzo pulled his towel onto his bleeding form and slept.

Morning came, and Gastonzo lugged his lacerated body out of the shower. He checked the time, nine thirty eight AM, and began to get ready for his shift at the Papermill. No breakfast today, he decided, as he didn't have any non shattered bowls to eat it with. Leaving the apartment around ten, Gastonzo walked to the bus stop, and waited for the correct bus. For once, his ride went off without a hitch and he got off at the papermill. He entered through the back door
(Gastonzo is no longer allowed through the front door because of the time he tracked mud into the papermill lobby the day the CEO of paper was visiting)
and began his way to the factory line, first checking his office to make sure his fork collection hadn't been stolen by his coworkers again. Gastonzo triple counted his forks, making sure that all twenty of them were there, before turning to leave the office. Before he even got a step, there was a very official sounding knock at the office door. His manager walked in, scowling.
"Jerry!"
He said, slamming his hands on the table.
"Are you the one who blew up the fax machine on level three?"
Gastonzo frowned. It indeed had been him, albeit unintentionally.
"Yes sir. And my name is Gast-."
his manager gave a very liberal arts sounding huff of annoyance.
"Whatever you say James, you're fired. Pack your shit."

Gastonzo began to cry again. He looked out of his office towards the factory line down the hall. He started to leave the office, intending to say goodbye to the paper delivery truck drivers that used to feed him vegetables from their lunches that they didn't want, when, without warning, all hell broke loose.
The wall to Gastonzo's right exploded, as an APC with a giant union jack and the word 'T.W.A.T' on the side smashed into the factory. An unmistakably British voice sounded from the APC's Vox Systems "RIGHT LADS, LETS GET CRACKING!"
Twelve men and women leapt out from the side and back doors of the armoured battering ram, sprinting down the factory line like yanks on black Friday, straight towards the delivery trucks. The drivers, whom Gastonzo sort of liked, reached into their jackets and produced sub machine guns. Gastonzo gaped. Spitting fire down the papermill at the British, the drivers screamed something about loading the paper faster. The twelve Brits dived for cover, loading what looked suspiciously like muskets and swearing.
Another figure now disembarked from the APC. He stood at least six foot seven, with a barrel chest and shoulders that would make doorways an annoyance. He scowled, and sipped a cup of tea menacingly, casually tapping the blunderbuss he wore on his hip, before leaping clear over the APC and striding down the factory line faster than a child fired from a cannon, covering the hundred metres in moments and reaching the truck drivers, who were out of ammunition. The twelve others sprang out from cover to join him. The man picked up the lead driver, pinned him to the wall, and splashed scalding tea in his face. The driver screamed like a gorilla being given a suppository and the Giant British man now turned to the other four drivers, who were frantically scrambling for their trucks. Grabbing the nearest, the man brought the now empty tea cup onto the truckie's head with a ringing 'crack!', smashing teacup and Cranium alike. The last three drivers were starting their engines now, and the twelve who had jumped out of the APC, now in a firing line, sent an unwelcome fusillade of musket balls into the nearest truck, killing the driver. The last two trucks zipped out of the delivery bay and escaped. The man looked down at the dozen men and jerked his head towards the three paper vans they had stopped.